...snaps awake in the front seat of the Impala, just as a semi screams past! He'd parked himself off the side of the road for a little shut-eye, you see, and is now most thoroughly discombobulated by the sleepy-time vision of Bendy Lisa his brain just barfed out at him. Or something like that.

Meanwhile, Darling Sammy is also shirtless. And doing push-ups. And sit-ups. And chin-ups. And just when I'm about to Glalalaaaaaah my way into my very own Coma Of Overexcitement, a floozy hoochies her way out of the bathroom of This Week's Motel Room to strumpet, "Last night was, um...a high point, if you don't mind me saying." Shirtless Sweaty Sam simply passes her a couple of hundreds, so I'm guessing the floozy is actually a whore. "Right!" Shirtless Sweaty Sam's streetwalker sparkles. "I almost forgot!" And as that is far too ridiculous and asinine and stupid for me to deal with so early in the episode, I'll be skipping past it to note that she then goes on to offer him a freebie the next time he's in town, and as that is even more ridiculous and asinine and STUPID for me to deal with so early in the episode, I'll be skipping past it to note that she then leaves. Bye-bye, dimwit! Fortunately for my sanity, Sam's cell chirps at this moment, and it's Dean, calling to note that he's "about eight hours out of the Campbell base." "Change of plans," still-shirtless Sam announces. "I need you to meet me -- I'm in P-A, a town called 'Easter.'" Which does not exist, apparently, but we'll go with it for now. Still-Shirtless Sam abruptly snaps shut his cell, so Dean grumbles a bit about how bossy Sam's become over the last year or so, but he does climb into the Impala with his breakfast from Burger Heaven to head out towards the Interstate, so I guess he doesn't really have a problem with it. Until, you know, we hit the end of the episode, where Dean will throw an enormous, pissy-pantsed tantrum about it all, but we can ignore that bridge when we get to it, because...

...over in Nonexistent Easter, Pennsylvania, yet another Imperiled Cop lounges at a speed trap in his prowler, and as we've gone nearly four full minutes with absolutely no gore whatsoever, I'm getting a little bored. "Me, too!" agrees the freshly awakened Raoul, and are we feeling better? "Much, thanks! Now please do hurry along! I can't wait to see how this one dies!" As you wish, friend of friends. "Hooray!" I must first note, however, that we know Yet Another Imperiled Cop is a Very Bad Man Indeed, for he's spiking his Big Gulp with vodka. "And what," Raoul shriekily inquires, "is so wrong with that?!" He's spiking it with Popov. "DEATH! DEATH TO HE WHO WOULD BEFOUL HIS BIG GULP WITH DISCOUNT LIQUOR FROM A PLASTIC BOTTLE!" So, we agree on this gentleman's obvious lack of character? "DEATH!" Excellent.