And the next thing we know, Bugs is slugging back a water glass full of Wild Turkey in a vain attempt to rid his tragic bachelor pad of the "hallucination" he's currently experiencing, but Our Intrepid Heroes remain standing in the living room, so Bugs reaches the only possible conclusion: "Obviously, I'm a god." Hee. "A cruel, cruel capricious god," he amends, diving into a seemingly bottomless well of guilt over all the crap he's put the boys through over the last four years. "The physical beatings alone!" Bugs wails. "I killed your father!" he moans. "I burned your mother alive! And then you had to go through the whole, horrific deal with Jessica? And for what? All for the sake of literary symmetry!" Heh. "Did you really have to live through the bugs?" he suddenly realizes, aghast. "What about the ghost ship? I am so sorry -- I mean horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing?" HA! He assures them that, had he known it was real, he would have given it another pass, but the boys have had enough of this crap and loudly insist, "Chuck, you're not a god!" "We think you're probably just psychic," Sam allows, and Dean wonders if Bugs is working on anything right now. "Holy crap," Bugs sighs, slumping into the chair at his desk. "The latest book," he admits, "is very Vonnegut." Dean leans in to ask, "Slaughterhouse Five Vonnegut, or Cat's Cradle Vonnegut?" College Boy's shocked to discover his brother is not, in fact, illiterate, but that's not important right now, because Bugs's latest masterpiece is actually "Kilgore Trout Vonnegut," in that he wrote himself into the story. "I wrote myself, in my house," he explains, "confronted by my characters." DUN! Okay, not really, again, but I've got Raoul to consider, here. "What on earth do you mean?!" Well, uh, aren't you getting a little...you know. Tired? "Oh, you silly little man! I'm positively beguiled by this evening's fascinating presentation! Please continue! [Slurp!]" Oh! Well, um, okay, then.

We've cut over to the town's Laundromat, where Darling Sammy's busily sorting out their whites while Dean reads through Chuck's latest book for a bit before groaning in frustration, "I'm sitting in a Laundromat reading about myself sitting in a Laundromat reading about myself -- my head hurts!" Try recapping it, bitch. "There's gotta be something this guy's not telling us," Sam opines as he stuffs one of the larger washers with his clothes. Dean takes that in, then glances down at the pages in his hand to narrate after the fact, "'Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck -- about whether he was telling the whole truth.'" HA! "Gigantic darks," indeed. "Stop it!" Sam warns, getting friskily irritated with the entire situation. Dean reads, "'Stop it!' Sam said," before offering Sam a chance to guess what happens next. Sam, refusing to play along, unleashes a massive bitchface, and turns to tend to his laundry. "'Sam turned his back on Dean,'" Dean continues, "'his face brooding and pensive.'" Heh. "I don't know how he's doing it," Dean admits, "but he's doing it -- I can't see your face, but those are definitely your brooding-and-pensive shoulders." Hee! Sam unleashes another massive bitchface in the camera's direction and sighs. "You just thought I was a dick," Dean knows from the text. "Guy's good," Sam shrugs, and again: Hee to all of it.