Anyway, the convention organizer next introduces Chuck to the crowd as "Carver Edlund," and the cosplaying idiots again go nuts with the hooting and the hollering and such as The Prophet nervously creeps out onto the tiny little stage from the wings. Chuck fumbles with some whining feedback from the microphone for a minute, then tensely chugs down a bottle of Poland Spring before throwing the floor open to questions. Every hand in the room -- plus one hook -- shoots immediately into the air, and Chuck calls upon Soul Patch John Candy's companion in LARPing first, and because these two feature heavily throughout much of what follows, and because they don't get proper names until the end of the episode, and because calling them Faux Dean and Faux Sam will get tired and confusing very quickly, and because one is a fat tub of lard and the other has a rather prominent forehead, I'll be referring to them as Blubber and The Brain until The Great Reveal. "Demian!" Raoul excitedly shrieks. "Is that a hint?!" Is what a hint, my faithful lizardly companion? "You know, you peevish little man! Now which one are you -- the morbidly obese and disturbingly hairy cephalopod, or the elaborately nosed and alarmingly slender rodent?" Again: You must wait until The Great Reveal, friend of friends. "Phooey!" Though I must admit, I'm very impressed with your hypertext linking skills. "Thanks!" Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: The Brain asks the incredibly stupid question, "Where'd you come up with Sam and Dean in the first place?" and, upon receiving death glares from Our Actual Intrepid Heroes at the back of the ballroom, The Prophet is forced to LIE, "It just came to me!" This answer prompts another round of hand- and hook-waving from the cosplaying idiots, and Chuck selects the hook, and long story short, the German-accented moron attached to said hook is the type of fan who poses snottily phrased questions that serve only to prove his supposed superior intellect, but his pointed attack on Sam does rouse Becky's wrath, and she rather amusingly stomps down the side aisle to yell, "Hey! If you don't like the books, DON'T READ 'EM, FRITZ!" and thank Christ I don't have to moderate the goddamned forum boards anymore. You're a saint, Tennison.