Chez Spider-Cop. Aftermath. Sam attempts to apologize. Brenette slams the door in his face. "Atta girl!" Next!
This Week's Hovel. Denouement. "You okay?" Dean asks a pensive Sam. "You were right," Sam mumbles. "We shouldn't have come back here." "Well," Dean shrugs, affably trying to bright-side things, "you're one up on Julie Taymor. For now, at least." "So, you're suggesting that what I did back there was a good thing?" Sam sniffs. "I'm just saying..." Dean begins. "What?" Sam snaps. "You gotta understand," Dean all but pleads, "all that crap last year -- all of it -- none of it was you!" Sam, never one to stop a good pity party once he's really got it going, of course disagrees, and he pouts and moans and wails and WHAM! All fifteen massive feet of The Ginormomope suddenly collapse to the floor, and by the time Dean's had a chance to react, Sam's thrashing about like he's in the middle of a grand mal. "Talk to me!" Dean shouts, but he might just as well have saved his breath, for Darling Sammy's eyes have long since glazed over, and the camera dives down into his left iris to find...
...a cheap rehash of this scene from the end of Season Three. "Whee!" Without the meat hooks. "Rats!" I know, Raoul. I know. "And this charming little installment was going so well! Poop!"
Next week, Our Intrepid Heroes battle a posse of possessed mannequins, which sounds an awful lot like an old Doctor Who episode to me, but what the hell do I know? With a little bit of luck, maybe it won't completely suck. See you then! "Kisses!"
Demian's still hoping for some dirt from the set. Raoul, unfortunately, is maintaining his chivalrous silence. "You'll get no scurrilous gossip from me!" You may reach the former at email@example.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet.