...join Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes outside on the driveway, where they process through recent events. Dean came across absolutely no evidence of supernatural activity anywhere in the house, and Secretly Evil Sammy dismissively notes he himself found only "a tuba and an issue of Crochet Today!" Raoul, instantly affronted, stops polishing his tuba long enough to shriek, "And what is wrong with Crochet Today!, exactly, hmmmmm!?" Well, I'm not sure, friend of friends, but they appear to be linking interest in the domestic arts with suicidal tendencies. "Well!" gasps Raoul, appalled. "I never! I'll have those two puny little nitwits know that crochet is the craft of empresses!" Now, Raoul, I understand you're upset, but... "EMPRESSES!" Wow. I'm impressed. "AS WELL YOU SHOULD BE!" Raoul! Volume! "Oh, I do apologize, I'm sure!" Now, do you mind if I continue? "By all means! I'll just be over here practicing until you get to another good part!" "Practicing"? "Practicing!" Oh, Jesus.

In any event, the boys decide that Pathetic Jane was already predisposed to offing herself and agree that the real question is what caused Grieving Olivia to blurt out the string of hateful invective that led Pathetic Jane to pull the trigger. Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes embark, and we're off to...

...a dentist's office, elsewhere in town. A perky hygienist places a tray of sterilized pointy things at the good doctor's side and exits to retrieve some additional gauze, leaving the good doctor alone with his patient, a fellow middle-aged gent who's apparently an old friend. They banter a bit until the patient nervously admits, "I gotta be honest, Paul -- I don't really want to be here." "You and most people," Doctor Paul grins, "but I don't take it personally." Doctor Paul then shoots his patient up with some Novocain and, making conversation, suggests, "You and Donna should come over for supper." "I'm not really into Donna anymore," the never-named patient confides. "She's old." Doctor Paul, who'd been firing up the drill, looks puzzled at that, and squints, "Your wife looks great for her age." "Her saggy skin makes me want to hurl," the never-named patient snaps. "I have urges, you know," No-Name continues, quickly veering into overshare territory. "Remember that camping trip that I missed because I was sick?" he leads. "Well, I wasn't -- I was just afraid to be around Melissa." "My daughter?" Doctor Paul incredulously splutters. No-Name eagerly nods, then leers, "But then, she spent the night for Jill's slumber party, and oh, it just seemed so easy, you know?" "What are you saying?" Doctor Paul gapes, increasingly horrified. "It's not so much I couldn't control myself," No-Name smiles, "I just knew I wouldn't get caught -- and I didn't!" Ominous horns blare on the soundtrack as Doctor Paul grabs No-Name by the neck and dives into the pervert's mouth with the drill. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Oh, you got that right, doll. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Gouts of blood immediately spurt from No-Name's maw as Doctor Paul jams the drill into the back of the sick twist's throat, and No-Name involuntarily jerks around in the chair, gagging on his own shredded pharynx as Doctor Paul viciously shoves the drill even further into the fiend's gullet. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And then the hygienist returns just in time to scream her perky self straight into this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" This turn of events pleases you, my scaly friend? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll take that as a yes. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"