Episode Report Card
Demian: C | 2 USERS: B-
The Hardy Boys Have A Suisse Mocha Moment
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Crackle, crackle, THEN! Due to budgetary issues beyond our control, tonight's opening montage -- indeed, tonight's entire episode -- will be mullet-rock-free. Repeat: Tonight's episode is entirely devoid of mullet rock. Good thing, too, because that means I can limit my coverage of this week's THEN! sequence to the following, without having to synch it all up with Portentously Relevant Lyrics: Sam and Dean, whilst on the road shooting monsters in the face with rock salt, sought out and found their father, who sacrificed his life for that of older son, who in turn has been taking the loss rather badly indeed. Are we all caught up? Excellent.

Crackle, crackle, NOW! What? No location card fading into view out of the blackout's gloom? I can live with that, I suppose. A morose-looking brunette slumps in a chair behind a kitchen table as an affable-seeming gentleman of her apparent acquaintance enters the frame with a couple bottles of beer and a bag of M&Ms, which he sets on the table in front of her. "Okay," he narrates as he draws her attention to each item he's brought, "we got booze, we got chocolate, and -- wait for it -- tortured emo rock." He's flipped on some barely audible yet strummy ovary with the remote as he eased himself into a chair opposite, and now faces her with a comforting smile. "Guaranteed cure for any broken heart." She puts on a brave little face at all this pampering, but it's clear she's about to lose her tenuously corralled shit at any second. She leans across the table, taking one of his hands in her own, and sniffles, "Thanks, Neal. You're a good friend." She's either his hag, or he's nursing an unrequited crush of massive proportions on her. How I wish it were the former. Just as Neal pshaws that it's nothing, or whatever, a harsh rapping hits his apartment's front door. "Oh, God, it's probably him!" she whimpers, crouching back in her chair, so Neal manfully assures her he'll take care of it and pushes himself from the table. Incidentally, though we can't see her entire outfit, the brunette is sporting what appears to be the top half of a White Nightgown Of Doom, so, yeah. She's going to be dead in about thirty seconds. Just so you know.

Neal flings open his front door to find a thick-necked, plaid-clad jock-type standing on his front porch. Christopher Jacot then betrays his Canadian roots by telling Jocko, "Let's just chill oot and think aboot this for a second, ookay?" It's kind of cute. In any event, Jocko muscles his way into Neal's apartment and blunders back towards the kitchen, with Neal trailing ineffectually behind. When tonight's bits of Monster Chow hit the kitchen, however, the mopey brunette is nowhere to be found. "Angela?" one of them calls out.

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