Episode Report Card
Demian: A | 8 USERS: A+
The Hardy Boys: Now On A Mission From God!

A little later, Disheveled El Deano bow-leggedly wanders down a country lane, still wiping streaks of dirt from his pretty, pretty face with his hands until he happens upon an apparently deserted filling station. He raps at the front door's window, calling out, "Hello?" in that still-raspy outside voice of his before his inside voice says, "Fuck it!" and tells him to smash through one of the panes to break into the place. Once inside, he treats himself to some much-needed bottled water before checking the masthead on the latest copy of The Pontiac Daily Gazette, which helpfully lets him know he's arrived at Thursday, September 18, 2008. "September?" he squints, not quite believing his own eyes, though if you ask me, he should be way more interested in the fact that it's Thursday, if you understand what I'm saying. "Demian! Spoiler!" Oh, ooops! My bad! "Hee!" In any event, Dean heads over to the station's absolutely filthy sink to clean up a little bit, and after he's wiped some more of the grime from his pretty, pretty face, he pauses to examine himself in the mirror. Flashing back for a moment on the hellhounds' attack, he warily lifts his black t-shirt to find...absolutely nothing at all! No lingering gouges, no freshly healed scars, zip. However, there's apparently a lingering throbbing afflicting his left shoulder, so he hikes up the short sleeve to discover...someone's right handprint, seared into the very flesh of his upper arm! DUN! Pretty big hand, too, by the looks of things. If you know what I mean. Mrow. "I don't get it!" Oh, knock it off, Raoul. "No, really! I don't!" Oh, Jesus Christ. "Yes?" Dean answers, except for the part where he totally doesn't, choosing instead to fill a plastic carrier bag with all sorts of power bars and baked goods and bottled liquids and porn. You know, the usual stuff you need when you get back to earth after four months in Hell. The porn, incidentally, is the print edition of, and what's strange about that is not the fact that has expanded from the Internet to print when most of its sister (and brother) publications are pulling the reverse, but rather that the proprietor of this particular establishment apparently chooses to display Busty Asian Beauties on the same rack as Seventeen, CosmoGIRL!, and O.

In any event, Dean's next stop is the register, which the vile and disgusting little thief cracks open to start stuffing cash into his pockets until...the television set on the counter suddenly flickers to life of its own accord! Blasting out snow! Dean, momentarily freaked, slowly and deliberately shuts the thing off. You can imagine his annoyance, then, when the television set snottily flicks itself back on, and you can imagine his increasing panic when the radio at the other end of the counter decides to join in on the fun. Dean scrambles through the store's shelves until he finds some handy containers of salt, and he sets himself to laying down lines of the stuff in all of the appropriate places until something about the radio's squelching gives him pause. In fact, though, it's a high-pitched whine just beneath the squelch that soon renders any sensible distribution of salt impossible, for that piercing whine rapidly amplifies in volume to overwhelm Dean's senses, and he crashes to the floor of the place with his hands balled into desperate fists over his ears just as the whine shatters every single sheet of glass in the whole goddamned store to send the resulting slivers shooting through the air directly at Dean's freshly washed face. Dun-dun-DUN! The instant the last pane shatters, however, the whine cuts itself off, allowing Dean -- who's more or less no worse for the wear, save for that lingering ringing in his ears -- to push himself to his feet so he can tiptoe across the shards to peek suspiciously out the now-busted window frame.

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