Episode Report Card
Demian: D- | 4 USERS: A-
Do The Hardy Boys Dazzle You?
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! There were easily slaughtered vampires, and there were Campbell cousins no one had heard about before, and there were Bendy Lisa and The Brat, and there were Dark Suspicions That Darling Sammy Might Possibly Have Come Back Wrong For The Eighteenth Or Nineteenth Time Since This Godforsaken Show Began, and it's a shame they had to go and remind us all of this excellent vampire-themed episode from the third season during the Tacky Blue Glitter THEN!, because the vampire-themed episode we are about to endure is not nearly as awesome and does, in fact, suck, and in all of the worst possible ways.

Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW! As a mercifully truncated version of Bauhaus's "Bela Lugosi's Dead" moans away on the soundtrack, the camera tracks through a sort of goth-slash-biker bar populated entirely by sallow-faced twentysomethings sporting the expected array of arcane facial piercings and unusually colored hair until it lands on the plaid flannel back of an obviously out-of-place brunette as she orders a cocktail. The guylinered bartender motions for her ID, so the brunette -- who's wearing black nail polish, by the way -- produces the driver's license of one Emily Fang of 315 Lincoln Street, Limestone, Illinois. Despite the fact that our brunette is both clearly underage and, you know, not Chinese, Guyliner passes her a shot, and the brunette nervously gulps it down while darting her eyes around the bar's interior, obviously searching for someone.

She eventually starts pushing her way through the crowd and clumsily bobbles her sparkly red cell phone, which is caught before it shatters on the floor by a poutily lipped male model. The brunette beams at the sight of the guy, and she tippy-toes her mouth up to his ear to perk, "You came!" "Not yet," Lippy smiles, "but I was planning on it later this evening." "Filthy!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, a mortally affronted yet perfectly honed paw pressed against his supposedly outraged chest, and you can knock it off with the pearl-clutching, my scaly friend, because I'm totally kidding. "Really?!" Really. All the guy does is smirk something about keeping his promises before escorting the brunette over to a booth, where they proceed to yammer away at each other for about three thousand years. "Oh, poop!" pouts Raoul. "That's boring!" Honey, we just started -- you want boring, just wait until we hit the... "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Oh, great. Figures that damned dizzy lizard would take the easy way out by lapsing into a coma not even two minutes into this crap. Thanks for nothing, Raoul! "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Rrrgh.

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