Supernatural

Episode Report Card
Demian: A | 11 USERS: A+
YOU GRADE IT
The Cracky Boys Crack The Crack Crackman Of The Crackopacrack

Cut to this week's motel room, which is apparently part of an establishment named "Diamond Jack's," if that little stand-up flyer advertising this week's VALENTINES SPECIAL of FREE CHAMPAGNE next to Dashing El Deano's propped-up feet is anything to go by. Darling Sammy, rather uncharacteristically clutching a massive paper bag stuffed with fast food, lets himself in to give Dashing El Deano the bad news: Dead Alice's apartment contained no EMF and no signs of sulphur, so possession of either the ghostly or demonic variety is most likely out as far as explanations go for that delightfully appalling and immensely gratifying pre-credits sequence. Dean, for his part, has spent the morning making nice with the local constabulary, and has this to say about the no doubt wonderful experience: "Duuuuude! The coroner's? You didn't see these bodies -- I mean, these two started eating and they just...kept going. I mean, their stomachs were full -- like, Thanksgiving dinner full." Raoul, still in the throes of his rhapsodic swoon, lifts his impressively fanged maw long enough to shriek, "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" at this unexpectedly vivid bit of added detail before lapsing back into near-catatonic jubilation, leaving me pretty much alone once more with Our Intrepid Heroes as Darling Sammy sighs to himself for a bit over how fruitless their investigation has been thus far until he settles in for a solitary evening of satisfying research while at the same time granting Dashing El Deano permission to "unleash The Kraken." Hee. Dean's all, "Whaaaaaaa?" so Sam's forced to elaborate by reminding his brother that it's Valentine's Day -- also known to Dirty El Deano as "Unattached Drifter Christmas" -- which is Dean's penis's favorite holiday for what I hope are obvious reasons. Rather uncharacteristically, Dean's Penis passes on the opportunity to stalk its prey through cocktail lounge after cocktail lounge filled with lonely women. Darling Sammy, visibly perplexed, affixes Dean with The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Heartfelt Fraternal Concern to note rather appropriately, "When a dog doesn't eat? That's when you know something's really wrong." "Remarkably patronizing concern," Dean shoots back and, after insisting he's completely fine, the improbable celibate settles in for some satisfying research of his own.

Elsewhere, a pair of instantly hateable MBA morons named "Jimbo" and "Brad" have themselves settled in for a celibate evening of unsatisfying proofreading over in their anonymous cubicle farm. Broheim Brad, the proofreading project's manager, looks up from his tedious task to find Jackass Jimbo engrossed in the neverending stream of text messages now swamping his Blackberry. "She's got you on a leash," Broheim Brad snorts. "She just wants to know where I am," Jackass Jimbo claims. "She just wants to know that you're whipped," Broheim Brad snaps back, making appropriately chauvinist wrist-flicking gestures before he lights into Jackass Jimbo for half-assing their current assignment, all because Jackass Jimbo's "gone mental over some chick he met, like, a week ago." On cue, that chick Jackass Jimbo's gone mental over staggers into the far background of the shot, mewling a wavery and pathetic-sounding, "Jim? Where were you?" through the rivers of snot and teary mascara currently running down her face. She's sporting a red satin cocktail atrocity that looks like it'd been balled up in the bottom of her closet for the last several years, cunningly accessorized with a white plastic tote bag from Rite Aid and a deplorable pair of black patent pumps, and oh, honey. Just... no. "You can't choose work over meeeeeeeeeeeee!" just-appearing "Janice" whines as Jackass Jimbo -- his instantly unhinged, obsessed expression matching her own -- hastens to console her over the loud protests of Broheim Brad. "Whoa!" Broheim Brad Keanus. "Due respect, but honestly, bro: WHUP-sha!" This last is, of course, accompanied by an appropriately chauvinist flick of Broheim Brad's wrist, so Jangly Janice -- without even looking at him, mind you -- hauls this massive hand cannon out of her Rite Aid purse and shoots him in the face. "VIOLENCE!" howls Raoul, who had only just barely recovered from his earlier cannibal-induced swoon. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT VARLET-ANNIHILATING VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And as Broheim Brad's now rapidly cooling corpse tumbles backwards towards the carpeting with only the camera to notice its fall, Jangly Janice grasps at Jackass Jimbo to whimper, "What are we gonna do, Jimmy?" "I dunno, baby," Jackass Jimbo whispers, all lost and intense and such. "It seems like whatever we do, something in life is always gonna keep us apart -- work, family... sleep!" "Now prison, maybe," Jangly Janice hopelessly moans. Hee. Things are looking pretty bleak, indeed, for our obscenely annoying honey-bunnies until Jackass Jimbo suddenly realizes, "I think I have an idea how we can stay together, forever!" And we all know where this is going, so let's just skip ahead to the bit where Janice presses the business end of her hand cannon against the base of her jaw, cocks the hammer, and... "VIOLENCE!" bays Raoul as Jangly Janice blasts her brains out all across the cubicle farm's drop ceiling. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" howls Raoul as Jackass Jimbo follows her lead. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks your faithful recapper's faithful recapping companion one more time before collapsing back against the cushions of his overstuffed armchair near insensate, so overwhelmed is his dear little puny lizard-like brain with this episode's complete and total awesomeness thus far, and with that, we hop ahead to...

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Supernatural

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