Episode Report Card
Demian: D+ | 6 USERS: A+
The Secret of the Island Treasure
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Rattle, Rattle THEN!, which I'm pretty sure amounts to little more than the following: Zachariah hates his life, Adam Milligan lost his life, Lucifer has lives to spare, and Dean's about to throw his life away. Got all that? Good, 'cause here comes the...

...Rattle, Rattle NOW! to menace us all for a brief moment before cross-fading into the ether, replaced by an establishing shot of a middle-aged middle-management type punching a couple of buttons on a 1970s-vintage jukebox in a dank corner of a dark bar, and as the middle-aged middle-management type strolls back over to his stool, the inimitable Patsy Cline (or, considering this show's limited budget, a reasonable facsimile thereof) starts in with a little-known gem from the early part of her career. Middle Management eyes the still unseen yet apparently dispirited businesslike gent seated to his left for a moment, takes a swig of his whiskey neat, and attempts conversation with, "Lemme guess -- pink slip?" "That obvious, huh?" the apparently dispirited businesslike gent sighs by way of reply, and by the time he's reached the end of that response, the camera's climbed up to take in his face, and it's...Zachariah, boozing away a pointless afternoon with his ever-present silver-toned tie all mussy and undone and such! "Atta girl!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon whilst raising a pre-prepared flagon in amicable solidarity, for he's learned his lesson after the last couple of pointless episodes, and has entered this evening's presentation armed with a fully stocked cocktails cart at the side of his overstuffed armchair. It's going to be a long night. "[Slurp!]"

In any event, and in what is possibly this evening's best sight gag, while Middle Management obliviously offers a few commiserative syllables about "outsourcing" and whatnot from his side of the bar, Zachariah suddenly realizes what the chatty idiot chose to play, pops his eyes out in utter disbelief and exasperation, and slow-burns a slow turn of his head towards the offending jukebox, looking for all the world like he's about to resurrect poor Patsy Cline just so he can slam her into that fatal Tennessee hillside a couple more times. Bastard. Also: Hee. Unaware of how imperiled his puny little life is at the moment thanks to his unfortunate choice of listening material, Middle Management takes another swig of his drink and asks of Zachariah, "So, what was your 'crime against humanity'?" Zachariah grunts out an embittered half-snort at Middle Management's unintentionally apt turn of phrase before spitting out one of his typical truths-that-aren't-really-but-still-kinda-are: "Deal of the millennium." "Couldn't even get the one, simple yes I needed," he specifies-yet-doesn't-yet-really-kinda-does. "Gotta nail that bottom line, right?" he rhetorically-yet-somewhat-perversely continues, and Middle Management just starts absently nodding his head in generalized sympathy with Zachariah's tone while the angel works himself into what Middle Management mistakenly believes is a rather run-of-the-mill layoff victim's rant. "All they care about upstairs," Zachariah sneers, "is results, results, results! They don't know! They're not down on the ground in the mud, nose to nose with all you pig-filthy humans, am I right?" Whoops. "I think Zachariah's slip is showing!" shrieks Raoul. And I think Middle Management agrees with you, friend of friends, for a mere second passes before Middle Management's abruptly switched his absent nodding to a puzzled squint. "'Filthy' what?" Heh. "Whatever happened to personal loyalty?" Zachariah rages on, paying Middle Management's befuddlement no mind. "How long have I worked for these guys -- five millennia? Six?" Middle Management -- not realizing Zachariah's uncharacteristically unleashing some serious truths, here -- mutters something sympathetic-sounding before the two down what remains of their cocktails, after which Zachariah jovially orders another round while introducing himself to this "Stuart" person with uncharacteristic amounts of friendliness. Uh oh. "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieks Raoul, already anticipating the slaughter to come. "He's going to pop that unemployed gentleman's head like a zit!" I've a feeling you're not too far off with that one, my scaly friend. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Now, might I continue, so we can see if you're prediction is correct? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll take that as a yes.

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