Episode Report Card
Demian: D | 5 USERS: A
The Hardy Boys Waste An Hour Of Our Lives

...SPLAT! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, once more writhing about upon his overstuffed armchair with delight over the fifth season's endlessly compelling blood-burst of a title card, and oh, Raoul. "Yes?!" You realize we have only two more episodes before this, your most favorite of Supernatural's title cards, goes away for good, don't you? "I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that!" Ah. So, we're going with denial, then? "Absolutely!" Excellent. Shall I continue, then? "Please do!"

The camera pans across a waiting room full of sniffling, sneezing, rheumy-eyed flu victims hacking away into their sleeves, and it lingers just a moment on last week's convenience store clerk before carrying on to take in the just-arriving LYING LIARS WHO LIE, who are here posing as agents from The Centers For Disease Control. They're both sporting surgical masks, by the way, which are completely useless against the flu, but they do allow Dean to joke that he looks like a dead child molester, so that's nice. "I'm glad the CDC is here," the overcrowded emergency room's attending physician allows, "but what we really need is vaccine." Hmmm. Would that be the same vaccine that turned White Coat One into a Croatoan rage monkey, perhaps? "I think you're right!" Only time will tell, I suppose. In any event, Darling Sammy casually shifts the topic of conversation over to the strain of Mexican influenza afflicting the patients surrounding them, wondering if the good doctor's noticed anything unusual about this particular outbreak, like aggressive behavioral changes in any of the ill. "Excuse me?" the good doctor squints. "Have the flu victims shown any homicidal tendencies?" Dean specifies. The good doctor stares at them like they've just farted in her hair. "Symptomatically speaking," she lectures, "we're looking at a relatively mild case of swine flu, here -- probably add up to a miserable week off of work, that's about it." "So, nothing unusual?" Dean presses. "Well," the good doctor admits, "a day and a half ago, we didn't have a single case, and now we're looking at over seventy." "It's the infectious equivalent of a briefcase bomb," she continues, "so, yeah, I might call that a little unusual." The boys mutter amongst themselves about some statues that coincidentally started weeping a day and a half ago, then smilingly take their leave. Well, I'm assuming they're smiling, what with the pointless surgical masks blocking my view and all.

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