The Mentalists

Episode Report Card
Demian: A | 5 USERS: A-
The Hardy Boys Are Still Talking About Dead Amy

A little while later, Lonely El Deano strolls through Lily Dale's main business district, looking for lunch, but every single storefront seems to be filled with palmists and tarot-card readers and such, so it is with great relief that Our Intrepid Hero finally stumbles upon The Only Diner In Town. He pauses for a moment to scoff at a poster advertising "THE ANNUAL LILY DALE PSYCHIC FESTIVAL" before heading inside, where he's greeted by...

...some slap-happy New Age dipshit, for Our Intrepid Hero's found himself in the "Good Graces Cafe," where the special of the day is always "YOU!" The slap-happy dipshit eagerly assures Lonely El Deano that Good Graces is both "one-hundred-percent locally sourced" and "biodynamic," and promises him "a free affirmation with every order," as well. "I think I'll source a taco joint," Dean dryly replies, and with that, he turns to leave, but what's that? Why, it's Sullen Sammy, moping over some grisly crime-scene photos at one of the nearby tables! Awkwardness ensues as Dean invites himself to take a seat opposite his momentarily estranged brother, and he counters Sam's stoic silence with a stream of babble regarding the particulars of the current case. Long story short, there was "enough EMF" floating around the late psychic's parlor "to make your hair stand up." "I know," he concedes, "this whole town's supposedly calling ghosts, but that takes some serious spell work and some serious mojo." As the only books the late psychic had in her possession were of the "Oprah-crap" variety, Dean finds it extremely unlikely she had anything to do with her own spectacular demise.

The slap-happy dipshit chooses this moment to interrupt the proceedings by asking Dean for his order. "Pancakes, side of pig," Dean grunts, for he is always such a charmer. "Fantastic!" the slap-happy dipshit beams before beatifically adding, "You are a virile manifestation of the divine." Promised affirmation thus so cloyingly delivered, the slap-happy dipshit floats off towards the kitchen, leaving Dean to flounder about in his chair and peeve, "What the hell did he say to me?" Sullen Sammy, who still has yet to open his damn mouth, remains silent -- some more -- for a very long moment, then fidgets a bit and begins, "Look..." Dean, well aware of what's coming, immediately shuts Sam's whining down with a curt, "You might as well bite the bullet and work with me on this one." "I don't know if I can," Sam snaps back. Dean, bless him, is not having any of that, and counters, "Let's try and stop the killings. That's it." Sam heaves a tremendous and tremendously put-upon sigh, then nods his head.

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