Episode Report Card
Tippi Blevins: C- | 103 USERS: C
Winchester Angst by Proxy

At the Miles house, the goddamned Ghostfacers are doing their "jobs." This basically entails filming themselves being colossal assholes. Well, mostly it's Ed being an asshole at the beginning. "The closet: the setting of the sunset of Casey's life," he says into the camera. He notices that Harry is busy checking his computer. "Would you stop Facebook stalking your ex-girlfriend?" he asks. "She changed her relationship status to 'it's complicated,'" Harry says, ignoring him. Ed reminds him that it was Dana who broke up with him. Harry sets side his laptop and takes a deep, cleansing breath so he can refocus on the task at hand. "We're so close to finding Thinman," Harry says. "I can smell him. I can smell his musk!" He proceeds to sniff around in the closet and buries his nose in the dead girl's bra. What a class act. "This is really serious," Ed says. He suggests turning the case over to the Winchesters. Harry is incensed. "What the hell is wrong with you? We can't let those jockstraps steal our glory!" He says they have to prove that The Haterz were wrong – specifically that the team members who left were wrong to pursue a normal life. "We're gonna be on Dr. Phil," Harry says.

Ed gets psyched up again and goes back into the closet so that he can restart his narration. "The bedroom of a teenage girl was meant for two things," he says as Harry records him. "Giggles... and joy. Until one night, Thinman turned the giggles into blood." Harry gives a delighted laugh. "You are so money right now! This is gonna pay off in ladies, Ed. Lots and lots of ladies!" He very nearly gets out that they're soon to be swimming in pussy, but Mrs. Miles walks in just before he can get out the censor-worthy word. "I thought you boys might be thirsty," she says, and beats them over their heads with a tray of lemonade. Or maybe she just gives them a disapproving look while comedic music plays.

Motel du Jour. The Winchesters sit across from each other and read each other their research. So much info dumping. At this point, I would be open to new forms -- any new forms -- of delivering exposition. I don't care if it even makes sense to the plot. They could take turns beat-boxing and rapping details to each other. They could bust out in interpretive dance. They could don berets and mime to each other the pertinent information, or put on puppet shows, or...or compose limericks!


There once was a creature quite thin,

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