Episode Report Card
Demian: B+ | 2 USERS: B+
The Hardy Boys Have This Condition
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! Death, as you'll no doubt recall, placed a "wall" between Darling Sammy's bruised and battered soul and his, uh, brain, I guess, to keep the soul's memories of The Cage at bay, lest our dear Ginormotron collapse into a quivering and somewhat sticky puddle of psychic trauma thanks to his soul's ill treatment at the hands of Lucifer and Michael. Unfortunately, that wall is also preventing Sam from remembering anything that happened after last season's finale, so Dreary El Deano must carefully tiptoe around various issues, lest those issues send Darling Sammy screaming straight towards a straitjacket. Alas, now that Captain Empathy's returned in all his damp, puppy-eyed glory, Darling Sammy's determined to make amends for the various terrible, horrible, no good, very bad crimes his soulless body perpetrated in his name over the last eighteen months, so all of Dean's careful tiptoeing seems doomed to fail. Makes you sort of think he should have just killed Darling Sammy outright, doesn't it?

Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW!, and it is my sad duty to inform you all that the NOW! is, once again, a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, for barely has it faded from view when the tattling title card at the bottom of the screen informs us we've arrived in Bristol, Rhode Island, "One Year Ago."

BAM! The blazing muzzle of an inky-black automatic fills the screen, and as the spent cartridge audibly plinks to the ground, the camera pans up the barrel of the gun to land on Soulless Sammy's beady-eyed furrow of a face. Blackout.

The camera focuses in on Zombie Grandpa's tormented expression as Soulless Sammy strides past in a blur to discharge his weapon three more times. No, not like that, you filthy-minded sickos. That sort of discharge comes later. "Dirty!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, and while it is indeed a pleasure to have you once again safely ensconced atop your overstuffed armchair after your adventure last week in Vancouver, friend of friends, I'm afraid I must insist you remain quiet during this tense-making opening sequence, as you've already thrown everything off its carefully constructed rhythm with that little interjection of yours, justified though that little interjection might have been. "Hmph!" And I'll ignore that second interruption from your faithful recapper's faithful recapping companion in order to focus on the gunshots like so: BAM! BAM! BAM! Blackout.

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