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Posh Bela and her accent return this week to irritate both Our Intrepid Heroes and the long-suffering audience as the boys head to a coastal resort plagued, as of late, by a series of bizarre dry-land drownings. Turns out each victim spotted a triple-masted ghost ship in the hours before they died, and it's further revealed that each victim was responsible for the death of a blood relation in the past, some by accident, others by intent. After the usual amounts of initial misdirection followed by clever investigation (and some massively grating amounts of Bela-related aggravation, including a scene in which she heartlessly violates the Impala's dignity by getting it towed, for which she must die), Sam and Dean discover that the ghoul responsible (a sailor on the ghost ship, natch) had been hanged by his own brother (the ship's captain) for some sort of seafaring infraction. The sailor's corpse was cremated, but not before his colleagues amputated his right hand, which is on display at the local maritime museum. Posh Bela finagles a set of invitations to the museum's rather conveniently timed donors' gala, and our uncomfortably tuxedoed protagonists help her swipe the grisly artifact from its display case, fully intent on salting and burning it to halt sailor boy's reign of terror. One problem: Bela immediately sells the waxy thing to a European client. One bigger problem: She spots the ghost ship seconds after the sale goes through. So, it's up to Darling Sammy and his mad latinating skillz to save the day, which he does by effecting a reunion between sailor boy and the ghost of his homicidal brother, wherein the unquiet spirits basically destroy each other.
They should have let the twee cow drown. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Rattle, Rattle THEN! We're back to killing some evil sons of bitches and raising a little hell this week, apparently, though to be completely honest with you, Dashing El Deano's introduction to this evening's festivities has been Frankenedited together from bits of last season's call to arms and this season's dueling options, so maybe we should be taking that as a hint that tonight's installment is just going to be one big, lurching, ineptly cobbled together assault against God and nature. In any event, we were introduced, as you'll recall, to Bela Talbot and her hideously bad wig a few episodes ago, and quickly found her to be an aggravatingly posh annoyance, partly because of That Accent Of Hers, but mainly because she shot Darling Sammy in one of his remarkably broad and heretofore healthy shoulders, for which she must die. Also, Desperate El Deano sold his soul to The Crossroads Demonette in exchange for his brother's life, and promptly turned into a raging dicksmack of epic proportions. Finally, Darling Sammy summoned that demonette to a crossroads of his own choosing in order to force her to release his suddenly and unreasonably irritating brother from the latter's demonic obligations. And when she refused? He shot her in the face! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon howls, flailing himself into a frenzy of delight over the chance to witness such awesomeness once more, and Raoul, you know I love you, but you really need to shut the fuck up for the...
...Silence, Silence NOW! An athletic and scantily clad brunette jogs down a veddy upscale nighttime harbor esplanade and bends to avail herself of a water fountain at the end of the path just as thunder rumbles ominously overhead. Wiping at her mouth, the brunette lifts her head to find a ragged-looking clipper ship creaking through the suddenly appearing fog at the harbor's mouth as lightning flashes around its triple masts. DUN! After a few more lightning strikes, the ship vanishes just as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared, and the brunette, who is apparently too stupid to realize she should be pitching a massive freak-out hissy at the moment, blandly replaces her iPod's buds in her ears and jogs back the way she came.
Shortly afterwards, the brunette takes a shower. A very long shower. A very long, rather soapy shower captured in loving and lingering detail by the camera that pans slowly across her alluringly parted and voluptuous lips as the invitingly warm water gently sprays upon her face, then trails down the shapely, supple curve of her back to flow past her firm yet-- "This is boring!" shrieks Raoul. "How much of this ridiculous low-rent soft-core pornography must we endure before she screams and screams and SPLAT?!" Too much, my scaly friend. Far too much. But do lighten up, because her impending doom's just slithered its shadowy way up to the frosted shower door, and is now pressing its grey and manly palm against the glass, where it proceeds to ejaculate viscous streams of goo from its fingertips down the pane. "Isn't that physically impossible?!" Raoul demands. Not on this show, apparently, but let's not deliberate on the distasteful matter, because the soapy brunette's just noticed the accompanying set of vile rubbing noises generated by the perverse ghoul in her bathroom, and is now easing open the shower door to investigate. Of course, she finds nothing at all amiss in the bathroom at large, and so returns beneath the spray to lather herself once more until...the perverse ghoul slings an arm around her throat and slams her up against the frosted glass! The slippery brunette gags and chokes as she's knocked from one wall of the shower to the other -- all of this almost entirely obscured from our view by the opaque glass, of course, because despite this scene's base intent, this show is still not airing on Cinemax, and thank God for that -- until she emits one final squawk as her own palm flattens against the far side of the glass, where it remains for a moment before the soapy brunette's dropping corpse drags it into the...
...RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieks Raoul, entirely against his will, before turning to me and huffing -- two perfectly outraged circles of smoke popping from his outraged nostrils, natch -- "Well! If that was their tribute to Psycho, it left very much to be desired, indeed! Where was the slashing knife!? Where were the shrieking strings?! Where was the GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!?" Oh, Raoul, you dear, sweet, featherbrained little thing. Psycho? Try Sorority House Massacre II. "I should be most disappointed in you at the moment, but that tagline is making me giggle!" Inappropriately, I hope. "Absolutely!" Excellent. Shall we move on? "Let's!"
Metallicar angrily chews up a length of photogenically damp nighttime blacktop for a bit before we leap into the front seat with the camera to discover Our Intrepid Heroes once more screaming at each other, this time over Darling Sammy's most awesome execution of The Crossroads Demonette. Turns out said execution, while undeniably awesome, was perhaps not the brightest moment of Darling Sammy's demon-killing career because, as Dean loudly points out, The Crossroads Demonette was the only entity who knew which demonic overlord actually holds the title to Dean's contract, so now they're screwed, again, some more. Got all that? Good. !
The LYING LIARS WHO LIE, once again posing as sheriff's department detectives, invade the tastefully appointed parlor of the soapy brunette's grieving aunt and berate her with questions regarding her shapely yet toned niece's untimely demise. The aunt, by the way, is being played by the inestimable Ellen Geer, an actress perhaps best known to us pathetic Charmed aficionados as Old Piper from that series' long overdue final episode. Stupid Charmed ruins everything. So, where was I? Oh, yes: Darling Sammy attempts to begin the interrogation by addressing the soapy brunette's aunt as "Mrs. Case," but the extremely well put together old broad, having already caught more than an eyeful of Darling Sammy's remarkably healthy physique struggling to burst from that cheap suit of his, hastily interrupts to purr a correction. "Please!" she insists with a leading little twinkle in her voice, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. "Ms. Case." Saint Sammy Of The Most Painfully Celibate is visibly thrown by the silver-maned woman's nakedly appraising gimlet eye, but soldiers on anyway to inquire, "You were the one who found your niece, correct?" Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) lowers her gaze -- no, not down to there! In sorrow! At the horrible memory! -- and acknowledges, "I came home, and she was in the shower." "Drowned?" Dean prompts, thereby explaining the lack of splattery gore that opening sequence so desperately needed. "So the coroner says," Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) scoffs, clearly believing the coroner to be an incompetent moron. "I ask you: How could someone drown in a shower?" she demands. Our Intrepid Heroes haven't an answer for that -- well, not one that they're willing to share with the uninitiated, at any rate -- so Sam dodges the question by asking if the good lady noticed anything bizarre about "Sheila's" overall demeanor in the days before her demise. Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) gets a supremely suspicious look on her face and, darting her eyes back and forth between the LYING LIARS WHO LIE, squints, "Wait a minute! You're working with Alex, aren't you?" Dean immediately bluffs that yes, they are indeed working with Alex, and it works, because Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) sings, "Well, why didn't you say so?" while dropping her guard completely and settling comfortably into a handy chair. She puzzles that Alex assured her the case was solved, so Sam's forced to LIE that no, it actually wasn't, which is why they're asking for more information. And after all that, they get it, as Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) confesses Sheila spotted "a ghost ship" shortly before she died, and wonders if that information is of any use to Our Dear Boys. Sam, flummoxed by the woman's apparent knowledge of and ease with matters supernatural, squirms and wiggles his eyebrows around until he finally manages to spit up, "It could be." Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) takes this in for a moment, then allows that leading little twinkle back into her voice as she casts yet another appraising eye up and down his remarkably healthy form and encourages, "Well, you let me know if there's anything else I can do for you." She gets downright kittenish as she reaches out to run her fingers along one of his massive mitts and adds, with appropriate emphasis, "Anything at all." "Atta girl!" shrieks Raoul. Sam freaks, because he is an idiot, because there is no doubt in my mind that Ms. Case (If You're Nasty) would freaking rock his world, even if she did end up most unfortunately dead after the effort, as have both of the luckless Ginormotron's bunkmates in the past. Poor Sam.
Shortly thereafter, Dean casts unnecessary aspersions upon the sanity of Sam's new girlfriend as the boys amble down the same harborside esplanade that played host to Slippery Sheila's last jog on earth. Meanwhile, Super-Smart Sammy's apparently had the time to conduct thoroughly exhaustive research into the town's history at some point in the last three seconds, and notes that a particular ghost ship has plagued the harbor "like clockwork" "every thirty-seven years." "A vanishing, three-masted clipper ship" appears in the bay to a select group of the town's citizens, who then promptly find themselves inexplicably drowned upon dry land. General ghost ship lore gets a mention, including a passing reference to The Flying Dutchman that has absolutely nothing to do with anything else that transpires over the course of the episode, and Dean's most unhappy to learn that pinpointing the infernal wreck responsible for all of the decidedly low-key mayhem will be to impossible, as the ocean immediately surrounding this never-named port has swallowed over 150 vessels over the last few hundred years. "Wow!" Dean eloquently laments. "Crap!"
There follows an immensely entertaining little scene in which the boys arrive at the spot where Dean had parked the Impala, only to find the Impala gone. Dean starts stompy-clomping around on the sidewalk, raging at the utterly indifferent heavens over his apparently stolen baby, until he starts literally hyperventilating over the missing Metallicar, and hee! Conscientious Sam of course immediately speeds to his stricken brother's aid, but the cute moment shatters all to hell the instant that rawthah plummy accent I've come to know and hate chimes from off-screen, "A '67 Im-pah-lah? Was thet yaws?" Shoulder-shooting Bela and her scraggly hair and her overdone makeup and her ridiculous accent and her International Woman Of Mystery leather trench in brown and her...her...I FUCKING HATE HER. And she helps her cause not a bit when she reveals she had Metallicar towed. "KILL HER!" shrieks Raoul. "KILL THE ONE WHO WOULD ASSAULT THE IMPALA'S DIGNITY!" I couldn't agree with you more, my scaly friend, and as I simply will not be able to make it through this scene again because of her wretched presence in it, here's what I remember: Posh Bela's the Alex of whom Ms. "Gertie" Case spoke in the earlier scene, and good ol' Gertie's one of the pommy git's regular customers on the Eastern Seaboard's séance circuit, for you see, Posh Bela's not only cornered the black market in stolen supernatural goods, she's also been cheating little old ladies out of their pensions by performing fake summoning rituals so they might commune with their dearly departed. Such a charmer, this one is! And why are the boys still talking to her? "Because the script says so?!" Raoul helpfully suggests. Once again, I hate it when you're right, my faithful lizardly companion, because she needs to get off the fucking television screen, right fucking now. Oh, and look at that! She's gone. "They should have killed her first!" They're actually of a mind to, Raoul. "Can I shoot her?" Dean glowers once the British aggravation's out of earshot. "Not in public," Sam clenches. Oh, go ahead, Sam. After what she did to your shoulder, it's justifiable homicide.
Night. Over in an expensive-looking Frank Lloyd Wright knockoff of a mansion, a trim thirtysomething clad in nothing more than a set of pajama bottoms brushes his teeth up in one of the manse's capacious bathrooms, completely unaware of The Shadow Of Watery Doom that's just passed in front of the camera. A few tense strings hit the soundtrack just as this evening's bit of Monster Chow hears the squeaking of a tap opening up behind him, and he turns to find the jacuzzi-style bathtub suddenly and inexplicably near to overflowing with brackish green water. Because he apparently missed the relevant first-season episode, the Monster Chow does not run screaming for his life from the room and instead foolishly chooses to kneel at the tub's side, first screwing shut the open taps, then tugging fruitlessly at the stopper. He stupidly pauses for a very long moment, staring at his reflection in the murk below, so it's no surprise at all when a hand shoots up out of the water to latch onto his neck. The Monster Chow chokes and gags as deadly black veins burst out from his hairline to crawl down his forehead, and his oxygen-deprived face slowly turns a most foul shade of violet as his bulging eyes roll straight up into the METAL TEETH CHOMP! "BORING!" shrieks Raoul, feeling impossibly cheated at the moment. "Where is the GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!?" Not anywhere near this pathetic excuse for an episode, that's for damn sure.
That evening, Our Intrepid Heroes skulk outside the Frank Lloyd Wright knockoff, concealed in the shadowy depths of the Impala as they watch the remaining Warren pack some of his dead brother's belongings through the knockoff's blatantly and ridiculously uncurtained windows. Seriously, who wanders around in front of their unscreened windows like that at night? "Filthy exhibitionists?!" Raoul shrieks, trying to be helpful. Thanks, hon, but I think it's just this goddamned show being obnoxiously stupid again. How did Supernatural get so bad so quickly? Wait. Ignore that question, because I'm pretty sure the answer starts with "Well, it wasn't that good to begin with" and goes downhill from there. "I was going to say!" So, anyway, the boys are in the car, reviewing the fruits of Darling Sammy's latest furious bout of research, and as neither the Brothers Warren nor Slippery Sheila have anything in their personal histories to indicate a ghost-ship-related whacking is in order, Sam and Dean are at a loss. Unfortunately, the remaining Warren's just spotted them lurking and now charges out of the manse to hurl insults at the Impala, and for this, I'm afraid, he must die. "KILL HIM!" By the way, as the remaining Warren brother races off to his own car to flee from the Impala's now-seething presence, we catch a glimpse of his Rhode Island license plate, so at least we know which goddamned state we're in this evening.
In any event, The Last Warren hustles into the driver's seat and guns his car's engine down the manse's lengthy driveway until the motor unexpectedly splutters and chugs and shudders to a stop. Our Intrepid Heroes instantly realize this is likely due to the presence of something ethereal and foul-minded, and Dean takes off to fetch one of the sawed-off shotguns while Sam vaults a low fence to rush to The Last Warren's aid. Alas, the ghoul's already menacing The Last Warren from inside the car! DUzzzzzzzzzzz! This evening's people-slaughtering spirit takes the form of a very damp pirate, by the way, and while he's missing the obligatory eye patch and parrot, I do believe he is sporting a hook at the end of his right arm. So, Damp Dick, The Moist Menace Of The Seven Seas, telekinetically jams down the car's locks and presses his ejaculating palm against The Last Warren's face. The Last Warren immediately spews salt water all over the dashboard, and he continues to choke on and spit up the stuff until he at long last slumps against the steering wheel, drowned. Our Intrepid Heroes arrive far too late at the exact same time despite the fact that Sam got a lengthy head start on Dean, because this episode blows, and I want to die. Just not, you know, by choking on seawater in my living room, because that would be messy. "And it would simply ruin that cunning little laptop of yours!" shrieks Raoul. In any event, and despite the futility of such action, Dean nevertheless blasts a round of rock salt into Damp Dick's soggy head, and the ghost evaporates instantly in a spray of glass shattered from the passenger's-side window. Sam yanks open the driver's-side door and pushes The Last Warren's corpse back in its seat. The dead man's head lolls backwards, and a stream of saltwater pours from his gaping mouth all the way down into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: This entirely contrived and insulting sequence. See, Posh Bela's plan was not simply to break in to the maritime museum under cover of darkness and swipe The Hand Of Glory from its display case, because that would be too easy. No, she'd rather pimp Darling Sammy out to Randy Aunt Gertrude for the night in order to finagle a couple of invitations to the heavily attended and guarded benefit, then feign illness so she and Dean might somehow gain guard-escorted access to the museum's second floor, where they will then somehow elude the guard who escorted them upstairs in the first place to swipe The Hand Of Glory from its display case, thereby unnecessarily risking immediate and otherwise entirely avoidable arrest for Our Intrepid Heroes and stupid Posh Bela, who will all proceed to spend the seventy-five years of their justifiably miserable and worthless lives in jail. This show. This stupid stupid fucking awful evil show.
And that's what happens. !
"Ahem!" [Silence.] "A-him!" [Continuing silence.] "Demian, darling!" WHAT? "There's no call to get snippy, I'm sure! But I do believe you must offer greater detail than that!" You can ROT IN HELL, Raoul, you know that? ROT. IN. HELL. "Feeling better?!" Not in the goddamned LEAST, you tubby little birdbrain! SHUT UP RAOUL. SHUT UP AND DIE. "Feeling better now?!" A little. Maybe. "Then hop to it, you silly little man! We have cocktails waiting!" Oh, Christ on a goddamned stick.
So, Darling Sammy excuses himself from Aunt Gertrude for a moment and lumbers over to the bar to fret and fume and tear Dean and Posh Bela a couple of new ones, because they've needlessly turned him into a manwhore for the evening. Dean tosses off a few smarmy remarks for which Sam has every right to pop him in his smug little face, but Sam restrains himself, hopefully because he's saving all of this season's slights up in order to unleash a mighty and devastating act of vengeance upon the stumpy little bow-legged midget at some future date. Dean and Posh Bela smirk at Sam's discomfort and bolt, Randy Aunt Gertrude sidles up to The Ginormotron's side to ply him with liquor, Sam bitchfaces his way through a flute of champagne for her benefit, and then we're out in the foyer again, where Posh Bela feigns an attack of the vapors, and this season's bright lighting is doing Lauren Cohan's complexion absolutely no favors at all. "She could use some Kiehl's!" Soon enough, a guard has escorted them upstairs, where Dean lays Posh Bela out on a private office's sofa so she might nap off a little of the excess champagne she's supposedly ingested, and after dispatching the guard and juggling some unfunny quips with the crater-faced dame on the couch, Dean's off to liberate The Hand Of Glory from its display.
Meanwhile, down on the dance floor, Aunt Gertrude grabs Darling Sammy's ass. I can't say I blame her at all, so let's join Crafty El Deano back upstairs, where he's expertly overriding the waxy Hand's alarm system. Unfortunately, we see absolutely nothing of what he's actually doing, because we have to rush over to Posh Bela and her acne as the guard now threatens to barge into the office she's currently occupying. Posh Bela hastily smears her lipstick, cracks open the door a tad, and pretends she and Dean are getting frisky inside, so the guard -- get this -- just walks away, leaving them alone to fornicate all over office furniture that is not theirs. "KILL HIM!" shrieks Raoul, driven homicidally vociferous by such sickening dereliction of duty. "Or something like that! Hee!" And after we've endured one last so-called comedic moment between Dean and the guard, Dean reenters the private office with The Hand Of Glory, which he proceeds to wrap in his pocket square and slip inside his jacket, because he rightfully doesn't trust Posh Bela any further than he can throw that zit on her forehead. Ease up on the base, honey. "You're strangling your pores!" Raoul agrees.
Downstairs, after a bit more drunken groping of Sam's remarkably healthy ass, we finally get to Aunt Gertrude's reason for joining this evening's festivities, which is to provide Darling Sammy with a few choice bits of the town's gossip. The Brothers Warren? Murdered their father six years ago to inherit his $112-million fortune. And Slippery Sheila? Rolled her car way back in high school, killing the passenger -- her cousin, Brian -- in the process. Sam gapes. DUN!
Posh Bela and Dean arrive from the second floor at this shocking juncture, and Bela quickly commandeers control of Good Ol' Gertie, steering the considerably inebriated lady towards the door while promising to meet up with the guys later at the cemetery. Dean and Sam, for their part, head out to the Impala, where Dean discovers to his horror that cunning Bela at some point and off-screen somehow managed to switch The Hand -- which he had in his inside jacket pocket -- with a tiny little ship in a bottle. WHATEVER, ZIT GIRL.
And even more contrived than that? This: During that brief little scene between the boys, Posh Bela's not only managed to escort Aunt Gertrude home and then change her own clothes, she's also had time to return to the docks and sell The Hand to a never-seen buyer for a hefty bag of cash, and SHUT UP, SUPERNATURAL! When did show get so fucking stupid? "Oooh! Oooh! I know this one!" ...yes? "September 13th, 2005!" Oh, that's just cruel. "You asked! Twice, even!" I know, I know. Sigh. So, anyway, Posh Bela barely has time to gloat to herself over her cunning wiles and great big bag of freshly earned cash when thunder grumbles ominously overhead. She warily lifts her eyes from a stack of crisp hundreds to find...The Espirito Santo, flickering in and out on the bay! DUN! Not! "KILL HER!" bays Raoul. "KILL HER DEAD!" Raoul's howls for justice, alas, get gobbled up by the METAL TEETH CHOMP! "DAMMIT!"
The morning, the boys bicker with each other over losing The Hand until Posh Bela comes a-pounding on their squat's front door. With tremendous reluctance, they allow her in, and after dancing around the topic, Posh Bela finally admits she saw the ship. Our Intrepid Heroes are shocked and appalled, because they've realized Damp Dick slaughters only those who have killed a family member -- because The Moist Menace Of The Seven Seas was himself strung up on order of his brother, The Santo's captain -- so Posh Bela, in addition to being "an immoral, thieving, con-artist bitch" must also be a parricide, as well. As the dread specter of Daddy Issues has already reared its hideous and clichéd head once this evening, we'll be assuming she offed her stupid father and be done with it, because I really, really don't care one way or the other at this point. To be honest with you, I really, really don't care one way or the other at any point as far as Bela's concerned, but whatever. Our Dear Boys hesitate for a moment when Posh Bela begs for their assistance, but because they're marshmallowy pushovers at heart, they eventually agree to do what they can.
Cemetery. Sam's drawn a pentacle on a granite grave slab, around which are arranged several candles and bowls of herbs and such. He drops, like, a leek in the center of the thing, and steps back to see what happens while Dean and Posh Bela bitch at each other over the patent stupidity of College Boy's plan, here. They quickly shut up, however, when swiftly appearing storm clouds race to obscure the full moon, and as rain begins to sluice down upon their heads, Super-Smart Sammy cracks open their worthless bastard of a so-called father's demonic day planner and gets to latinating. The storm quickly ramps up in intensity around them, with Damp Dick eventually materializing in the downpour to knock at Dean's back door. Not like that. Sickos. The Moist Menace shoots out his hand and physically hurls Dean into a nearby obelisk, then advances upon Posh Bela as Sam roars his latination over the storm's crashing thunder. Damp Dick presses his ejaculating palm against Posh Bela's cheek, and the parricidal aggravation immediately starts spewing saltwater into the cemetery's dirt. The instant Sam finishes bellowing his incantation, however, Posh Bela stops gagging, and the storm overhead races away even faster than it had arrived. Damp Dick, sensing a presence behind him, slowly spins to find...his equally ghastly brother! Spluttering apologies! Yawn. Fortunately, The Moist Menace tires quickly of this bullshit and charges, and in a nicely done effects shot -- though it does drag on for a wee bit too long -- when Damp Dick smacks into his fratricidal brother, both erupt into a slow-motion spray of water that glows bright white as it atomizes, destroying them both, and wow, I so did not need a Theme Mallet whacking me straight between the eyes this late in the evening. Yeah, yeah, we get it, show: If Our Intrepid Heroes continue along the path they've chosen for themselves thus far this season, they'll have little choice but to destroy each other. Whatever, and shut up, Supernatural, so you can consider this: If you continue along the indifferently paced, shockingly unfocused, and hideously boring path you've chosen for yourself thus far this season, The CW will have little choice but to cancel you, because your ratings will go down the toilet. So there. "Demian, darling, not to detract from your argument at all, I'm sure!" Raoul shrieks. "But aren't the ratings already in the toilet?!" Do you want your cocktails at the end of this dreadful episode, my scaly friend? "Of course!" Then ZIP IT so I don't KILL YOU BEFORE THE THREE MINUTES ARE UP. "Ooops! Mum's the word, then! Hee!" Raoul's nervous titters vanish into the final METAL TEETH CHOMP!
"[Ahem!] Hello, my lovelies! week, that distressing little Gordon person is back, and he's...he's...oh, what's the phrase I'm looking for?" "Mildly annoyed"? "No, that's not it!" "Somewhat irritated"? "No, that's not it, either!" "Batshit insane and pissed"? "BINGO! See you then, pretties!"