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Our Intrepid Heroes hop on over to Sturbridge, Massachusetts, because The Glamorous Goddamn Ladies Of Frigging Halliwell Manor have apparently abandoned scenic San Francisco, gone all Dark Side, and are now wreaking havoc amongst the tastefully appointed suburban manses of depressingly damp Worcester County.
Okay, not really, but that's pretty close. Seems an amateur coven of WASPy witches has unwittingly sold its collective soul to an undercover dark demonic force in exchange for, like, lower interest rates on their mortgages, or something, and now all Hell's broken loose, complete with an impressively high body count and several spectacularly gruesome moments involving unexpectedly loose teeth and pale little wriggly things in cheeseburgers. Sam and Dean quickly figure out what's going on -- thanks mainly to some really sloppily hidden hex bags -- and are all prepared to take the witches out by any means necessary when sparkly haired Ruby stops by to order them out of town, pronto, as the undercover dark demonic force will most likely gut Our Dear Boys like trout, so great are her powers. Screaming ensues, but Dean's eventually ready to bail on the job like he's been told to do when he starts hacking up bits of lung, so Action Sammy swings into gear (and gets to drive the Impala for the first time this season), busting up the coven's latinations to shove the business end of The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Can't into the ladies' faces. Alas, The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Can't lives up to its name when it fails to blow the undercover dark demonic force away, so it's left to Ruby and her luxuriant tresses to save the boys' tantalizing asses.
And in the end, we learn something special about Ruby that I've totally forgotten about because I really don't care, but I think it involved her getting completely polluted seven days before her twenty-first birthday and then being dimwitted enough to lie about her identity when the Arizona State Police pulled over the SUV she was riding in. How is that going to affect Dashing El Deano's imminent journey to The Underworld? Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Rattle, Rattle THEN!, and never have I been so grateful for the previously sequence on this show, because it feels like they haven't aired a new episode in three years, and I don't remember ninety percent of the crap that takes up the full minute of airtime (in an episode that clocks in at barely thirty-nine minutes without the commercials, by the way, and just to let you know in advance why this recap might end up being unusually brief). So, long story short, then: Ruby The Sparkly-Haired Demon -- seriously, she's like a My Little Pony from Hell -- came from out of nowhere with a Knife That Can Kill Anything (And Actually Does), much to the befuddlement of Our Intrepid Heroes and their grizzled mentor, Bobby, before assisting that self-same grizzled mentor in reconstructing The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't and promising Darling Sammy to help Dashing El Deano out of that deal the latter made with The Saucy And Now Deceased Crossroads Demonette at the end of last season. Meanwhile, Sam might be soap, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because oh, my holy God, did you see what he did to Whackjob Gordon's neck? "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, flailing himself into a tizzy of glee on his overstuffed armchair over the chance to witness such awe-inspiring awfulness once more. "It was decapitation with razor wire!" Raoul howls, giddily clapping his paws together while unnecessarily reminding longtime viewers of what that scene involved, and I am thus forced to make shushing noises in Raoul's general direction, for after Princess Sparkle's vow to be a "little fallen angel" on one of Darling Sammy's remarkably broad shoulders gets run through the METAL TEETH CHOMP!, it's time for the...
...Silence, Silence NOW! The camera pans across the darkened master bedroom just now emerging from the gloom until it lands on a pair of exquisitely attired silhouettes entering from the hall. As the tuxedoed gentleman flicks on a light, his gorgeous wife snaps into well-lit view to sigh about the wretchedly dreary party they'd been forced to attend earlier in the evening, and because I've seen this show before and thus understand that this pre-credits sequence will not end well for either of these people, let's allow them to kiss and purr and canoodle at each other in peace for what certainly will be the absolute last time in their woefully brief lives, shall we? Good. While they're doing that, then, let's jump with the camera as it cuts over to a fearsomely toothy brunette striking a match as she chants Craptin I'll make no attempt to transcribe, because I happily stopped transcribing Craptin two blessed years ago, and I'll be damned if I'm ever picking up that unfortunate habit again. As the brunette touches the match to a white candle's wick, Doomed Wife sashays into the master suite's bathroom to remove her expensive-looking jewelry in front of the mirror, quite justifiably admiring her reflection the entire time. The Craptin continues underneath, and the camera leaps back to the brunette's den of terrifyingly toothy iniquity to pan across a variety of disgusting tools of the voodoo trade before rejoining Doomed Wife, who's about to brush her teeth, and already my hand is flying to my mouth in anticipatory sympathetic agony, because we can all see where this is going, right? Right.
For her part, the chanting brunette unwraps a toothbrush atop her foul, witchy altar, hoists an athame into the air, and slices open a gouge in her right palm to start dripping globbets of blood all over the bristles. Meanwhile, Doomed Wife obliviously scours away at the inside of her mouth until..."GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" For yes, gentle reader, Doomed Wife is now fussing with one of her canines, which promptly pulls free from her gums with a sickeningly wet sucking sound and not a small amount of blood. "Oh, God!" breathes Doomed Wife, staring at the pulpy tooth now resting in the palm of her hand. "Just you wait, little missy!" Raoul shriekily taunts, pointing an overly excited (albeit perfectly manicured) claw at the television screen. "It gets worse!" I, meanwhile, have burrowed backwards into the sofa with both hands clapped firmly over my mouth in a ridiculous attempt to keep all of my teeth in their proper place, because -- and I'm not sure if you've figured this out yet -- this sort of mouth shit freaks me the fuck out. As the brunette continues to dribble blood on the bristles, Doomed Wife starts working her tongue around, then reaches in to pull out one of her molars, and I can't! Sorry! I can't watch this anymore! "But Demian, darling!" chides Raoul. "It's simply delightful!" You can delight your scaly way straight to Hell, Raoul, because I am not watching this anymore. "Your loss!" Raoul cheerfully shrieks just as an increasingly anguished Doomed Wife screams for her husband, "Paul," who arrives just in time to watch as the bathroom door slams shut and locks itself of its own accord. DUN! "Janet?" Paul bellows, immediately pounding against the wood, but it's of no use, for as the brunette ratchets up the Craptin, Doomed Janet suddenly clutches at both her stomach and her mouth before doubling over the sink to vomit tooth after blood-spattered tooth across the white porcelain. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Shut up, Raoul. "You hush up your own self!" Raoul shoots back. "After all, I'm not the pantywaisted little sissy cringing in terror over a bathroom sink absolutely brimming with rent mouthflesh!" I hate Raoul so much sometimes.
Doomed Janet pulls herself upright for a moment, spastically hacking up yet more blood from somewhere deep in her throat, and the camera leaps from her tortured form just in time to land upon the brunette jamming her athame into her own bloodied toothbrush with a violence. At that moment, the bathroom door quietly unlocks itself and swings open, and Poor Paul stands gape-faced in horror when it swings far enough to reveal his wife, sprawled across the marble tile with half of her bodily fluids fanning out from her now thoroughly dead (and thoroughly de-toothed) mouth. Back at the sink, one of Dead Janet's incisors surfs across copious amounts of grue to launch itself into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieks Raoul, who has become more forgiving of this season's title card since they so fabulously altered it for the Christmas special. "However!" Raoul hastens to remind me. "I still find last season's far superior!" You and everyone else, my scaly friend.
"She was so scared," Poor Paul sighs, reliving The Night In Question for the benefit of the LYING LIARS WHO LIE, here masquerading as investigators from The Centers For Disease Control. While The Ginormotron snoopily noses his fifteen-foot frame through the master suite's now-spotless bathroom, Poor Paul continues, "I couldn't help -- I couldn't do anything to stop it." "You wouldn't have had to," Raoul interrupts, "if you hadn't cheated on her glamorously gorgeous behind in the first place!" and dude! Spoiler! "Oh, like anyone reading this doesn't already know, you silly little man!" Raoul chides as he flaps a dismissive and impressively clawed paw directly in my face. "Now carry on with your little story already so we can get to the maggots! Whee!" I swear to God, Raoul. One of these days...
In any event, as Dashing El Deano babbles about viruses and disease trajectories and whatnot, Darling Sammy fumbles through various feminine hygiene products in the can until he pulls an ominous-looking cloth bag out from beneath the sink, and his remarkably broad-shouldered self reemerges into the bedroom proper just as Philandering Paul's vaguely insisting that no one could possibly want to harm his poor, cheated-on, and recently deceased wife. In fact, "everyone loved" her, or so he stresses, but something in the tone of his faltering voice leads Our Intrepid Heroes to exchange Looks Fraught With Significance. Dean thanks the worthless man-slut for the latter's time, and the boys head out into the rain to yammer about Philandering Paul's suspicious demeanor while also examining the "hex bag" Darling Sammy found in the bathroom. "Awwww, gross," Dean mopes, picking open the bag to reveal the bird bones and rabbit's teeth that comprise its contents. Part of the wrapping, incidentally, is likely cut from a piece of cloth Dead Janet owned, just in case you're the sort of bizarre freak who wants to try this at home. "So we're thinking witch?" Dean guesses. "Yep," Sam basically agrees as the two settle into the Impala's front seat with a matched pair of weary grunts. After a beat, Dean pivots to face Sam and announce quite sincerely, "I hate witches -- always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere? It's downrightunsanitary!" Try recapping it for six...nah, too easy. "That's never stopped you before!" Cram it, Raoul. "There's no call to get snippy, I'm sure!"
ANY-way, Our Dear Boys natter at each other regarding the case at hand for a bit, realize they haven't a clue who's responsible, and the Impala grumbles off into the downpour. !
Elsewhere in this suburban idyll, a brunette named Elizabeth tends to her flower garden while an equally brunette neighbor, Amanda, arrives at her house door and begins toting groceries inside. Elizabeth calls out a greeting that takes more than a few moments to register with a visibly distracted Amanda, so Elizabeth ventures to ask, "Are you okay, sweetie?" "You didn't come to book club last night," Elizabeth adds, apparently sincere concern flooding her tone. Amanda apologizes and dithers that she was going to call about that and that she "just got busy" but she's fine -- really! -- before she side-skitters into her house. And if her clearly suspicious demeanor and LIES didn't betray her true identity as Dead Janet's Craptinating killer to the audience here, those huge friggin' horse teeth of hers certainly did. Well, those huge friggin' horse teeth and the thick wad of gauze wrapped around her recently injured right hand. "Don't forget about the maggot-infested chicken dinner she's been cultivating in her range for at least the last eleven and a half days!" Raoul hastens to shriek, and oh, my scaly friend, how ever could I overlook something as disgusting as that? "'Disgusting'?!" Raoul begs to differ. "I do believe you mean 'delicious'!" I'm sure I do, Raoul. I'm sure I do. For yes, gentle reader, Amanda's just now retrieving a plate of half-rotted whole roast chicken from her kitchen oven, and she and her horse teeth and her penciled-in eyebrows gaze down upon the -- ahem -- delicious mass of wriggling larvae for a very lengthy period of time until the camera cross-fades over to...
...the crescent moon suspended above a late-night bar and grill, across the street from which has parked Philandering Paul with his take-out dinner on the seat beside him, and yeah, the rat-shit bastard cheated on his gorgeous wife, but this moment actually makes me feel sad for the guy, because whether he cheated on her or not, the first scene made it clear how much he really cared for her, and she's dead now, and he obviously couldn't bear to remain in That House alone yet another night, and so here he is, lost and forlorn, parked across the street from a dive bar in the rain, getting ready to force down some crappy chunks of fried grease while listening to Poison on the radio, so come on: Don't you feel a little sorry for him? "Absolutely not!" Raoul roars, contempt practically dripping from his impressive maw. "That spineless little slug can just drop dead, for all I care! Janet was fabulous!" Raoul, obviously, has Issues with gentlemen who cheat on their wives. I think it's why he's been refusing to watch Mad Men with me. "Don't get me started!" Raoul seethes. "'"Don" Draper,' indeed! You just know that cretinous little twerp's real name is Dave!" Um, actually, his n -- "Silence!" Raoul roars. "His name is Dave!" "Now do get back to your lovely story so I can see the maggots again!" he titters. As you wish, Raoul.
I wasn't kidding with the Poison thing, by the way. Yep, Poor Philandering Phil switches his car stereo on and finds Poison right in the middle of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." Sad little Phil takes a sad little bite of his sad little cheeseburger, and as the luridly overdone power ballad continues beneath the action, the camera cuts over to Horsey Amanda placing her maggoty feast upon that same foul, witchy altar from the top of the hour, and again, my hands are involuntarily flying to my mouth in anticipatory sympathetic agony, because the only thing worse than having your teeth fall out of your mouth is biting into a bit of food and finding something that most certainly should not be there. Did I mention that mouth shit freaks me the fuck out? "You did!" Good. So. Anyway. Just as Philandering Paul notices his watch is missing -- and whatever to that, show -- Horsey Amanda's placing the purloined timepiece in question atop the squirmy pile of rotting chicken in her living room. Craptination ensues, and Horsey Amanda punctuates it all by crazily hissing, "This dinner was cooked for you, Paul. Arthur. Dutton!" right before she plunges her athame into the gooey, slithering mess on the plate. "Now you're going to eat it!" she asserts, Manson Lamps aglow, and I think Raoul's on the verge of whizzing himself again. "WHEEEEEEE!"
Back in the car, the radio inexplicably yet awesomely buzzes and squeals and retunes itself far up the dial, and when it settles somewhere around 106.66 KISS-FM, Screamin' Jay Hawkins is, well, screaming. "I Put A Spell On You," to be precise. Philandering Paul's apparently not a fan of such ludicrously obvious musical selections, and quickly switches the stereo off, eliciting further howls of outrage and disgust from your faithful recapper's faithfully scaly friend. "It's Screamin' Jay Hawkins!" Raoul shrieks, appalled. "And he's a wild man, so this heartless miscreant can just bug off!" Actually, now that you mention it... "Hee! See what I did there?!" Yes, Raoul, we all see what you did there. Very nice. For yes, as Philandering Paul set aside his cheeseburger for a moment to flick off the radio, a torrent of maggots spilled from the bun, and I don't know if I can handle another goddamned second of this. "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieks Raoul, who most certainly can. So, in the silence now occupying the car, Poor Paul grabs the cheeseburger from its wrapper once again, and he then -- after taking a moment to ponder the fleeting nature of life, or something -- raises the cheeseburger to his mouth, and -- wait for it -- bites into the writhing mass of maggots now consuming his dinner. "GOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I've got to look away before I hurl. "Wimp!"
Paul's bellow of shock and revulsion would be mighty, indeed, had he not apparently aspirated some of the maggots. God, I hate this show. The radio chooses this moment to switch itself back on, and Screamin' Jay Hawkins howls away in the background as Paul frantically scrabbles with the door's handle to plunge headlong onto the slick asphalt, where he chokes and gags and spits up maggots just as Metallicar leaps up behind him from points unknown. Action Ginormotron scrambles to wedge the entirety of his fifteen-foot frame beneath the steering column, and while he gropes around for the hex bag he's certain to find, Dashing El Deano pounds away at Paul's hacking back. "Got it!" Sam eventually shouts, and he yanks himself back outside where he quickly deploys some sort of piston-hinged turbo jet-lighter to immolate both the bag and its contents.
Back at Horsey Amanda's, her carefully prepared feast goes up in flames. "Rats!" shrieks Raoul. "All that lovely food! Such a waste!" You scare me, dragon man. "My pleasure, I'm sure!"
Car. At Raging El Deano's shouty request, Philandering Phil admits to his sordid affair and starts naming names.
Horsey Amanda's. The witch of the house frantically flips through her -- yes, and ugh, and kill me now -- Book Of Shadows until some invisible dark demonic force whirls through her living room, extinguishing the candles. Horsey Amanda darts her crazy eyes around the room during the brief silence that follows, then doubles over in excruciating pain when that same invisible dark demonic force slices a jagged gash lengthways down the inside of her forearm. As Horsey Amanda begs for her life, or something, The Force slashes that forearm twice more before repeating the process on said forearm's opposite. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Raoul shrieks, writhing himself into an ecstatic frenzy over how utterly disgusting this evening's been thus far. Faaaaaaaaab-ulous!" Raoul agrees. Horsey Amanda screams and screams and screams until she bleeds out and flops forward directly into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!, most stickily dead indeed.
Horsey Amanda's. Aftermath. Our Intrepid Heroes pick the lock and enter with their weapons at the ready. "Dirty!" shrieks Raoul. I think the dear thing's still punchy from the earlier festivities, because I clearly meant their guns. "Absolutely filthy!" Oh, whatever, Raoul. So, in any event, Sam and Dean creep through the first floor until they find the witch of this manor splayed across her coffee table, still dead. "Well, that's a curveball," Dean huffs. They start poking around the place until Dean spins around to find...a dead rabbit, dangling from the ceiling! "DUN!" the soundtrack quite literally DUN!s, and if you'll pardon me, soundtrack, I think I'll be the one who decides what's a DUN! around here and what's not, thank you very much. "Why does the rabbit always get screwed in the deal?" Dean demands, eyeing the mangy rodent's corpse before adding a mournful, "Poor little guy." Heh. Sam redirects Dean's attention to the rapidly cooling witch corpse they have at their feet, and wonders why she went through all the trouble of hexing Janet and Paul, only to off herself in the end. Dean supposes it was one of those love-triangle murder/suicide things you hear so much about on the TV, but unfortunately for this theory, Sam quickly discovers yet another hex bag affixed to the coffee table's underside. "Looks like we got a little witch-on-witch violence," Dean grumps, annoyed that this episode still has twenty-seven minutes left to go, so clearly they'll have to hunt down another frigging coven. Dean makes a hasty call to alert the proper authorities regarding Horsey Amanda's untimely demise, and then Our Intrepid Heroes -- who are still on the FBI's most wanted list, last time I checked -- stand around chatting with each other for four hours instead of getting the hell out of Dodge while the proper authorities race to the scene. Oh, show. Oh, stupid, stupid show.
Another Frigging Coven. And, wow. I don't give a shit about any of these people, so let's keep this short: That "book club" Elizabeth mentioned earlier to Horsey Amanda? Is actually a Book Of Shadows Club, whose members also include an unremarkable blonde named Renee and a chic little sassily bobbed brunette named Tammi, so we know Tammi's the evil one. "You can tell by her positively diabolical French manicure!" Raoul agrees. To be perfectly honest, though, they're actually trying to push the rather selfish and amoral Renee as the dark demonic force in this situation, but I'm not buying it, because she's being too obvious about it. Anywho, Elizabeth enters Renee's tastefully appointed parlor for another Book Of Shadows Club meeting, but she's terribly unnerved and distressed over the untimely demise of both Dead Janet and the Horsey Amanda who killed her, and so wants to shut Book Of Shadows Club down. Tammi and Renee -- but most especially Renee -- talk Elizabeth out of this silly little notion, partly by insisting that Horsey Amanda was batshit insane and therefore not truly representative of Book Of Shadows Club's purpose and intent, but mainly by reminding Elizabeth of all the material gains they've enjoyed since the club began. So, long story short, they're all greedy little WASP women who deserve the gruesome deaths this episode has waiting for them at the end. Agreed? Excellent. Because when they kneel around Renee's coffee table, clasp hands, and start chanting, I find myself flung into an acid flashback involving wonky eyes, cooter tats, spasmodic twitching, and Brian Krause, and so am eager to fast-forward to the scene.
Ah. That's better. The day, Our Intrepid Heroes saunter on up to Elizabeth -- who's tending once again to her worm-infested garden, natch -- and introduce themselves as Detectives Bachman and Turner, there to pepper the late Horsey Amanda's friends and neighbors with questions regarding the deceased's last days on earth. First, though, Darling Sammy goes out of his way to compliment Elizabeth on her mad gardening skillz. "Getting these herbs to grow out of season like this?" he offers, spinning a finger around above the herbs in question. "It's quite impressive." Elizabeth rather non-subtly freaks, because she is of course harnessing all the forces of Hell to keep her shrubbery green through the cruel winter months. Or something like that. Our Intrepid Heroes then proceed to blow little Lizzie's mind by revealing that they know all about the astonishing variety of disgusting tools of the voodoo trade Horsey Amanda kept in her house, and wonder if Little Lizzie might be able to shed some further light on the matter. Little Lizzie's about to fold like a cheap suit when Renee and Tammi materialize from nowhere to stand on either side of their friend and co-conspirator, and the two arrivals -- Renee in particular -- manage with masterful amounts of efficiency to freeze the now supremely suspicious boys right out of the neighborhood. !
Night. The Impala chews up a length of lonely and fog-enshrouded highway before the camera hops inside the front seat, where Dashing El Deano's admitting, "I'm already sold on that Elizabeth chick." "You see that Victory Garden of hers?" he snorts, displaying shocking amounts of historical acumen for someone who admittedly received all of his book-larnin' fromSchoolhouse Rock. Shut up, Supernatural. Anyway, Dean goes on to note that said Victory Garden contained belladonna, wolfsbane, and mandrake, among other occult-related weeds, and Darling Sammy jumps into the expository fray with a bunch of related research he's managed to dig up on the various witches involved, but as the audience already knows they're greedy little Satan-worshipping WASP women who deserve the gruesome deaths this episode has waiting for them, let's skip ahead to the bit where Metallicar buzzes and blinks and shudders to an unexpected stop at the side of the road, shall we? "What the hell?" I'm sure Dean spits when the headlights reveal Sparkly-Haired Ruby waiting for them in the night, and for a very long moment, I thought Darling Sammy snarked a sarcastic, "Groovy!" of his own upon seeing the demonette in question, but then I realized The Padalecki was just garbling her name for some reason. This is Dean's first encounter with Princess Sparkle, by the way, and his immediate reaction is of course to level The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't at her luxuriantly coiffed head. Alas, because Katie Cassidy remains slated for at least another installment in this strike-shortened season, there will be no spectacular examples of face-shooting gore to send Raoul into yet another tizzy of glee this episode. "Oh, pooh!" Relax, hon -- we've still got a few neck-snappings and back-stabbings to go before we're done. "Hooray!"
So, long story short, because we've suddenly found ourselves in the middle of an exposition-heavy bridge episode, here's what Princess Sparkle has to say for herself: Sam and Dean -- but most especially Sam, since he's the one she really cares about, especially because Dim Dean's about to check out permanently, thereby leaving his ginormous revenant of a brother otherwise utterly defenseless -- have to exit town, pronto, because the dark demonic force supporting the frigging coven is way more than Our Intrepid Heroes can handle. Dean's not pleased in the least to be hearing any of this crap, especially from a "black-eyed skank" like Princess Sparkle here, and so starts getting very, very LOUD with her until his itchy trigger finger finally slips into action. Sam, who of course possesses a certain amount of grudging trust in the demonette because of her earlier promise to him, howls, "NO!" and manages to bat The Fucking Colt away from Ruby's face at the last instant. As the gunshot reverberates though the night, Our Dear Boys swing themselves back around, only to discover that Ruby's vanished. Ooops! Also? METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Later that evening, Our Intrepid Heroes arrive at this week's motel, which seems to have a free-floating Man Of La Mancha vibe about it, which unfortunately is one of the most interesting aspects of the scene that follows, as said scene is full of shouts of betrayal! and stupidity! and reminders of War! and The Deal! among other examples of rampant internecine douchebaggery, so long story short, Sam's going to keep on trusting Princess Sparkle, and there's nothing Dean can do about it, so there, and la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Sam can't hear you, Dean! Dean, for his part, finally -- finally -- confronts his brother over that whole Zombie Sam's Only 99.44% Pure stuff that's been lingering since last season's finale, and Sam -- bless him -- admits that yeah, he's been a little more eager for bloodshed recently, but only because Dean's about to leave him to go to Hell, and Sam's "got to stay here in this craphole of a world, alone," and must therefore make a conscious effort to toughen himself up to El Deano levels of bad-assery if he's to survive. Dean's about to have a smart answer for that when he unexpectedly doubles over in pain. Ruh-roh. Sam immediately starts ransacking their room in search of the hex bag he knows is present, even going to far as to rip the mattress open with a knife, but alas! He finds nothing, so as Dean begins choking and gagging and vomiting blood onto the linoleum, Sam grabs The Fucking Colt, snatches up the car keys, and the thing we know, he's...
...driving the Impala! Certain elements of this show's fan base are certain to be pleased with this development, I'm sure. Meanwhile...
...The Charmed Ones Craptinate until Deluxe Action Sammy With Super-Special Glow-In-The-Dark Breaking-And-Entering Feet boots in Renee's front door and threatens the trio with The Fucking Colt. The Charmed Ones feign ignorance. Well, one of them does, at any rate.
Meanwhile, Dean's still dying. Well, until Deluxe Action Ruby With Super-Special Glow-In-The-Dark Breaking-And-Entering Feet boots in the room's door and starts force-feeding him some foul-looking liquid from the boda bag she's slung around her shoulder. Groovy. And when she's done, she stands astride his still-prone form and sneers, "Stop. Calling. Me. Bitch!" Super-groovy.
Halliwell Manor. Sam displays some of that Dean-style bad-assery he's been so assiduously cultivating this season by cocking The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't, and threatening to blow The Glamorous Ladies away in five seconds if they don't admit to everything and reverse the mojo they tossed in his brother's direction. Paige insists that they were just trying to secure a lower interest rate for Phoebe, which totally confuses Sam, because he thought their names were Elizabeth and Renee.
Back at the motel, Princess Sparkle calmly informs Dean that the time he cocks The Fucking Colt at her, she's shoving it up his ass. "The mouth on that young lady!" Raoul shrieks, clutching his nonexistent pearls with an appalled paw. "Honestly, what are they teaching all these silly little children nowadays?!" Dim Dean, for his foul-mouthed part, insists the brackish liquid from Ruby's groovy boda bag tasted exactly like ass, and wonders what the hell it is. "Witchcraft, shortbus," Princess Sparkle sneers, right before prancing on out of the room. "You're the shortbus," Infantile El Deano counters at her disappearing back, and I snicker, because Infantile El Deano and I will both be skipping merrily into the flaming maw of Hell at season's end. Hand-in-hand, even! "That's the most precious thing I've heard all year!" Thanks, my scaly friend, but the year's barely five weeks old. "Exactly my point!" Bitch.
Stately Halliwell Manor. Phoebe and Paige, because they are weak and backsliding, predictably continue to mewl and quaver under Deluxe Action Sammy's withering glare, but surprisingly enough, it's tough-as-nails Piper who really throws the grand-mal nervous breakdown under Deluxe Action Sammy's ruthless questioning. Until, you know, she pulls an Ava and calmly wipes away her crocodile tears while allowing her eyes to flip beetle-black. DUN! "I told you she was evil!" Raoul shrieks in a chiding tone of voice. "French manicures are the work of Satan himself!" The more you know. Deluxe Action Sammy With Super-Special Dean-Style Bad-Assery politely listens to Demonic Piper's speechifying for a moment before squeezing the trigger on The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't, which lives up to its nickname when Demonic Piper raises one of her Hands to flip a little freezing mojo at the bullet zipping towards her face. Which, you know, the actual Piper was too brain-dead to consider whenever she should have just frozen the fucking guns already on that godforsaken show, so a hearty brava to Tammi here, gang! As the frozen bullet drops harmlessly to the floor, Demonic Piper allows a self-satisfied grin to spread across her face as she taunts, "You're in a lot of trouble, Sam!" Deluxe Action Sammy With Super-Special Glow-In-The-Dark Pants-Pissing Action unleashes a stream of urine down his impossibly lengthy leg that, in the fullness of time, eventually trickles into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Manor. Post-Revelation Aftermath. Demonic Piper unleashes her Mighty Hands Of Discontent in Deluxe Action Sammy's general direction, and The Ginormotron howls and wails and blazes his merry way down The Waste Land. End of the series, kids! Hope you had fun!
Kidding. Demonic Piper actually unleashes one of her Mighty Hands Of Discontent and telekinetically flings Deluxe Action Sammy against the far wall, where he remains pinned and mute for the rest of this scene. So much for those Dean levels of bad-assery he's been so assiduously cultivating this season, huh? Then again, it's always a pleasure to see Darling Sammy getting choked by one of the Demons Of The Week, even if it is only telekinetically. Meanwhile, The Feebs lights into Demonic Piper and shrills something obnoxious and self-serving about the proper care and feeding of potential slampieces, so Demonic Piper snaps the bony hag's neck. Which, again: TOO LATE AND WRONG SHOW, PIPER. Also unfortunately, Demonic Piper decides she'd rather speechify at great length regarding her identity and grand plan rather than, oh, I don't know, just fucking killing everyone already, and because The Demonic Piper On This Show has thus become just as stultifyingly blockheaded as Any Piper On That Other Show, we will be skipping through this and all of her subsequent scenes to get to the point, such as it is. Long story short, Demonic Piper's been tricking stupid women like Paige, Phoebe, and Horsey Amanda -- who, to keep this whole Charmed/Supernatural February Sweeps Crossover Extravaganza! thing going, should probably be called The Lispy Bimbo, though I'll be damned if I'm heading back to her sssscenessss to add eksssstra essssssssessss to everything sssshe ssssaid, and where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Demonic Piper's been tricking dimwitted morons into her service for centuries, and once she has the simpering bints firmly under her control, she offs them and keeps their souls for all eternity. So why is Paige still breathing, PIPER? GOD! DAMMIT!
ANY-way! Christ! Now, where the fuck was I? Oh, yeah, that's right: This endless fucking scene. So, Darling Sammy's pinned to the wall and quite possibly mute -- though I can't be certain on that last point because my ears started bleeding three entire seconds into Demonic Piper's completely unnecessary monologue and I can't hear anything these people are saying anyway -- leaving Demonic Piper to natter on and on and ON about how Darling Sammy's rival for control of The Underworld -- whom I believe is either The Source or The Wicked Witch Of The West, so take your pick -- has ordered Sam's immediate execution, which I'm sure is why Demonic Piper WON'T SHUT UP AND KILL HIM ALREADY. Or something like that. This scene is beating what's left of my scattered little brain into a pulp. "Tasty!" Quiet, Raoul. So, in any event, Dashing El Deano busts in on all of this absolutely gripping dramatic action, but Demonic Piper just flips out another Hand to sling El Deano ass over end into another wall. Meanwhile, Paige continues to live.
And because this scene wasn't BORING enough, Princess Sparkle arrives with the shocking -- shocking -- revelation that she, too, was once one of Demonic Piper's human minions, and she'd like to effect a reconciliation with her former dark demonic overlady, starting this instant! Generalized consternation erupts amongst the various onlookers WHO SHOULD ALL BE DEAD BY NOW as Ruby s-l-o-w-l-y picks her way across the floor to hike her secretly lesbionic tongue down Demonic Piper's equally secretly lesbionic throat. Well, they get pretty close, at any rate, much to Dean's heterosexually Neanderthal glee. And then? PSYCH!
Princess Sparkle was just fucking with everybody! Isn't she cute? She actually wanted to get that close to Demonic Piper so she could skewer her former dark demonic overlady with The Knife That Can Kill Anything And Actually Does! Aw. She's so sly and cunning. Unfortunately for her, Demonic Piper's got some wicked fast reflexes for a dipshit, and the whole thing quickly devolves into a hair-pulling chick fight of epic proportions. I'll spare you the details. Suffice to say that after the two ladies more or less destroy Halliwell Manor's heretofore tastefully appointed parlor, Demonic Piper's the one left standing. Also left standing? Paige. WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD TEN PARAGRAPHS AGO. God! Yep, as Demonic Piper continues to speechify instead of immolating every idiot in the room, Paige hustles over to the altar, dumps a bunch of hatpins out of a bowl, and sets to Craptinating. After a moment, Demonic Piper doubles over in agony, clutching at her stomach while vomiting out copious amounts of blood across the floorboards, eventually spitting out a fistful of hatpins as well. No, I don't know how that happened, and no, I'm not going to try to figure it out, because why? That's right: THIS SHOW BLOWS, AND I WANT TO DIE. Speaking of dying, guess who's not? Everyone in the room, because Demonic Piper's been so distracted that Sam and Dean come sliding off the walls while Princess Sparkle recovers sufficiently from her earlier injuries to become, once again, a viable threat. Probably. I mean, I'm pretty sure about that last bit. But, oh! Look at that! Demonic Piper finally buys a clue and telekinetically stops Paige's heart. About fucking time, you nitwit, but it's still too goddamned late, because while you were so busy squeezing the life out of a woman who should have been slaughtered three hours ago, Super-Smart El Deano's snatched up The Knife That Can Kill Anything And Actually Does and is now plunging it repeatedly into your back. Way to go, Demonic Piper. Way. To. Go.
And in the wreckage of what was once Halliwell Manor, Princess Sparkle orders Our Intrepid Heroes to flee, promising to clean up the mess herself. As Ruby bends to yank The Knife That Can Kill Anything And Actually Does from Demonic Piper's back, Our Intrepid Heroes scamper into the final METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Motel Of The Week, which is actually "The Conquistador." Hee. Sam splashes water on his face in the bathroom while outside, Dean's decided to take a little head-clearing stroll past the cabins. Suddenly, all of the lights start buzzing and blinking and flickering on and off. DUN! Oh, my bad. It's just Princess Sparkle, there to kick-start the Weekly Summation with Dashing El Deano, and as I was completely over this episode about twenty minutes ago, let's keep this brief, shall we? "By all means!" Thank you, Raoul. Long story short, Princess Sparkle was, indeed, a human flung into the fiery pits of Hell as a result of her amorous encounters with Demonic Piper way back during The Black Death, and eventually, after a lengthy period of time, she somehow got herself transformed into a demon, as all human souls do eventually. Just go with it. No, seriously. No. Seriously. Just go with it, because we've got another three and a half goddamned minutes of these two blathering at each other, and I want this over, like, last week. In any event, Ruby's in fact never met a fellow demon who wasn't originally human. For some reason, this surprises Dean, despite the fact that it was established during the first season that everything they fight -- ghosts, shape-shifters, their worthless bastard of a so-called father -- was human at some point. Eventually, however, he decides to allow her this point, and of course then begins to fret about What It All Means For Him. Princess Sparkle is all, "Duuuuuh, halfwit. Have you not been listening to a fucking word I've said?" Dean: "...Maybe?" So, Princess Sparkle lays it all out for him in no uncertain terms: Because of The Deal, Dean will eventually, with time, become the thing he hates most. No, not his father. A demon, just like her. Only not just like her, because for some reason, while every other demon in Hell had his or her lingering humanity burnt away in the neverending fire, Ruby somehow managed to emerge from the centuries-long ordeal with some tattered remnant of herself intact. And that's why she wants to help Sam -- so he can win The War That's Going To Start Any Minute Now, We Promise, and thereby save the world she so fondly remembers from her time topside. "Why, that makes all the sense in the world!" Sarcasm is so ugly on you, Raoul. Tsk. "Hee!" In any event, Dean's barely had time to process this last bit of exposition when Princess Sparkle vanishes as quickly and quietly as she'd arrived. The camera leaps overhead to linger upon Our Intrepid Hero, lonely and forlorn in the motel parking lot, before finally cutting to black.
"Thank God that's over with!" shrieks Raoul, tremendously disheartened by the way yet another initially promising episode fell apart halfway through. "I'd like a drink!" In a moment, my scaly friend -- remember, we have to cover week's promo first. "Oooh! Can I? CanIcanIcanI?!" If you must. "Whee! Gather close, my pretties!"
"So, week, that dear little hairy man with all the trucker caps is in a coma! I know! And he apparently keeps having all sorts of positively horrendous coma-related dreams that are absolutely killing him dead! So, it's left to those darling young men we all know and like so much to save him! And how do they manage that, I hear all my pretties asking?! Well, how should I know?! It's not like anyone around here ever tells me anything! Honestly! The way they treat me is simply scandalous! But no matter, my lovelies, because it's time for cocktails! Booze for everyone! Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" Say goodnight, Raoul. "Goodnight, Raoul! Hee! I always wanted to do that!" Oy.