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When the highly unusual death of a hard-charging (read: bitchy) real estate agent in tiny Prosperity, Indiana, makes it on to the Internet, Our Intrepid Heroes have little choice but to motor on over to investigate, and they quickly find a connection between the ambitious (read: shrewish) real estate agent and several other local residents, at least two of whom have also died under extraordinary circumstances. You see, Wendy Goodson -- whose extremely gratifying electrocution-by-salon-dryer opened the episode -- had teamed up with architect Carl Dunlap, contractor Dewey Stevens, and developer Don Stark (James Marsters) on a lucrative land deal that would have involved the construction of Madison County's largest shopping mall had the partnership not collapsed. Shortly thereafter, of course, Carl boiled to death in his hot tub, Wendy's salon took the concept of hair-burning to delightful new heights, and Dewey ended up tacked to the inside of a Port-O-Let when one of his pneumatic nail guns decided to go rogue.
Naturally, Sam and Dean fret that Don's , and so head to the graciously appointed Stark mansion to interview him. They soon discover the guy's in the middle of a messy divorce from his wife, Maggie (Charisma Carpenter), brought on by his inability to keep it in his pants, and that the late, unlamented Wendy Goodson just so happened to be the lucky recipient of Stark's affections. Thanks to Sam's sly snooping, which turns up a shoebox full of various witchy implements, and Bobby's off-camera detective work, which identifies coins found at the site of each death as Romanian hex ducats, Our Intrepid Heroes quickly realize Maggie's a massive hag and so begin to take the appropriate steps to slaughter her. Of course, there's a problem: Don's also a massive hag, and he and Maggie have been in an eight-hundred-year witch-on-manwitch relationship fraught with romantic and sexual indiscretions on both their parts, which means this little flare-up in Prosperity isn't exactly something new for these people. Don and Maggie are also far too powerful for Sam and Dean to kill, so the boys attempt a little marriage counseling instead, and wouldn't you know it? It works.
Unfortunately, Maggie's extremely petty, so Don has to hop on over to This Week's Motel Room to remove the ancient Romanian death ducats Maggie placed beneath the boys' pillows, the better to kill them for trying to kill her. Good thing Don stops by, though, 'cause remember that Leviathanically enhanced customer service agent from a couple of episodes ago? Yeah, he's finally returned to snack on Sam and Dean's livers, and thus things are looking pretty dire, indeed, for Our Intrepid Heroes when Don rather fortuitously comes charging through the motel room door to cast a spell that magically electrocutes the Leviathan, temporarily rendering the beast unconscious. How convenient. Of course, Our Intrepid Idiots then proceed to let the manwitch and his mad Leviathan-sporking skillz escape, because why keep him around to help out with this season's over-arching storyline when they can babble at each other out by the Impala about trust and guilt and Dean's drinking and Sam's massive sideburns instead? Stupid show.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN! Briefly: Dean hated witches, Leviathans exist, one Leviathan in particular developed a special fondness for cheese, Darling Sammy met Amy Pond and Dashing El Deano killed her.
Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW! We open on an upscale hair-and-nail salon, where we find an indifferently coiffed hairburner of the male persuasion leading a rather strident young woman over towards the salon's bank of industrial-strength space-age dryers. The woman's evidently getting her roots did, but that's really beside the point because what we should actually be focusing on are the words she's spewing into her cell phone at the moment. "Kaaaaa-ren!" she whines at her never-heard chatting companion. "Don't second-guess yourself! Yes, your house is beautiful, but didn't you tell me a million times that it's Rick's dream house? Selling it is how you punish his ass, and after what you've been through, don't you deserve that?" So, Missy Strident's a rapacious real estate agent? Got it. She's also remarkably persuasive, because Kaaaaa-ren! clearly agrees to sell. "I'll have the papers ready tomorrow," Missy Strident promises and hangs up her phone to exult, "I'm not good -- I'm very good!" The 'burner chuckles, straps her into one of the industrial-strength space-age dryers, assures her he'll return in ten minutes, and exits.
A set of stenciled glass doors slides shut behind him, effectively sealing tonight's first bit of Monster Chow off from the others out in the salon proper and, thus left so entirely alone, Missy Strident proceeds to flip impatiently through an off-brand lady-mag. After a moment, she starts squirming around in discomfort, tugging at the neck of her powder-pink beauty cape as the temperature inside that massive plastic helmet rapidly ratchets up to Saharan levels. "Chriiiiiis?" she calls out to no avail, for Chriiiiiis cannot hear her above the obnoxious thumpa-thumpa of the anonymous disco track now blaring through the salon's speaker system. Missy Strident first tries to push the dryer off her head, but the thing seems inexplicably stuck in place, so she attempts to slither out from beneath the contraption, only to find herself slammed back up, ramrod-straight in her chair, by some unknown and invisible force. DUN! And as she screams, the dryer sizzles and zots, drilling a few flashing bolts of electricity into her skull while smoke pours out around her face, and her extremely high heels go flying off in two different directions as she kicks and spasms and howls and wails and finally goes limp in the chair. "Ohmigod!" Chriiiiiis gasps as he strolls back in from the salon proper, and when he gingerly lifts the dryer off the now most thoroughly dead real estate agent's head, the scorched plastic carries with it charred chunks of her scalp. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, writhing about atop his overstuffed armchair with a delight that only grows in volume when one of those charred chunks of scalp starts dripping vivid bits of gore onto the salon's otherwise spotless floor. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" For his part, Chriiiiiis unhinges his lower jaw to unleash a caterwauling cry of horror, but alas! The hairburner's sterling efforts leave him with little more than a mouthful of bitterly black demonic goo thanks to his lousy sense of timing and this evening's abruptly onrushing...
...SNOT ROCKET! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Looks like someone's awake tonight. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" You just gonna writhe, or do you actually have something of substance to add at this juncture? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll continue with the recap, then.
The camera fades up on the interior of This Week's Motel Room, where it finds one of Our Intrepid Heroes slumbering peacefully on one of the beds -- or is he? Dashing El Deano flinches in his sleep, and a quick dive down into his unconscious mind reveals a string of supposedly disturbing images, among them Castiel's reservoir-related disappearance from this season's second episode, Crazy Sammy squeezing off round after round at the invisible Lucifer who's living inside his head and Dead Amy Pond's final moments alive, and should I bother mentioning the fact that Dean wasn't actually present to witness one of these events? "You should not!" All-righty, then. In any event, what any of these things have to do with one another is anyone's guess, but Dozing El Deano's apparently so disturbed by what his brain's vomiting back at him that he bolts upright, all instantly awake and on-edge, and he pants and he sweats and he makes batshit-insane cross-eyes at the camera for a bit until he finally calms down and rises to fix himself a refreshing breakfast cocktail. "Atta girl!"
Moments later, Drunky El Deano drains the last of a bottle of whiskey whilst perusing the online municipal archives of Prosperity, Indiana, and his search for "FREAKY ACCIDENTS" has of course led him to an article detailing the gruesome pre-credits hair salon barbecue, but before he gets a chance to dig into the details, Darling Sammy jogs into the room, fresh from his morning run. Because, you know, Darling Sammy's a total health nut now that he's absolved himself from whatever the hell they were talking about at the end of last week's episode. "Somebody better be chasing you," Dean growls. "It's good for you!" Sam perks by way of response. "No, it's not good for you," Dean sneers. "You're a mess, and you stink!" Sam's all, "Whatever," and fetches himself an extortionately priced bottle of Gatorade from the room's mini-fridge while Dean succinctly details the results of his handy little drunken Internet search like so: "This one chick," he notes, "roasted underneath one of those beehive hair dryers at the hair salon, and this other guy boiled in a hot tub." "You don't see a lot of that," Sam admits. "No, you don't," Dean agrees, and the two prepare to motor on down to Prosperity to investigate. Of course, they must first spend several boring minutes batting their various Issues back and forth, but we'll be ignoring all of that in favor of hopping on over to...
...some random parking lot somewhere. That Leviathanically-enhanced customer service agent with the nacho cheese fixation from a couple of episodes ago totes a bag of supplies over to his car while chatting on his cell, presumably to the never-seen Edgar. The Leviathanically-enhanced customer service agent -- whose name is apparently "Chet," so you know -- apologizes most sincerely for taking so long with "this Winchester thing," and as he promises to catch up with Our Intrepid Heroes within the day or so, he pops the trunk on his no-doubt-stolen sedan to stow his purchases right to...a mangled, bloody corpse! DUN! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" That too, of course, and because this development has pleased Raoul so much, I'll not bitch about how awkward and flat this little interlude seems, and instead jump back to catch up with the...
...Impala, which is just now pulling into downtown Prosperity, and before we know it, Dapper Sam's interviewing the pre-credits corpse's grieving older sister. I'm assuming Dapper Sam's once again masquerading as an FBI agent, but given the circumstances surrounding the untimely demise of "Wendy Goodson," he could just as easily be telling this woman he's from OSHA. Which, you know, would be a nice change of pace. I mean, they've become a little over-reliant on the whole FBI drag over the last few years, haven't they? Remember when they used to have a different costume every week? I think my favorite was those ridiculous... "A-him!" Yes, Raoul? "You'll pardon me, I'm sure, but could you possibly find it in your heart to get to the point already, hmmm?!" Profuse apologies, my scaly friend. This scene's so remarkably dull, I'm afraid it all but forced me to wander off on that tangent. "All the more reason to race through it, then, yes!?" You're absolutely right. "Thanks!" Now, where was I? Oh, yes: Grieving Older Sister claims Dead Wendy had no enemies in town, and further asserts there was no connection whatsoever between Dead Wendy and the corpse from the hot tub, a local architect named "Carl Dunlop." Dapper Sam furrows his mighty brow.
Meanwhile, back at the salon, Dapper Dean chats with Screamy Chriiiiiis for a bit until he spots something suspicious down on the floor. Dapper Dean squats down to rummage around behind one of the remaining dryers, and when he pops back up, we can see he's retrieved a very small and very old coin. DUN!
Out on the sidewalks of Prosperity, Dapper Dean pedeconferences with Dapper Sam via cell, and as he passes a bus bench advertising Dead Wendy's real estate business, he pauses long enough to make note of the dead plants on either side of the thing, so I'm guessing they'll become important later on. In any event, Our Intrepid Heroes agree the coin must represent "some kind of hex talisman," and then Drunky El Deano ducks into a liquor store to purchase copious amounts of healing booze. "Atta girl!"
Elsewhere, a construction worker bids farewell to one of his fellows at a barren job site, then heads over to a Port-O-Let to relieve himself, and just as he slams shut the door and lifts the seat, the unplugged air compressor out in his truck chugs itself to life, seemingly of its own accord. DUN! Inside the rented can, this evening's bit of Monster Chow frowns at the unexpected racket, zips up and kicks open the door to find...a mysteriously floating pneumatic nail gun, pointed directly at his face! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The imperiled gent gapes as the rogue gun triggers itself at least a dozen times, and the camera hops to the back of the Porta-Potty to watch as several of the nails drill through the thing's flimsy blue wall, each and every one of them dripping blue-collar blood into the job-site dirt. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" The gun pauses, and the camera leaps back around to linger lovingly on the soon-to-be-dead gent's many, many lurid puncture wounds -- one most disturbingly in his cheek -- until the gun drifts forward a bit to drive two final nails through the guy's eyes. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" bays Raoul, once again a writhing flurry of delight atop his overstuffed armchair as the camera jumps one last time to the back of the Port-A-San to zoom in on the business ends of those final two nails until it discreetly cuts away to this evening's first woefully CHOMP!-less commercial break.
Job site. Aftermath. Dapper Dean quizzes a member of the local constabulary regarding the late construction worker's particulars, and we learn the guy was actually one "Dewey Stevens, owner of Dewey Stevens Construction," which just so happens to be "the biggest outfit in town." With that, the Prosperity cop wanders off, leaving Dean alone to discover yet another small yellow coin at Dead Dewey's feet. Dapper Dean surreptitiously pockets the thing, then joins Dapper Sam in the worksite's trailer, where Sam's deployed his mad Googling skillz to uncover the following: The three victims "were all working on a shopping center project together" that "fell apart for some reason." "So, everybody working on this project has died?" Dean asks. Not quite: The project's developer, a certain "Donald Stark," remains alive. You know, for now. The developer's name rings one of Dean's bells, so we must bounce with the boys back over to...
...downtown Prosperity, where the camera lands on a bust dedicated to "Donald Stark," "Founder of The Prosperity Charity Foundation," and while the bust is meant to represent James Marsters, the first of tonight's very special guest stars, it actually looks a hell of a lot more like distressing human landfill Michael Pitt, so you'll forgive me if I choose not to linger on that particular piece of unpleasantness for very long and instead jump ahead to the bit where Dapper Sam receives a text from the ever-helpful Bobby. "You're forgiven!" Thanks, friend of friends. Anyway, Bobby's managed to identify the writing on Dean's coins as "Romanian Cyrillic," which of course hasn't been in general use since the 1850s, making the coins themselves "ancient Wallachian ducats." Eagle-Eyed Sammy then notes the vast amounts of dead vegetation now surrounding Mr. Stark's terrifying bust, which reminds Dean of Dead Wendy's similarly situated bus bench, but before Our Intrepid Heroes get a chance to pursue this line of thinking further, we must first shuttle over to...
...Leviathan Chet's car, so we can watch the guy drive through some ridiculously scenic stretch of nowhere for a full fifteen seconds of screen time while a snippet of Bobby Goldsboro's "See The Funny Little Clown" plays on the soundtrack. And before we get a chance to wonder what the hell all that's supposed to mean, we scoot back to...
...Prosperity, where The Dapper Duo has at long last arrived at Mr. Stark's graciously appointed manor to interrogate the first of tonight's very special guest stars, and I gotta be honest, here: Neither James Marsters nor Charisma Carpenter really do it for me at this point, and I was never much of a Buffy fan, either, so if I seem less than enthused by their presence in this evening's episode, well... Sue me. Taking that into account, then, it should not surprise you to learn I found the interview that follows excruciatingly dull. Mr. Stark chats about his business dealings for a very long period of time, and his perky blonde cupcake-loving assistant "Jennie" jiggles in just long enough to raise a few suspicious eyebrows, and then Dapper Sam excuses himself to make use of Stately Stark Manor's upscale facilities.
Of course, this means Dapper Sam's actually excused himself to go galumphing up Stately Stark Manor's main stairs to snoop around the master bedroom, but why quibble? Sam wanders into the Starks' tremendous walk-in closet, where he finds Mrs. Stark's side of things swept clean of all her belongings save for a pair of broken heels, a silver pentagram necklace, and a shoebox full of witch-related crap. DUN!
Meanwhile, down in the study, James Marsters is still talking, and I'm still not caring about his existence on the planet, and then Dapper Sam returns to get all J'Accuse! on everybody's ass. More or less. He starts peppering Mr. Stark with questions regarding the latter's estranged wife, "Margaret" -- portrayed, of course, by this evening's other very special guest star -- and long story short, Maggie walked out on him after she learned of the affair he'd been conducting with one of his business partners. Unfortunately, said business partner was not Dewey Stevens, because that would have added some tiny spark of interest to the tedious and pedestrian tale of marital woe we're currently enduring. No, Mr. Stark was actually banging the real estate agent and, after Dapper Sam helpfully encourages Mr. Stark to make nice with the wife, no matter the cost, he drags Dapper Dean out to...
...Stately Stark Manor's front porch, where he fills Dean in on all of the witch-related crap he found upstairs in the closet. They quickly deduce that Mr. Stark's sinned-against missus is of the haggish persuasion, and there follows an entirely unnecessary reference to this atrocity until Eagle-Eyed Sammy once again spots large patches of dead vegetation, this time surrounding the very porch they're standing on. "You know," Sam observes, eyeing the rotting ornamentals, "if she's strong enough, just being pissed off is enough to send some pretty bad vibes their way." "Literally kill off everything around her," Dean surmises, "just by PMS-ing at it? That's not creepy at all." He gets on the horn to Bobby, demanding the hairball concoct some sort of hag-eradicating potion for them, and then the two climb into the Impala to motor on over to...
...Maggie's temporary digs. The lady of the house is not at home at the moment, so Dean breaks in to have a look around while Sam rather damply stands guard outside in the rain. Dean pokes his head into various near-empty rooms until he finally stumbles across a full hex altar set up in one of the upstairs closets. Sigil-smeared photographs of Maggie's first three victims surround an as-yet-unmarred enlargement of Perky Jennie's employee ID, and Dean mutters something about keeping it in your pants as the camera cuts back...
...outside, where Dapper Sam is most dismayed to note Charisma Carpenter's unexpected arrival. He hastily tries phoning a warning up to his brother, but for some mysterious reason, all of the local cell circuits are occupied at the moment, so Sam has little choice but to trot on over to chat up the hag before she catches Dean pawing through her things. Mrs. Stark claims she's in the middle of an emergency and blows right past him to enter the house, so Sam, like, bounces up and down on her Porsche for a little while until he activates the car alarm. No, seriously. That actually happened. In any event, Dean recognizes the alarm as a signal to flee and, after a bit of artful dodging through the first floor of Miss Maggie's temporary digs, he emerges into the continuing drizzle to announce that Perky Jennie's on Miss Maggie's list. The boys crawl into the Impala and grumble off down the street.
Upstairs, Miss Maggie quickly finds her desecrated hex altar, and Charisma Carpenter scowls. Well, she actually widens her eyes a little bit and heaves her famous knockers up and down for a couple of seconds, but I guess that'll have to do.
Somewhere else, Perky Jennie removes a tray of freshly baked cupcakes from her oven, and no, none of that is a euphemism for anything filthy and therefore interesting. Unfortunately.
Back at Miss Maggie's, Charisma Carpenter spikes her own fingertip with a pin and smears the blood around on a replacement photo of Perky Jennie she apparently removed from her ass while Perky Jennie was busy with her cupcakes. Charisma Carpenter then strenuously enunciates her way through a bit of Craptin I'll not be bothering to transcribe.
Meanwhile, Perky Jennie opens wide and sinks her teeth into one of her elaborately iced treats, and Raoul scooches forward on his overstuffed armchair, practically drooling in anticipation of what's to come. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And fortunately, what follows does not disappoint the dear, dizzy lizard in the least. Perky Jennie draws the cupcake away from her mouth to reveal an ominous spot of blood already staining her lower lip, and as she obliviously chews and chews and chews some more, she feels a sudden warm gush of blood coursing down her forearm. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Stunned, Perky Jennie stops chewing long enough to stare at the half-eaten cupcake in her hand, and wouldn't you know it? There's a mangled and gnawed-on yet still-beating heart in the center of the thing! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Perky Jennie's shrieks of abject horror would be mightily impressive, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that she chooses this very moment to start gagging on all the blood now welling up in her throat. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And as she doubles over her sink to hurl crimson streams of grue down the drain, Our Intrepid Heroes burst through Perky Jennie's door to begin a frantic search for the ancient Wallachian death ducat Miss Maggie's certain to have hidden somewhere in the apartment. Fortuitously enough, Dapper Sam almost immediately finds the thing on top of the cupboards and, lacking any better option at the moment, he whips out Dean's trusty pearl-handled automatic to blast the coin full of holes. Perky Jennie immediately stops with the choking, and the three gape and goggle at each other until they fall as one into this evening's first proper METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Chez Perk. Aftermath. Mr. Stark's shell-shocked assistant reclines on her sofa and dazedly realizes, "There were tiny, beating hearts in my cupcakes!" "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Jennie briefly becomes hysterical, and Dean tiredly wonders if this means he's got to slap her around some. Sam sagely counsels patience, and Jennie eventually calms down enough for Our Intrepid Heroes to conduct a proper interview. Long story short, Jennie vehemently denies having had an affair with her boss, and Sam and Dean urge her to flee town until things blow over with Miss Maggie.
Prosperity Civic Center. Or whatever the hell this damn building is. Maggie's busily attending to some last-minute preparations for the art auction she's holding that evening to benefit her own charity organization, and you should consider "art" to be an extremely loose definition of what we're seeing on the walls of the place at the moment. Maggie's assisted in her various tasks by her self-defined best friend, "Sue," and through their brief interaction in this scene, it becomes obvious that Sweet Sue's got a massive lesbian girlcrush on Charisma Carpenter. Sadly, Sue's massive lesbian girlcrush -- which might have added a dash of zest to this evening's otherwise dull proceedings -- is more than a little gross and off-putting, due entirely to the fact that these women are in their forties, and Sweet Sue's acting like some mouth-breathing teenaged dumbass. In any event, it was Sue who told Maggie of Don's affair with Wendy, and as none of these people are named "Sam" or "Dean" or "My Sweet Baboo," I couldn't care less about this subplot if I tried. "[Yaaaaaaaaaaaaawn!]" Feel better, Raoul? "Not really!" That's a shame. "It is indeed!" Shall I rush to the end of this, then? "Please do!" As you wish.
So, long story short, Don shows up to argue with Maggie and -- just as the promos promised, of course -- it turns out he's a massive hag, too. The Starks bicker about their Issues, and as I don't give a rat's ass about such conversations when they're occurring between this show's leads, you can imagine how riveting I find the Starks' banter in this scene. And when it's over, James Marsters orders Charisma Carpenter to knock it off with the witchcraft and the killing and the Craptin already, or else.
Outside, James Marsters grimly eyes the dead vegetation surrounding his hideous bust for a moment before trudging off to his car. Just then, his hideous bust becomes fully aware of exactly how vile and disgusting it truly is and self-destructs in a fit of suitably apt self-loathing and shame. Or maybe Charisma Carpenter chanted some Craptin that blew it up. Your choice. Our Intrepid Heroes pull into the town square just in time to witness the wretched bust's entirely justified demise and, after they crack wise with a few quippy remarks, Dean answers his just-ringing cell to find Bobby on the other end. Naturally, the hairball's come up with an appropriate hag-eradicating potion for them, and as he begins listing the ingredients, Dean insists he'll be able to remember the whole thing without writing it down, so we know Dean's going to fuck everything up in the most spectacular manner imaginable, and are we done here? "We are!" Excellent.
That evening, Charisma Carpenter rehearses her opening remarks for the soon-to-commence charity auction while Sweet Sue kvells lesbionically from the sidelines, and...that's it? That's the whole scene? God, this show sucks.
Meanwhile, back at This Week's Other Motel Room, Dean's about to tuck into an entire banana cream pie when Sam enters from elsewhere to dump a bag of raw chicken feet on the motel room table, in the process putting poor Dean right off his snack. The chicken feet are, of course, an integral ingredient in the hag-eradicating potion provided earlier by the ever-reliable Bobby and, after a bit of unfunny business related to the poultry by-products' stench, we head back over to...
...Charisma Carpenter's charity auction, where the first guests are just now beginning to arrive. Also arriving is James Marsters, who pulls up outside the front doors to glare. DUN!
Inside, Miss Maggie hands Sweet Sue a tasty-looking martini, and the two clink glasses to toast the auction's success. And when that's over and done with, Sweet Sue fishes out her cocktail spear to gnaw on one of the olives, only to discover that olive's magically transformed itself into a bloody human eyeball, complete with its wiggly optic nerve still attached. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Sweet Sue's screams of abject horror pour forth into the Indiana evening, much to the delight of James Marsters, who can hear them all the way out at his car. "That is disgusting!" Sweet Sue gags once the screaming is done. "It's also a dreadful waste of alcohol!" Raoul shriekingly observes, and you're not wrong, my scaly friend, but I'm afraid I must ask you to hold that forked tongue of yours for a moment, because we're about to hit a part I'm certain you'll adore. "Okay!" Excellent.
Naturally, Miss Maggie immediately understands that Don's behind Sweet Sue's surprise garnish, and her levels of anger and irritation ramp up appropriately when Don casts a spell that melts each and every painting right there in its frame -- a moderately nice effect that's completely ruined by Charisma Carpenter's dreadful line deliveries during this sequence. Was she always this bad, and did I just never notice it before? Or has this episode's dreary script simply brought out the worst in her? "Demian!" Yes, Raoul? "Get to the good part!" Ah, okay. So, Charisma Carpenter sucks all of the air out of this scene with her shitty, shitty so-called "acting," and as Sweet Sue attempts to console her -- lesbionically, of course -- a gleaming hors d'oeuvres tray floats into the air, seemingly of its own accord, and spins across the room to slice straight through Sweet Sue's neck. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I told you you'd like that bit. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Sweet Sue's decapitated head teeters backwards on its neck stump for a bit before clunking on down to the floor, followed shortly by the rest of Sweet Sue's body. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Charisma Carpenter grinds her teeth in aggravation while outside, James Marsters smirks to himself and motors off.
A few minutes later, Our Intrepid Heroes arrive at the site of the now-cancelled auction to survey the grisly scene. Because they are smart, they quickly realize that Don must be responsible for the carnage, which means that Don, too, must be a witch, and they head back to the Impala to drive on over to Stately Stark Manor. And as Metallicar grumbles out of the frame, the camera tarries behind long enough to note that Leviathan Chet's been watching them this entire time. DUN! Also: METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Stately Stark Manor. Our Intrepid Heroes stake out the place from a discreet distance, and their patience is presently rewarded when Miss Maggie comes screeching up in her Porsche. She flounces into the Manor's parlor to confront Don, followed immediately by Sam and Dean, the latter of whom Craptinates over a massive bowl of rotting chicken feet while the former dramatically strikes a match to set the hag-eradicating potion on fire, and the bowl obligingly belches out an impressive cloud of badly CGI'd smoke and sparks. Naturally, there's a problem: Miss Maggie remains unvanquished. You see, Dim Dean was meant to chill the chicken feet first, a detail he of course forgot because he stupidly refused to write down the ever-unerring Bobby's instructions. Don rises to join his wife in a recitation of some Craptination of their own, but before they're halfway through their spell, Super-Smart Sammy decides a little marriage counseling is in order, and a bout of touchy-feely self-help relationship-related babbling ensues from both the boys until the witches tire of their incessant nattering and telekinetically hurl them into various items of furniture. "VIOLENCE!"
Sam's strategy does, however, end up having some sort of positive effect, for the witches begin hashing out their marital issues, with Don insisting, "Wendy was nothing to me -- it was over as soon as it started!" "She was part of a pattern, okay?" Maggie peevishly volleys back. "I've had eight hundred years of this!" she continues, darkly adding, "Do not make me bring up the Renaissance!" "Oh, you're one to talk," Don sneers. "Fourteen ninety-two ring any bells?" "That man was about to set sail!" Maggie cries. "He could possibly fall off at the edge of the earth!" "I took pity," she argues. "What's your excuse?" "I told you," Don growls, "nothing happened with the Medici chick!" "You've always been insanely jealous," he snits, leading Maggie to throw Perky Jennie back into his face. Our Intrepid Heroes, who had spent the last several moments writhing about on the carpeting in the throes of spell-inflicted agony, rise to Perky Jennie's defense, in the process getting another round of Maggie's telekinetic fury for their troubles, and none of this is as entertaining as it might sound. Trust me on that one.
Eventually, Don admits he made a mistake, and he begs Maggie's forgiveness, which she grants after Don sends a swarm of embarrassingly CGI'd bees to buzz around Dean's head. And as this evening's very special guest stars finally get their mack on with each other, Dean bleats, "Somebody want to call these things off?" Wah. Wah. Waaaaaaaaaah!
This Week's Other Motel Room. Aftermath. This Week's Other Motel Room, incidentally, is basketball-themed. Just thought you should know. Our Intrepid Heroes plod in, more or less no worse for the wear, and Drunky El Deano celebrates their non-victory by swigging from a flask, much to Sniffy Sam's obvious and audible consternation, and wow. This whole Dean Has A Drinking Problem thing they're trying so desperately to make us care about this season is mind-bogglingly dull. At least when The Ginormotron got addicted to crack a couple of seasons ago, it was funny. "Perhaps," Raoul shriekingly interjects, "they could have the bottles scream as Dean drains them?!" Oh, that's a delightful idea, Raoul. "Thanks!" I'd suggest you endeavor to send it off to the people responsible for this mess, but I doubt they'd pay much attention. "Oh, poop!" Alas, we must learn to live with such disappointments in our lives, must we not? "I suppose so!" Raoul sighs, drawing a deeply chagrined yet impeccably manicured paw to his weary brow, and it pains me to see you so distressed, my scaly friend -- why don't you go whip us up some end-of-episode flagons to take your mind off things? "Fabulous idea!" Raoul rather predictably shrieks, and as the dear, dizzy lizard toddles off to his den, I'm left to wonder what the hell I was talking about before I veered off on this tangent.
Oh, yes: Drunky El Deano celebrates their non-victory by swigging from a flask, much to Sniffy Sam's obvious and audible consternation, leading Drunky El Deano to gripe, "It's been a long day." "And it's not over yet," Leviathan Chet smirks as he emerges from his hiding place in the bathroom to make with the menacing. Drunky El Deano, likely not recognizing their unexpected guest because he's never seen the guy before, promptly aerates Leviathan Chet's chest with a round from his trusty pearl-handled automatic, but the blast of course has no effect, and Leviathan Chet expels a bit of bitterly black Leviathan goo from the fresh hole in his army jacket until the mangled bullet pops back out to drop to the floor. "You're a bit outmatched," Leviathan Chet mildly observes, and fisticuffs ensue, with Leviathan Chet quite frankly stomping Our Intrepid Heroes' asses from one end of This Week's Other Motel Room to the other. Thus, it's quite fortunate that James Marsters materializes in the doorway at this point to zap Leviathan Chet with a bit of haggish mojo so powerful, it instantly renders Our Intrepid Heroes' unwelcome guest unconscious. How convenient.
"Good God," Don gapes, gazing down at the zonked-out Chet as the boys collect themselves. "What is that thing?" Neither Sam nor Dean has a clue, because they are dipshits, but they do most gratefully thank James Marsters for the assist. Don thoughtfully warns Our Intrepid Idiots that the spell he laid on Leviathan Chet only lasts for a few days, so they'd best "find a bottomless pit and drop it in." He then rummages around beneath the mattresses for a while, eventually extracting the two Wallachian death ducats Maggie had placed there at some point during the last commercial break. "She was gonna kill us?" Dim Dean howls, outraged. "We just saved your damn marriage!" "Yeah," Don allows, "but to be fair, you also tried to kill her." "You know how she is when she gets a bug up her ass," he adds, and with that, he bids them adieu. And because Our Intrepid Idiots are dipshits of the highest order, they let him go, because why hang on to the one person who can stop a Leviathan dead in its tracks when they have, oh, absolutely no other means of fighting the goddamned things? This show. This stupid, awful, evil, wicked show.
And in the end, the boys sling a chained-up Chet into the Impala's back seat to head back to wherever the hell Bobby's hanging out now that The Emporium's gone the way of Harvelle's Chicken 'N' Waffles. "We should hit the road," Dean announces. "You ready?" Unfortunately, Sam is not ready, because Sam would rather stand there in the motel parking lot with a body trussed up in the backseat of their car so they can talk about their goddamned feelings for the thirty-five years. Fortunately, Dean shuts that stupid idea down with a quickness, and the two embark to motor off into this evening's final blackout.
That was pointless. week: More of the same, I'm sure. Hey, lizard! "Yes?!" Where's my flagon? "Coming right up!" Thank Christ for that.
Demian would like to wish you all a very happy Halloween. Raoul can't wait for the impending holiday, because he finally remembered to stock up on a variety of little airplane bottles to pass out to the trick-or-treaters. "Booze, my pretties! Booze for everyone!" You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon who's still in a coma on the Internet.