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When a snooty Portland-based ballerina quite literally dances her feet off, Our Intrepid Heroes motor on up to Oregon to figure out what's actually going on, and they soon find themselves chasing down a variety of cursed objects that have taken to impelling their various owners towards various grisly deaths. Initially, it seems we might get a taste of Dancing El Deano when the Intrepid Hero in question falls under the spell of the late ballerina's fatal toe shoes, but the boys unfortunately solve the objects-related bit of this evening's presentation pretty quickly, so no Jensen Ackles in tights for you. The objects, as they learn, originated in an exquisitely quaint antiques store, where the supernatural-savvy proprietor had been keeping them all safely under lock and key, but when the woman committed suicide hours after selling her shop to an aggressively acquisitive real estate broker, her grief-stricken and utterly clueless son began selling them off, which of course was very bad news indeed for the items' hapless purchasers.
So, Sam and Dean spend the first half of the episode racing from one end of the city to the other, scooping up evil tea kettles and nefarious gramophones and deeply wicked gentlemen's magazines and whatnot, until their focus somehow shifts from the cursed objects themselves to that rapacious real estate broker, and it turns out Richard Roman's sent a couple of his toothy minions to buy up a significant portion of Portland's main commercial district. Why? Well, according to one of the minions, The Leviathans plan to establish a research facility on the site, with the ultimate goal of eradicating cancer from the planet's human population. And because Our Intrepid Heroes just buy that explanation and motor on off towards their adventure with nary a peep of protest or disbelief, I guess we have to, as well. They even leave the more helpful of the minions alive, which is just asinine, but whatever. We'll just assume it'll all become clear later in the season, I suppose.
In other news, Lucifer's apparently still nattering away in Darling Sammy's remarkably healthy ear, but because Mark Pellegrino is nowhere to be seen in this episode, that whole subplot ends up being about as exciting as watching Jared Padalecki fall asleep -- which we actually have to do for a minute or two, believe it or not. Oh, and Frank Devereaux might have been whacked after making too many connections between too many of The Leviathans' other earthly projects. Try not to let your grief over this last development overwhelm you. After all, we still have seven episodes left before this season finally ends.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN! Four and a half very long years ago, Our Intrepid Heroes were introduced to the daring concept of "cursed objects," and even though this evening's THEN! would have us believe that Sam and Dean were subsequently forced to endure several different varieties of the things over the last several seasons, the show in fact pretty much dropped the whole idea until tonight. Therefore, this evening's THEN! is a LYING LIAR WHO LIES. In other thrilling news, Frank Devereaux ran Dead Bobby's numbers through a probability generator to learn they were actually map coordinates pointing towards a vast swath of Northern Wisconsin that had recently been purchased by Richard Roman. Oh, and Darling Sammy is crazy. Again. Some more. Sigh.
Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW! And when the dripping is done, the camera fades up to focus in on a brood of bitchy bulimics as they trash-talk one of their momentarily absent colleagues, and for the second episode in a row, I'm reminded of the fact that I'd much rather be watching RuPaul's Drag Race. The bitchy bulimics on display here, unfortunately, are not fabulously bedizened ladyboys, but are in fact actual, honest-to-God female ballerinas, and as they pack up their toe shoes in their hellishly over-lit dance studio, the object of their snide derision too-casually sashays through the door to toss them a little shade of her own before stripping down to her filmy rehearsal clothes for a little late-night solo practice session. And no, that is not a euphemism for something filthy, and you really need to stop being so dirty-minded about these things. Thanks.
The bitchy brood exits the scene as one and, thus left all by her lonesome, the haughty "Irina" straps on a pair of brand-new toe shoes to start in with her pirouettes and jetés and arabesques and whatnot, all set to the primary leitmotif from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Alas, Miss Irina seems completely unaware that she's actually been tasked with dancing the lead in Hans Christian Andersen's The Red Shoes tonight, and as the music crescendos, Miss Irina starts spinning faster and faster around the floor until -- wait for it -- SPLAT! The vivid spray of blood now splashing against the studio's frosted glass doors quite naturally draws the attention of a hapless janitor who'd been mopping the hall outside, and he enters to find Poor Dead Irina sprawled in an ungainly and grisly heap in the center of the room, with a badly CGI'd pair of ragged stumps where her feet should be. Speaking of Poor Dead Irina's feet, they're actually nowhere to be seen in the spinny, dizzying overhead we then receive of the dancer's rapidly-cooling corpse, which is fairly disappointing. However, we are treated to a glamorous close-up of those foul, wicked and magically footless toe shoes of hers, which have arranged themselves quite neatly off to one side, so I guess that's nice. And barely has that hapless janitor had a chance to cross himself when the gentleman finds himself utterly obliterated by this evening's obnoxiously intrusive...
...SNOT ROCKET!, and as you'll no doubt have guessed from the continued lack of shrieking, Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon remains missing. The good news is, I managed to track his last known movements to a social club in Bay Ridge. The bad news is, I managed to track his last known movements to a social club in Bay Ridge. The damn dizzy lizard's probably at the bottom of the Gowanus. I'm trying my best to find out what happened to him, but I'm afraid I'm starting to despair. If you've any information -- any information at all -- please let me know on our recently revamped forum boards.
And with all that horrible sadness out of the way, let's move on to the horrible sadness that's masquerading as an episode tonight, shall we? The camera fades up on the shores of a ridiculously scenic and ridiculously snow-covered lake to find a chilly Dashing El Deano loitering to this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash, chatting on his cell with Supernatural's resident lunatic jackass, Frank Devereaux. For the first time in several episodes, we actually get to see the lunatic jackass in question during the lengthy conversation that follows, and...that's pretty much all there is to that. Yes, mention is made of the fact that Richard Roman Enterprises, Inc., has expanded its business interests to include an archeological dig in some never-named country, a "factory in Saudi Arabia," and a "fishery in Jakarta," but as Frank still has nothing on that ominous and vast swath of Northern Wisconsin detailed in the THEN!, I really don't care that much when he rudely hangs up on Dean mid-sentence in a fit of psychotic and paranoid rage.
Once all that's over and done with, Darling Sammy ambles over with a cup of coffee and a copy of that morning's Oregonian -- the former because he's evidently sworn off sleeping ever since Lucifer started yelling in his head again, the latter because it contains an article describing Poor Dead Irina's untimely demise. After establishing the fact that Darling Sammy's "hand thing" no longer works as far as Lucifer's concerned, Our Intrepid Heroes decide that Poor Dead Irina's untimely demise is probably their kind of thing, and with that, they climb into this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash to motor on up to...
...Portland's Police Department Headquarters, where we rejoin them just as they enter to flash their fake FBI badges at the annoyed-looking desk sergeant they find therein.
Meanwhile, back in the station's evidence room, a miniature bitchy bulimic covetously eyes the bagged and tagged pair of toe shoes her officer father just placed on the table, and no, I don't know why the Portland police would consider Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes as evidence in her untimely and bizarre death, and no, I don't know why the Portland police would allow one of their officers to babysit his preteen daughter in the goddamned evidence room, of all places, so I'll just shut up and listen as the miniature bulimic announces her intent to visit "the little girls' room," and...that's it? Yeah, that's it. Well, I'll throw in a DUN! just for the hell of it, but to be honest with you, my heart's not in it.
Back at the front desk, Our Intrepid Heroes finally get their hot little hands on Poor Dead Irina's autopsy file, which claims her "legs were shattered from extreme exertion." Still no mention of her missing feet, though. Not as far as I can see, at least, in the blurry freeze-frame I'm now staring at, but whatever. Sam and Dean agree that the situation is "weird," and with that, we head back to...
...The Little Girls' Room, where the miniature bulimic enters to find Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes already waiting for her, right in the middle of the floor! DUN! Like, for real this time -- there's an appropriate sound cue and everything. The miniature bulimic gets a naughty, acquisitive glint in her eye, carefully closes the bathroom door, checks to ensure the stalls are empty, and plants herself on the tiles to strap those satiny delights onto her own two feet. You'd expect the miniature bulimic to freak the hell out when the slippers magically morph down several sizes to ensure a perfect fit, but as I believe we learned the last time we encountered cursed objects on this show, the nature of the curse in part ensures its victims ignore their better judgment as far as the object is concerned. Either that, or the miniature bulimic's just a little dipshit who deserves to die. Your choice.
Meanwhile, Our Intrepid Heroes enter the evidence room and ask to see Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes. Of course, they're nowhere to be found, so Our Intrepid Heroes quite naturally...
...barrel into The Little Girls' Room in a mad panic, with Darling Sammy howling, "Take those shoes off, now!" Unfortunately, the miniature bulimic finds herself utterly unable to comply with Darling Sammy's reasonable request, instead zipping up en pointe entirely against her will to spin around and around and around, much to everyone's obvious shock and dismay. Our Intrepid Heroes quickly recover themselves, however, and with Darling Sammy doing his level best to hold the miniature bulimic down, Dashing El Deano scrambles to strip the satanic slippers from the thrashing tween's feet. This of course leads to a round of wacky hijinks in which the miniature bulimic lands a couple of exceptionally well-placed kicks directly on Dashing El Deano's schnozz and, even though his nose should now be splattered all across his face, Dean somehow manages to withstand the assault with his prettiness fully intact, eventually ending up panting in a corner of the restroom with the offending toe shoes firmly in his grasp. "I'm going with 'cursed object,'" Darling Sammy guesses. "Ya think?" Dashing El Deano fumes, and as a hip 'n' groovy riff on that Swan Lake leitmotif kicks in on the soundtrack...
...Our Intrepid Heroes motor on over to "Out With The Old," which just so happens to be the cutesy name of the quaint antiques shop from which the vicious toe shoes were originally purchased. Dashing El Deano slides this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash into a slushy parking spot adjacent to the store, then warily casts his eyes towards the car's backseat. "Didn't we put those in the trunk?" he asks, quietly freaking. Darling Sammy follows his brother's gaze, and is visibly surprised to find Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes now lounging around atop the car's shaggy armrest. "How did they...?" Sam begins, flummoxed, but Dean cuts him off with a thoroughly wigged, "Cursed object, Sam!" before the two settle back for a moment to gape and goggle at each other. Eventually, Sam turns to glance at the vicious toe shoes one more time, whereupon he hesitantly wonders, "Do they look like they're your size?" "Shut up!" Dean immediately retorts for, as he quickly admits, he's been suddenly consumed by a strong desire to "Siegfried [himself] into oblivion." Before you go getting your hopes up, though, I'm afraid it's my sad duty to inform you there will be no Dancing El Deano during this evening's presentation. I repeat: No Dancing El Deano. I'm thinking about giving this episode an F for that very reason alone.
Elsewhere, two red-jacketed real estate agents attempt to convince an elderly gentleman to sell them his hardware store. The elderly gentleman declines their offer. This will become important later, because tedious plotlines involving arcane real estate transactions are precisely why we tune in to this show every week, but for now, let's head on over to...
...the quaint antiques shop from which Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes were originally purchased. The shop's got a gigantic "GOING OUT of BUSINESS" sign tacked up to its front door, but Our intrepid Heroes ignore that in favor of barging on in there with Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes carefully suspended from, like, a pair of pencils, or something, so Darling Sammy might demand of the baggy, downcast gentleman they find therein, "You sell these?" "Uh. Yeah," the baggy gent dazedly replies. "Where'd you get 'em?" Sam snaps, all accusatory and such. "My mother had 'em in that box," the baggy gent shrugs, hiking his thumb in the general direction of the shop's main counter, where Sam of course finds an empty fellow to the elaborately decorated "curse boxes" presented to us way far back at the beginning of this evening's THEN! Darling Sammy swiftly slams Poor Dead Irina's vicious toe shoes into the thing, thereby instantly breaking the hold the satanic slippers had on what's left of Dashing El Deano's brain, and so much for that subplot, so let's get this round of expository blather out of the way, okay? Excellent. Long story short, this "Scott Freeman" person found the box and several others like it after his mother died quite unexpectedly last week. Since then, he's been selling the stuff off -- for entirely innocent reasons, by the way -- and as if to support this claim of Baggy Scott's, Dashing El Deano quickly locates another couple of curse boxes as empty as the first. DUN! Darling Sammy takes a moment to allow his oversized big-boy panties to bunch themselves up in a tight little knot, then peeves, "What was in those boxes?"
We don't get an immediate answer, of course, but we do get shunted over into this evening's only thoroughly entertaining sequence, so I won't complain. Much. The camera cuts to the interior of a terribly well-appointed kitchen elsewhere in the city, and as a pleasant middle-aged woman draws a tremendous and tremendously deadly-looking knife from a rack to chop up some cucumbers, the camera proceeds to tease us with a series of loving, lingering shots focused in on various objects that may or may not be cursed, including the aforementioned knife, an old-fashioned meat grinder stuffed to overflowing with vividly-tinted chunks of beef, and a pair of antique scissors resting atop a stack of Biggerson's coupons. It's ridiculously tense-making, and it's a hell of a lot of fun, but unfortunately, they can't keep this sort of thing going forever, and it ends all too soon when the woman's uncommonly ornate tea kettle starts whistling, at which point it becomes obvious which of the kitchen's pricey accoutrements will ultimately prove this woman's downfall. And sure enough, the instant the whistling begins, the woman's expression goes unnaturally blank, and she shuffles over to the stove in a daze to wrap her hand around the kettle's red-hot handle, scorching her flesh as she lifts the thing into to the air to pour a stream of boiling water directly into her mouth.
There was a time when I made sure I wasn't eating dinner when this show aired, because even I occasionally went straight off my food during some of this series' more gruesome death sequences, but that hadn't happened in so long that I quite unfortunately found myself with a heaping bowl of spaghetti Bolognese in front of me during this sequence, and when the boiling water started spilling from that woman's mouth to raise lurid red welts all over her face and neck and chest? Dinner went straight into the trash. Bravo, Supernatural. Bravo.
After we scoot through this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP!, we return to the quaint antiques shop from which Poor Dead Kitchen Lady's ominously ornate tea kettle was originally purchased to find Our Intrepid Heroes berating Baggy Scott -- like this obviously clueless schlump, here, was supposed to know from cursed objects when even the goddamned show itself forgot all about them for the better part of five years -- and because they're being so incredibly unpleasant during this scene, all I can focus on is how short Baggy Scott looks to The Ginormotron. Seriously, this guy barely clears Darling Sammy's chest. Of course, given the fact that we know Jared Padalecki is eight and a half feet tall, this means Baggy Scott is probably of perfectly normal height, but still: Hee. Anyway, Baggy Scott eventually maneuvers his way through the rampant amounts of bitchery now emanating from Our Incredibly Obnoxious Heroes to provide them with a handy list of recent purchases, and with that, we follow along as Sam and Dean...
...tool this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash over to Poor Dead Kitchen Lady's terribly well-appointed home, where they quickly find her scalded remains littering the linoleum. Dean retrieves a handy pair of Gloveables to of course avoid touching the evil tea kettle directly and, after Sam dials the police to report the untimely demise of Poor Dead Kitchen Lady, the boys head back out to this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash to plan their moves. Two items remain at large -- a "gramophone sold to Brenda Gluck" and "a vintage gentlemen's magazine sold to Peter Yankit of 27 Johnson Lane," and I refuse to comment on the latter, and you can't make me, so there -- so Our Intrepid Heroes decide to split up, with Sam taking off on foot while Dean climbs back into whatever the hell it is they're using as a car tonight.
And then they proceed to blow a full two and a half minutes of screen time on a supposedly nerve-wracking suspense sequence tied to Brenda Gluck's nefarious gramophone that completely fails to engage me on any level whatsoever. I'm not kidding -- this scene is so hideously boring that I can't even make fun of it properly, because ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. If you must know what happens, though, here goes: While Darling Sammy takes his sweet damn time nonchalantly ambling over to Chez Gluck, Brenda turns her nefarious gramophone on, then conveniently exits the room so the foul thing can whisper sweet nothings into her idiot son's ear. Before we know it, Gluck The Younger is fetching yet another tremendous and tremendously deadly-looking knife from a rack in his mother's own terribly well-appointed kitchen, and just as the snot-nosed brat is hoisting the thing in the air to plunge its business end into his mother's neck, Our Intrepid Hero pops up from out of nowhere to snatch the knife from the wretched child's hand, and that's it. Well, except for the part wherein Darling Sammy peevishly lectures the hateful little shit on...something I totally didn't pay attention to, which ended up consuming yet another thirty full seconds of screen time and, after Dean calls to confirm he's secured the deeply wicked gentlemen's magazine, we head back to...
...the excruciatingly quaint antiques shop from which all of this evening's abominable objects were originally purchased to watch as Dashing El Deano locks said abominable objects in a safe, and before we settle into this episode's bout of expository blathering, riddle me this: Baggy Scott had to have handled the objects in order to sell them, right? So, why is he still alive, huh? HUH?
Oh, never mind. I totally don't care. And I care even less for the above-promised bout of expository blathering, so I'll keep it short: Baggy Scott confesses to Dashing El Deano that he urged his mother to sell the store, and while she initially resisted both his arguments and the ones she was receiving from an as-yet-unnamed real estate agent, she eventually caved, only to meet her mangled end in a spectacular auto accident less than twenty-four hours after she signed over the deed. At this point, I'm sure, dear Raoul would likely shriek, "And why were we not witness to that?!" but I mustn't dwell on such sadness, so I'll instead note that Dean patiently absorbs Baggy Scott's lengthy confession, takes a very long moment to go, "Hmmm!" and exits the excruciatingly quaint antiques shop to examine the "SOLD" sign left behind by the ultimately triumphant real estate agent. And wouldn't you know it? The owner of "BICKLEBEE REALTY" is none other than that red-jacketed woman we saw earlier with that reluctant elderly gentleman! What are the odds? Yeah, don't bother answering that one, either, because again: I totally don't care.
In any event, Dean wanders off down the street and, much to his apparent surprise, he realizes that Joyce Bicklebee of BICKLEBEE REALTY has plastered "SOLD" signs across nearly every storefront facing the avenue. Dean thinks real hard about this for a minute or two until the camera pimp-slaps the audience over to...
...the interior of Joyce Bicklebee's tastefully-appointed offices, and right here is where I absolutely lost all interest in this episode because, come on: Do you want to watch an episode devoted to The Leviathans' real estate deals? No, seriously: Do you? 'Cause I sure as hell don't, and that's pretty much all we get for the rest of the hour. And I don't mean to trash the performances of Mary Page Keller as ball-buster Joyce and Bryan Cuprill as her henpecked and browbeaten assistant George, because they certainly do give us their engaging best with what they've been handed to play, and it is absolutely not their fault that the nitwits responsible for this crap basically decided to sideline the show's leads for the remainder of this evening's installment in favor of throwing all of the focus onto this asinine and horrifically tiresome real estate subplot, but for Christ's sake: Leviathanically-enhanced real estate deals? Really? REALLY?
I just can't anymore, and whatever, so let's cut to the chase: Leviathan Joyce has invited that elderly gentleman from earlier over for a little more persuasion, and when the elderly gentleman balks, Leviathan Joyce latches onto the gent's hand, morphs up into Leviathan Gent form, and more or less twists the old guy's head off. Leviathan George is all, "Was that really necessary?" and Leviathan Joyce is all, "Um, yeah!" and Leviathan George is all, "But Mr. Roman said we shouldn't kill people!" and Leviathan Joyce is all, "Fuck 'im!" and long story short, Leviathan Joyce pulled the same thing with Baggy Scott's mangled mom, morphing into her unwitting victim's form to sign the property transfer paperwork herself, and is any of this of interest to anyone at all? Anyone? Didn't think so. So, to recap -- ahem -- Leviathan Joyce is buying up all the commercial properties in this section of Portland, and she's not averse to slaughtering the properties' present owners to do so. For his part, Leviathan George has been tasked with disposing of the occasional corpse and, despite his many, many qualms, he has done his level best to make each death look like an accident. Got all that? Good. Oh, and also: METAL TEETH CHOMP!
We return to Joyce Bicklebee's tastefully-appointed offices to witness an entirely pointless spat between the Leviathanically-enhanced co-conspirators, and to hell with this shit, and long story short, because Leviathan George has to run into Darling Sammy somehow, Leviathan Joyce sends her feckless assistant across town to her favorite barista for a "Grande nonfat no-whip white mocha one-pump sugar-free double-shot espresso," pronto, lest she force him to bib himself as she did her last four assistants.
Speaking of Darling Sammy, there he is now, cruising through the nighttime streets of Portland in a purloined pickup truck while struggling valiantly to remain awake, because even The Ginormoron knows how fucking boring this episode is. Or, you know, because he hasn't slept in days thanks to Lucifer's kind ministrations and all that. Whatever. Eventually, Sam's cell phone bleats, and it's Dean, calling to chat about recent events, and while Sam yawns and stretches and fidgets around in his seat because: Bored, Dean fills him in on tonight's tedious real estate subplot. To his eternal credit, Darling Sammy listens obligingly to Dean's entire spiel, and waits until his brother is well and truly finished before plowing his purloined pickup truck into oncoming traffic, because death's sweet embrace is far preferable to putting up with this bullshit real estate crap for longer than a single second.
Or maybe Sam just hangs up, leaving Dean free to give Frank Devereaux a ring regarding Bicklebee Realty, and for once in his miserable life, the lunatic jackass readily agrees to be helpful. As Frank unleashes his superior Google-fu to begin investigating Bicklebee's mysterious parent company, we head back over to...
...Darling Sammy's purloined pickup, where we proceed to watch Darling Sammy fall asleep. Again. Some more. Naturally, this takes up a full forty-eight seconds of our lives. I can't wait for Season Eight, can you?
Meanwhile, the barista over at MOJO JAVA of course gets Leviathan George's order wrong, but that's not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that Darling Sammy quite conveniently shows up at the coffee stand at this point, and Leviathan George wastes not an instant phoning his boss to inform her of this exciting development. "You think they're here for us?" Leviathan George wonders. "Trust me," Leviathan Joyce replies, "if the Winchesters were here for us, we'd know." That settled, Leviathan Joyce orders her beleaguered underling back to the office for a processing summit, during which they agree that Leviathan Joyce will have the honor of devouring Our Intrepid Heroes herself. Well, Leviathan Joyce actually insists upon having the honor of devouring Our Intrepid Heroes herself, and Leviathan George has little choice but to agree with her plan, but it's not like they're actually going to make it out of this episode alive, so who cares?
Somewhere else, Dean's on the phone again with Frank and, to absolutely no one's surprise, it turns out Bicklebee Realty is actually a subsidiary of Richard Roman Enterprises. Dean hangs up just as Sam arrives, and after Dean catches Sam up to speed on recent events, Dean tries and fails to convince Sleepy Sam to head back to This Week's Never-Seen Motel Room for a little shuteye. Sleepy Sam demurs, as Loud Lucifer's now on his fiftieth run through "Stairway To Heaven" deep inside Sleepy Sam's head, and while Our Intrepid Heroes agree that Lucifer could hardly have chosen a better song for his impromptu serenade, Led Zeppelin on endless repeat probably isn't conducive to rest. Not that it matters, anyway, for barely have they reached that particular conclusion when a frantic Baggy Scott dials Sleepy Sam's cell to deliver the following piece of news: "I looked in one of my mom's old mirrors, and now I want to rip my face off!" Sleepy Sam rolls his eyes, assures Baggy Scott that he and his brother will be over shortly, and hangs up. "Lemme guess," Dean sighs. "He touched something he wasn't supposed to?" "Of course he did!" Sam grunts, and Our Intrepid Heroes make to head back to Baggy Scott's excruciatingly quaint antiques shop.
And also to absolutely no one's surprise, it turns out Baggy Scott made that desperate phone call at the behest of tonight's Leviathanically-enhanced real estate agents, as we learn when the camera hops back over to the excruciatingly quaint antiques shop well in advance of Sam and Dean. Leviathan Joyce snidely congratulates Baggy Scott on a job well done, and she proceeds to primp in a hand mirror for whatever reason while Leviathan George leads Baggy Scott into this evening's METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Excruciatingly Quaint Antiques Shop. Immediate aftermath. You know, more or less. Leviathan George finishes lashing Baggy Scott to a chair with several lengths of duct tape, after which he and Leviathan Joyce get to chatting about Baggy Scott's fate. They'll have to kill him, of course, though as Leviathan Joyce points out, "That doesn't mean anyone ever has to notice he's dead." Leviathan Joyce decides that Leviathan George will assume Baggy Scott's identity "for the thirty-some odd years," which I mention only because it's giving us a clear indication that The Leviathans have switched over to a bit of long-term planning, here. Though I am again forced to wonder: Who cares? It's not like The Leviathans are actually going to make it out of this season alive, so whatever.
Eventually, Our Intrepid Heroes arrive, and fisticuffs ensue. Leviathan Joyce promptly begins kicking Dashing El Deano's tantalizing ass all around the store, but for some strange reason, Leviathan George insists upon drawing Darling Sammy's attention to a bucket of borax-laced water lurking just beneath the shop's main counter. "Dunk me before she sees!" Leviathan George hisses in Darling Sammy's remarkably healthy ear, so Darling Sammy quite naturally complies. Leviathan Joyce takes a moment to gnash her teeth over her tiresome underling's apparent incompetence, then goes right back to kicking Dashing El Deano's tantalizing ass all around the store again, gifting Darling Sammy with the opportunity to retrieve a broadsword from a nearby display case, which Our Intrepid Hero then uses to decapitate Leviathan Joyce right before she pounces on Dashing El Deano one final time.
And after Dashing El Deano has graciously thanked Darling Sammy for the timely assist, and after Dashing El Deano has stowed Leviathan Joyce's head in the excruciatingly quaint antiques shop's safe, and after Our Intrepid Heroes have sent Baggy Scott on his merry way to, um, wherever, Sam and Dean corner Leviathan George and demand to know what gives. Why'd he help them? Why'd he want his boss dead? Why'd they start buying up all of the commercial properties in this section of Portland? And why in hell did we have to sit through an entire goddamned episode about real estate?
I perhaps added that last question myself.
For whatever reason, Leviathan George decides to wax loquacious, and he helpfully answers each of their questions in turn. Because Leviathan George is just as stupid as everyone else on this godforsaken show. You know, apparently. Anyway, the long and the short of it is this: Leviathan George was sick and tired of trying to scrape together an existence for himself under Leviathan Joyce's well-turned heel, and he couldn't take her out himself, so he had Our Intrepid Heroes take her out for him. Obviously. As far as this evening's hateful real estate subplot goes, well, Our Intrepid Heroes shouldn't be concerning themselves with that, because this evening's hateful real estate subplot is simply one minuscule part of The Leviathans' grand scheme, and if Sam and Dean waste too much time trying to set things straight in Portland, they'll risk missing the bigger picture. So nice of them to admit this episode was a complete waste of our time like that, isn't it? Dashing El Deano, however, insists on an answer for the local question, and this is what he gets from Leviathan George: "It's going to be a research center, for disease. This, gentlemen, is where we are going to cure cancer." "That doesn't make any sense!" Darling Sammy protests. "Why would Dick Roman want to cure cancer?" "'Cause we're only here to help," Leviathan George cryptically replies, and with that, we head into this evening's final CHOMP!-less commercial break not quite believing there are still more than two goddamned minutes left in this episode.
Excruciatingly Quaint Antiques Shop. Aftermath. Our Intrepid Heroes have loaded the store's safe into the U-Haul they've attached to Darling Sammy's purloined pickup, and while I want to believe they were smart enough to shove Leviathan George's decapitated head into that thing before they locked it up for good, I've resigned myself to the fact that they are now both more than stupid enough to have let the guy go. Idiots. In any event, the two chit-chat about the whole cancer thing for a bit until they finally climb into Darling Sammy's purloined pickup to begin the long cross-country trek over to wherever the hell Jackass Frank's been keeping himself lately, and the dolts responsible for this crap decide to recycle Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Bad Moon Rising" for the ensuing roadtrip. Which is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea, because that song is inextricably linked to this piece of face-melting awesomeness that ended the show's first season, and I don't even know...I can't...I mean, what are they...? Oh, fuck it.
Ugh. ANY-way, Our Intrepid Heroes eventually reach Lunatic Jackass Estates, and the place is a shambles, with shattered and blood-streaked computer equipment littering every square inch of the trailer's floor. Needless to say, Frank himself is nowhere to be found, and as this shocking development seems to have shaken Our Intrepid Heroes to the very cores of their beings, I guess we're supposed to care about it, too. Right?
Yeah, you don't really have to answer that question, either.
week: My Sweet Baboo returns! I hope it doesn't blow.
Demian is pretty sure it's going to blow. He is also wondering how one goes about gaining access to a Bay Ridge social club. Raoul remains at large. You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet last seen in the company of certain extremely well-connected gentlemen.
Excruciatingly Quaint Antiques Shop. Aftermath. Our Intrepid Heroes have loaded the store's safe into the U-Haul they've attached to Darling Sammy's purloined pickup, and while I want to believe they were smart enough to shove Leviathan George's decapitated head into that thing before they locked it up for good, I've resigned myself to the fact that they are now both more than stupid enough to have let the guy go. Idiots. In any event, the two chit-chat about the whole cancer thing for a bit until they finally climb into Darling Sammy's purloined pickup to begin the long cross-country trek over to wherever the hell Jackass Frank's been keeping himself lately, and the dolts responsible for this crap decide to recycle Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Bad Moon Rising" for the ensuing roadtrip. Which is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea, because that song is inextricably linked to this piece of face-melting awesomeness that ended the show's first season, and I don't even know...I can't...I mean, what are they...? Oh, fuck it.
Ugh. ANY-way, Our Intrepid Heroes eventually reach Lunatic Jackass Estates, and the place is a shambles, with shattered and blood-streaked computer equipment littering every square inch of the trailer's floor. Needless to say, Frank himself is nowhere to be found, and as this shocking development seems to have shaken Our Intrepid Heroes to the very cores of their beings, I guess we're supposed to care about it, too. Right?
Yeah, you don't really have to answer that question, either.
week: My Sweet Baboo returns! I hope it doesn't blow.
Demian is pretty sure it's going to blow. He is also wondering how one goes about gaining access to a Bay Ridge social club. Raoul remains at large. You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon on the Internet last seen in the company of certain extremely well-connected gentlemen.