Supernatural

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admin: B- | 1 USERS: C+
YOU GRADE IT
The Hardy Boys Stifle Their Gag Reflexes

RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The blackness that follows lingers in silence for a moment before the opening chords of "Back in Black" slam onto the soundtrack, and I'm going to repeat here what I said on the boards about this moment, because it is 100% true: I was dead tired last Thursday at 8, so when "Back in Black" started playing, I was painfully slow on the uptake. "The hell? How many times are they going to use this stupid song on thi...OH, HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, THAT FUCKING RULES!" And then I giggled out loud. For yes, gentle reader, Metallicar makes its triumphant return to the small screen -- in all of its black, shiny glory -- in the lovingly filmed sequence that follows. And it is beautiful. Completely egregious car porn, but still: Fabulous. Through a shimmery heat haze, the Impala initially crests a far hill on a sun-flooded strip of backroads blacktop, then leaps forward to positively growl past us before shooting off down a flat stretch of pavement. We peek inside for a second to find Dean just stupid with happiness behind the wheel, while Sam rather nonchalantly chills out in the passenger seat beside him. Sam's less-than-thrilled demeanor is likely due to the fact that -- as we shall shortly learn -- they are more than nine hundred miles into this particular road trip, and so it makes sense for his initial Metallicar-related enthusiasm to have waned way back around, oh, say, Lake Elmo, Minnesota. Dean, though? He'll likely still be grinning like a fool seven hours from now when they finally hit Red Lodge. After some more completely egregious and completely fantastic car porn, we hop back into Metallicar proper to find Dean hooting, "Whooo! Listen to her purr!" "Ya ever heard anything so sweet?" he beams in Sammy's direction. Sam's all primly, "You know, if you two want to get a room, just let me know." "Don't listen to him, baby," Dean croons while stroking the dash. "He doesn't understand us." Hee. The boys then banter back and forth about Dean's good mood, which Dean attributes wholly to the fact that he's got both his gloriously restored car in which to motor around and a new bit of supernatural mischief to investigate, and really, what more do you need? Then again, Metallicar plus anything would equal nirvana, now wouldn't it? "Wow," Sam snorts. "Give you a couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows, and you're Mr. Sunshine." Sam, were you not listening? Metallicar plus anything -- up to and including severed heads and dead cows -- is cloud fucking nine. Pay attention. Dean just laughs and, upon learning from Sam that their destination is still another three hundred miles distant, guns the Impala's engine to speed off down the road.

Cut to the interior of the Carbon County, Montana, sheriff's office, where the middle-aged sheriff himself -- along with his remarkable walrus moustache -- explains in tones indicating he's delivered this speech before that the murder investigation is ongoing, and that he can share no further information with the gentlemen of the press. The camera jumps around to reveal those gentlemen, and they are of course Sam and Dean, clad in their shabby mix-and-match suits from "Something Wicked," here accessorized with faux credentials dangling on lanyards around their necks. Jared Padalecki, through the grace of God, has finally trimmed back that assy mangle of a mop of his a bit, and the tousle that remains has been neatly groomed into a less-severe version of his priestly coif for this bit of costumed subterfuge. In any event, Sam, with pen and notebook in hand, presses for relevant details about the two decapitated corpses found last week and two days ago, respectively. Just then, however, the sheriff's perky assistant raps on the door to tap on her watch in what I'm assuming is a prearranged interruption of a meeting the sheriff never wanted to take in the first place. As the sheriff announces that time's up, both Sam and Dean beg to ask about the recent spate of ruptured cattle found scattered about the area. "Excuse me?" squints the sheriff. "You know," Dean leads, "the cows found split open? Drained? Over a dozen cases?" He tilts his head in the most adorably inquisitive manner imaginable as the sheriff huffs, "What about them?" Our Intrepid Duo link the mutilated cattle to the severed heads and suggest that perhaps some sort of Satanic ritualizing might be taking place within the good sheriff's jurisdiction. The good sheriff laughs in their faces. Until he realizes they aren't kidding. So he lays a little science upon their tantalizing behinds thusly: "There is no such thing as cattle mutilation. Cow drops, you leave it in the sun? Within forty-eight hours, the bloat will split it open so clean, it's just about surgical." How...vivid. The sheriff continues, enunciating carefully as if he were speaking to two particularly dimwitted eight-year-olds, "The bodily fluids fall down into the ground and get soaked up -- 'cause that's what gravity does." "But, hey," he finishes sarcastically, "it could be Satan." He then rather snippily asks for the name of their publication once more, and Dean biffs the cover story that they're working for The Weekly World News. D'oh! "Get out of here," Chief Walrus sighs.

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