...The Lair Of The Zombie Fucker. Nerdy Neal's beginning to harbor a couple of doubts regarding his Corpse Bride, especially in light of Meathead Matt's mysterious suicide. Zombie Angela deploys her zombie feminine wiles to lure him onto the couch, where she -- get this -- straddles him to hump all of his cares and worries away. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!"
Back at the motel, Our Intrepid Heroes' latest bout of strategizing has hit a bit of an impasse due to the fact that "there's a hundred different legends on the walking dead," "they all have different ways of killing them," and there isn't any one thing they all have in common. Well, except for silver weapons, which are mentioned in quite a few of the zombie-related myths, as it turns out. Now all they need do is figure out who brought Angela back from the dead in the first place. Dean stumbles across a cunning plan and whips Angela's diary open to a particularly revealing passage: "Neal's a real shoulder to cry on -- he so understands what I'm going through with Matt." "There's more here where that came from," Dean notes. "It's got 'unrequited Duckie love' written all over it." But...but...Jon Cryer played a repressed adolescent closet case in that movie, Dean, and Neal's fucking Angela's reanimated corpse. There's a bit of a difference there that I don't think you qui...oh, the hell with it. Such subtle distinctions are likely lost on the boy anyway. By the way, did Dean mention that the zombie fucker is also Professor Mason's TA and thus has access to all the same books? Well, he did now.
Cut to the darkened Lair Of The Zombie Fucker. "Hello?" Dean calls out after he and Sammy have picked the front lock. "Neal? It's your grief counselors! We've come to hug!" Snerk. The boys make with the quippy remarks as Dean pulls an automatic loaded with silver bullets from his waistband. They pick their way through the main floor of the house, making note of a half-dozen dead plants before catching sight of the secured bolt on the basement door. "Maybe this is where he keeps his porn," Dean shrugs, teasing once again. Even though Sam pretty much has his back to me at this point, I'm certain he's pressing his prissy lips together as he unlatches the door. And despite the fact that the orchestra's going as apeshit here as Dean was in Professor Mason's house earlier, the basement's empty, save for Zombie Angela's rumpled cot. DUN! Also: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! Pity the poor soul who has to rinse out those sheets! Eeeeek!" "You think Angela's gone after somebody?" Sam whispers. Dean quickly finds the broken grate half-covering a window leading outside and snarks, "Nah, I think she went out to rent Beaches." Heh. "Look, smartass," Sam chides, "she might kill someone. We gotta find her." Dean agrees, then runs through several possible victim scenarios in his head before landing upon the following: "She clipped Matt because he was cheating on her, right?" Sam's all, "Yes, and?" "Well," Dean explains, "it takes two to, uh..." He pauses, searching for the right metaphor. And then he gives up. "You know, have hardcore sex." Sam frowns. Be quicker with the remote next time, darlin'. Snort. Anyway, to Dean, you understand, it seems as if Angela's roommate was maybe perhaps somewhat a little too broken up about Meathead Matt's suicide. "I mean, like, really broken up."