Episode Report Card
admin: D- | 5 USERS: B-
The Hardy Boys Make It A Manwitch Night

...leap forward a bit in time to interrogate a missing person's significant other, shall we? We're already past the LIES they presumably told this dear little sixtysomething woman to gain access to her home, and Our Dear Boys have arranged themselves on chairs around her coffee table as she passes them the most recent photograph of her absent husband, who appears to be an avid golfer graced with an enormous navy blue Marine Corps tattoo on his inner right forearm, a character detail which you may wish to note. You know, just in case it becomes important in about thirty-eight seconds when they find a younger version of the guy screwing a pair of barely legal Asian prostitutes. Anywho, Dear Mrs. Whitlow, here, immediately knew something was wrong when her husband, Cliff, failed to return home from the office on Tuesday evening, as he was never, ever in the habit of socializing after work, though he did often have to stay late to take care of his business. This last sets Dashing El Deano's bullshit detector to tingling and, after LYING that he needs to avail himself of the dear lady's facilities, he tippy-toes into Cliff Whitlow's den, where a quick search of the missing veteran's discarded jacket turns up a crumpled, forgotten $250 credit card receipt from a no-doubt tasteful local establishment identified as "Madame Lin's Golden Palace." "Working late, my ass!" Dean grumps, and with that, we...

...leap forward yet again in time to join Our Intrepid Heroes as they amble down the upper hallway of what I'm guessing is some elaborately decorated, Chinese-themed no-tell motel, given Sam's musing that the good Mr. Whitlow rented the same room every Tuesday evening "at hourly rates." Dean remarks he'd like to have "that kind of kick" when he himself has reached The Good Mr. Whitlow's advanced years, which is presumably amusing because -- spoiler alert! -- he'll be reaching The Good Mr. Whitlow's advanced years in all of about ten minutes thanks to some Cypriot leprechaun's wacky magical hijinks. No, I am not kidding with that. Nor am I kidding with this: When the boys hesitate before entering The Good Mr. Whitlow's usual room, Sam wonders aloud what they'll find in there, with Dean guessing "a wrinkly, gooey corpse," because, despite having lived their entire fucking lives in the sorts of crappy motels that charge by the hour, they actually believe they'll find a corpse rotting since "last Tuesday" sprawled across the bed, because unfortunately, these two morons top the list of Things That Suck About This Episode, and I refuse to waste any more time on this stupidity and will instead jump ahead to the bit where Darling Sammy, suddenly hearing a suspicious noise, hurls his remarkably healthy frame against Room 44's door to knock the flimsy wood off its hinges. Much to their embarrassed horror, Our Intrepid Idiots find, of course, an abashed and irritated twentysomething gentleman engaged in a threeway with two barely legal Asian prostitutes, and this joke was funnier the first time I saw it twenty-seven years ago, but that's not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that eagle-eyed Darling Sammy's just noticed an enormous navy blue Marine Corps tattoo on the abashed and irritated twentysomething gentleman's inner right forearm. DUN! Or not, as the case may be, but you know. Just trying to inject an element of suspense into an episode that finds itself entirely lacking in same. Was that a spoiler? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Oh, fuck it.

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