This week, the boys head back to dear old Truman High in nonexistent Fairfax, Indiana, where they spent all of three weeks attending classes way back in November 1997 while Sucky John was out on the road, chasing down some sort of goblin or another. Seems a present-day ghost of a former student has taken to possessing the bodies of extreme nerds, then using those nerds to beat, maim, and slaughter various deserving Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads. Initial suspicion falls upon the unearthly remains of Sam's only friend 12 years ago, a sad-sack, studious, wannabe veterinarian who was so horribly bullied that he killed himself in one of the school bathrooms shortly after Wee Sam and Teen Dean left Truman in their collective dust after their brief stay. One problem: The ghost continues to possess extreme nerds even after Our Intrepid Heroes desecrate poor little Barry Cook's grave, so the boys must rifle through records in the principal's office once again in search of yet another dead student.
What they end up finding, however, is a coincidence that links each of the possessed nerds: All rode the same bus to and from school every day, so Sam and Dean break into the school bus holding pen, or whatever, and quickly find a new driver's ID card in the glove compartment that leads them to yet another deceased former classmate, this one the bully who drove poor little Barry to the latter's early grave. Of course, things aren't as simple as they seemed back in the mid-'90s, and it turns out the bully -- whose eternally grieving father kept a lock of his son's hair before having the kid cremated, by the way -- was dirt-poor, and at the tender age of 13 had nursed his cancer-riddled mother through her final, lingering illness, so there was a reason he was acting out, you see, and everyone is very sad, indeed, most of all your faithful recapper, because this entire episode was just depressing as hell.
And why is that, you ask? Because of the numerous flashbacks to Wee Sam and Teen Dean that pepper the episode, naturally. If you were suicidal after witnessing the hideous deprivation of their childhood Christmas a year ago, watching the characters attempt -- and in Teen Dean's case, fail -- to navigate the social and hormonal mine field that is the modern American high school probably kicked you right over the edge. The only good to come of their Truman sojourn, it turns out, was Wee Sam encountering the inspirational teacher who steered the little kid onto the path that eventually led him to Stanford. But, then, that all went to hell for him, too, now didn't it? And now I think... I think I have something in my eye.
In the end, Our Dear Boys vanquish the ghost, of course, by burning the lock of hair that's still tying it to the physical world, and everyone should be smiles and sunshine, but absolutely no one is because their lives? Have always, always been miserable. Thanks for nothing, Kripke!
Rattle, Rattle BLOOD-RED THEN! and wow. Just about everything in here's either from Season One or from one of the two flashback episodes they've done in the past, so, you know. Don't expect me to drive myself insane digging up all of the relevant linkage, okay? "Okay!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, and Raoul, I wasn't talking to you. "I do appreciate that fact, I'm sure!" Raoul shrieks again. "I was simply trying to be helpful!" Ah. In that case, I offer you my thanks, friends of friends. "Never a problem! Continue!" As you wish. So, way back in the series premiere, we learned that when nine-year-old Wee Sam was afraid of the thing in his closet -- and don't you dare giggle at that, Raoul -- his worthless excuse for a so-called father quite literally handed Wee Sammy a .45, and on top of that, between the weapons training and the never-ending care and feeding of their various sawed-off shotguns, Sucky John raised Our Intrepid Heroes -- to Darling Sammy's eternal ambivalence, I should remind you -- "like warriors." We're also briefly reminded of the fact that watching out for Sammy was Dean's only real job growing up before the montage hurls us into an endless string of arguments they've had both between themselves and with their worthless excuse of a so-called father over the years, on topics ranging from Dean's blind faith in Sucky John to Darling Sammy's reasons for remaining incommunicado whilst at Stanford to Sam's feelings of utter abandonment growing up, with that last bit underscored by a flashback to the most horribly deprived Christmas anyone on the planet ever had, ever, and now I'm far too depressed to muster the strength to order you all to shut up for the...
...Slashy, Slashy NOW!, so feel free to continue to talk amongst yourselves while Raoul and I have a moment. "[Sob!]" There. It passed. So, shortly after the Slashy NOW! begins its advance into the blackness, the camera cross-fades to an in-their-faces pan across an entire cafeteria table's worth of jocks and cheerleaders as the bleached blonde Queen Bee amongst them carefully enunciates, all lip gloss and teeth, "She is such a slut!" And this is a bad thing...why, exactly? Oh, right, I forgot: It's high school. Never mind. The pretty-boy jock seated at Queen Bizznatch's side waxes oh, so eloquently about his fondness for those self-confident enough to own, fully, their sexual identities and expressions -- or not -- before wondering what the hell gives. "She totally banged Jamie Chaffee, that's what!" QB gossips. "She gave him the reverse cowgirl and everything!" QB continues, and she looks so smug and pleased with herself that I find myself hoping some Hell-sent beastie barges into the frame to beat her to death with a claw hammer. "VIOLENCE!" You gotta wait for it, Raoul, 'cause it's not gonna happen in this scene. "Rats!" Yep, unfortunately, all that follows involves the gossip's target -- a somewhat alarmingly sinewy brunette named Taylor -- arriving from the lunch line to assume her usual place at the table, only to find it taken by one of Queen Bizznatch's many minions. "That's my spot!" Taylor protests. "Sorry," the head cheerleader sing-songs, "this is a skeeve-free zone!" And then, as if that weren't bad enough, the pretty-boy dickbag at the head cheerleader's left starts in with a Slut Cough that's quickly picked up by the other bitches and choads at the table, and Taylor chooses to flee the humiliation rather than hurling her plate of rigatoni into the asshole jock's face before cracking open Queen Bizznatch's fucking skull with her goddamned tray. Kids these days are wimps. The girls I went to high school with would have sliced each other's eyes open with nail files over crap like this.