Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. An idyllic morning in an idyllic cabin. A cute redhead bounds out of bed, excited to begin her day as a professional Irish dancer. No, wait, that's a Folger's commercial. The one that appeals to red-headed Irish dancers, a major demographic that has historically been so difficult for marketers to reach. Here, instead, we have a hot blonde in a sweatsuit bounding into the kitchen to give her crotchety old dad a peck on the cheek. Another demographic that has been hard for advertisers to crack: the Madonna who is really a WHORE and so must die. A late-teenaged boy sits on the counter slurping cereal and tells his sister that she better stop working out so much since "guys don't like buff girls." She sweetly retorts, "Yeah, well girls don't like guys who still live at home." She heads out the door while the camera gives us a low angle of her father ominously intoning, "Be careful." The low camera angle impends doom every damn time.
Outside, Sophie braces herself for a dip in the MOTHEREFFING FREEZING WINTER LAKE WATER. Cut to a long shot of the skinny girl as if through binoculars. She dives in (in her workout BIKINI, of course -- see above re: "whore") and the camera immediately gives us Jaws-o-View of her vulnerable body from below. She treads water looking around herself, suspicious that her morning ritual is suddenly accompanied by a soundtrack of clicks and hisses and low woodwinds. She swims a short distance and we get a few gynecological shots of her breaststroke kick -- thanks, Dr. Eliot Mantle! -- and then back to more suspicious glancing around on her part. Back underwater, the camera moves in closer to her submerged, kicking legs; above water, the girl really starts to panic, and then gets rather unceremoniously sucked under. We pan in on the bubbling surface of the water for about ten minutes. The end!
Oh, not really. Roadside diner. A trashy blonde waitress suggestively asks Dean if she can get him anything else. Shhh! Quietly now. Here we have that most elusive species, the hot greasy spoon waitress who wants nothing more than to bang someone over the grease pit out back. Any sudden move may cause this exotic figment of Hollywood's imagination to fly off into the morning fog. Oh, dammit -- here comes Sammy, cockblocker extraordinaire, telling the horndog they just need the check. Dean hangs his head and unsuccessfully tries to get Sam to appreciate the, ahem, plumage of the Blue Tit he just scared off. To no avail. Sam only has eyes for mysterious gore. Of which, luckily, Dean also has a supply. Dean pushes Sophie's newspaper obituary over to Sam, and explains that she's the third person to have disappeared in the lake that year, and that no bodies have ever been found.