Head Cases

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Get Your Kicks On Route 666

"Dean?" Sam bleats incredulously, panting a bit from all of the exertion. Dean -- for that is indeed who The Ackles is this evening -- flashes his teeth and chuckles as Sam heaves, "You scared the crap out of me!" "That's 'cause you're out of practice," Dean smirks in a challenge. Sam rises to meet said challenge with...some more Sam-fu, I guess. I'm telling you people, it's too fucking dark to see what the hell is going on. Sam somehow manages to flip his brother around, leading Dean to snicker, "Or not," before ordering Sam off. Sam complies, pulling Dean from the floor in the process, and once they're on their feet, Sam demands, "What the hell are you doing here?" "Well, I was looking for a beer," Dean jokes, so that must mean he's the cheerfully louche reprobate of the family, as opposed to his brother's solemnly responsible nerd. Got it? Good. Moving along, then: "We gotta talk," Dean insists. "Uh, the phone, you dumbass?" Sam snits, perhaps leaving out that last part. "If I'd-a called," Dean retorts, "would you have picked up, you worthless little shit?" See above. This heartwarming fraternal banter is interrupted when Hooker Pumps flicks on the lights while calling out her boyfriend's name. Those feminine boxer-briefs of hers are primarily pink, bedecked with rainbow stripes, and riding so low on her hips that I shall now be calling her Hooker Pants until told otherwise. And in what I'm tempted to term a Cleansing Burst Of Synchronicity, Sam tells me otherwise. "Jess!" he blurts, startled, before turning to his estranged brother and carefully intoning, "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica." "Wait!" Jessica perks, advancing into the room. "Your brother Dean?" We can now see that her cut-up bedtime t-shirt features the Lady Smurf about to get busy with one of the Guy Smurfs. This will become important in approximately five...four...three...two...

...one. Brother Dean, who'd been staring at her as if he were some sort of heterosexual carnivore and she were some sort of oppositely-gendered slab of meat, brightens his slack-jawed expression and grins, "I love the Smurfs!" as his index finger dances around in the air. The camera cuts to a gratuitously lingering shot of Jessica's Smurf-clad mammaries, and if you haven't figured it out by now, what with the sports-and-monster-trucks-themed nursery and the Marine father and the gruesome death of the nurturing mother figure and the all-male leads and the girlfriend's Halloween hooker gear and the fraternal jujitsu in the living room -- all brought to you by the producer of Fastlane, whose name just flashed by in the credits -- this little exchange should prove that yes, Supernatural is indeed the leading edge of the WB's much-publicized effort to attract more teen boys and twentysomething men to its audience. (I was going to say that Supernatural is spearheading that effort, but let's allow the series to make that sort of tasteless phallocentric pun itself.) Expect Carmen Electra to appear during November sweeps as a hot-tub-dwelling demon who lures nubile and scantily clad coeds to their watery doom. After she makes out with them, of course. Also expect entirely unintended guy-on-guy homosexual subtext to explode off the screen at any moment.

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Head Cases

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