Supernatural
…And Then There Were None

Episode Report Card
Demian: D | 2 USERS: A
YOU GRADE IT
Ten Little Hardy Boys

Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: So, the craggy trucker's distracted by the ungrateful wretch's filthy bare feet, and he asks if she's okay. "I could use a ride," Raoul's star protégée simpers, and the next thing we know, the two are climbing up into the cab. "So, what's your name?" the craggy trucker wonders. "Eve" comes the annoying reply, because this show already blew it's Lilith wad three or four seasons ago. The craggy trucker introduces himself as "Rick," and he sets to making with the small talk until Eve lunges across the seats to plant a sloppy wet one on his lips. With his wedding ring glinting prominently in the low light filtering in from the station outside, Rick pushes her away and insists he's not that kind of a guy. And just what kind of guy is this Rick, I'm sure I hear you ask? Why, a Bible thumper, of course. A Bible thumper with a sheaf of appropriate pamphlets at the ready, in fact, one of which he passes to Eve. This, of course, sparks an incredibly tedious colloquy on religion and miracles and the nature of Christ and the utter absence of God in humanity's affairs and if you all don't mind, I'll be skipping ahead to the point where Eve shoves her tongue in Rick's ear. "Kinky!" Loud squelchy noises ensue, and Rick's eyes widen in horror as the camera zooms up to examine one of his pupils before everything tumbles into black.

And when the lights come back up, we find we've shuttled over to Chez Rick, where the lady of the house slumbers peacefully in her bed as Rick himself enters quietly from the hall. He steps over to loom menacingly above her, in the process somehow waking her up, and Wife Of Rick smiles lazily up at him until she spots that massive claw hammer he's toting in one of his manly mitts. DUN! Wife Of Rick immediately unhinges her lower jaw to let loose with a terrified screech of truly epic proportions, and WHACK! "VIOLENCE!" shrieks Raoul, writhing about atop his overstuffed armchair with delight. "WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT HAUSFRAU-THWAPPING VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" The first strike sends a ghastly splurt of blood squirting straight up into the air to splatter across Rick's face. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Rick takes a moment, struggling to yank the deeply embedded claw portion of his claw hammer from what's left of his late wife's skull, then raises the thing into the air once again to...

...Tinkle, Tinkle RAAAWWWR! "Well, poop!" Do I sense a certain amount of dissatisfaction in your tone, my scaly friend? "You do indeed!" Raoul harrumphs, two perfect circles of outraged smoke popping from the end of his delicate snout. "I mean, really! Could they not have allowed us to witness that charming little trucker man's second blow?!" Apparently not, I'm afraid. "Hmph!" And I hate to break it to you, pal, but that's the last we'll be seeing of that sort of thing for at least the next fifteen minutes. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" How did I know that would happen? You'll have to excuse me for a moment -- the dizzy little thing lapsed into his boredom coma still gripping his flagon, and I'd best pry the thing from his grip before he spills his cocktail all over the floor. Raoul absolutely abhors waste, you know. Especially of alcohol.

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Supernatural

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