Establishing shot of the Hell House. The boys swamp through the lush and verdant Texan landscape on their way up to the front door, remarking on how run-down the place is. Dean taps on his tiny little machine, which unfortunately does not reside in his pants. The EMF reader isn't working due to some interference that I don't care to recap since it, too, has nothing to do with Dean's pants. The boys walk into the house and find a selection of corny "evil" symbols painted on the walls. Dean dorks that "old man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger during his time." Why wouldn't he recognize these symbols as total goth cheesefest? Sam notices the somewhat "contemporary" flair of these Marilyn Manson for Hot Topic symbols, but of course does so in a totally off-putting and pompous way: "This sigil of sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the '60s." Dean and I are BFF because he retorts, "That is exactly why you never get laid." Dean walks up to another symbol, swearing it looks familiar, but unable to place it. Sam snaps a shot of it with his crackberry, and then realizes that it's fresh paint. The boys snap to attention when they hear suspicious noises coming from another room. They kick-ball-change their way over to the door, nod to one another, and bust through. The camera swings around and we get a shot of the boys bathed in bright light with their arms up to their faces. Everyone relaxes, and the camera swings back around to show us two midgety guys, one holding a camcorder, who exasperatedly sighs, "Ugh, cut. Just a couple of humans." When asked, the vertically-challenged pair smarm that they are "professional paranormal investigators." Their delivery is all "ummm...hellloo?" and I couldn't be less amused if I was watching my grandma get mugged right now. One of the Tiny Tims hands business cards over to Dean and Sam, snapping the cards apart with his fingers. Sam reads their names aloud: "Ed Zedmore and Harry Spengler." ["Oh, come on. At least name the other one Venkman if you're going to be that obvious. This show, jeez." -- Sars] Cut between Sam's and Dean's disbelieving faces, and the beard-y one flashes the most jaw-centric grin I've ever seen. The cards indicate that these two run hellhoundslair.com. The Small Fries accuse Sam and Dean of being amateurs looking for cheap thrills, and ask them to leave them to their "scientific investigation." Dean asks the Tater Tots what they've found, and they smarm some more about "EMF," taking out an EMF reader, calling it a "bad boy," and rambling on about spectral this and electromagnetic field that. Now the thing is, I guess these characters are supposed to provide ironic commentary on the dorktastic ghost-hunting mumbo-jumbo we have to sit through each week. But, to be successful, wouldn't "ironic commentary" require that the show gently poke fun at something viewers enjoy in spite of themselves? Rather than flashing a glaring light on exactly the aspect of the show that sucks the worst?