Um. Raoul? "Yes?!" Oh, okay -- never mind. Just, you know, checking. "Why!?" Well, I was pretty sure you'd have something to add to all of that nonsense above. "Which nonsense?!" Ah, excellent point, my scaly friend. "Thanks!" I was attempting to elicit your illustrious opinion on the concept of "glamorous camping." "Oxymoron!" And now I have it. "I simply detest camping!" Good to know. "No problem!" So, I guess I should continue, then? "By all means! Please do!" Excellent.
Biggerson's, the following morning. After lingering on the façade for a moment, the camera leaps inside to focus in on a poster advertising the chain's "NEW!" "Limited time only!" "Pepperjack Turducken Slammer!" which I mention only because that particular special menu item will become important later. Our Intrepid Heroes, once again masquerading as FBI agents, are seated at a booth with "Rick Evans," the chief ranger at Wharton State Forest, and it quickly becomes apparent that Ranger Rick is...how shall we put this? "'Effervescent'?!" Raoul shriekingly suggests, ever the helpful little thing, and I think I was actually looking for "stoned out of his fucking gourd," doll, but we can go with "effervescent" if you like. "Hooray!" So, Sam and Dean interview the effervescent ranger, and he's really not much help, partly because he quite honestly doesn't seem to know much, but mainly because he is, as we've already noted, stoned out of his fucking gourd. He is also determinedly chowing down on one of Biggerson's limited-time-only Pepperjack Turducken Slammers, which is recognizable from that distinctive, strange, eight-spoked wagon-wheel pattern it's got on its top bun. Just so you know. And despite the otherwise general uselessness of this entire exchange, we do learn that Ranger Rick's partner, Phil, has also apparently gone missing at some point during the last few days, though it hadn't occurred to Rick to report Phil's disappearance until just now. Got all that? "I do!"
Good, because Bobby's just arrived from his trip to the Atlantic County Morgue, where he'd been examining what little remains of Dead Mitchell. The boys excuse themselves from Ranger Rick's table to listen in as Bobby explains that the bite radius on the corpse's wounds was too small for a Leviathan. Also, pieces of the heart were found, so they're probably not looking at a werewolf attack, either, and as "a Wendigo don't leave no scraps," Bobby's finally willing to entertain the notion that they're actually dealing with the Jersey Devil, here. Dean decides this would be an excellent moment to order lunch, and he hails a passing waiter like so: "Hey! Uh, Brandon -- we grab a booth?" Brandon, who's popped the collar on his Biggerson's-issued polo shirt because that's just the way Brandon rolls, responds in kind like so: "Hey! Uh, douchewad -- a hostess will seat you." "Do I look like a freaking hostess?" Brandon adds, all surly with the attitude and the gum-chewing and such. "Do you want to look like a hostess?" Dean weakly retorts. Surly Brandon gifts Dean with a brief Glare Of Death before vanishing kitchenwards, and ever-helpful Sam takes this opportunity to point out that Dean's witty comeback was, in fact, neither.