The boys rifle through Kristen's e-mail and quickly find several urgent missives from Robert, the last of which pleads with her to meet him at The Black Rose. Dean's convinced the notes are from "some human mouthbreather" and "standard-issue perv," but Sam's of the opinion that Robert's an actual emotard throat-sucker who's using the Internets to stalk "easy prey." "I mean," he points out, arguing from the gentleman vampire's point-of-view, "these chicks are just throwing themselves at you -- all you gotta do is, I don't know, write bad poetry." Dean remains unpersuaded, but Sam primly snaps shut Kristen's laptop with a purpose, so of course we head over to...

...an entirely unrelated darkened alleyway? What the hell? God, this episode blows. In any event, a van heads down this entirely unrelated alleyway, only to find its path blocked by a suddenly appearing SUV. Five or six black-clad gents leap from the SUV and, as one of them assaults the van's driver, the others raid the van's cargo area, transferring a number of white coolers into their own car before speeding off just as quickly as they'd arrived. The camera allows them to pass, then shudder-steps to focus in on the rapidly cooling corpse of the van's driver, whose throat has been slit. I'd rouse Raoul so he might revel in the fresh gout of arterial spray that's now painting the van's exterior, but to be honest with you, the screen's so goddamned dark during this scene that I can barely see it myself. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" So, yeah, I'll let him sleep. Anyway, the camera darts alongside the van until it unsurprisingly lands upon the Kankakee County Blood Bank logo plastered all over the back of the thing, and if they think I'm going to toss that one a DUN!, they've got another think coming. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" My point exactly, Raoul. And when this remarkably unsuspenseful sequence finally draws itself to a close, the METAL TEETH CHOMP! arrives to drag us into this evening's first commercial break.

The next morning, Darling Sammy reviews the current case's particulars with his creepy undead grandfather over the phone. Given last night's jacking of the bloodmobile plus the missing "juicebars" -- Sam's delightful term, not mine -- Grampy's certain they're dealing with a nest of vampires lurking somewhere within central Illinois, as Limestone's the fourth town to have been similarly hit in recent months. "It doesn't add up!" Sam complains. "Find the nest," Grampy grumps, "and figure it out." Sam sighs and hangs up, allowing us finally -- finally -- to head back to...