In any event, another blotch of black ghost spooge drips from the ceiling onto the shoulder of the blonde's white shirt, and she warily raises her eyes to peer at the exposed joists as a crunchy-sounding something deliberately crosses unseen above her head to crawl down through the wall. As the sound nears the floor, the wall socket -- missing its plate, don't you know, because this is a brand-new rehab -- begins oozing black ghost spooge that trickles slowly towards the floorboards. Incidentally, the apartment's lights are practically strobing with the supernatural activity at this point. The blonde edges closer to examine the river of spooge pouring from the hole in her wall until -- wait for it -- AAAAAHHHHHHHIYYYYIIIIIIIAAAAHHHHH! A bloodshot, almost lupine eye has popped up in the wall socket, and its pupil slowly dilates with desire as the blonde's screams vanish into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee! By the way, have I ever mentioned that if you slow-forward through that first instant, you can see the gaping maw of some toothy, demonic hellbeast roaring towards you in that initial burst of flame? 'Eeeeeeeeeeeee!' I say again! 'Eeeeeeeeeeeee!'"
Quick fade-in on the sunlit faÃ§ade of Harvelle's Bar And Grill. The boys are off to one side at the Impala, with Dean slamming the trunk shut as he grunts, "Los Angeles, California." "What's in L.A.?" Sammy wonders, and I was about to launch myself into this entirely obvious joke about fake breasts, skin cancer, failed rehab, and The Origin Of Everything Awful In American Popular Culture that ended with a starlet's name as the punchline, but I couldn't decide between Eva Longoria or Aaron Sorkin, so I gave up. "Young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult," Dean continues, ignoring me. "Girl got a name?" Sam asks. "Katie Holmes." Sam snickers. "That's funny," he admits, "and for you, so bitchy." And in a Cleansing Burst Of Bitchy Synchronicity, bottles crash inside the roadhouse above the shouts of a mother-daughter battle royale. Dishy Dean's all quite literally, "Catfight!" so the boys hop inside to find...
...Ellen screaming, "I AM YOUR MOTHER I DON'T HAVE TO BE REASONABLE!" And even though I haven't the slightest idea what this argument's about, point to Ellen. "You can't keep me here!" Jo screams back, and Ellen gains another point when she storms back to the bar with a furious, "Don't you bet on that, sweetie!" "What're ya gonna do, chain me up in the basement?" Jo howls, and no, honey, that comes later. Ooops! Spoiler! Ellen racks up another as she rants back about that not being the stupidest idea her daughter's had lately just as the boys creep through the front door to goggle at the fun. By the way, don't expect me to offer a justification for Ellen receiving all of the points. Ellen doesn't need one. Ellen snaps that Jo should just go back to school, Jo retorts that, as "a freak with a knife collection," she didn't belong there, and Ellen rails something about Jo getting herself "killed on some dusty back road" just as Jo notices the boys standing near the entrance and clams up, straightening her spine and gaping a bit in dismay over the fact that they witnessed so much private screechery. Ellen catches her daughter's change in mood and turns slowly to growl, "Boys? Bad time!" Sam obsequiously yes-ma'ams while Dean lobs a snarky comment in the ladies' direction as the boys backtrack, but Jo suddenly charges the bar, calling out, "Wait!" "I wanna know what they think about this," she adds, just as a pair of clueless tourists, toddlers in arms, swings through the front door. The quartet's wearing matching "Nebraska Is For Lovers" t-shirts, so I guess we now have confirmation of the roadhouse's supposedly permanent location. It also occurs to me I should specify that the clueless tourist parents are oppositely gendered. "Please," Raoul pshaws. "As if any of Our Kind would drag their brats to Nebraska, of all places. Dollywood, people."