And just like that, the batshit drains from Our Intrepid Heroes' bodies. I'm sure Raoul would interrupt at this moment to note how terribly convenient all of that seems, but he's too busy writhing himself into a fit of near-epileptic ecstasy over that last kill. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" After a completely unnecessary commercial break I'll be pretending never happened, we join Sam and Dean as they flee the nuthouse grounds while klaxons blare in the background, alerting everyone to their daring escape. And in the end, Our Dear Boys hop into the patiently waiting rain-streaked Impala and motor on off towards their next adventure.
What's that? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" You say I skipped a whiny chick-flick moment wherein The Ginormomope bleats about his long-suppressed rage issues while Dean heats a couple of soothing Sugar-Free Decaf French Vanilla Cafés from General Foods International on the Impala's engine block? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Well, too late now. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Besides, if I don't dump some copious amounts of healing booze down Raoul's gaping maw in the next two minutes, I'm pretty sure the dizzy lizard's going to shriek himself into an aneurysm. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" See you next week!
Demian finds your ridiculously low tolerance for alcohol amusing, in the nastiest manner possible. Raoul agrees. "[Slurp!]" You may reach the former at firstname.lastname@example.org. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon still under house arrest on the Internet.