Crackle, Crackle THEN! Our Intrepid Heroes are, from time to time, rampant, raging douchebags towards one another. Examples of this include El Deano's "greasy pork chop sandwich" remark while Darling Sammy was full in the throes of a monster hangover during "Playthings," the spoon thing from "Hell House," the preset car radio thing from "Hell House," the Krazy-Glued beer thing from "Hell House," and numerous occasions wherein Dean was a frigging jerk who smelled like a toilet and needed to shut up, and Sam was a bitch-assed chicken of a wuss who needed to grow a pair. They're adorable. "And such good company on long car trips!" Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon remarks.
Crackle, Crackle NOW! A middle-aged gentleman, bundled up against the nighttime chill in what appear to be fairly expensive clothes, hikes up a set of stairs and across a narrow street towards a university building of some sort. Just as he reaches the hall's front steps, he notices a youthfully petite brunette clad in nothing more than a gauzy white dress, hiking a pump up onto a crusty snow bank to adjust one of her straps. If the middle-aged gentleman's taken aback at her life-threatening lack of clothing on what is obviously a bitterly cold evening, he gives no sign of it as continues on his way with nary a pause in his step. His eyes, however, are now locked on her derriere, so we know he's One Of Those. The camera follows his leering eyes as they take in the brunette's bare and shapely gam for a bit before jumping back over to his face as he stops midway up the steps to open, "Excuse me, are you lost?" The brunette whips her luxuriant mop of ringlets around as she straightens up to smile at him, and playfully chirps, "No!" "I've been waiting for you, Professor," she continues as she plants both of her pumps on the frigid sidewalk and turns to face him with her hands behind her back -- the better to thrust forward those perky bazooms of hers. The professor immediately assumes she's one of his students there to ask a favor, and curtly reminds her that his office hours are Tuesday and Thursday before turning his back on her to continue up the stairs. "Really?" she almost whimpers, playing up the innocent little coed thing. "I was hoping I could see you now." "Um," the lecherous professor hesitates before suavely grinning, "Well, since you asked so nicely, come in!" The pert brunette grins back at him broadly and sashays over so she might saunter up the remaining steps at his side. You can practically hear the lecherous middle-aged professor congratulating himself for finally making the leap over to Cialis. "Oh, dear GOD!" Raoul sighs, placing a weary paw upon his forehead. "When will these lecherous heterosexual gentlemen learn that one should not make passes at winsome, waifish women wearing white?" Well, to be fair to the guy, Raoul, this winsome waif's not buzzing and blinking on and off like that goddamned chick from The Ring, so how is he to know any better? "By the fact that her breath isn't steaming into the icy night air the way his own is, perhaps? Hmmm? HMMMM?!" Oh, Raoul. Like he was looking at her face.
Indoors, The Pert Brunette Who Will With All Certainty Slaughter The Lecherous Professor Before We Reach The Title Card lifts up a book entitled Modern Morality: Examining Societal Views & Belief Systems by one "Arthur Cox," who, as we discover when she flips the volume around to display the author photo on the back of the dust jacket, is none other than the lecherous professor himself. I'll simply note that "Artie Cox" sounds like a nom de porn to me and leave it at that, for Raoul's growing restless already, and must have his gore. "Such a handsome photo!" The Pertly Homicidal Brunette enthuses as The Lecherous Professor unwinds his scarf over by his desk, and I should probably note that her dress is actually a very pale pink, but to hell with it. It's close enough to white for me. In any event, after a bit of academic chit-chat, The Pertly Homicidal Brunette admits she's not really one of The Lecherous Professor's students. "Then why are you here?" he wonders. By way of response, she flashes a terrifying array of choppers in his direction and coyly drops her head, swaying this way and that a little bit in her skimpy shift. Here, The Lecherous Professor all but morphs into an actual Looney Tunes character, complete with the steam shooting out of his ears as his eyes pop out of their sockets on a pair of springs to bounce up and down in front of his face while his tongue unfurls to roll across the floor like a red carpet he's tossed out just for her. There might be a HUBBA HUBBA involved as well, blinking on and off around his head. I can't be sure, though, because I've fast-forwarded to the bit where The Lecherous Professor makes his move. And that move is as spectacularly unsubtle as the rest of this scene. "I understand how you're feeling," he croons, circling around his desk to get all up in her scantily clad bazooms, "and it's only natural." "And," he continues with tremendous amounts of false humility in his tone as he addresses those bazooms directly, "I am somewhat of a celebrity around here." He draws her closer to him -- it must be noted that she's more than quite willingly going along with it all -- and murmurs something about not wanting to take advantage of her youthful innocence. He twirls one of her ringlets around in his fingers before gently touching her chin and tilting her mouth up to his. They mack. And mack. And mack. And mack and mack and mack and... "You know," Raoul shrieks, breaking the mood, "for an episode that's only thirty-eight minutes long without the commercials, they're wasting hideous amounts of time on a seduction scene whose bloody conclusion became obvious the instant we laid eyes upon this scantily clad demonic bint, don't you think?!" Ah, but there's a silver lining to that particular bit of gloom, my scaly friend! Less for me to recap!