Supernatural

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Demian: A- | 10 USERS: A-
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Let's Go LARPing With The Hardy Boys!

Though he obviously can barely remember it, Sam politely greets Becky by her name, leading to more barely hinged devotional squealing from everybody's least favorite yet most accurate online fangirl until Chuck hisses at her, "Did you take my phone?" "I just borrowed it!" Becky insists. "What?" she continues when Chuck offers her a meekly chiding tsk. "They're gonna wanna see it!" "See what?" Sam and Dean reply in unison, much to Becky's ecstatic delight. And with that, more or less -- though considerably less or more than more or less -- Becky The Wincesting Fangirl eagerly leads Our Intrepid Heroes into the hotel's bar, where a beer-toting tub of lard who looks like John Candy with a soul patch boisterously greets Dashing El Deano by name. "Who the hell are you?" Dean challenges. Blubber gestures at his plus-size Dean-like attire and duhs, "I'm Dean, too," before vanishing as best his fat ass can into the crowd, only to be replaced by yet another cosplaying idiot -- this one attired as The Scarecrow from "Scarecrow" -- who playfully menaces them with his rubber scythe. Sam bitchfaces. Heh. Dean, meanwhile, whirls on Becky to wonder what the hell is going on, but it's clear from the subsequent random shots of Bloody Marys and Everybody Loves A Clowns and transgendered Bobbys and Metallicar coffee cups and black-eyed vendors hawking "Got Salt?" t-shirts that Our Dear Boys have stumbled into that most hideous and hateful version of Hell on earth: The Supernatural fan convention. And I am loath to admit this, but I'd probably pay good money for an authentic pair of Ceiling Demon contact lenses. Or maybe I'd just pay good money for the attractive Canadian gentleman who's wearing them at the moment. In any event, Dean pops a bemused eyebrow as the insistent blues song blaring throughout the bar ramps up in amplification until...

...SPLAT! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, as is his wont, before he calms down a bit and turns to yours truly to inquire politely, "Is not this the episode in which you yourself are prominently featured?" It is, indeed, my scaly friend. "Well?!" Well what? "Which one are you!?" Ah! You shall have to wait until the end to find out, for they do not reveal his name until the last scene. "Rats!" pouts Raoul, who proceeds to unleash his version of The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Pleading And Doom upon yours truly, and the effect is deeply unsettling, what with The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes hovering in the middle of that lizardly face above his impressively fanged maw, and no, Raoul, I am not telling you which one is supposed to be me until the great reveal at the end of the episode. "Oh, poop!" Raoul pouts once more, thankfully dropping the puppy-dog schtick to collapse against the cushions of his overstuffed armchair and quietly fume, and there's no call to get snippy, friend of friends -- after all, there's plenty of violence and gore to be had in this evening's presentation. "There is?!" Indeed. "Then what are you waiting for, you silly little man!? Hurry along! Now!" As you wish, Raoul. As you wish.

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Supernatural

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