This week, Our Intrepid Heroes hit dreary Erie after a series of unwitting organ donors start popping up at area hospitals with their intestines spilling out onto the floors. Seems an immortal Frankendoctor's taken up residence in a remote hunting cabin on the outskirts of the mistake by the lake, and as part of his longstanding beauty regimen, he's been abducting local residents to slice out (and off, actually) various replacement parts for his own body. Heroic Action Sammy manages to track the monster down and rescue one of Frankendoc's victims, only to get his damn fool enormous self abducted almost immediately afterwards, and after a tremendously unnerving sequence involving a sterilized melon baller and The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes, Dashing El Deano finally barges in on the festivities to save the day. Strangely enough, though, instead of ridding the world of Frankendoc by immolating the creep, Our Dear Boys choose instead to bury the freak in the middle of the woods, alive forever in a refrigerator, and I swear to God this has to be the fourth time I've seen that particular plot device on television this season.
No matter, though, because none of the above is really all that important, apparently. Nope, the evening's big reveal comes crashing down around the audience's collective ears in the last three minutes of the hour, during which we learned that Posh Bela has sold her own soul -- to Lilith, who in fact holds the contracts on everyone who made similar deals, including Dean -- in exchange for her parents' murder. (Her very own Daddy Dearest was both rolling in dough and diddling his darling daughter on the side.) All those unique items she procured for a select clientele, up to and including The Fucking Colt? Simply her way of attempting to arm herself against the inevitable. The end of the episode finds her defenseless and alone in Sam and Dean's long-abandoned motel room at midnight on the day her contract's come due. That infernal baying noise you heard around 10 PM Eastern? One part rabid hellhound and 2.5 million parts rabid Supernatural fans, the latter howling with glee over the bitchy aggravation's long-overdue demise. Hooray!
Rattle, Rattle THEN! As you'll recall, because Dashing El Deano had but a year to live, Our Intrepid Heroes decided to spend what little time he had left killing some evil sons of bitches and raising a little hell, and they were quite successful in these endeavors, indeed, until they hit a wee bitty speck of a town called Monument, Colorado, where Ruby The Sparkly Haired Demon informed them both of Lilith's very existence and of Lilith's foul designs upon Darling Sammy's blameless intestines -- and say goodbye to The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, kids. "EEEEEEEEEK!" shrieks Raoul, who promptly hits the ceiling from the depths of his overstuffed armchair and stays there for the remainder of this sequence, for yes, The Kripkeeper has decided to insert a shot of that wicked child's eyes flipping a milky, opaque white as she raises one of her creepy preadolescent hands to flood the tiny precinct with a horribly brilliant light. That bastard. So, while I rustle up a flagon full of something smart and soothing in order to coax that damn quivering sissy of a lizard down off my ceiling, why don't you all go ahead and relax as Darling Sammy shoots Jared Padalecki's adorable fiancée in the face and the series reminds you of how deeply misunderstood poor Posh Bela is, okay? And, as always, after you catch Dean admitting to the debilitating depths of his fear, or whatever, you all need to shut the hell up, 'cause it's time for the...
...Silence, Silence NOW! "Erie, Pennsylvania" pops up in the location card at the bottom of the screen while the camera pulls this artily disorienting spiral away from the thoroughly modern façade of the "Cristal Spa & Racquet Club," from which two gentlemen are just now emerging, post workout, into the nighttime gloom surrounding the place to head towards their cars. The gentleman we won't be seeing again this evening invites the other out for a cocktail, but his companion -- a plastic surgeon, apparently, and geddit? GEDDIT? -- must decline, as he's "gotta be up at the crack of dawn" because "some crabby old broad wants the works" the following morning, and "it'll take a forklift to get it all back up" for her. The two toned thirtysomething gym rats snicker over the futile plight of the vanity-stricken aged, or something, and after bumping hands in a manner most obnoxious, they split up to head their separate ways. The camera sticks with the plastic surgeon as he remotely deactivates his car's alarm, and as he's being played by serial sci-fi victim Kavan Smith -- a most attractive gentleman who unfortunately has been subjected to any manner of gruesome tortures in the service of various Canadian-filmed TV shows ranging from The Outer Limits to Smallville to Stargate to The 4400 -- we know he'll be swimming in a seemingly bottomless pool of his own bile and blood in a couple of seconds. So, you know, it's a little difficult to muster up interest in his character, knowing said character's going to be dead before the opening credits. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Raoul, please! Could you wait for it? "Hee! I do apologize, I'm sure, but I am feeling most light-headed thanks to this delicious flagon you've managed to procure for my aid and comfort!" Anything to get you off the goddamned ceiling, you dizzy -- albeit impressively fanged -- fool. "You can't possibly blame me for that!" Raoul shrieks, an appalled and slightly inebriated paw clutching at his nonexistent pearls. "That was all that silly little Kripke person's fault! After all, there was simply no call to surprise us all with that...that THING on the television set so early in the episode!" Are you done? "Why, I do believe I am!" Good, 'cause there's a glorified Canadian extra that needs killing, and I'd like to see it happen before I'm eligible for Medicare. "You mean you're not already?!" You bitch. "[Hic!] Hee!"