Awwwwww yeah: due to some graphic violence, viewer discretion is advised. How this episode can be more graphic than the one in which Scully's neck gave birth to a massive banana slug, I shudder to think.

Night. Middle of Nowhere. Literally: we don't the Non-Hip, Non-Squiggly Font of Location introduction. Inside a car, a man sleeps in the driver's seat, his head propped up against the window. He's cute. In fact, I'm getting desperate, so he's very cute. If I had a beer in me, he'd be cute enough to eat. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. Cute Enough To Eat wakes with a start when some other, less cute dude raps smartly on the car window. CETE looks even cuter when he's awake. He rolls the window down. "Damn, Jim! You fell asleep? We're on a stakeout, man!" whines Less Cute Exposition Fairy Dude. I'd like to take this moment to comment that I like to preface everything I say with the phrase "damn, Jim!" Seeing as my father is named Jim, this caused no end of trouble in my youth. CETE rubs his face. "I guess. I dunno," he exhales. Wow, give this guy a promotion. Less Cute Exposition Fairy Dude moves the plot along by commenting that the door of the house they're staking out is wide open. CETE looks at him blankly. Pretty outside, stupid inside. My favorite flavor. Hee. Not really. I like them pretty outside and painfully intelligent with a mean streak and heavy dose of selfishness inside, if the past serves as an indication. "You better check it," Less Cute Exposition Fairy Dude spits. "Before you wreck it," I finish for him. CETE stumbles out of the car.

LCEFD and CETE approach the house, a ramshackle old Victorian. Under the street lamp, CETE is not nearly as snackable. In the squad car, he looked a bit like Ethan Crane, a blandly good-looking, yet terminally idiotic character in my favorite PBS program, Passions. This week, Sheridan is buried alive! Anyway, out of the squad car, CETE looks less like Ethan Crane and more like SpongeBob SquarePants. SpongeBob and LCEFD peer around the doorway of the house. "Looks like they left," SpongeBob says. LCEFD shines his flashlight around, finally alighting (literally! See what I did there?) on a series of footprints in the hallway floor. Bloody footprints. "This can't be!" hisses SpongeBob. Painted on the wall above one of the inside doorways is an eye. The house I grew up in -- where my parents and sister still live -- has an artist's studio over the garage, where, legend has it, Norman Rockwell painted Gary Cooper. But over the years, the people who lived in the house let their kids ("damn dirty hippies," according to our neighbor down the street) use the studio as a rec room ("for their acid trips and reefer sessions," ibid.), and when we moved in, it was painted all crazy-ass, including (and this is where my point finally arrives) a big creepy eye on the door to the bathroom. Shout-out? Asked and answered, baby. Asked and answered.