The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester
Updated 2009-10-30 09:48:51
Rattle, Rattle NONEXISTENT THEN! which, logically, means we've also got a NONEXISTENT NOW! this episode, because it's an utterly pointless standalone that has absolutely nothing to do with anything that came before on this show, and likely has absolutely nothing to do with anything that will follow this season. Trust me when I tell you this development does not amuse me. In any event, the camera fades up on a woman perusing the latest edition of the no-longer-extant Weekly World News , whose headline screams, "LEADING PSYCHICS AGREE: THE APOCALYPSE IS HERE!" She chuckles to herself as her presumed husband barges in through the front door of their tastefully appointed and pricey suburban manse to ricochet immediately up the stairs to the second floor with nary a word of greeting to his mate. This odd-seeming behavior is evidently par for the course 'round these parts, for it elicits nothing more than a sarcastic, "Nice to see you, too," from the lady on the couch, and she returns her attention to Ed Anger's latest well considered Op-Ed column while upstairs...
...her presumed husband caroms into the main bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him before he spins around to assault the sink. He's clutching at his left arm , by the way, so already things aren't looking so good for this yuppified douchenozzle whose name we'll presently learn is "Xavier." In a panic, he yanks his good hand away from his forearm long enough to twist on the cold water, and he's about to, I don't know, soak his damn head, or something, when he's frozen in place by the reflection staring back at him in the mirror. The shot lingers on his right hand as the skin there instantly ages about fifty years, and by the time the camera's crawled up to his face, intricately wrinkled bags have appeared beneath his twentysomething eyes. Xavier's late-onset bout of Hutchinson-Gilford syndrome continues apace, with his hair simply vanishing from the crown of his head and his irises filming over with milky cataracts right before our eyes until that heart attack we've all been waiting for finally strikes with such force that Xavier staggers backwards to slam against the glass front of the medicine cabinet -- shattering the thing in a manner most convenient for alerting his soon-to-be widow far below -- before dropping to the floor, where he quietly expires against the tiles.
Not so quiet? Wifey's clunky clodhopping heels as she trots across the living room's bare floorboards before galumphing up the stairs. Also not so quiet? Wifey's delirious screech of horror when she arrives at the bathroom to find her beloved's rapidly cooling corpse slumped somewhere budget-saving and off-screen. Wifey screams and screams and screams and screams and...
...SPLAT! " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, writhing about his overstuffed armchair with continued delight over the fifth season's bloody title card before he calms his overexcited self down a bit and turns to your faithful recapper to glare. Yes, Raoul? "Hmph!" I take it you are displeased with something? " Hmph! " Well, don't just sit there fuming -- tell me what's on yo... "You'll pardon me, I'm sure! " Raoul shrieks, rudely interrupting me. "But is what I've heard about this particular installment of our usually charming Thursday-evening divertissement correct?!" I don't know what you've he... " Is there no VIOLENCE!? Have they dispensed with the GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE?! " Ah. I'm afraid they have, my scaly friend. "You're on your own!" But...but...you'll miss the fascinating character study that unfolds as Dean processes through his complicated emotional reaction to sudden aging! And the deep insights we receive regarding Bobby's ongoing disability! And, um, something about Darling Sammy's remarkably broad shoulders! "LIAR!" Raoul shrieks in an orgy of disdain. "FIEND!" he shrieks again, two perfect circles of outraged smoke popping from his indignantly flared nostrils. " J'ACCUSE! " he shrieks once more, jabbing an exquisitely manicured claw of condemnation in my general direction, and you can knock it off anytime you feel like it, Raoul, because I think you've made your point. Now, what did you mean about me being on my own? "Why, this! " the dizzy lizard snits, and with that, he wriggles his tubby derriere from the depths of his overstuffed armchair and flounces off to his den, from which presently emerges the opening narration to that timeless classic of the British cinema, Hot Fuzz . " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Oh, terrific. I have to plow through this mess without my normally faithful recapping companion while said normally faithful recapping companion is watching something far more entertaining than this mess? Thanks for nothing, show .
Well, let's get to it, then, starting with dispatching Poor Dead Xavier as quickly as possible. The LYING LIARS WHO LIE, masquerading as doctors from The Centers For Disease Control, have already arrived in this evening's never-named town by the time we've joined them, and are now getting the particulars from the oddly blasé coroner, who announces that the only thing she can tell them at the moment is that Xavier was 25 years old and "died of old age," even though he clearly suffered a heart attack during the teaser, so add the coroner herself to the ever-expanding list of Things That Suck About This Episode. Out in the hall, Dashing El Deano whips open his cell and quickly connects to Bobby -- who, though still in his wheelchair, has evidently continued to monitor the Internet for strange, possibly Apocalypse-related occurrences from his palatial estate deep within the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota, as it becomes clear through the dialogue that follows that Speed Racer himself informed Our Intrepid Heroes of Poor Dead Xavier's most unusual cause of death in the first place. Dean confirms that Poor Dead Xavier is, indeed, the only inappropriately aged corpse in this never-named burg, but adds that there are several outstanding missing persons cases, as well. Bobby, guided by little more than a hunch that the various cases might be connected, orders the boys to investigate further, and Our Intrepid Heroes are about to do so when Dean foolishly thinks to ask how Bobby's adjusting to his life as a cripple, or something like that. Because Bobby is a salty old coot not given to chick-flicky vagina monologues, he snaps back something sarcastic about weeping into his Häagen-Dazs before calling Dean an "idjit" and slamming down his phone in a testosterone-fuelled rage. Or something like that. Of course, we know that Bobby Is Really Having Issues With His Newfangled Paralysis because the camera lingers on him for a very lengthy period of time after he's hung up on Dean, and we get to watch as he slouches down a little into An Attitude Of Abject Sadness And Despair, and we're barely three minutes into this wretched excuse of an episode, and already I want it over with. Uck. " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Shut up, Raoul. Of course, he can't hear me, so let's do our best to ignore him and join Our Intrepid Heroes as they...
...leap forward a bit in time to interrogate a missing person's significant other, shall we? We're already past the LIES they presumably told this dear little sixtysomething woman to gain access to her home, and Our Dear Boys have arranged themselves on chairs around her coffee table as she passes them the most recent photograph of her absent husband, who appears to be an avid golfer graced with an enormous navy blue Marine Corps tattoo on his inner right forearm, a character detail which you may wish to note. You know, just in case it becomes important in about thirty-eight seconds when they find a younger version of the guy screwing a pair of barely legal Asian prostitutes. Anywho, Dear Mrs. Whitlow, here, immediately knew something was wrong when her husband, Cliff, failed to return home from the office on Tuesday evening, as he was never, ever in the habit of socializing after work, though he did often have to stay late to take care of his business. This last sets Dashing El Deano's bullshit detector to tingling and, after LYING that he needs to avail himself of the dear lady's facilities, he tippy-toes into Cliff Whitlow's den, where a quick search of the missing veteran's discarded jacket turns up a crumpled, forgotten $250 credit card receipt from a no-doubt tasteful local establishment identified as "Madame Lin's Golden Palace." "Working late, my ass!" Dean grumps, and with that, we...
...leap forward yet again in time to join Our Intrepid Heroes as they amble down the upper hallway of what I'm guessing is some elaborately decorated, Chinese-themed no-tell motel , given Sam's musing that the good Mr. Whitlow rented the same room every Tuesday evening "at hourly rates." Dean remarks he'd like to have "that kind of kick" when he himself has reached The Good Mr. Whitlow's advanced years, which is presumably amusing because -- spoiler alert! -- he'll be reaching The Good Mr. Whitlow's advanced years in all of about ten minutes thanks to some Cypriot leprechaun's wacky magical hijinks. No, I am not kidding with that. Nor am I kidding with this: When the boys hesitate before entering The Good Mr. Whitlow's usual room, Sam wonders aloud what they'll find in there, with Dean guessing "a wrinkly, gooey corpse," because, despite having lived their entire fucking lives in the sorts of crappy motels that charge by the hour, they actually believe they'll find a corpse rotting since "last Tuesday" sprawled across the bed, because unfortunately, these two morons top the list of Things That Suck About This Episode, and I refuse to waste any more time on this stupidity and will instead jump ahead to the bit where Darling Sammy, suddenly hearing a suspicious noise, hurls his remarkably healthy frame against Room 44's door to knock the flimsy wood off its hinges. Much to their embarrassed horror, Our Intrepid Idiots find, of course, an abashed and irritated twentysomething gentleman engaged in a threeway with two barely legal Asian prostitutes, and this joke was funnier the first time I saw it twenty-seven years ago , but that's not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that eagle-eyed Darling Sammy's just noticed an enormous navy blue Marine Corps tattoo on the abashed and irritated twentysomething gentleman's inner right forearm. DUN! Or not, as the case may be, but you know. Just trying to inject an element of suspense into an episode that finds itself entirely lacking in same. Was that a spoiler? " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Oh, fuck it.
In any event, after The Good Mr. Whitlow -- for that is, indeed, who the abashed and irritated twentysomething gentleman is -- has thrown on an appropriate Asian-themed silk robe, and after The Good Mr. Whitlow has shoved a wad of twenties into the hands of his barely legal Asian prostitute friends, and after The Good Mr. Whitlow has pushed those barely legal Asian prostitute friends of his out the door, we finally learn what happened to the syphilitic whoremongering adulterous bastard : Seems he found himself in the middle of a high-stakes poker game wherein the players bet years of their lives rather than cash, and wouldn't you know it? He won! And he's more than happy to have the long-suffering missus think he's dead, thank you very much, though where that leaves either of them situated, financially speaking, is anyone's guess, but we're not supposed to worry about things like that because the Whitlows are merely plot devices put in place to introduce the concept of this asinine floating Texas Hold 'Em game the Cypriot leprechaun's been running for the last nine hundred years, so let's wave goodbye to the syphilitic whoremongering adulterous bastard and join Our Brainless Boys as they amble down the sidewalk outside Madame Lin's Golden Palace, where Dean is once more on the phone with Speed Racer up in the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota. Naturally, Speed Racer's positively brimming with lore regarding asinine magical floating Texas Hold 'Em games "going back centuries," all of which involves a mysterious gentleman blowing into town to challenge various gullible locals to a couple of hands. In the extremely unlikely event the local simps win, they get their "best years back." Of course, because Bobby Is Really Having Issues With His Newfangled Paralysis, he wastes not an instant once he's off the phone before snatching up his car keys and wheeling himself off to his Chevelle to motor on down to this week's never-named town to do something incredibly stupid, because Bobby The Blockhead occupies yet another line item on the list of Things That Suck About This Episode. Rrrgh.
A very short while later, Dean, having split off from his brother to search for the mysterious Cypriot leprechaun, slips a hundred-dollar bill to some local dive's bartender and quickly receives directions to the asinine magical floating Texas Hold 'Em game 'round back. One problem: Just as Dean's arriving at the designated doorway, out pops...Speed Racer! D'OH! Because I am attempting to make it through this misbegotten wreck of an episode as quickly as possible, I will not be wondering how in the hell Bobby made it all the way from the lush coastal rainforests of central South Dakota to this week's never-named town so quickly, nor will I be wondering how he managed to roll across the Cypriot leprechaun's location hours ahead of Our Intrepid Halfwits, because all anyone needs to know about Blockheaded Bobby's pathetically dumb adventure is what anyone who ever watched a television show or movie before could guess: He lost. D'OH! Again! Some more! And with that, we topple into this evening's first commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less because, like the THEN! and the NOW!, the METAL TEETH CHOMP! wants nothing to do with the big, hateful bag of ass Kripke & Ko. saw fit to barf up onto the screen this evening. Bastard. " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Ugh.
Alleyway. Aftermath. Blockheaded Bobby reluctantly confirms he gambled away twenty-five years of his life in the foolish hope that he'd win, thereby regaining use of his legs, and that confession's barely left his lips when the first signs of rapid aging attack the bags beneath his eyes. Dean pitches a momentary fit before spinning around on his heel and hoofing it back into the bar, where we find...
...The Cypriot Leprechaun himself, setting up yet another mark in tandem with the woman we'll soon enough learn is his longtime partner in crime. Yes, Hal Ozsan is using an Irish accent, and yes, it is even more painful than you could possibly imagine, and yes, Hal Ozsan's unimaginably painful Irish accent is yet another item on the list of Sucky Things That Suck About This Episode Which Sucks, so I'll be skipping ahead to the bit wherein Dashing El Deano draws The Cypriot Leprechaun into the bar's back parlor for a chat, and long story short, Dean calls him "Manwitch" -- which is about the only amusing bit this evening -- before demanding he return the years he won from Speed Racer. No go, needless to say, and by the way, bullets have no effect on The Manwitch, so Dashing El Deano can just tuck that trusty pearl-handled automatic of his back into the waistband of his jeans, thank you very much, and would Dashing El Deano be interested in a ludicrous game of ridiculous cards? He would, despite Blockheaded Bobby's vociferous protestations, so we head off to...
...The Cellar Of Blockheaded Bobby's Ludicrous Doom, where The Cypriot Leprechaun opens an elaborate and expensive-looking poker set on the green felt table while reminding Our Intrepid Pinhead that the standard buy-in is twenty-five years. The Manwitch, incidentally, has a very noticeable habit of chewing on toothpicks, a character detail which you may wish to note. You know, just in case it becomes important in about twenty minutes when Darling Sammy attempts to swipe one to use as a DNA sample in the vanquishing ritual they perform at the behest of The Manwitch's partner in crime. Ooops! Spoiler! Dean, naturally, asks for double the minimum number of chips and, after The Cypriot Leprechaun's zapped said chips with a bit of Latinated mojo, immediately returns twenty-five, which are to be credited to Blockheaded Bobby's account. The Manwitch latinates some more, and before you know it, a large gout of flame erupts from the center of the table to transform the pile of chips into a pile of ash. And when the fire dissipates, we see that Speed Racer's been restored to his proper age. And because I am attempting to make it through this misbegotten nightmare of an episode as quickly as possible, I will not be wondering why Dim Dean didn't immediately return twenty-six chips to The Cypriot Leprechaun for immolation, thereby restoring Blockheaded Bobby not only to the latter's proper age, but also to the latter's former state of entirely ambulatory health because this episode sucks, and I want to die, and while I'm not wondering why Dim Dean didn't immediately return twenty-six chips for immolation, I'll also not be wondering why we're expected to fret about Dim Dean's well being at this or any other point during this misbegotten horror of an episode because hey, isn't Dim Dean Michael's angel condom, and wouldn't Zachariah immediately restore Dim Dean to his proper age and former state of entirely bow-legged health no matter what the hell happens during the ludicrous rounds of Texas Hold 'Em that follow? AAAUAUAUUUUUAAAUAUUUAUUUGH. " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Fuck you, Raoul. You too, Simon Pegg.
ANY-way, Dim Dean orders The Manwitch to "shuffle up and deal," and the next thing we know, Sam's entering this week's motel room with a takeout tray stuffed with delicious-looking bacon double cheeseburgers, which he nearly bobbles to the floor when Chad Everett dodders from the can in an out-of-character blue terrycloth robe for yes, Dim Dean lost, and yes, Chad Everett is now playing Old Dean, and while I'll not begrudge Jensen Ackles a week off from the insane and hectic schedule this show normally demands of him, Chad Everett's a towering douchebag of the old, unapologetically chauvinist order, and so I shall simply note that his presence therefore represents yet another item on The Sucky List of Sucktastic Things That Royally Suck About This Sucky Episode Which Sucks Rocks, and keep this moving. In any event, Old Dean likens himself to Gloria Stuart , Darling Sammy likens Old Dean to Emperor Palpatine , the just-arriving Speed Racer likens Old Dean to John McCain , and you goddamned morons can get this stupid plot moving any time you feel like it, okay? OKAY? Sam smirks that with Old Dean and Blockheaded Bobby bickering at each other, it's like Grumpy Old Men come to life, and as that's an insult to the sainted memories of Jack Lemmon, Walter Matthau, Burgess Meredith, Ossie Davis, and Ann-Margret's career, I'll be ignoring the mildly amusing moment when both Old Dean and Blockheaded Bobby tell Darling Sammy to shut the hell up to skim past both the tedious argument Old Dean and Speed Racer have regarding whose fate is worse and the tedious piece of business wherein Old Dean suffers an attack of acid reflux thanks to one of those delicious-looking bacon double cheeseburgers to get to the frigging point, already: The three numbskulls bang their heads together and eventually realize the Latinated poker chips must be at fault, and Sam and Old Dean leave to swipe The Manwitch's stash after Old Dean embarrasses himself by hitting on the chambermaid -- who likens him to her adorably old and perpetually horny grandfather, of course -- and holy crap, this episode sucks. At least the one with the racist truck had a sex scene in it.
There follows a brief scenelet in which The Cypriot Leprechaun steals a Mercedes by faking a fatal accident (don't ask), and then we're off with Sam and Old Dean as they break into The Manwitch's tony high-rise condominium, which I'm assuming he's simply renting for the week, but whatever, because this episode blows, and I want to die, and Old Dean can't climb stairs anymore, nor can he crack safes, because he is Old Dean rather than Young Dean, and WE GET IT ALREADY and finally -- finally -- they've accessed the chips in question, but what's this? It's The Cypriot Leprechaun's longtime partner in crime! And she's got a few ludicrous magical tricks up her sleeve, as well, which she demonstrates by telekinetically rearranging Our Intrepid Knotheads' innards, and I'd be worried about their well being at this point in time, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that they're both Vessels for some very high-powered angelic entities and there is therefore no way in hell they're going to suffer permanent damage as a result of this evening's poorly considered hijinks, so I'll be skipping ahead to the point where The Manwitch serendipitously returns to his abode to reveal that the chips in and of themselves are worthless, and that if they want to regain any years they've lost, they'll have to play yet another stupid round of Texas Hold 'Em. Old Dean instantly volunteers, but The Cypriot Leprechaun insists he's not a killer, so any future gambling must of necessity be Sam's. Unfortunately, because Sam apparently suh- huuuuuucks even harder at Texas Hold 'Em than he does at the hand-to-hand combat, Old Dean announces they'll pass, and The Manwitch lets them go with just one small parting gift for Sam as punishment -- a parting gift he bestows by slowly clapping his hands together three times.
Cut to the base of The Manwitch's tony high-rise. Sam scratches himself. "I believe that He-Witch gave you the clap," Old Dean opines, and while it's not as amusing as a midget stripper giving him herpes, you must remember this: Darling Sammy just got a social disease from a guy. Heh.
Back from the second CHOMP!-less commercial break, The Three Stooges bicker about Sam taking on The Cypriot Leprechaun, and it somehow leads to a mini nervous breakdown from Speed Racer over his squashy legs and general uselessness, and I'd care about it more, I'm sure, if Dean had immediately returned twenty-six chips to The Manwitch for immolation rather than twenty-five, thereby restoring Blockheaded Bobby to the latter's former state of entirely ambulatory health, but Dean didn't, so I don't, because this episode sucks, and I want to die, and look at that! The scene's over. Sam vows to fix everything his own damn self, thank you very much, and he takes off, leaving Old Dean and Speed Racer to their own devices, so they stagger and wheel themselves, respectively, back to...
...this week's motel room where, to their surprise, The Cypriot Leprechaun's Longtime Companion awaits their return. "Take it," she orders, shoving a piece of marked-up loose-leaf paper into their faces. "It'll help you," she assures them. The "it" in question is, of course, the aforementioned Manwitch vanquish. Ooops. I mean, the "it" in question is, of course, "the most powerful reversal spell [they've] ever laid eyes on," but as it will reverse all of The Manwitch's work, it will also rapidly age The Cypriot Leprechaun into oblivion so, you know, same difference. And why is The Cypriot Leprechaun's Longtime Companion offering this to them now? She refuses to say, but she does take a lengthy and significant moment to twiddle with a silver locket at her throat, a character detail which you may wish to note. You know, just in case it becomes important at the end of the episode when she opens it to reveal the thing contains photographs of her now-deceased and much-missed daughter as both a rosy-cheeked infant and an ancient deathbed biddy, thereby establishing motivation for The Cypriot Leprechaun's Longtime Companion's death wish. Or something like that. And with that, she's out the door, leaving Old Dean and Blockheaded Bobby to stare vacantly at each other.
Down in The Cellar Of Boring Blockheaded Doom, The Manwitch lets an nice little old Jewish man win enough years to last long enough to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah, then turns his attention to Darling Sammy, who's arrived for some boring blockheaded poker. Next!
Over in some ridiculously scenic nighttime graveyard, Speed Racer cools his jets while Old Dean desecrates the final resting place of a convicted murderer, as the vanquish requires said convicted murderer's jawbone. Grumbling ensues, with Old Dean complaining about the pains in his feet and his back and his hands and his creaky elbows, and at one point, Old Dean instructs "Ironsides" to "pound it up [his] ass," and because I am attempting to make it through this misbegotten abortion of an episode as quickly as possible, I will not be rewinding to figure out why Old Dean would say such a thing to Blockheaded Bobby. " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Pound it up your ass, Raoul. Reference is made to The Bucket List , and as Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson have insulted the sainted memories of their careers -- the former by banging his step-granddaughter, the latter by being Jack Nicholson, and the both of them by appearing in The Goddamned Motherfucking Bucket List -- I'll be ignoring whatever supposedly amusing moments these two share during this endlessly pointless scene in favor of returning to...
...The Cellar Of Boring Blockheaded Doom, where The Manwitch attempts to psych Sam out, or something, but that's not important at the moment, because what is important at the moment is the fact that The Cypriot Leprechaun's discarded his ever-present toothpick on the table's green felt, and after a time-lapse during which Sam's pile of chips dwindles down to a dozen or so, The Cypriot Leprechaun's Longtime Companion saunters into the cellar to distract her paramour with the promise of nookie, so The Manwitch calls for a brief interlude, during which Darling Sammy...
...barrels out into the alleyway topside with the chewed-up, spit-laden toothpick hot in his remarkably healthy hands. He passes the thing to a waiting Old Dean, and after Old Dean offers a few meager words of encouragement, Darling Sammy darts back indoors while Old Dean trudges back to Blockheaded Bobby's...van? Bobby has a van? We'll go with that. For now. On his way, Old Dean pauses to grasp at his tingly left arm. Dun-dun-DUN! Or not, because of that whole angel-condom thing he's got going on this season, and this episode blows, and I want to die, and then we're back in...
...The Cellar Of Boring Blockheaded Doom, where Darling Sammy adopts an expression of studious boredom to bluff The Cypriot Leprechaun, but because Darling Sammy suh- huuuuuucks even harder at the expressions of studious boredom than he does at both Texas Hold 'Em and the hand-to-hand combat, The Manwitch is not fooled. I think.
Back at the van, Bobby's Laminating over a brazier, and when he hits a certain point in his recitation, the flames leap up and turn blue. At the proper moment, Old Dean drops the toothpick into the fire, then stands back, all, "Well? How do I look?" Bobby just sighs.
Down in the cellar, The Cypriot Leprechaun pulls his actual toothpick from his jacket pocket and flings the tiny thing down onto the table, noting with menace coloring his tones for the first time this evening that the other scrap of birchwood never passed his lips. Adding that he doesn't appreciate cheaters, he next telekinetically rearranges Darling Sammy's heretofore remarkably healthy innards, but because of that whole angel-condom thing Darling Sammy's got going on this season, and because this episode blows, and because I want to die, I remain singularly unconcerned regarding Our Intrepid Hero's well being throughout this sequence, even when said sequence ends in this evening's one and only METAL TEETH CHOMP! " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " CRAM IT, LIZARD.
Cellar, and if it's Thursday, Darling Sammy's getting choked, and if this episode did not blow, and if I did not want to die, this development would be very exciting indeed, but this episode does blow, and I do want to die, so everyone involved in this misbegotten abomination can just drop fucking dead for all I care. In any event, The Longtime Companion tugs at The Manwitch's arm, screaming that she herself is responsible for the betrayal, and if I gave a shit about either of these characters that we've never seen before and shall never see again after this evening, I'm sure I'd find the Moment Fraught With Significance that they subsequently share with one another most touching in the extreme, but I don't, so I don't, so we'll be heading back...
...topside, where Old Dean and Blockheaded Bobby puzzle through various explanations for the vanquish's failure until one or the other -- or possibly both, but I'm not rewinding to check, so there -- realizes the toothpick must be at fault, so they resolve to break back into The Manwitch's tony high-rise condominium to secure a different sample of The Cypriot Leprechaun's DNA. Um. Correction: Because the elevator at The Manwitch's tony high-rise condominium has been shut down for repairs, Old Dean will break back in to secure a different sample of The Cypriot Leprechaun's DNA after Old Dean climbs thirty-seven flights of stairs. With his bum ticker. Which I do not care about, because of that whole angel-condom thing Dim Dean's got going on this season, and this episode blows, and I want to die, and did you get all of that? Good.
The Cellar Of My Boring Blockheaded Doom And Despair. I think Sam just lost another hand. Next!
Lair Of The Manwitch. It's spotless, despite witches' well-documented facility for spewing bodily fluids everywhere they go. Darn. Whatever shall they dzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The Cellar Of My Boring Blockheaded Doom And Despair. The Cypriot Leprechaun once again attempts to psych Darling Sammy out, and there's blather about playing the percentages versus going all in, but it turns out Darling Sammy was bluffing, and as I noted in the recaplet, if I gave a rat's ass about shitty reruns of Celebrity Poker Showdown , I'd watch Bravo, but to hell with all that, because it's time for...
...Old Dean's long-awaited and utterly irrelevant coronary, which leaves Old Dean gasping for breath on the plush pile carpeting up in The Lair Of The Manwitch just as...
...The Cypriot Leprechaun deals the final pocket cards and flop. We don't see what Darling Sammy's holding, but the flop is an ace and a pair of fours. Just so you know. Anyway, because The Manwitch decided to taunt Darling Sammy with news of Old Dean's supposedly impending demise and because The Manwitch refuses to allow Darling Sammy to leave the table until the game is well and truly finished, Our Dear Boy immediately goes all in. The turn and the river are a seven and a nine, respectively, but they don't matter because The Cypriot Leprechaun's holding a pair of aces for a full house. Dun-dun-DUN! Or not, because Darling Sammy is of course holding the other two fours. Huzzah! The Manwitch admires Darling Sammy's moxie, or some such bullshit, The Longtime Companion weeps tears of joy whilst fingering her significant locket, or some such bullshit, and Dashing El Deano is instantly restored to full health. Now, what in the goddamned motherfucking hell are they going to do with the remaining five godforsaken minutes of this misbegotten abomination of an episode?
Well, they start by trying to make us care about these characters that we've never seen before and shall never see again after this evening, and I realize that what I'm about to say may be shocking, but: They fail. The Longtime Companion opens that significant locket of hers, revealing the aforementioned photographs of her now-deceased and much-missed daughter as both a rosy-cheeked infant and an ancient deathbed biddy, and I think he calls her "Leah" which totally doesn't matter right now because, after all, I never told you fine people that his name was "Patrick," and she pleads with him to reverse whatever magical mojo he'd been laying on her well-preserved derriere over the last century or so because "it's not natural" for a mother to bury her centenarian of a daughter, or something like that, and after many tears are shed, The Manwitch complies. I should note, I suppose, that my problems with this scene do not include the performances offered by the actors involved -- though, you know, there is that crappy accent Ozsan's attempting to pass off as legitimate, but we'll pretend I never mentioned it -- because both are certainly hitting all of the correct notes, but seriously: NO ONE CARES ABOUT THESE PEOPLE. " EEEEEEEEEEEEE! " Oy. So, long story short, they play one last hand, both of them going all in. He's got two pairs, kings over queens, and she has absolutely nothing, so she immediately morphs into a raisin and dies. Next!
This week's motel room, denouement. Darling Sammy and Speed Racer exchange a few pleasantries regarding the former's outstanding bit of luck the previous evening, and then Darling Sammy heads off for the free clinic and another round of antibiotics just as Dashing El Deano returns to this week's motel room, munching on a delicious-looking bacon double cheeseburger. Once Sam's disappeared to deal with his secret shame, Bobby proposes he and Dean load up the...van? The van? Really, Bobby -- a van ? Whatever. That's not important right now, because what is important right now is the fact that Dashing El Deano wishes to gift the hairy paraplegic with a rousing pep talk. And I'd care about it more, I'm sure, especially given the fact that Blockheaded Bobby had earlier threatened to blast his own damn fool head off in a fit of wheelchair-related frustration, but again: Dean could have immediately returned twenty-six chips to The Manwitch for immolation rather than twenty-five, thereby restoring Blockheaded Bobby to the latter's former state of entirely ambulatory health, but Dean didn't immediately return twenty-six chips to The Manwitch for immolation rather than twenty-five, so I do not care , because THIS EPISODE SUCKS, AND I WANT TO DIE!
"Demian!" WHAT? Oh. Hi, Raoul. How was Hot Fuzz ? "DEEEEEEEEEEEEE- lightful! Hee! See what I did there?!" Yes, Raoul. Yes, I see what you did there. Very nice, I'm sure. "Did you miss me!?" Actually, I kinda did, now that you ask, but there's something I missed just a little bit more. "Flagons?!" Well, I was actually going to say "an engaging plot for this evening's presentation," but are you offering? "Of course!" Then mix away, my scaly friend, while I handle what little remains of the misbegotten abomination. "No problem! Whatsoever!"
And while Raoul toddles off to whip us up a batch of something healing and tasty, Dean tells Bobby that old soldiers never die, they just fade away, and that cheers Speed Racer right up. I'm pretty sure. Please don't make me rewind to check, because there are seriously only fifty-four seconds left in this hateful episode, and it would be a thing of beauty and a joy forever if I could get through it without inflicting grave bodily injury upon myself. And in the end, we see the return of Badass Bobby as he most awesomely asks, "Now, are we done feeling our feelings? 'Cause I'd like to get out of this room before we both start growing lady parts." Hee. But then they have to ruin that beautiful moment by implying Dashing El Deano's decided to swear off delicious-looking bacon double cheeseburgers for good, and this show SUCKS and I WANT TO DIE and WHY WILL THIS EPISODE NOT END and look at that -- it's over. Thank fucking Christ.
And after the unmitigated trauma of this week's horrendous presentation, next week promises to be simply awesome. Richard Speight returns as The Trickster, who decides to torment Our Intrepid Heroes this time around by hurling them into a series of alternate realities wherein their lives play out like various television genres, including a three-camera sitcom with a laugh track, a sufficiently salacious version of Grey's Anatomy , a variation on C.S.I.: Miami featuring Darling Sammy as Horatio Caine, and -- perhaps most awesomely of all -- a take on Knight Rider in which the Impala stars as KITT. See you then.
Demian hated this episode so much, he can't find the strength to insult you. Raoul cannot possibly recommend Hot Fuzz to you more. "The gardening shears! The masonry! EEEEEEEEEEEEE! You may reach the former at demian_twop@yahoo.com. The latter is an imaginary gay dragon currently under house arrest on the Internet.
Discuss this episode in our forums , then see who vlogger Sean Crespo thinks the brothers should be battling in No Prior Knowledge!