Guys, I’m not one to mince words (mostly because mincing is hard and I usually just use a garlic press) but… this episode was pretty lame. Mid-season filler, if you will. It is our sworn duty (heh heh doody) to deliver you a relatively concise and coherent recap of all of the Winchester adventures, but it’s hard to muster any gusto for this. (Besides the confusing tingling sensation we feel as Dean continues to rock his scruff.) –sigh- Let’s begin.
Sam and Dean’s relationship is stretched a little thin these days, on account of the whole “Sam being brutally honest about how their co-dependence is tearing them apart” thing. Nevertheless, they venture forth to Minnesota (which, from Nebraska, is minimum six hours, and that’s assuming there isn’t a polar vortex thing happening, so I bet that road trip was a real treat) to investigate mysterious deaths. Fat people are dying. Specifically, fat people are dying by suddenly having all their weight sucked out of them.
Since this isn’t an episode of Doctor Who and there aren’t adorable alien creatures being born from the stolen fat, Sam and Dean put on their suits (drink!) and do their best to figure out the monster behind crimes. They interview the witnesses and speak to the local sheriff, who is quintessentially Minnesotan and quite a delight. Look at her and Dean share in the joy of doughnuts! The boys discover one link amongst the victims –they all attended the same day spa for weight loss. The Winchesters infiltrate the spa, Sam as a personal trainer (aside: Jared Padalecki is one of the few men I’ve seen who looks better in exercise gear than in a nice fitted suit) and Dean as a cafeteria worker. Dude can rock a hairnet.
Sam, by way of totally-not-checking-out-the-getting-hotter-yoga-girls discovers that the patients are receiving “cupping” treatment. The marks usually left by this real, actual, non-fictional thing, disguise a more nefarious practice- the woman who runs the spa with her husband is literally sucking the fat out of their customers. Unfortunately, Sam runs into their jolly sheriff friend (who is there losing weight because her ex-husband is a real dickbag) who calls him “agent” in her pudding-induced stupor. (Oh yeah, the spa serves up roofied pudding to keep people from waking up during their treatments. Legal, right?)
When confronted, the spa owner explains that she’s a pischtaco (which both Dean and I mishear as “fish taco”), also known as a Peruvian fat-sucker. However, she insists she doesn’t kill the patients, but simply takes enough to survive; it’s not like America’s supply of fat people is dwindling. The whole thing is more symbiotic than parasitic, if you think about it. Dean doesn’t believe her at first, but she reveals that her brother is working in the kitchens and that he has markedly less willpower than she does.
The brother has already killed her husband and the cook by the time the boys seek him out. He also already tried to kill Dean via pudding overdose. We waste some time watching Sam hunt him down (episode’s gotta fill42 minutes, guys). There’s a kerfuffle, and Sam is about to die when –surprise, surprise –Dean intervenes, killing her brother (so that poor
fish taco woman is now a widow and an only child) and saving his own.
Once returned to their (no doubt much less convivial) bunker, Sam finally sits Dean down and has the talk they should have had in, like, 2008, and tells him that co-dependence is a two-way street and he’s about ready to cut down this alley over here and no, really Dean, do not follow. Dean, of course, insists that all the things he’s done for Sammy have been the right things, even if he didn’t think them through first. Sam cuts to the chase and asks if Dean saved him all those times for Sam or for his own neediness. BOOM.
Dean, stubborn as ever, insists Sam would have done the same for him, which is stupid because we clearly saw last season that this is 100% untrue. If Dean died/was about to die, Sam would go off and find a nice lady with a cute puppy and they would live happily whilst Dean fights bad guys in purgatory. And Sam basically says that to Dean’s face. So much truth.
February 25th: Supernatural returns! Snookie is there. Our feelings are mixed. Can’t be worse than Paris Hilton (or Felicia Day).
Also, never forget this once happened:
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About the Author - DrImprobable
Before you ask, no, Dr. Improbable is not that kind of doctor, and will not be diagnosing your genital warts today. Seriously, put it away. The doc does more of the "mad science" brand of doctoring, though one day hopes to be that "time and space traveling" kind of doctor. In the meantime, Doc passes time cloning things, memorizing acronyms, and using large magnets. When not plotting all the terrible ways to destroy the human race (particularly those found on public transportation), the doc kills time by watching television and making sarcastic commentary on it.
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