agoodmusekickin

Why we can't have nice things

The hand to hand is fast and furious. This thing, what ever the hell it is, fights like no demon he's ever seen. Long range attacks were of no use, as it seems to be completely bullet and rock salt proof. Actually, the rock salt just made it angry. So angry that it threw some kung fu-movie-reject of a weapon into the gun barrel rendering the thing completely useless.

Meanwhile, seated on the rear bumper of the Impala...

"Seriously, how do you guys road trip without any Grateful Dead? That's like, a crime against nature."
Sam snatches the cassette box away from Michaelangelo.
"How long do you think they're going to keep at this?"
"Huh? Oh Raph'll go until he passes out, or until ... uh..the other guy?"
"Dean."
"Right. Or until Dean gets the upper hand and manages to kill him," says Mike who doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned about either outcome. "Pork rind?"
"Nah, I'm good." replies Sam, nursing his no-name long neck.

"What the hell are you?"
"I'm the frickin' Batman,"

Mike sighs. "Right, we could be here for a while. Pizza run?"
"Sure, what ever."
"I'll drive."
"I...don't think so."