Sure, it was a repeat, but weren’t we all a little excited on Thursday to go to the TV Guide and see our beloved show Supernatural listed in the lineup again? I got a little emotional, and I didn’t even care what episode was on. The CW played a cruel joke on us for six weeks, and I’m glad it’s over.

The episode chosen for repeat viewing was “Malleus Maleficarum”, a graphically gross tale about shallow suburbanites who unwittingly sold their souls to the devil via witchcraft all in hopes of getting a better mortgage rate. The writer of this episode was Ben Edlund, who makes my short list of writers whose warped mind I most want to emulate when writing my own stuff. This wasn’t his best script (that honor belongs to season two’s “Nightshifter”), but I still enjoyed his unconventional view of witches and demons, and he delivered plenty of drama for the Winchester boys. There was one element in particular that made this episode stand out from others, but first let’s cover the other stuff.

This show has always been proud of its gore, and this episode hit the ground running. A hot chick starts spitting out her teeth in a sink, blood and all. I thought that was wrong on many levels (note that I use “wrong” with wicked appreciation), until the next bit involved eating maggots in a burger while Poison played in the background. The horror (the song, not the maggots)! The subsequent visit to the offending witch’s home went for the gross-out trifecta, complete with a chicken being consumed by large maggots, loads of blood seen through a glass coffee table from the witch’s vertically slit wrists, and a poor slaughtered bunny. Even Sam was grossed out, but what I loved was Dean not caring about the dead woman, but grieved over the innocent, hacked-up rabbit. At that point the gore meter exploded, and that was only fifteen minutes into the episode. Nothing tops season one’s “Skin” in the gore category, but this episode did live up to that tradition.

The brotherly moments, as usual, were great. There are not enough ways for me to express how hot the Winchesters look in suits while playing the faux OOTW (officials of the week), so just add me to the multitudes of women whose collective drool could drown a village. Granted, I’ve never run into agents from the Center for Disease Control (CDC), but I really doubt they look that good. I’m waiting for the day when someone they visit calls them out on the fact that they’re not who they say they are, but lets it slide because the prettiness is too tempting.