Jen: So now she haunts the building, and anyone who sees her doesn’t live to tell the tale.
Curtis: Well, if no one lives to tell the tale, then how does the tale get told?
Dean: Woah, woah, woah, woah... hold on a minute!!
Dean: C'mon, dude, that's not how it happened!
Sam: No? So you never drank a purple nurple?
Dean: Yeah, maybe that, but I don't say things like "fiesty little wildcat" and her name wasn't Starla.
Sam: Then what was it?
Dean: I don't know... but she was a classy chick. She was a grad student. Anthropology and folklore. We were talking about ghost stories.
Classy Girl: My God, you are attractive!
Dean: Thanks. But no time for that now. You need to tell me about this urban legend. Please? Lives are at stake.
Classy Girl: Sorry, I can't even concentrate. (gazes at Dean) It's like staring into the sun.
Sam: Dean. this is a very serious investigation. We don't have time for any of your blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.
Sam: I don't sound like that, Dean!
Dean: That's what you sound like to me.
Bobby Singer: Okay, what's going on with you two?
Sam: Nothing. Nothing, it's nothing.
Bobby: Come on, now, you're bickering like an old married couple.
Dean: No, see, married couples can get divorced. Me and him? We're like, uhh, Siamese twins.
Sam: It's conjoined twins!
Dean: See what I mean?
Janitor: Mr. Morality here, he brought a lot of girls up here. Got more ass than a toilet seat.
Sam: Dude... were you on my computer?
Sam: Oh really? Cuz it's frozen now, on... on bustyasianbeauties.com? Dean walks away) Dean... would you, just... don't touch my stuff anymore, okay!?!
Dean: Why don't you control your OCD?
Curtis: They did tests on me then uh.. they probed me.
Dean: They probed you?
Curtis: Yeah, they probed me... Again and again and again and... and again and again and again and then one more time.
Curtis: That's not even the worst of it.
Dean: How can it get any worse? I mean, some alien made you his bitch?
Curtis: They... they made me slow dance...
(Dean tells his version of the story)
Sam: So you and this guy, Curtis, you were in the same house?
Frat Kid: Yeah.
Dean: You heard of what happened to him right?
Frat Kid: Yeah, he said it was aliens... but you know, whatever.
Sam: Look, man, I know this all has to be so hard...
Frat Kid: Not so much.
Sam: But I want you to know...I'm here for you. (pause) You brave little soldier. I acknowledge your pain. Come here. (hugs him) Too precious for this world.
(cuts back to real life)
Sam: I never said that!
Dean: You're always saying pansy stuff like that.
Sam: The timing alone, there's gotta be some kinda connection here.
Dean: What, you mean between the angry spirit and the, uhh, sexed up E.T.? What could the connection possibly be?
Dean: These punishments, they’re almost poetic. Well, actually they’d be more like a limerick, but still…
Sam: You know something? I've put up with a lot from you!
Dean: What are you talking about? I'm a joy to be around!
Sam: Your dirty socks in the sink! Your food in the fridge!
Dean: What's wrong with my food?
Sam: It's not food anymore, Dean! It's Darwinism!
Dean: I like it.
Sam: How would you feel if I screwed with the Impala?
Dean: It'd be the last thing you ever did.
Sam: There was this guy. He was a research scientist. Animal testing.
Dean: Yeah, you know, a dick. Which fits the pattern. [
Sam: Maybe we should get some help. I'll call Bobby, maybe he's run into something like this before.
Dean: Oh, I'm sure he has. Just your typical haunted campus, alien abduction, alligator in the sewer gig. Yeah, simple.
Bobby Singer: If you two had bothered to pull your heads out of your asses, it all would’ve been pretty clear.
Bobby Singer: What you’re dealing with.
Dean: I got nothing.
Sam: Me neither.
Bobby Singer: You got a trickster on your hands.
Dean: That’s what I thought!
Sam: What?!? No you didn't!
Janitor: Sorry I’m dragging a little ass today, boys. Had quite the night last night. Lots of sex, if you catch my drift.
Dean: Yeah, hard not to.
Dean: Look, man, I--I gotta tell you, I dig your style, all right. You know. I mean, (gestures to scantily clad women) I do. I mean… phew! And the, uh, slow-dancing alien... (both laugh)
Janitor: One of my personal favorites.
Sam: Dean, I... I'm --
Dean: Hey. Me too.
Bobby Singer: ou guys are breaking my heart. Could we please just leave?