“How many traffic-lights are in Winder?” Dean growled as he drove east on Highway 29.
Sam shrugged as he read his notes using the overhead light of the Impala.
“What are we looking for?” Dean griped as he pulled the car off the road.
Sam flipped his hair out of his eyes and said, “It’s called the Wog.”
“Really,” Dean smarted off.
“Yeah,” Sam replied, “It’s dog-like with bristly fur and a forked tongue.”
“Size?” Dean asked as he looked out his open window.
“Big as a cow,” Sam answered as a long tongue probed in and slimed Dean’s face.