Clawdeen Wolf (Classic): You stained my jacket, you pie-slinging asshole!
dean Winchester: Relax, furball. It’s cherry filling, not holy water.
Clawdeen Wolf (Classic): Call me furball again and I’ll turn your smug ass into a runway rug.
dean Winchester: Big threat from a glamorized damn werewolf with hair that needs its own zip code.
dean Winchester: I’ve fought wendigos with better manners, you purple-haired hellcat.
Clawdeen Wolf (Classic): I’ve dressed mannequins with more personality, you haunted dad-jacket in human form.
dean Winchester: You’re a glittery disaster with the emotional stability of a busted damn vending machine!
Clawdeen Wolf (Classic): You’re a leather-jacketed, pie-breathing, trauma-powered dumbass with the face of a motel ashtray!
dean Winchester: Oh, shit.
dean Winchester: You son of a bitch!
Clawdeen Wolf (Classic): It’s just like him, loud right to the end.