Episode Report Card Demian: F | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT The Day. The Maaaaaagic. Died.
By Demian | Season 5 | Episode 15 | Aired on 02.15.2003
Beast of legend, myth, and lore:
Give my words the power to soar
And kill this evil evermore.
Frère Flatbush, Wicked Cheryl, and poor underutilized and dead J.P. Manoux each explode in various configurations of black and red demonic bits.
Birthing Montage. Phoebe and Raige walk Piper over to the dining room table, with Daddy Dearest staggering along behind them. Piper appears to be holding back the percolating infant with her hand. Daddy Dearest does much the same for his liver. Phoebe gets ready to catch while Raige rubs Piper's back. The Dolt arrives just in time, and sprinkles some of that fucking unicorn's super-fabulous magical horn dust onto Daddy Dearest's sucking belly wound, which obediently knits itself up. "Dad?" Piper wails in between contractions. "I'm sorry about your demon wife." And with that, she's placed the first smile on my face since Phoebe's distasteful ho joke more than a half an hour ago. Dreadful episode. Just awful.
As Piper heaves one last mighty push to expel the life-sucking parasite from her uterus, the chandelier above shudders on its moorings, and the magical Manor residents are bathed in an unearthly, bluish-white glow. Daddy Dearest remains in the dark, presumably. Phoebe cuts the cord and totes The Not-Quite-Done One off to the side. We can't see The Percolated Infant yet, as Phoebe's wrapped most of It in a blanket while she, uh, squeegees the eyelids, or something. What we can see, however, is enveloped in a protective shield of glowy orbs. Once Phoebe siphons the snot out the nostrils, she turns to display The Doltine Cracker to his mom, dad, grandfather, and aunt. Yes, it's a boy -- as if any of you could possibly be surprised by that at this point. What surprised me is how freaking huge this kid is. My ass he's six weeks premature. The kid's eight months old if he's a day, and he keeps aging from shot to shot. Raige is shocked and appalled when she glimpses the external manifestations of her nephew's Y-chromosome, like, honey, we know you've seen those things before, so knock it off with the dewy-eyed delicate-sensibilities schtick. The shock of seeing Wee Willie's wee one wears off a bit more quickly for Piper, who welcomes the child into her arms as the proud Dolt beams beatifically. Shut up, Dolt. "It's a miracle!" Raige breathes. I'll say -- the damn brat's already five years old. "It's a little miracle," Piper adds. Not so little. Once you hose that crap off his head, the first thing he's going to do is borrow the car. "You are safe," Piper croons down at her son, "you are loved, and you are wise." He's thirty years old, is what he is. And Asian.