Episode Report Card Demian: F | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT A Call To Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Discontent
By Demian | Season 7 | Episode 1 | Aired on 09.11.2004
Anyway, the Dolt unleashes some of that sporking electricity last used on Snidely to lift Stupid Uncle Phil off his feet and slam him up against the wall of the support tower, where the Dolt fries Uncle Phil's stupid ass for a bit as spectral Barbas snickers in the background, displaying each and every one of Billy Drago's rotten teeth in the process. "Where's Barbas?" howls the Dolt, and I am seriously not going to look at Brian Krause's face again for the rest of this episode, as it's now morphed from that of our horrid president into The Angrily Constipated Chimpanzee Face Of Unwatchable Ire And Rage. "I don't know!" Stupid Uncle Phil whimpers, answering a question I'd already forgotten the Dolt had asked. "For God's sake, stop!" Stupid Uncle Phil pleads. For some reason, the Dolt does, and the now somewhat crispy Stupid Uncle Phil drops to the floor of the tower. "Damn! So close!" Barbas hisses as Stupid Uncle Phil pushes himself onto his hands and knees, warily eyeing the hideous Dolt. With that, Barbas flickers out, leaving the two stupid ever-useless Elders to pant and grimace us into the opening credits.
The freshened credits, incidentally, include a couple of new shots of everyone involved, plus an overabundance of snippets from the latter fourth of last season. Yeah, I really don't care, either.
A quick travelogue, sans Ovary but avec wailing lite-rock guitar, whisks us back over to Prescott Street, where the bony Feebs descends the main stairs to the foyer in her work outfit to clack her way into the parlor atop a pair of too-high heels, and whoa. There is something seriously wrong with Alyssa Milano, people. And I don't mean, you know, the usual. She is scarily, frighteningly, unhealthily thin. For one thing, her legs look like they'd snap like twigs with just the slightest amount of pressure, and for another, I happened to pause the tape just as the camera caught her in a dead-on side angle, and seriously? She's taking up less space on the screen than the doorframe to the sun porch. And she's about three feet closer to the camera than the doorframe is. Ack. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah: Phoebe inquires as to Piper's whereabouts, and Raige, covered by a copy of All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me in the depths of the sofa, replies that their missing sibling's upstairs with the infants. What follows is a truly tedious bit of dialogue that sets up what evidently will be Phoebe's main storyline for the next couple of episodes. Briefly, she'd like to help out at home more than she has been, but she's too frequently stuck at work, which has not been offering quite the level of satisfaction it had in the past. In fact, she feels "disconnected" from her job and believes she's in a "rut." Raige confirms said rut by proving Phoebe dispensed the exact same advice yesterday to Lost In Los Altos that she gave a year ago to Dumped In Daly, like, do not tell me that newspaper Raige had been napping under is a year old. Please? Fuck you. It's a year old. Apparently, there's room in the Manor for every issue All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me ever published, but there's no room for Big Gay Chris. These people can blow me. Whatever. Mention is made of Phoebe's assy Vision Quest and resulting manhunt from last season, and Phoebe admits she believes "that's what's messing [her] up." No, hon. What's messing you up is the fact that you haven't eaten in four fucking months. Pizza! Now! God! Raige of course disagrees with me and cites the delightfully deceased Snidely as the cause of all their many collective woes. "He didn't just betray [the Dolt]," Raige opines as Phoebe's ever-pointier chin threatens to poke out one of her half-sister's eyes. "He betrayed all of us." Just then, the shrieking racket of an incoming orb cloud heralds the arrival of Stupid Uncle Phil on the sun porch. "Those wounds don't heal easily," he bellows above the noise, startling the ladies to their feet.