Episode Report Card Demian: C- | 0 USERS: N/A YOU GRADE IT We'll have an old-fashioned wedding.
By Demian | Season 4 | Episode 15 | Aired on 2002.03.14
Prior Pock wrests the lid from the casket and scatters the box's contents across the flagstones in the mausoleum. The dust and clots of dirt slowly congeal and rise up to morph into Coolio. I have to ask, what's up with his hair? I did a search on "Coolio's hair" to see if some enterprising grad student had published a thesis on how Coolio is subverting a racist paradigm through his coiffure by re-imagining the pickaninny as a figure of African-American strength and menace, but all the search gave me were multiple listings of a Letterman Top Ten list involving Coolio's hair strangling CBS interns. Anyway, Coolio glares like an educated fool with money on his mind. He should take his fee from this episode and hire a new stylist. He's also wearing a dusty Dickensian topcoat that has seen better days. The corners of D'Eartha's lips twitch into a slight half-smile as Prior Pock bows his head and asks her to "tell the new Source [Pock] live[s] to serve him."
Speaking of the new Source, The Sole sits at a table, measuring out potion ingredients on an old-fashioned set of scales. Nearby wooden racks hold various thin tubes of powders and whatnot, like he splurged on a junior chemistry set on his way from the Manor to this anonymous hotel room and is intent on whipping up a couple of homemade stink bombs for wacky wedding reception fun. Phoebe phones at that moment with "an emergency" -- she needs to hear his voice. Shut up, Phoebe. The Sole grins, then slyly switches the subject to Raige. "Maybe it's my imagination," he notes, "but [Raige] was a little weird at dinner." Just at dinner? Check the prescription for your contacts, my boy. Phoebe's all, "Really? I didn't notice." Sowing his dirty little seeds of discontent, The Sole natters on about how he doesn't think Raige approves of the marriage, but he didn't want to say anything, as doing so might drive a wedge between Phoebe and her sister. And, of course, he wouldn't want that to happen, given the effect it might have on the Power of Three and everything. The Sole sprinkles a pinch of something into a mortar. The mortar crackles and puffs out a small cloud of smoke. The Sole casually tells Phoebe not to worry as he shakes the powdery potion from the mortar into a small velvet pouch. He was probably reading something into Raige's demeanor that simply wasn't there, he tells her, then asks about the wedding dress. Phoebe admits that, what with all the last-minute preparations, she has yet to try it on. "When you do, I want you to picture me taking it off," he suggests. Phoebe and I smirk for entirely different reasons. I don't think the gown is quite his style, frankly. A knock at the door forces The Sole to cut the conversation short. He passes his hand over the cluttered array of vials and racks on the table, and the materials vanish. Stowing the pouch in his jacket pocket, The Sole crosses to find Darryl, the Dolt, and Daddy Dearest waiting behind the door. The Ds intend to throw a bachelor party right there in the room. The Dolt brought poker chips, Daddy Dearest brought porn (from his "private collection," and yes, feel free to gouge out your eyes with a fork at any time), and Darryl brought a taste for some mini-bar booze. Jackass. He couldn't grab a bottle of Chivas and a case of beer on the way over?