Episode Report Card Demian: B+ | 173 USERS: C+ YOU GRADE IT Never Was There A Tale Of More Woe!
By Demian | Season 6 | Episode 5 | Aired on 2003.10.19
Anyway, Slampiece Buttfuck is nothing if not persistent, and interrupts again with, "No, seriously. In case you didn't notice, there's kind of a war going on between these two homes." Raige flips her hair around and acidly intones, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't you?" Buttfuck mutters under his breath. He crosses the street as Raige yells, "It's me! Pinochle Girl!" into the buzzer. Heh. "You're not the first, you know," he reveals, his sudden proximity startling Raige a bit. "Others have come to try to help. You should leave before you get hurt." Raige frostily notes that she can handle it herself, thanks very much, and would he be so kind as to leave her alone? "You're not a muse," Buttfuck smiles, giving her the once-over. "Or a Whitelighter." He pauses for a moment, then realizes, "You're a witch, like us." "How do you know that?" Raige demands, instantly suspicious. "Ever since I was a little kid," he exposits softly, "one magical being or another has come to try to help end the feud. Hasn't worked, though. I mean, this last truce was the longest, but…" He trails off with a shrug, just as a Flaming Ball Of Wanton Mailbox Destruction arches across the Callapulets' lawn. Slampiece Buttfuck wraps his arms around Raige and dives for the ground as the FBOWMD races across the street to complete the act for which it was named. Bits of the vanquished mailbox clatter to the sidewalk as…
…we cut to a slow tracking shot through the Manor bathroom, where Piper perches on the vanity while Phoebe applies a little color to her lips. Piper examines the results in a hand mirror, raises a displeased brow, and instructs, "Okay, think 'newly single mom,' not 'two-bit hooker.'" Phoebe apologizes, explaining that she's a little distracted because of -- you guessed it -- her stoopid new power. There's some bitchery about Phoebe enduring "PMS for three sisters every month," combined with some whining about how the stoopid new power is "driving [her] crazy," before the two move on to Raige's dilemma. Phoebe knows for a fact that Raige really does want their help, despite her claims to the contrary. "That's it," Piper grunts. "I'm staying home." "Why?" Phoebe bleats anxiously. "To make sure you leave [Raige] alone." If I were her, I'd stay home simply because I wouldn't be caught dead out in public in that hideous thing she's calling a blouse. It's some gauzy camisole top that's the same exact tone as Raige's Volkswagen, and trust me: That shade of green should never be placed next to healthy human skin of any color. What's more, Piper's sporting a fully visible black bra beneath it, and the whole thing makes her look bloated around the middle. Piper, doll, do not borrow clothes from your sisters ever again. Piper hops off the sink to putter out of the bathroom, distractedly fastening an earring as Phoebe insists that Piper "get back on the dating horse." "The truth is," Piper eventually admits, "I'm a little scared. I mean, I was married to an angel, for crying out loud. Who's gonna compare to that?" Spare me the Dolt-fluffing, Piper. If I haven't bought that crap by now, I never will. Phoebe teases, "You also dated a demon [no, she didn't, unless you're counting "Greasy Stalker Dan, which I should, but I'm not], a warlock, and a ghost -- that's what you should be scared of." "Super pep talk, sis," Piper snarks as the doorbell rings. "You look beautiful," Phoebe kvells like a mother on her daughter's prom night. "Feh," Piper pffts, rolling her eyes right out of the frame. Heh.