Episode Report Card Demian: B+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Touch my monkey.
By Demian | Season 5 | Episode 20 | Aired on 04.26.2003
Meanwhile, over in some foul, dank chamber, flame spews from the ceiling to disgorge the Demon Of Color on the floor. He scrambles to his feet, making with the "What?" and the "Where am I?" as Crazy Grace Zabriskie coolly regards him from the far side of the room. "You're back from the dead, my dear," Crazy Grace smiles, before promptly making him an offer he can't refuse. She demands a little face time with DOC's "king," otherwise she'll finish the DOC vanquish Piper began with her Wrist Of Discontent. "Tell your king that if he works with me, I'll serve him all three Charmed Ones on a platter." Crazy Grace spits out that bit as if it had been burning her tongue. God, she's good. "You're after the Charmed Ones?" the none-too-bright Demon Of Color asks. "No, dear," Crazy Grace condescends, her voice dripping with contempt. "I'm after their baby." The camera tracks in for a horrifying close-up of Crazy Grace's insane grimace as we scamper off into the credits in a state of abject terror. Or something like that.
Manor. Up on the sun porch, Phoebe paces past some foam-core display boards with the cordless attached to her ear, blaring at Chronic The Hedgehog on the other end of the line. She's apparently converted the room into a home office at some point in the last week, for there are stacks of newspapers piled on various tables, along with spreadsheets pinned to the walls and a desktop PC over by the windows. One of the display boards features mock-ups of magazine ads emblazoned with slogans like, "Boston Says: ASK Phoebe -- She Has ALL The Answers," so we know there's some silly syndication subplot lurking beneath the surface of this episode. Also, if that's what Boston really has to say, Boston can suck my ass. Phoebe blithers on about the "preliminary research" she's done for Atlanta, mentioning both Dear Abby and Ann Landers, like, you nitwit. Ann Landers is dead, and Dear Abby hasn't been read by anyone under the age of fifty in twenty years. You should be worrying about Dan Savage, not some withered old bag who still prints things like "Well, lash me with a wet noodle!" whenever she's caught screwing up an answer. Idiot. "I don't care if the South thinks I'm too edgy," Phoebe shouts as Piper fusses with one of her Asian babies over on the wicker loveseat. "The South could use a little edge." And with that, millions of rednecks start rooting around for battered and sticky copies of Teen Steam to toss onto the next NASCAR-sponsored bonfire, along with whatever Dixie Chicks merchandise they have yet to destroy. Meanwhile, Piper presses a camera to her face and snaps the latest in what I'm sure is an endless series of photographs featuring her shape-shifting infant. Wyatt-San gazes up at her impassively. His face breaks into a gummy grin, however, when the Dolt arrives to perform something called "The Popcorn Machine," which involves the Dolt bouncing Wyatt-San on his knee while growling, "Fry, you little…pop, pop, pop, pop, pop." I think the Dolt's finally lost it. God knows I have.
After far too much of this, the Dolt prepares to squeeze Wyatt-San into a smart new romper he picked up the day before. Just take a moment to imagine this dimwit shopping for baby clothes, okay? Shudder. Wyatt-San wriggles and grunts. Phoebe and the Dolt correctly interpret this as his "hungry cry," allowing Piper to establish her Issue Of The Week by bitching that everyone else in the Manor seems to have a closer connection to her little shape-shifter than she does. "I am a terrible mother!" she whines. "I don't even recognize my own child's cries!" Just as she launches into a tirade about maternal bonding and its absence in her life, an explosion erupts upstairs. Phoebe quickly hangs up on Chronic so she and Piper can race to the attic, where they find Raige brewing up vials of "stun potion" for the astonishingly well-built and shirtless "Kazi Demons" who keep invading the Manor. The plan is to capture the next Demon Of Color and torture him with the potion until he reveals the whereabouts of his king. As the Kazi king creates his minions from his own body, should the Glamorous Ladies kill the king, they'll kill all of his pesky underlings as well. "Good plan," Phoebe enthuses. "An oldie, but a goodie." The Dolt enters with The Precious Done One Log strapped to his chest, bellowing, "Okay, let's go! The fair waits for no witch!" Fair? What fair? Why, the street fair they agreed to roam through "as a family," of course. Phoebe begs off, as Chronic's scheduled a syndication meeting for that afternoon, but Piper's not having it. "Do you really want to miss [The Precious Done One Log's] first street fair?" she sing-songs. Piper? Do you really want to lose Phoebe's income, especially since your nightclub's been running in the red for months now that the economy's taken another nosedive? You don't? Then shut the fuck up. Kidding. Piper didn't actually answer me. She never does. Sigh. Phoebe relents, Raige passes out the stun vials, and the gals plus the Dolt and The Precious Done One Log exit the attic.