Episode Report Card Demian: B | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Crappily Ever After
By Demian | Season 5 | Episode 3 | Aired on 09.28.2002
Hear our call for those who fall --
Purge her to awaken
From this toxic taken.
Nothing happens. Piper howls at Big Bad Grams for a solution. The Big Bad shrugs its shoulders helplessly and guhs. The Dolt, of all people, suggests they focus on vanquishing Cloris in the hopes that doing so will reverse the effects of the poisoned apple on Snow Raige. Big Bad Grams immediately whisks the pot of vanquish from the stove and dumps it down the sink, claiming it was a bad batch. I'm not even going to wonder how the Big Bad knew about the vanquish but forgot about Raige's status as a lonely loser because just then, the doorbell rings. The Dolt exits to answer it. Big Bad Grams is about to wrap its jaws around Piper's head when the Dolt calls from the hall. Piper bolts from the kitchen while Big Bad Grams grimaces in frustration.
Piper trundles over to the front door, where the Dolt introduces her to Snow Raige's Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves. The Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves are grinning like seven ethnically diverse fools. The lead dwarf asks, "Somebody eat a poison apple?" Piper hoots.
The Ball. FrankenFeebs and Freddie Prinze Charming Junior stumble through an approximation of a waltz before we cut to a strange blue-screen shot of the two swaying along with the music. This blue-screen shot has then been superimposed over a tracking shot of the rest of the dancers. Needless to say, the supposed progress of FrankenFeebs and Prinze Charming across the floor fails to match up with their apparent progress as indicated by the background tracking shot. And I was going to retire "tawdry" after last week. Damn you! Damn you all to hell! Anyway, the two blither about Phoebe's divorce before Prinze Charming notices that the midnight hour approaching. Just as he suggests bailing for a little alone time, the FrankenFeebs spies the Dolt lurking near the entrance. FrankenFeebs promises she'll return, and heads off for a Dolt confab. When Prinze Charming moves to follow, Cole bodily blocks him from the exit, making with the threats. While the gentlemen in the tuxedos busy themselves with the whipping out of appendages for measurement purposes, the Dolt brings FrankenFeebs up to date on the goings-on in Halliwell Manor. The FrankenFeebs resolutely and stupidly refuses to believe that Cole is not responsible for the current brouhaha, despite the Dolt's Elder-backed protestations to the contrary. FrankenFeebs eventually rolls her eyes and agrees to follow the Dolt back to the Manor.
Parlor. The Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves have fashioned a glass bier, within which lies the rapidly decomposing corpse of Snow Raige. I take that back. Seems the Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves specialize in anti-decomposition glass biers, so Snow Raige won't be losing any fingers to corpse-eating rats anytime soon. Lead Dwarf (and I'm strenuously avoiding calling him "Head Dwarf," as that would be far too tasteless for reasons that should be obvious to all) wonders what's keeping Snow Raige's prince. Piper explains the whole lonely loser thing to the ethnically diverse swarm at her feet, and they immediately set to bickering amongst themselves over who gets to slip Raige the tongue. Lead Dwarf shuts them all up, then apologizes for their behavior, cracking an unfunny as he does so about how long it's been since they've gotten laid. Piper whatevers and crosses to retrieve the Woodsman's axe. Big Bad Grams tensely wonders what Piper intends to do with the weapon. Piper has no intention of sitting on her rapidly expanding pregnant-lady ass and waiting for Little Red's wolf to attack. Big Bad Grams pshaws, claiming that of all the fairy tales, Little Red Riding Hood is the one that has no basis in fact. Piper disputes this claim, and the two head to the attic to consult Piper's Big Book Of Fairy Tales. As they wander up the stairs, one of the underling dwarves asks Lead Dwarf, "Think she knows that's a wolf?" Lead Dwarf deadpans, "None of our business." Oh, fine: Heh.