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
Not!warts. Boring! Raige's Moustache orbs in with the dead-eyed Psycho to find various Not!warts Nit!wits packing up the main library. None of this is important in this episode, and this whole Z-plot could have been excised without anyone ever noticing. Just remember that Raige's Moustache vows to save the school. By the way, I have a question: Why are the Nit!wits physically packing all that garbage up when they can FUCKING ORB IT ANYWHERE THEY WANT IT TO GO? HUH? HUH? This show sucks.
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. Phoebe topples through the swinging glass doors to collapse in Elise's arms. I told you she needed to eat something already. Elise quickly steers Phoebe into the latter's office to meet Boyband Fucktard Nick Fucking Lachey. Phoebe is, of course, shocked and appalled to learn that "Leslie St. Claire" is a man (well, of sorts, I suppose), because men can't write advice columns for women. Somewhere up in Seattle, Dan Savage has absolutely no reaction to this ridiculous assertion, because Dan Savage is too smart to be watching this stupid fucking show. Outrage! Banter! Boredom! Let's quickly review the important facts provided by this scene: Boyband Fucktard Nick Fucking Lachey, who was awarded his Ph.D. in psychology after compellingly defending his doctoral dissertation on the topic of "Women's Intuition," penned a wildly successful advice column in Philadelphia for years before deciding to move to the West Coast. He'll be in San Francisco for two months before continuing on to Los Angeles to begin writing a long-awaited new advice column for his avid fans in that area. How these idiots delivered this exposition about Nick Lachey without snorting craft services out of their noses is beyond my powers of comprehension. Also, Phoebe, who is in heat because she came within close physical proximity to the possessed, hikes her tongue down Boyband Fucktard Nick Fucking Lachey's throat in front of a thoroughly revulsed Elise before regaining temporary control of herself and making a graceless exit. "Guess that means I got the job!" SL@mp!EcE spARKL!es giggles.
Oh, I suppose I should include a word or two about the boyband fucktard's Slampiece nickname. Why not? This recap's already longer than the goddamned Bhagavad Gita, so what's another little paragraph here or there? The forum board recently featured a poll entitled "Name That Slampiece!" Slampiece Of The Sea actually won a plurality of the votes, but after seeing this original cartoon by board contributor payndz, I decided to pull a Katherine Harris and toss out the real vote. The typing style should be familiar to those of you who frequent various fan sites created and patronized by members of this show's apparent target demographic. And by the way, because it cannot be said often enough: Seriously, Kern. Fuck you.
Now where were we? Oh, yes. Back in the Manor, where Piper and her many crappy arm-like digital inserts are putting Tiny Gay Chris down for a nap up in the Bridal Boudoir. Seconds after she does so, a squad of Barbas's minions squiggle into the room to make with the Flaming Balls Of Death and such, but Shakti Piper, crappily armed as she is, makes quick work of the various dark demonic forces with her three pairs of Hands. Meanwhile, Barbas himself has flamed rather inobtrusively onto the second floor corridor and stalks over to Tiny Chris's bassinet to terrify the wee one with those hideous teeth of his. Shakti Piper fortuitously spins just in time to unleash a single pair of her Hands of Discontent which -- with a little of the same electrical mojo the Dolt exhibited earlier -- spork Barbas backwards through the air and into the opposite wall. Barbas pauses briefly to examine the brand-new gaping wound in his stomach before flaming the fuck out of there. "It's okay, peanut," Shakti Piper and her many crappy arm-like digital inserts croon as they gently lift Tiny Gay Chris from his bassinet. "You're okay." Tiny Gay Chris works that pacifier of his to death until he's mauled by the next commercial break.