Episode Report Card Demian: C | 1 USERS: A+ YOU GRADE IT Welcome To Fantathy Thithtern!
By Demian | Season 6 | Episode 6 | Aired on 10.25.2003
You'll notice Big Gay Chris vanished from that paragraph after his overall fury with the situation was noted towards the beginning. That's because he's been enacting an entirely different scene on his own during the above-detailed bitchfest. While the ladies blithered obliviously about their various petty problems, Big Chris repeatedly tried to get them to deal with the Simon at hand, and they ignored his every line. From Big Chris, the audience learns that Simon uses The Vast Suck to trap his "victims into pocket realms or alternate realities." "Dangerous alternate realities, people!" Big Chris shouts at one point. "Based on fantasies, desires, and dreams! Can we please focus?" Nope. After Phoebe and Raige have left, Piper ambles over to her big gay son and slings an arm on his shoulder. "You are our favorite new Whitelighter and all," she tells him, "but you need to lighten up." "No!" he retorts. "You three need to get serious, because if you keep putting your personal lives before your Wiccan duties? You're gonna pay for it!" Piper natters something dizzy about fashion shows and chocolate chip cookies before flouncing out towards the kitchen. Big Chris grinds his teeth and snits to his Tiny Gay Self, "It's your fault I have to do this now." Big Chris orbs out as Tiny Chris slobbers down the front of his overalls.
Lair Of The Limey. Simon howls in agony as he presses a rag to the gouge in his shoulder. When Big Gay Chris orbs in, Simon snarls at him and stretches out his good arm, opening The Vast Suck in the stone floor. Big Chris disappears downwards for a moment, but soon enough pops out of the hole in a cloud of orbs to reform behind tonight's demon. "How did you find me?" Simon demands. "No one's ever been to my lair!" "I didn't have to 'find' you, Gith," Big Chris evenly replies. "I know you from the future." Hmmm. "Gith." Gith, Gith, Gith. Nope. I got nothing. Big Gay Chrith proceedzth to offer Thimon the headth of the Glamorouth Ladieth on a cunning thet of matched thilver platterzth from Nieman Marcuth. Thimon thweatthuh.
Up in San Francisco, Phoebe and Chronic make flirtatious noises at each other while on their lunch date. Yawn. Chronic's apparently sheared off even more of his hair since last we saw him, and I'm seeing through to the scalp in certain spots. As the gang on the boards so astutely noted, we should be calling him Chemo now, but because I'm a proponent of medicinal marijuana, Chronic still works for me. A gushing fan bubbles over to the table, gets down on her knees, and shoves her tongue far up Phoebe's ass crack. How she's still able to deliver her lines from that position, I'll never know, but deliver them she does before bubbling away. They involved the wonderful job Phoebe's been doing on the cable access show, so you'll forgive me if I skip the transcription. The fan's mumble-mouthed tirade of course leads Chronic to offer Phoebe her own syndicated talk show. Phoebe's clearly uneasy about the whole thing, so Chronic leans in close to whisper the following bit of plot-related dialogue: "You're dating a minor media mogul here, so may I make a little suggestion? Let go. Lose control a little bit. Trust me, and just enjoy the ride." Phoebe tries to protest, but Chronic shuts her up with some tonsil hockey.