A two-hour season finale? For Charmed? They can kiss my ass. With the editing this double episode so desperately needed, the whole thing could have come in at half its eventual running time. Jackholes.
The usual clot of dot-bomb yuppies plugs up the entrance of P3. Down near the bar, Phoebe appears to be enjoying a blind date, cooing things like, "You're everything Elise promised and more!" I do hope you weren't tricked into believing she'd given up on Chronic so quickly, because this bit of misdirection is about a subtle as a posse of egregiously white North Shore gangsta-bitch cheerleaders smearing pig shit and paint on a gaggle of brain-dead simps while underage jock drunks tape the whole thing for FOX. Phoebe's actually trying to enlist this Evan person for a charity bachelor auction sponsored by her newspaper. By the way, Phoebe's hideous crimped hairdon't and ghastly overdone face make her look like Madonna, if Madonna fell into a K-hole and set up camp there for about thirteen years. After a bit of non-flirtatious non-banter, Joe Firestone accepts Phoebe's proffered pen and signs up to be "auctioned off like a side of beef." Don't flatter yourself, tool.
Meanwhile, Raige is having considerably less luck snagging a bachelor of her own, because her breasts have migrated to her waist and now resemble nothing so much as a protruding roll of belly fat. Or maybe she's preoccupied with the awful nightmares plaguing her sleep this week. Your choice. "Have you been having any end-of-the-world, fire-and-brimstone, doomsday dreams lately?" she asks her guy. He thinks she's some kind of Pentecostal headcase freak, and flees. Phoebe sidles over to chide Raige for frightening the bachelors rather than flirting with them, noting that despite Chronic's move to Hong Kong, she herself has still managed to sign up six guys. Raige whatevers -- God love her -- and tells Phoebe about her strange dreams of "ancient wars and weird magic." Phoebe wonders what gives. Raige doesn't receive premonitions, so why would she be worried about a few nightmares? Raige agrees that it could be a simple matter of "hormones," but stresses that it might also be her "subconscious trying to tell [her] something." Yeah, it's telling you, "Get the hell off this show before it ruins whatever hope you had of a legitimate career." Phoebe gifts her half-sister with A Look Of Concern.
The camera cuts to a shot of the glittering waterfront before scampering backwards beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and far out to sea. After pausing to take in the glimmering city in the distance, the camera super-speeds backwards again to land…somewhere else. There's an abundance of white stuff, and the camera was headed towards the southwest, so I suppose we're in Antarctica. Deep beneath the surface in a torch-lit ice chamber, a dark demonic force glowers at a pair of frozen-over niches in the wall. He looks a bit like John Malkovich, were John Malkovich ever to, you know, eat something already. After a moment, Brawny John kneels in the snow, unrolls a piece of parchment, and recites the following twice:
Antarctica. The Xena Twins natter about all the wicked, wicked things they intend to do once they free this Cronus person from his pillar of ice. Xena Girl, henceforth known as Boobarella for what should be obvious reasons, vanishes to "get the Whitelighters" while Xena Boy, now known as Bogtrotter, morphs into a crappy CGI tornado that rises into the sky to blast the ice pillar with a couple of lightning bolts. Well. That was dull.
Speaking of dull, Piper's joined the Dolt and The Rapidly Aging Done One in a park for Darryl's son's birthday party. Darryl pulls a quarter from behind his son's ear, leading the Dolt to snark about Darryl's feeble sleight of hand. Drop dead, Dolt. The stunning Mrs. Darryl joins the group to chat for a bit until the ever-useless Elders ring the Dolt's bell. Piper and the Dolt glance uneasily at Mrs. Darryl, who simply flashes them a dazzling smile. "She knows," Darryl stage-whispers. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me," Mrs. Darryl beams, all shiny and pretty. "Argue away!" Please don't encourage them, Mrs. Darryl. Piper and the Dolt whip out the therapy-speak, all, "I think you should know that I feel as if you're abandoning me," and "I accept that you feel as if I'm abandoning you," and "I appreciate that you accept my feelings of abandonment," and blah blee blither zip it, because David and Keith mastered this schtick months ago on Six Feet Under. Darryl and Mrs. Darryl snicker about the bickering marrieds' use of "The Tools." "I think I hate The Tools," Piper admits. "I'd rather just snipe later than be open and honest about my feelings now." This is news? The Dolt darts off to find a private spot to orb on out of there. Piper exchanges a supposedly light-hearted smirk with Mrs. Darryl, but you can tell she's wicked pissed, and I'm sorry, but she's got a hell of a lot of gall to whine about her husband's repeated absences in front of a cop's wife. Suck it up already or divorce him, Piper. Millions of men and women deal with situations similar to yours without shrieking about it every five goddamned minutes, you tedious, peevish shrike.
ANY-way. P3. Elise Rothman, Girl Editor joins Phoebe at the bar for some last-minute auction preparations, a bit of leering at the construction crew setting up the stage, and a small amount of Chronic gossip. I doubt we'll ever again enjoy the pleasure of the hedgehog's company, so let's skip ahead to the point where Raige orbs onto the dance floor in plain view of the twenty-odd people in the club. Idiot. Phoebe agrees with me, and skitters across the room to hiss, "Are you out of your mind?" "Turns out I'm not," Raige retorts. She's studied "tarot cards, the I-Ching, runes, and tea leaves," and they've all told her the same thing: Something monstrous is brewing in the supernatural world, and that something is affecting the natural world's weather patterns. Raige believes the magical disruption might even lead to hurricanes and plagues and earthquakes and whatnot. Just go with it. Raige scried the globe for evil, and passes a windbreaker to the Feebs before grabbing her hand to drag her out of the frame. "We're going on a trip," Raige announces as the screen flares white.
By the time the image returns, Phoebe and Raige have reached the pre-credits Antarctic ice chamber, and no, I have no idea why the entire area's suddenly flooded with sunlight when it was dark enough to require torches mere hours ago. I hate this show. Raige orders Phoebe to force a premonition off the black smear left by Brawny John's abrupt departure. Phoebe does so, but chooses not to share it with the audience, and I can't remember the last time we saw one of her black-and-white visions. I also can't remember the last time I cared. Phoebe finishes giving Raige the short version of earlier demonic events just as the ground beneath them rumbles and shakes. The two gals disappear beneath a cascade of quake-loosened snow as the shot cuts to the crappy CGI tornado finally freeing this Cronus person from his ice pillar, and wow. Cronus really needs to put down the needle and back away from the steroids. Bogtrotter returns to earth in time to witness Bitch Tits hurling dark threats of vengeance at an unspecified "Them" in the sky. We're twenty minutes in, and the word "Titans" has yet to be uttered by anyone onscreen.
Back in the chamber, Phoebe and Raige splutter as they dig their way out of the snow. "An earthquake!" Raige enthuses. "Did I call it or, what?" Phoebe shoots Raige a wicked side-eye and snits, "Did I mention this sucks?" Blow it out your ass, Phoebe. This crap is nothing compared to the endless nonsense that follows. Two hours. Why me? Raige ignores the Feebs while the Feebs herself slouches glumly into the commercial break.
Manor attic. Phoebe, wrapped in a blanket, shivers and moans while Raige abuses the Book of Shadows in a futile search for the "ancient-looking" people from Phoebe's premonition. Just as Piper enters to wonder what gives, the Dolt orbs in with news that one of his brethren has suddenly and inexplicably disappeared. Raige connects the dots and insists that the Whitelighter's disappearance has something to do with what she and Phoebe encountered in the ice chamber. "You were in an ice cave?" the Dolt asks warily, and while I ignored that line the first time it flew by, its implications became clear upon the second viewing -- the damn Dolt knows exactly what's going on as far as the Titans are concerned, though why he chooses not to inform the others at this point is beyond my understanding. It's also beyond my ability to care, really, but let's keep this moving, shall we? Phoebe, Raige, and the Dolt move to clear their respective schedules to focus on emergent situation, but Piper selfishly and stupidly insists that they carry on as usual until instructed otherwise. She does allow the Dolt to head back to Whitelighterland, to convey Raige's sage advice that a temporary moratorium be placed on the whole orbing thing until the mystery of the missing Whitelighter has been solved. Thanks for that bit of magnanimity, Piper. The Dolt promises to catch up with the wife at couples' counseling later that afternoon, and orbs out.
Whitelighterland. They've either redecorated since last we visited, or this is some new and exciting bathhouse-themed area of Heaven we've never seen before. The Dolt arrives amid various clicking Elder-types, all of whom sport dreadful gold-toned velour robes. The Dolt crosses to a middle-aged Elder of color who's clicking with a twentysomething Tom Cruise clone, and you can make your own Tom-Cruise-in-a-bathhouse joke, because I refuse to be sued. The clone, incidentally, is even more unpleasant than the original, if that's at all possible. The Dolt asks for an update on the situation, only to be shot down by the Cruise-alike, who snaps something about super-secret Elder information and the Dolt's lack of high-level clearance. The Dolt snaps back that he already knows the bizarre weather patterns and earthquakes are linked to something larger, and adds that Raige's "instincts" have been warning her all week that things were going awry on a global scale. The Cruise-alike snots something insipid in return. The elder Elder tells Tom Cruise to stop being such a pissy, punk-ass bitch, then draws the Dolt aside for a private chat. The Dolt mentions Raige's suggestion regarding the orbing moratorium, with which Elder Squared agrees. Elder Elder Bo Belder then instructs the Dolt to return to the Manor to ensure that the Glamorous Ladies focus on the problem at hand. When the Dolt wonders if Banana Fana Fo Felder is worried, Fee Fi Mo Melder simply chuckles, "At the end of the day, even we can't change what's meant to be. Just remember that no matter what happens, you must always follow your instincts, too." The Dolt tries to take all of this in, but his weeny little brain quickly overheats and he drops to the ground to flail about, gasping and foaming at the mouth. Okay, not really, but Christ on a stick. Would something happen already?
Back on earth, a grievously injured woman slowly dies in the middle of a clearing as a dizzy blonde in a peasant blouse orbs in to apply the tingly touch. Unfortunately, the dizzy blonde neglects to notice the tacky, fiberglass-and-papier-mâché "statue" of a gentleman in tingly-touch position off to the side. Boobarella steps into the clearing, attracts Peasant's attention with her painfully obvious Kentucky accent, and petrifies Peasant Blouse with a glare. No, seriously. Boobarella's eye flare up, and Peasant Blouse turns into stone. Or fiberglass coated with papier mâché. Whatever. Boobarella stares into the camera for a very long moment before the scene cuts back to Antarctica. Boobarella spins in with the tacky statues to find Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits waiting for her. Bitch Tits is most displeased that Boobarella managed to score a mere two petrified Whitelighters, but Boobarella placates him by stroking one of his terrifying pectorals. Yeesh. Meanwhile, Bogtrotter keeps yammering about "taking revenge on [their] captors," and I know that's not the best way to phrase that particular sentiment, but then again, what the hell do I care? None of these three are going to live to see the end of the episode, so instead of all this speechifying, do you think it would be possible for them to hurry things along? Please? Jesus. Boobarella convinces Bitch Tits that he and Bogtrotter should suck the orbs out of the papier mâché Whitelighters and use the purloined power to capture a third for her. Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits agree, and cross to fling jazz hands at the statues, thereby commencing with the orb-sucking. Once the orbs have transferred into the boys, the "statues" crumble to CGI dust.
Doctor John's House Of Pain, Reception Division. The Dolt orbs into the hallway to join Piper and The Rapidly Aging Done One on the sofa, but no sooner does he sit than he's summoned back upstairs. Piper pitches a fit, and when the Dolt attempts to reassure her that orbing up to Whitelighterland is safe, she reveals that she couldn't care less about Dolt safety issues. Nope. Living with the Feebs all these years has had a most detrimental effect on poor Piper, for she's concerned solely with her own needs. "I'm scared that every time something good happens -- every time I think we can actually have a normal life together -- something goes wrong." Whatever, you shrew. You devoted an entire episode to that particular Issue back in November, and I refuse to listen to your incessant bitching about it now. The Dazzling Mrs. Darryl should smack your whiny ass into week. The Dolt apologizes and leaves. Piper clenches. Scene.
Back in the attic, Raige has finally stumbled across the Book's entry for the Titans, and beckons Phoebe over. Phoebe's not terribly surprised to learn that the demons of the week have been hijacked from ancient Greek mythology, which makes sense given this season's disgusting ancient myth fetish. Raige proposes that she violate her own prohibition on orbing to lure the Titans to the Manor. Once they've arrived, she and Phoebe will unleash their arsenal of vanquishing potions until the last Titan lies dead. Well, with that stupid plan, someone'll end up dead, you halfwit, but it won't be the Titans. Phoebe has her reservations as well, and suggests they wait to gather more information. Raige rashly insists on attacking the Titans now, "before [The Rapidly Aging Done One] gets home." "Why do I feel like you're making me choose between my sister and my nephew?" Phoebe sighs. "Because you're slightly overdramatic?" Raige perks. Um. "Slightly"? Phoebe caves, so the gals arm themselves with various vials, and Raige quickly orbs out and back in again. Boobarella presently spins into the attic, and good Lord, but that's a cheap effect. Up until now, it had appeared in front of a light background, so I hadn't noticed exactly how awful it really was. Up against the dark attic walls, however? Yick. It looks like they took the costume department's test shots of Lisa Thornhill and Photoshopped the images into a blurry two-second flip-flopping loop. Wonder Woman had better effects thirty years ago, people. Hell, I've seen animated .gifs more impressive than this. I hate this show.
Raige tosses a vanquishing vial into Boobarella's right one. Boobarella barely flinches before training her stony gaze on hapless, foolhardy Raige. Phoebe breaks the connection momentarily with a vanquishing vial of her own, but Boobarella simply TKs the Feebs across the room into a table. As Phoebe lands -- and lands hard, mind you -- a glowy cloud of orbs materializes above her, and every goddamn gaydar in North America blares simultaneously when a tousle-haired twentysomething with überfag sunglasses emerges form the cloud to scream, "Don't look at her!" This terribly sensitive young man whips one vial after another into Boobarella's torso until Boobarella wordlessly concedes defeat and spins away. If there's a joke to be made about Boobarella's most prominent assets having little effect on the new arrival, you'll have to make it yourself. Once Boobarella has left the building, the sensitive young man gallantly helps Phoebe to her feet, asking if she's all right. Phoebe just gawps at him for a moment before turning to discover Papier Mâché Raige, petrified on the carpet. "Oh, my God," Phoebe breathes as the camera tracks in on the tacky replica of Rose McGowan before cutting away to commercial.
Attic. Aftermath. "Don't worry," the sensitive young lad tells the Feebs, who's gazing with dismay upon the tacky replica of Rose McGowan. "She's all right," he adds, before amending, "Well, she's not completely all right, but she's not dead." Phoebe remains speechless, so the sensitive youth continues, a bit conspiratorially, "Frankly, you see this sort of thing a lot -- in museums, universities, town centers. Most of those statues? Aren't really statues. They're people like your sister here who've been turned into stone." Phoebe, still gaping, finally manages to choke out, "Who are you?" "Chris Perry," comes the answer. "I'm from the future," he admits a bit reluctantly, understanding how unlikely that sounds. At this moment, I'd like to remind you all of the prominent mid-'80s survey that determined forty-two-percent of all gay men were named Chris. Of course, that survey was conducted by HBO's Not Necessarily The News, but to this day, I find its conclusions remarkably accurate. Piper stumbles into the attic at this juncture to gasp, "Oh! My! God! Tell me that's just a really good likeness of [Raige]." I'd love to, darling, but I can't, because it's not a terribly good likeness at all. It looks more like Lauryn freaking Hill, for Christ's sake. Phoebe crosses to Piper's side as Big Gay Chris and his dangerous eyebrows get frisky with the exposition. He was sent back to alter the past by a person or persons who must remain anonymous for the time being. You see, prior to his time-hopping intervention, history showed that Raige died when Boobarella attacked the attic. In fact, Raige became the Titans' "third Whitelighter victim." This, of course, meant the destruction of the Power of Three, and with the Charmed Ones out of the way, the Titans went on to rule the earth, the moon turned the color of blood, cats lay down with dogs, yada, yada, blah. You get the picture. Piper absorbs Chris's story, then bellows for the Dolt, who orbs in immediately. "How many Whitelighters are missing?" Piper demands. The Dolt confirms that a second one dropped off the supernatural radar since last he spoke with the wife. Big Gay Chris wiggles his eyebrows. "Believe me now?" he asks. Before anyone can answer, a vase shatters in the house below. Piper, Phoebe, and the Dolt head off to investigate, leaving Big Gay Chris alone with Tacky Raige. I suppose I could mention that in the original script for this episode, Big Gay Chris correctly predicted what the Manor Morons would find downstairs. For some reason, that line was cut.
The Manor Morons hit the stairwell landing, and are greeted by that goddamned fairy queen from last week. Why couldn't she have stayed dead? The Manor Morons follow the goddamned undead fairy queen with their eyes to discover a menagerie of just about every stoopid magical creature from this season's episodes mingling in the main hall. Yep, the gang's all here -- Snow Raige's Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves,Freaky Tiny Iguana Woman, theC.S.I.leprechaun, andthose assy Nymrods, among others. Lead Dwarf steps over to apologize for the broken vase. "We'll pay for that," he assures the Manor Morons, "as long as you stop the world from ending." The Manor Morons gape.PreviousNext
Down in Antarctica, Bitch Tits rails about Boobarella's "incompetence," which, he argues, "has compromised [them] all." Boobarella takes offense and gets shrill. Bogtrotter steps up to vow that he'll not leave Boobarella behind in Antarctica. Bitch Tits gets far too close to Bogtrotter to assure him that he won't have to. Why, you ask? Because Bitch Tits is going to fry Boobarella's incompetent implants straight to Hell, silly! Boobarella shrieks and wails and vanishes in a veil of flame. If you ask me, Bitch Tits just wanted Bogtrotter all to his freakishly muscled self. I should leave it at that, because God forbid I inadvertently encourage an influx of HoYayers onto theCharmedboards. And yet, I can't. Once Boobarella's gone, Bitch Tits croons threatening noises in Bogtrotter's ear. Bogtrotter's all, "I have to bottom, don't I? Damn."
Manor. Piper and the Dolt corral all of the Stoopid Magikal Kreatures from the main hallway onto the sun porch, and slide shut the doors I never knew were there. That goddamned undead fairy queen briefly gets caught in said heretofore-unseen sliding glass doors, and while I'm tempted to urge Piper to squish the goddamned zombie like a bug, I know the creepy thing will just resurrect itself by the end of the second hour. Phoebe, meanwhile, leers at a shirtless male "oracle" who's gayer than that spell-addled porn star she screwed in Season One. Dude. What happened to this episode? It's like Big Gay Chris orbed in, and now I'm seeing everything through his überfag sunglasses. If the Dolt starts up with the homoerotic subtext, I'm stabbing myself in the neck with a pair of nail scissors.
Piper once more makes with the rudeness and the bitchery, and just as I'm about to hurl a brick through the television set, Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady toddles in from the kitchen with a piece of cold chicken from the fridge. She explains that the Stoopid Magikal Kreatures sensed the Titan threat long before the Glamorous Ladies did, and so journeyed to the Manor to offer their assistance. Upon hearing The Woefully Neglected Done One's miserable sniveling pouring down the stairs from the Bridal Boudoir, Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady volunteers herself for nanny duty, and flares upstairs in a hyperactive haze of green. Piper's momentarily outraged by Iguana Lady's sassy audacity, but suddenly remembers that they left Big Gay Chris alone in the attic. She intends to "see what Future Boy is up to" herself, so she orders the Dolt after Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady and sends the Feebs to tend to the Stoopid Magikal Kreatures on the sun porch. Heh. I want to type something like, "Upon Phoebe's arrival, the already overstressed sun porch collapsed under the massive weight of the collective stupidity bearing down upon the floorboards. There were no survivors." And I guess I just did. That's a whole lot of stoopid on the sun porch, kids.
Up in the attic, Big Gay Chris leafs through the Book. Piper enters to shriek, "What are you doing?" Big Gay Chris is all, "Chill out, Mom. I'm just trying to find a way to free Stone Cold [Raige] over there." Or maybe he just says that second sentence, but when Piper insists that he "step away," Big Gay Chris is all, "Mom, please. Like I haven't looked at this before?" Okay, so he didn't say all of that, either. Shut up. Piper just stares him down until Chris relinquishes control while tossing his hands in the air and pouting, "What-ever!" "But you should update the Goblins entry," he dishes as he takes a seat. "'Cause trust me: It's gonna get ugly!" Piper clenches, and I'm never going to make it through this scene if I highlight every clue they're tossing out regarding their relationship and his sexual orientation, so just assume this: Every time Big Gay Chris opens his mouth, a subtextual "Mom" pops out, followed by a cunning Kate Spade handbag. Big Gay Chris explains that the Glamorous Ladies can't vanquish the Titans with the Power of Three, and then proceeds to lay a little history on Momma's behind. The last time the Titans posed a threat to the natural world, the ever-useless Elders had to infuse a group of mortals "with a hell of a lot of power." These enhanced humans were able to imprison the Titans, but after the powers bestowed upon them drove them somewhat insane, "they declared themselves gods and forced the world to worship them," and the ever-useless Elders "swore they would never let that happen again." "Hang on a second," Piper tells him. "I'm having a ninth-grade flashback. Are you talking about the Greek gods -- Zeus, Athena, Aphrodite?" Big Gay Chris nods his big gay head and adds that the missing mortals-and-Elders connection "is not the only inaccuracy" in the old myths. Damn. Drew Fuller's got some nice eyes. Now if he could only do something about his iffy line readings.
Phoebe enters with Lead Dwarf and the C.S.I. leprechaun, who approaches Tacky Raige to give her a quick once-over. The leprechaun decides that, in addition to his magical trouser nuggets, they'll need pixie dust to free Raige. "I'll get a fairy," Lead Dwarf deadpans. "I left my axe downstairs, anyway." Raise your hands if you thought he was going to drag that shirtless oracle back up to the attic. See? It's not just me. While all this is going on, Phoebe crosses to the Book for a brief confab with her sister and her nephew. When Piper wonders why the Titans would abduct Whitelighters, Big Gay Chris basically duhs, "For the orbs, of course." Piper puts three and eleven together to get the season and episode numbers for the last time we saw this brand of theft as a plot device. She gets a look of frantic panic on her face, and runs off for the Dolt. "What did she just figure out?" Phoebe asks. "Nothing good," Big Gay Chris confirms.
Down in the Bridal Boudoir, the Dolt observes as Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady mojos a blanket around The Woefully Neglected Done One, and this is just fucking ridiculous. The kid in the crib is not The Achingly Cute Doltine Cracker, Quasimodo, Wyatt-San, The Precious Done One Log, or The Rapidly Aging Drag Queen. It's some entirely new goddamned infant, likely hired for this episode alone. This kid's blond, for fuck's sake. Is this some kind of running gag, like the Durwood thing on Bewitched? I wouldn't mind if it were, but either acknowledge it as such or stop switching around the fucking kids. Whatever. Piper races into the room to warn the Dolt of the threat to the ever-useless Elders. The Dolt's off like a prom dress.
Whitelighterland. Everyone's dead. The Dolt drops to his knees in agony and angst. Fortunately, tonight's director has chosen to film the Dolt's agony and angst from as far across the soundstage as possible, so the audience is spared the terrifying sight of The Constipated Chimpanzee Face Of Unbearable Anguish And Torment. Rather, we focus on the very dead Elder Elder in the foreground before cutting away to the final commercial break of the first hour.
Attic. The C.S.I. leprechaun, whom I'm just going to call "Mike," doses Tacky Raige with one of his trouser nuggets. That goddamned undead fairy queen then sprinkles a little zombie dust on Tacky Raige's head, and Lead Dwarf whacks at her with his axe. Nothing happens. Phoebe encourages them to keep trying, then heads over to see what Big Gay Chris is up to at the bookcase. He's examining the antiques, of course, and he affably notes, "You know, you guys keep these things for-ever." Phoebe cuts to the chase: "You knew about the [ever-useless] Elders, didn't you?" Piper barrels in as Big Gay Chris admits that he did indeed know what would happen, but that those who sent him instructed him to allow the Glamorous Ladies to figure things out on their own. Phoebe's not entirely satisfied with this answer, and Piper's even less satisfied when her son answers her own query with another of his, as she puts it, "cryptic crap" responses. She orders him upwards to fetch his errant dad back to the Manor. Chris agrees, but urges them to focus on freeing Auntie Raige while he's gone. "You're gonna need her," he promises, "soon."
Once he's orbed away, Piper gets in a good one with, "I swear to God, if he does not come back with [the Dolt], I'm going to blow his ass back to the future -- orbs and all!" Phoebe suggests Piper spend time with The Woefully Neglected Done One while she deals with Tacky Raige.
Whitelighterland. Were there actual scenery to chew up there on the sparse Heaven set, Brian Krause would be munching on it at this very moment. Big Gay Chris orbs in and convinces his enormous ham of a father to unleash The Mythological Mojo on the Glamorous Ladies. Scene.
Back in the attic, the assembled Stoopid Magikal Kreatures combine the zombie dust, the trouser nuggets, a Phoebe potion vial, and an axe to free Raige from her tacky fiberglass prison. Phoebe races over to drag Raige downstairs for a processing summit with Piper. "You're welcome!" Lead Dwarf shouts at their backs. Oooh. Snap!
Parlor. Oh, dear. Piper's in another one of her moods. The gals natter about their Issues for a bit before Lead Dwarf toddles in to say goodbye. The Stoopid Magikal Kreatures have received orders to protect the few ever-useless Elders who managed to escape to earth before Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits arrived in Whitelighterland. Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady's to remain in the Bridal Boudoir with The Woefully Neglected Done One, but everyone else is out of there. Phoebe's all, "Who gave the order?" Piper breathes, "[Dolt]," before screaming her husband's name at the ceiling.
Whitelighterland. The Dolt emerges from some super-secret vault with a carved alabaster urn. His first impulse is to return to the Manor, but Big Gay Chris lays it on the line -- someone has to remain upstairs to coordinate the counterattack, and that someone is the Dolt. The Dolt pouts. Shut it, Dolt. Big Gay Chris orbs back down to San Francisco. The Dolt plants himself on some heavenly stairs and reads the following from the side of the urn:
Ekre o gee
Akman minento.
No, I don't know what it means. Thank God. The Mythological Mojo spills out of the urn and dives down through the floor as Piper's voice echoes through Whitelighterland.
Parlor. Big Gay Chris orbs in, to be greeted by nothing but rampant bitchery and unreasonable demands. The Mythological Mojo soon arrives to shut the Glamorous Ladies up. It swirls down from the ceiling to form a whirlwind around the Ps that quickly obscures them from view. When The Mojo finally dissipates, Raige, Phoebe, and Piper are revealed in the white goddess costumes familiar to anyone who caught the promos that ran for three endless weeks on the WB: Raige, hair up, trident in hand, breasts just barely glued into her bodice with what I'm certain is a budget-busting amount of toupee tape; Phoebe, showing far less skin than usual, but with a ludicrous and lengthy blonde wig; and Piper, looking fairly normal, actually, in a single-shouldered sheath with her hair down. Alyssa Milano mugs shamelessly with her wig, chasing her tresses in a circle like a dog trying to catch its own tail. "W-what happened?" Raige stutters. "What are we?" "You're gods," Big Gay Chris shrugs with smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. The camera pans across a confused Raige, a horny Phoebe, and a "You're kidding with this shit, right?" Piper before cutting abruptly to black.