“ 'What are you doing?' Making an ass of himself, Piper. And in front of all the lesbians, no less. ”
This is going to hurt.
Fade into a couple of overlapping super-speed nighttime skyline shots of San Francisco, the last of which features the camera zooming towards the TransAmerica Pyramid with the stubby Coit Tower low in the foreground. As the shot reaches the Coit, however, the camera suddenly swivels so that we stare down at the tower from directly overhead. There's an immediate cut to an overhead shot of an LP spinning on a turntable as some techno-type throbbing hits the soundtrack. Of course, this sequence would have been more effective if the positions of the Coit and the turntable post had been aligned properly and if those two elements had been of comparable apparent size on the screen, but I feel like I'm quibbling, because I've already seen the rest of this episode, and things get a hell of a lot worse. The camera pans up to reveal Evidently Famous Lesbian DJ Kimberly S, spinning her fabulous mix of mad dance trash for the riotous gaggle of go-go dancing glam dykes swarming what appears to be the P3 soundstage, after said soundstage has been hastily rehabbed into a Girl Bar version of Babylon! from Queer As Folk. After numerous shots of lesbionic jiggling, the camera finally comes to rest on our intrepid Piper, clomping her graceless way across the dance floor. She spies the Dolt, who's blissfully absorbed in his version of The Grimacing White Boy Shuffle, and yanks him from the crowd, shrieking, "What are you doing?" Making an ass of himself, Piper. And in front of all the lesbians, no less. The Dolt mumbles something complimentary about Evidently Famous Kimberly in response, leading Piper to wail, "This club has become the hottest thing in town, and I'd like to know what they're doing that I am not." What part of "riotous go-go dancing glam dykes" do you not understand? Seriously, Piper, you own a nightclub in San Francisco. A. Nightclub. In. San. Francisco. Why haven't you tapped the gay and lesbian market yet? Huh? How difficult could it be? A couple of weekend wet underwear contests hosted by The Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence, some eight-dollar pitchers of Long Islands on Sunday afternoons, and you're set. Jeez.
“ You heard me correctly: Raige came and went at the same time. This is what the people are talking about on the WB at seven o'clock in the evening. On a Sunday. Someone's going to burn in Hell for this and Kern, I think it's going to be you. ”
...a ransacked office. Kazoo and the hench-goon are swiping classic Cathy cartoons from the secretaries' computer monitors, or something, when The Geek's homoerotic ubermensch blasts through a wall. Kazoo shouts, "Who are you, foo'?" The velvety-voiced homoerotic ubermensch replies, "I'm The Aggressor." Oh, Jesus. There's nothing I can do with that one. Nothing, except stare at that enormous A on his chest and surrender to the impulse to call him Ass. This is bad, people. The hench-goon flips open a switchblade and lunges at The Homoerotic Uberass. The Uberass counters by super-speeding to the hench-goon's other side, then flips the goon into the wall. Kazoo pulls an automatic from his underwear and fires off a couple of rounds in that irritating side-handed way favored by such low-rent examples of machismo as Steven Seagal and Peter Facinelli. The Homoerotic Uberass raises a hand, and the bullets ricochet back into Kazoo's chest. Kazoo flies backwards as the squibs beneath his clothing explode. The Uberass super-speeds on out of there.
Manor, the following morning. Up in the kitchen, Piper's icky pregnant-lady hormones have forced her to fashion a sandwich from pickles, hot fudge sauce, mustard, and whole-wheat bread. Raige straggles in through the back door, still strapped into the same blue-and-white seersucker party frock she was wearing the evening. Ah. The Walk Of Shame, made all the more shameful because Raige actually gave it up to a greasy Australian named Dave. I hope she took a shower this time. Skank. Piper's surprised, because she thought she saw Raige in her bedroom around two in the morning. I'm just appalled, because, you know, Greasy Dave. That's disgusting. What's even more disgusting is the hateful conversation that follows. Long, wretched, soul-scarring story short, Raige was in the middle of things with Greasy Dave, and just as she popped her cork, she spontaneously orbed back to the Manor. You heard me correctly: Raige came and went at the same time. This is what the people are talking about on the WB at seven o'clock in the evening. On a Sunday. Someone's going to burn in Hell for this and Kern, I think it's going to be you. Raige managed to orb back into Greasy Dave's arms before he noticed anything odd -- like, what, was he too liquored up to notice her absence? -- but Raige frets that the secretive bitchcraft thing she's got going will prevent her from ever reaching orgasm again. At least, not in the presence of another human being. You think I'm making this up, don't you? Good God, how I wish I were. Raige wistfully remembers Slampiece Glenn, then wonders how Piper managed to find love in such a cold, cruel world. "I married an angel," Piper replies, and I vomit for the seventh time in a single paragraph. I think the stomach acid's eaten a hole through the cartilage in my nose.
Riddle me this: How did Angel make a woman of Buffy if he lacked a heartbeat all this time and, by extension, a functioning circulatory system? On second thought, I really don't want to know. ["Try the FAQ. Heh." -- Sars]
Manor attic. The gals race to abuse the Book of Shadows, followed shortly by the Dolt, who orbs back from Whitelighterland with confirmation that Ramus is safe for the time being. Phoebe tries to beg off Elder duty, citing those poor, soon-to-be-homeless tenants of the slumlord, but the Dolt's not having it. Should Ramus miss that evening's equinox, his powers will vanish forever. I can't believe people get paid for writing this crap. Anyway, the Dolt notes Raige's state of undress, and asks from whence she orbed. Like he wouldn't smell it on her. Honestly, I don't know how Piper can stand right to her like that. Raige hems and haws and mutters an excuse about "dealing with some personal problems." The Dolt gallantly offers his assistance with said problems, as that is, after all, part of his duties as their guardian. Piper and Raige simultaneously swallow their tongues and squeal, "No!" Now that's some trick. Phoebe urges them all to focus on The Homoerotic Uberass. Piper recalls The Demon Of Illusion and his penchant for hiding within movies, and suggests that The Uberass might be squirreled away in a comic book somewhere. Raige decides to prowl comic book stores while Phoebe deals with the slumlord. Piper insists on accompanying Raige, and drags her out of the attic to strap Raige "into something less comfortable."
Al-Qaeda International Airport. The Geek gags on some sort of choking mojo Arnoni's tossed at him, while Arnoni himself grills The Geek on The Homoerotic Uberass's failure to spirit Ramus away from the Manor. Didn't The Geek envision The Uberass as an invincible, unstoppable force? He did indeed, but how could he have foreseen the intervention of the Glamorous Ladies? Well, then. The Geek will simply have to envision a stronger Uberass, won't he? Otherwise, Arnoni will slaughter "the people in [The Geek's] life who still care about [him]." The Geek gulps. Arnoni stalks away. The Geek dives for his sketchbook, and his hand double quickly scribbles out a remarkably accurate sketch of Phoebe's face.
“ Don't ask. That's my job. Why did they end up on a roof when their matron in distress is somewhere down on the street? Who knows? Just go with it. ”
Speaking of the Feebs, the camera cuts to trail her into one of Edward Miller's flophouses. As a team of private security guards toss the unfortunate indigent onto the street with their meager possessions, Phoebe gets all up in the slumlord's face, threatening to expose him and whatnot. Miller couldn't care less, and instructs her in no uncertain terms to blow both her threats and her misguided compassion out of her bony derriere. The slumlord then vanishes upstairs. Phoebe, staring vacantly after him, suddenly glows, and rays of light erupt from her body beginning at her nose. As the rays spread, Phoebe morphs into The Geek's hellish vision of Phoebe as superheroine: Knee-high black leather boots, what appears to be a red leather wrestling singlet with matching wristbands, a black cat's-eye mask, and a rat's nest of Shirley Temple ringlets sprouting from her scalp. I suppose that's actually Eilish's hellish vision of Phoebe as superheroine, isn't it? No matter. Either will do. Needless to say, Phoebe's surprised. Needless to say, Demian's nauseated, though he does appreciate how her lipstick matches her outfit. And now you want a cunning P-related superheroine name for the Feebs as well, huh? How about Pillock? Works for me. Anyway, the best name for a superheroine is Mange, and Buttercup already claimed that one for herself.
Cut to The Geek, scribbling away furiously on his pad.
Cut to Piper and Raige emerging from Comet Comics, having failed in their quest for The Homoerotic Uberass. The two natter a bit about Greasy Dave before they, too, fall victim to Eilish's hellish vision of the gals as superheroines. Piper's sporting a one-piece silver leather jumpsuit that to me screams "yeast." Raige has been slung into a black leather mini with a pink leather sleeveless scoop-necked top that suspiciously resembles Rose McGowan's costume for Monkeybone. Both ladies have been accessorized with matching wristbands and cat's-eye masks identical to The Pillock's. The Pack-Mule in silver and The Pothead in pink barely register their altered appearance before they super-speed upwards to the roof of the building. They guh for a moment before hearing the desperate cries of a middle-aged matron being carjacked somewhere...else. Don't ask. That's my job. Why did they end up on a roof when their matron in distress is somewhere down on the street? Who knows? Just go with it. As a gun-toting thug lugs the matron from the driver's seat by her hair, Pack-Mule and Pothead rather photogenically appear in slow-motion through a roiling cloud of steam. The Pack-Mule captures the thug's attention with a bellowing, "Hey!" The thug fires off a round in her direction. Pack-Mule catches the bullet in her hand. "Not exactly what I had in mind," confesses The Pack-Mule, "but it'll do." The Pack-Mule super-speeds over to the thug and tosses him into a Dumpster. The matron is most grateful.
“ The Pillock airily dismisses his concerns and 'leaps' nearby buildings in a single bound in search of other evildoers. Cole's eye-roll is audible. I'm with you, my man. ”
Meanwhile, back at the flophouse, The Pillock has suspended the slumlord by his ankles off the edge of the roof. The slumlord's about to wet himself in terror, and promises not to evict the unfortunate indigent if The Pillock promises not to drop him head-first to the sidewalk six stories below. A suspiciously convenient American flag billows in the breeze in the background. After a bit of this, Cole smears in and casually calls for the ex-wife. They bicker a bit, stupidly using Phoebe's real name and referring to her place of employment, before The Pillock tosses the slumlord back onto the roof with one hand. And then there's another continuity error. The TransAmerica Pyramid had appeared behind the flag during this scene. However, when they switch to a reverse angle of Cole and the Feebs, the Pyramid's suddenly on the other side of the city. Idiots. The slumlord scampers down a maintenance ladder while Cole cautions The Pillock regarding her suddenly altered appearance and abilities. The Pillock airily dismisses his concerns and "leaps" nearby buildings in a single bound in search of other evildoers. Cole's eye-roll is audible. I'm with you, my man.
Downstairs, the slumlord corners a security guard, ensures that the eviction will proceed as planned, and orders a background check "on Cole Turner's wife." There's a reason I called her The Pillock.
After a brief effects shot of Pack-Mule and Pothead super-speeding across the Bay Bridge, our leather-bound gals return to the Manor. "Head rush," breathes Pothead. "Let's do it again!" The Pillock speeds in from the back door. "Okay," she grunts. "Give me a sec 'til my organs catch up." After complimenting each other's outfits, The Pack-Mule suggests they figure out what happened to them. The Pillock's not interested in a processing summit until she lifts her mask from her face. "Suddenly, I don't feel so good about this," she admits. "It's like the masks are clouding our judgment. Making us feel like we're invincible." Pack-Mule and Pothead put this theory to the test, and realize to their dismay that Pillock has a point. Before they get too glum about this latest development, The Homoerotic Uberass super-speeds into the Manor and slams Pillock against a wall. The Pillock slumps to the carpet, dazed. As Pack-Mule races to Pillock's side, Pothead dodges a few of Uberass's punches, then scampers across the room, leaving him to plunge his fist through a wall. Pack-Mule takes Uberass for a spin, booting him down the hallway. He recovers instantly. Pillock leaps to her feet, latches on to his utility belt, and flings him through a doorway onto the sun porch. The Homoerotic Uberass lies prone on the floor, impaled on a rather phallic shard of furniture. "Thank you," he whispers. The Glamorous Ladies gather to stare as The Uberass rays out and morphs into The Geek. Goggles and gawping all around as we super-speed into the commercial break.
Did that surprise you? Yeah, me neither. Wanna bet The Geek is the Elder, too? It's either him or the Dolt, after all. Just ponder that nightmare for a moment.
Back from the break, the Dolt's removed the rather phallic furniture shard from The Geek's chest, but hesitates with the tingly touch. Are the gals certain they want this kid alive? They are. After all, demons don't thank the Glamorous Ladies for killing them. The Dolt knits up both the sucking puncture wound in The Geek's chest and The Geek's t-shirt. The Geek rises to explain himself. Unfortunately, he does so with a liberal application of the dreaded Liz Parker "-ink." "I've always been able to imagine thinks," he reveals, "and then make them come to life with my drawinks." The Dolt should have let him bleed to death. By the way, The Geek's official name for the P triumvirate is "The Protectors." Just thought you'd like to know. The Dolt defines The Geek's powers as "thought projection," and pronounces him a witch as well. I expect this will add fuel to the endless debate on the forums regarding the nature of male witches in the Charmed universe, and further the speculation that the percolating infant is actually a he. Hope the kid doesn't mind spending his first few years in pink clothing. Anyway, The Geek spills what he knows of Arnoni as The Powers That Be ring the Dolt's bell. The equinox has arrived, and the Dolt must return Ramus to Earth. Pillock, Pack-Mule, and Pothead quickly formulate a plan to use The Geek as Arnoni bait to draw the bad guy into the open, whereupon they intend to kick his ass with their new powers.
Al-Qaeda International. The Ps plus The Geek crouch behind a shipping container as Pothead makes use of her super-ears to listen for Arnoni's presence in the warehouse. She hears only vermin of the insect-and-rodent sort. "Sounds like my old apartment," she idly notes.
Manor. The Dolt orbs onto the sun porch with Ramus. The Dolt wants to stow Ramus upstairs, away from prying demonic eyes. Ramus, however, evidently ascribes to the Que Sera Sera Theory Of Universal Existence, and insists that they remain where they are. Ramus also gains points when he tells the Dolt to stop being such a pantywaist. The Elder and the pantywaist settle into chairs to await their fate, and Ramus offers to answer one question about the Dolt's future. He is a seer, after all. It's the least he could do. The Dolt wonders if the percolating infant will be healthy. "Yes," Ramus replies evenly. "Very healthy. And more powerful than you can even imagine." The Dolt beams. Stow it, Dolt.