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.
Whatever. I don't care. And I care even less for the expository dialogue that follows. The Dolt natters something about the percolating infant resulting in "changed" "priorities" for the wife regarding her business interests. As in, "Sell your nightclub, woman, and get back in the kitchen where you belong." I know Aaron Spelling bankrolls this entire enterprise, but please. Would someone keep him away from the shooting scripts already? Piper speechifies about having a family as well as a career just like any other modern gal before she spots a pair of amorous heterosexuals on a sofa and snipes, "For God's sake, get a room!" The amorous heterosexuals break apart, and oops! The amorous heterosexual female is none other than Raige. Raige, busted, rises from the sofa and stammers her way through a weak explanation for her presence in a nightclub not owned by her sister. Piper, go figure, is not having it. Raige attempts to make the best of a bad situation by gamely introducing her amorous heterosexual male to Piper and the Dolt, and oh Lord. Raige's amorous heterosexual is a greasy-haired, Aussie-accented cretin named Dave who refers to the Dolt as "mate." Bad Raige! No Daves! Run away! Flee from the Dave! Raige ignores me, choosing instead to cheat to her left to allow Phoebe into the frame for the first of several continuity errors this evening. The Feebs plows onto the scene to shove a pint of beer into her alcoholic sister's hand while passing a glass of seltzer to Greasy Dave at the same time. When the camera cuts to another angle to record Phoebe's horror at being caught by Piper in a forbidden nightspot, Greasy Dave's shown holding the pint. It's easy, I realize, to pin this gaffe on Alyssa Milano. After all, we've reached the fifth season of this show and she still doesn't know how to spell her character's name, so you can imagine how difficult it must be for her to distinguish between her left and her right. However, I've chosen to blame Greasy Dave, because guys named Dave are responsible for everything that's wrong with this world. The rotten economy? The warmongering White House? Famine, disease, racism, and The Guardian on CBS? Blame it on the Daves.
Anyway, the Dolt drags Greasy Dave away to the bar so that the Glamorous Ladies can rocket into some sort of caterwauling, hair-pulling smackdown right there by the dance floor. Kidding. Phoebe actually blithers some excuse about performing research for her advice column by interviewing the few gentlemen present at Evidently Famous Kimberly's Lesbian Dance Party, and waves to a vapid, balding idiot across the room as proof of this. Piper smiles indulgently, then chides her sisters for sneaking into the Lesbian Dance Party without her. Raige and Phoebe reference the percolating infant, and claim they thought Piper would find the entire affair too stressful given her delicate condition. Piper whatevers and tells them she'll see them back at the Manor. Phoebe and Raige giggle.
Meanwhile, in a dark, forbidding alleyway elsewhere in the city, Christopher Meloni's younger, shorter, demonic clone flares in and greets a mealy-mouthed, lisping, adenoidal geek who sits with a sketchbook by a warehouse door. Actually, Demoni's closer to Kevin Pollack in his Avalon days than he is to Killer Keller, but Kevin's the name they've chosen for the mealy-mouthed, lisping, adenoidal geek, and I don't want to confuse any of you. "I don't know," the geek whines through his nose. "I just can't seem to make it work." Kevin's followed all of Demoni's instructions, to no avail. Demoni crouches at Kevin's side for a pep talk. Kevin's possessed of "a very special gift," you see, but "if [he's] to master it, [he has] to believe in it fully." Demoni takes the sketchbook, examines the penciled tiger he finds on one of the pages, and babbles something about Kevin making the image "real in [his] mind's eye." Kevin retrieves the pad from Demoni, stares real hard at his sketch, and eventually, an actual tiger materializes at the far end of the alleyway. The wimpy, adenoidal geek freaks. "How do we make it go away?" he bleats, flattening himself against the wall as the tiger ambles over to bare its fangs. Demoni calmly strips the tiger sketch from the book and rips the sheet of paper in two. The tiger instantly vanishes. Demoni snickers, "Now it's time to make that hero of yours real, too -- to take care of your little problem, and then mine." Credits.
When we return, we find The Geek wandering through another alley, clutching his frayed messenger bag to his chest. He encounters two stereotypical lowlife drug-dealing ethnic thugs who threaten his physical well-being. "Kaz," the leader of the two, sneers and snatches The Geek's bag to flip through the sketchbook. Don't ask. No, really -- it's not worth it. This bit of business makes no sense whatsoever, and I'd amuse myself imagining the sort of tortured justifications the actor playing Kaz would have to have manufactured to motivate such an action, were I not so certain that this isn't really an actor at all. He's more like rented meat. Anyway, Kaz finds an X-Men-style rendering of The Geek as some sort of Hulk-ish avenger booting a cartoon Kazoo in the jaw. What? Leave me alone. Like I know from comic books. Though you'd think The Geek would give his comic alter-ego a better haircut. Kazoo, displeased, pimp-smacks The Geek into a brick wall, flings the sketchbook at The Geek's head, and wanders off with his hench-goon. I thought the car whose headlights have been illuminating this scene belonged to the stereotypes, but apparently it's simply been left there by its real owner to provide atmosphere. The Geek gets a vengeful gleam in his eye when he notes that the sketchbook has fallen open to the first in a series of drawings of your basic masked, lantern-jawed, broad-shouldered, rippled, thick-thighed, rubber-clad, jackbooted, homoerotic fantasy hero. Ooo-kay. Wherever his torrid imagination leads us, I suppose. However. I've already suffered through far too many tedious comics-based storylines on the aforementioned Queer As Folk, so I'm warning you all now: If a dead-eyed Gale Howard shows up to piss all over The Geek's sketchbook while Fabrizio Filippo faux-fiddles in the background, you people are on your own. We ease towards the book as the pages flip of their own accord, briefly animating the fantasy superhero. The sound editor "borrows" a few heroic horns from Smallville, then out-and-out hijacks the transitional theme from Adam West's Batman as the camera super-speeds across the waterfront to end up in...
...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.
Let's move on, shall we? Just as Piper mentions her Dolt, the Dolt himself crashes clumsily onto the sun porch with a sixty-ish gentleman in a white robe who, I kid you not, looks like a taller, geriatric Hal Sparks. Do we sense a theme, here? And if they had to rip off a Sunday night series on pay cable, couldn't they have chosen something worthwhile, like Six Feet Under? The Dolt and his guest collect themselves from the floor as Piper and Raige enter from the kitchen. The Dolt introduces the Sparks-alike as "Ramus." "He's an Elder," adds the Dolt reverently. This is a first. How much you want to bet Ramus lives up to his colleagues' reputation for worthlessness by lounging around on his ass, channel-surfing and shoveling pork rinds into his mouth? Time will tell, I suppose. Ramus comes with a bit of attitude, it seems, for he not only tears into the Dolt for his clumsiness, he also slams him for neglecting his duties as the gals' tutor. Raige remains under the mistaken impression that Elders can orb, when in fact, their "powers are mental, not physical," a "basic" supernatural lesson the Dolt should have given his charges long ago. Heh. Even entities as pointless as the Elders find the Dolt useless. Piper clenches and cuts to the chase: What the hell is this crabby old bastard doing in her house? He's scheduled to retire during that evening's equinox, and to do so, he must transfer his powers onto a new Elder, or the powers will be lost forever. No one knows the identity of the new Elder, and as the likelihood of demonic attack is high, the Glamorous Ladies are to guard Ramus until the new Elder reveals himself and the transfer is complete. There's no set timetable for these events, so the Ps are confined to the Manor until further notice. Raige admits that she and Phoebe already knew about this whole thing and kept the information from Piper to spare the percolating infant some maternal stress. Piper glares. The Dolt grins uneasily. Shut up, Dolt.
Over at the airport -- no, seriously -- a 757 roars into the air as The Geek lets himself into a storage hangar. I see Argenbright still handles airline security in San Francisco. Swell. The Geek wanders through the room, calling out, "Arnon?" Demoni appears in a decommissioned flight simulator. "Where's [The Homoerotic Uberass]?" asks Arnoni. The Geek hesitantly admits that he ripped up the drawing because The Homoerotic Uberass killed Kazoo. That's not quite what happened, Geek, but never mind. The Uberass, alas, is no more. Arnoni's pissed, but masks his irritation long enough to gently remind The Geek of the bargain they made. Arnoni would show The Geek how to access his supernatural abilities, in exchange for The Geek's assistance in defeating the supposedly-evil Ramus. The Geek wonders why Arnoni can't take out Ramus on his own. Arnoni claims he can only "sense" great power, not possess said power himself. Arnoni knows where Ramus is. Now he needs The Homoerotic Uberass to kill the guy. Arnoni slides the sketchbook out of The Geek's bag and croons, "Help me do the right thing, [Geek]. Bring your superhero back to life before somebody else loses theirs." The Geek wavers.
The Bay Mirror. There's a bit of nonsense involving Phoebe answering every single letter she receives from her adoring public before the phone rings. It's Piper, calling to bitch about the Ramus thing and to order the Feebs back to the Manor for guard duty while Piper heads to P3 to interview DJs. Phoebe howls in protest. Her adoring public wants advice now, and besides, Piper's "not supposed to be going to work anyway." What. The hell? Since when was this a problem pregnancy? How could it be a problem pregnancy? The goddamned baby can heal Piper, for Christ's sake. And she's not even showing yet! She's wearing a freaking belly shirt! And she has no belly! ANY-way, Phoebe suggests that Raige baby-sit the Elder. Raige can't, as she's over at Greasy Dave's, engaging in acts of unspeakable depravity. At eleven o'clock in the morning. So Raige screwing around in the middle of the day with a guy she just picked up in a bar is okay, but the pregnant lady has to quit her job? Auuugh! Keep Aaron Spelling away from the scripts, dammit! Idiots! God! I hate this show!
Piper dryly asks if Phoebe has any other ideas. "Cole," Phoebe splutters, as the gentleman in question enters her office unannounced. Piper raises a skeptical brow. Phoebe babbles that she'll be home as soon as she can, slams down the phone, and rises to her feet to scream at her ex-husband. Cole tells her to cool it. He's there to enlist her paper's aid in bringing down a slumlord named Edward Miller. Miller, it seems, "took millions from the city in renovation money, but instead of fixing up the buildings, he's [kicking] the tenants out." I'm no legal scholar, but this sounds like embezzlement of municipal funds, doesn't it? So Cole should therefore be invading the office of the district attorney with this issue? Correct? Stupid must be contagious, and Cole must be spending too much time with the Feebs. Phoebe blows him off, but not before spitting something about how unusual it is for Cole to rely upon proper legal channels when he could simply turn Miller "into a fountain pen." Cole insists he's not using his purloined demonic powers anymore, and again begs Phoebe for assistance. Phoebe flatly refuses, claiming she's "powerless." Cole pouts a bit, shrugs his shoulders, and turns to high-five Foreshadowing over at the water cooler before exiting the office. Phoebe's nosy, non-Mary Cherry assistant asks if Cole was talking about the infamous Edward Miller, and notes that Phoebe's received letters from several of the slumlord's tenants. Puh. Leeeze. What would the Feebs do about a goddamned slumlord, anyway? Annoy him into compliance with city regulations? Annoy him to death is more like it. Whatever.
Greasy Dave's Den Of Ungodly Fornication, which previously housed both a crushed cocktail waitress and a double-billing lawyer. They thought I wouldn't notice, but I did. I just hope Greasy Dave shares the tenants' fate. Especially after this shot, which is of Greasy Dave dismounting Raige, leaving her to loll around on the wet spot while he asks, "Did you?" Raige, pulling a Bradshaw by screwing around in a teddy and a bra, sighs dejectedly and...you know what? It doesn't matter. We're never going to see Greasy Dave again, and I refuse to address the issue of Raige's purported Wiccan-related frigidity in a recap, so you're going to get a very short version of this scene, and you're going to like it. Raige almost tells Greasy Dave she's a supernatural half-breed who tends to orb out during moments of passion, but doesn't. Greasy Dave remounts for another go at Raige's Elusive O. Scene.
I'll just go dip myself in lye now. I'll be right back.
So. Manor. Piper enters the dining room, interrupting Ramus in the middle of a mid-air, orby "meditation" session. Ramus slams to the floor and grouses about the lack of manners in the Manor. Piper coolly informs him that the Dolt will look after him until Phoebe returns from her office. Ramus gets snotty, reminding Piper that "the rules" dictate she protect him, not the Dolt. Piper minces few words regarding her opinion of the Elders' rules. Ramus tells her to save it -- he's well versed on Piper's troubled history with the Elders' authority, and adds that he was one of the few in Whitelighterland who approved of her marriage to the Dolt, as he "foresaw the special baby" she'd be carrying one day. Before Piper can grill him on the percolating infant's future, Phoebe barrels through the front door to bow and scrape at Ramus's feet. Just as I lapse into a coma, Ramus receives a psychic warning regarding The Homoerotic Uberass, who presently super-speeds onto the sun porch to make with the velvety-voiced threats. Piper tosses a freeze at The Uberass that serves only to slow him to a sort of modified bullet-time lunge. Phoebe dives for Ramus, knocking him to the floor, and yodels for Raige. As The Homoerotic Uberass shifts back into super-speed to ram into a wall, Raige orbs in beside Piper, and Mother of God in Heaven. Raige sports nothing more than her scanty Bradshaw-approved nookie-wear and was clearly interrupted in the middle of a particularly vigorous pursuit of her Elusive O. I want to die. The Uberass insists that he has no quarrel with the Glamorous Ladies, but Phoebe vows he'll have to kill her before she'll allow harm to come to the Elder in her care. Oh, if only, Feebs. The Homoerotic Uberass flips Phoebe into Piper and Raige. The three women collectively vanquish a plant stand on their way to the floor. I'm certain Raige inadvertently transfers some fornication-related disease and infestation to her sisters at this point. Skank. The Dolt, having heard the commotion, takes a flying leap from the stairwell landing, latches onto Ramus, and orbs away. The Uberass, thwarted, growls and super-speeds into the oncoming commercials.
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.
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.
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.
Al-Qaeda International. The Ps plus The Geek run through the plan once more. The Geek is to enter the warehouse alone, summon Arnoni, then call for the Ps. Pillock looks lovely, by the way. Perhaps a bit too Magenta from Rocky Horror for some people's taste, but it works. As The Geek disappears into the warehouse, a jetliner screams past above the Ps, nearly popping Pothead's super-eardrums. Meanwhile, the slumlord lurks down the alleyway, training a camcorder on the events unfolding. Why? WHYYYYY? How does he know where they are? What private security service in the world receives a request for a background check on some guy's ex-wife and comes back with the answer, "She's a leather-bound superheroine hanging out at the airport with her sisters and a geek -- at this very moment!"? Oy.
The Geek wanders cautiously through the warehouse, calling for Arnoni. The demon suddenly appears behind him, grabs hold of the kid's neck, and flings the sketchbook onto a nearby table. It's open to the rendering of Pillock, Pack-Mule, and Pothead. "Now that I know you can draw powers for others," sneers Arnoni, "you can draw some for me!"
Outside, Pothead's super-ears are worthless given the constant roar of the jets overhead, so the Ps super-speed into the warehouse without waiting for the agreed-upon signal. The slumlord gets everything on digital videocassette. Whatever.
Once in the warehouse, the Ps find The Geek sprawled unconscious on the cement. Pothead retrieves his sketchpad from the floor, and gazes with alarm upon a new and improved rendering of The Homoerotic Uberass. Arnoni, in Uberass form, steps into the frame, displays the portrait of Pillock, Pack-Mule, and Pothead, and rips it in two before their eyes. The Glamorous Ladies immediately morph back to their everyday forms. The Uberass Arnoni proceeds to toss them, one by one, through a window and into the commercial break.
Al-Qaeda International. Aftermath. The ladies collect themselves from the muck of the alleyway as The Geek bursts through the door with profuse apologies for screwing everything up. The Geek suggests that he "thought-project" them back into superheroine form to combat The Uberass Arnoni, but the gals nix this idea as too time-consuming. Why don't they destroy Arnoni's drawing as he did theirs, and then vanquish him the old-fashioned way? "You can't," replies the rueful Geek. "He took the drawink with him." DUN! And for God's sake, invest in some speech therapy. Geek.
Manor. The Elder and the pantywaist pace and fret. The Dolt worries that something must have gone wrong. Ramus offers his Doris Day impersonation. Again. The Powers That Be Psychic Hotline rings once more for Ramus. "Uh," he warns the Dolt. "I'm afraid this is gonna hurt." The Uberass Arnoni bursts through the front doors to super-speed down the hallway and bitch-slap the Dolt. The Dolt hurtles backwards onto the dining room table, smashing the crystal centerpiece with his bloated Dolt ass before crashing to the floor. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Slow-forward. The Uberass slides a hand into Ramus's gut and absorbs the glowy, orbing cloud of Elder powers into his own body. Ramus smiles beatifically and vanishes in a golden haze. The Ps plus The Geek orb into the hallway to replace the Elder. "You're too late," Uberass sneers in velvety tones. Piper whatevers and crosses to the battered and bleeding Dolt. Raige, meanwhile, summons an Uberass boot with her orbing telekinesis, knocking The Uberass onto his back in the process. "Wrong boot," quips The Geek. Raige groans and calls for the left boot. Once it materializes in her hand, she extracts the portrait of The Homoerotic Arnoni Uberass and shreds it. The Uberass morphs back down into Arnoni. The Ps taunt Arnoni for a moment or two about his ability to foresee his very short and very painful future. Piper flings out her Hands Of Discontent, and Arnoni howls and explodes in a spray of black goo.
The glowy, orbing cloud of Elder powers, freed from Arnoni's body, rises to the ceiling. After zig-zagging over the heads of all five people in the room, it dives into The Geek's chest. Raige is shocked that this teenager -- this mere geek of a lad -- should assume The Great And Powerful Ramus's numerous and varied responsibilities. Raige, Raige, Raige. You've been at this Wiccan thing for over a year now. You know the Elders are worthless. Why should it surprise you to learn most of them are gangly, pimpled adolescents? The Dolt confirms this for me. "Elders are like kings," he notes. "They can be any age." Yeah, but how many thirteen-year-old kings ever did anything worthwhile? Also: "The Great And Powerful Kevin"? It is to laugh.
The lobby of the Casa Del Cole. The slumlord presents Cole with a copy of the videocassette and makes with the threats. Cole glares at him silently for a moment, then invites him upstairs.
P3. Piper's apparently taken my earlier advice, hired Evidently Famous Kimberly, and thrown her doors open to riotous go-go dancing glam dykes from far and wide for a Lesbian Dance Party to end all lesbian dance parties. Needless to say, the evening is a smashing success. Raige wanders through the jiggly, overexposed extras with Greasy Dave in tow. They spot Piper and the Dolt macking on a loveseat, and amble on over. Piper sends the Dolt on a booze run with Greasy Dave so she and Raige can review the Lessons Of The Week. Raige caught up with her Elusive O, and that's all I have to say on that matter. Piper's realized that a percolating infant does change one's priorities after all, and perhaps she'll not worry so much about the nightclub in the future. As she's paid scant attention to it in the past, this shouldn't represent much of a change for her. The Fun Bags, looking for love in all the wrong places and encased in an off-white crochet top, propel their way through the crowd so their support system can inform Piper and Raige of the slumlord's threats, which the Fun Bags' support system just now received by way of a phone call from the ex-husband. Concerned looks all around. The Fun Bags droop a bit in sympathetic dismay. The Fun Bags' Support System flees Evidently Famous Kimberly's Lesbian Dance Party To End All Lesbian Dance Parties to motor on over to the Casa Del Cole.
The Casa. In exchange for the tape and his silence, the slumlord demands that Cole withdraw all objections to the evictions, in addition to providing the slumlord with fifty thousand dollars a month in cash, apparently in perpetuity. Cole fries his ass with some wicked Waste Land mojo. As the slumlord vanishes in a gout of flame, Phoebe arrives, wondering what gives. Cole stammers at first, then insists everything's fine. "I handled it," he shrugs adorably. I cannot hate this guy. What is wrong with me? Whatever my problem is, Phoebe doesn't share it at the moment, though I'm certain that will change by November sweeps. She immediately realizes that Cole resolved the issue with Wicked Waste Land Mojo, and flees the apartment. "He was going to expose you!" Cole calls. "What am I supposed to do?" Get a new girlfriend for starters, bub.
week: Gypsies, tramps, and thieves. No, seriously. No. Seriously.