Two Phoebes, huh? And here I thought my life couldn't get any worse than it already is.
Fade up on Raige's trusty little Volkswagen meandering down a tree-lined road. Behind the wheel, Raige natters into her cell phone about her latest witchy shopping excursion for potion ingredients. After Cole's crazy! involvement in last week's hijinks, Raige is more determined than ever to concoct something strong enough to rid the Glamorous Ladies of Phoebe's erstwhile demonic boy toy once and for all. Over on the Manor end of the line, Phoebe wonders if the eye of newt Raige purchased can help "vanquish" the woman who's suing both the Feebs and The Bay Mirror over a piece of rotten advice Phoebe dispensed in a recent column. Phoebe dispensing rotten advice? Go know. A lawsuit because of said rotten advice proceeding through the civil courts? Not buying it. And because of what we later learn about the origin of Phoebe's current dilemma, I can't even properly call it all a shout-out, so I'm left listlessly lighting another cigarette while muttering "Feh" as I exhale. Raige, puttering along at roughly three miles an hour, snarks something about the sanctity of the First Amendment just as the DemonCam On Crack zips past her to land on a bald gentleman loitering at the side of the road. The gentleman forks a couple of fingers in the air, and a bright flare of demonic mojo slams into the back of the Beetle, propelling it into a spin. Raige shrieks and drops her cell into her lap as her car crumples into another with all the speed of the Pacific Plate grinding into California. Phoebe shouts, "[Raige]! Are you okay?" as the bald gentleman smirks. The camera pans across the accident, taking in the dazed driver of the other vehicle and an unconscious Raige before shuddering into DemonCam mode to jitter us off to the other end of the city.
The DemonCam dumps us in an establishment I'll be calling Bada Not!, for lack of a better nickname. A blonde reject from the Adam & Eve catalogue writhes up and down a pole beneath black lights, clad in a Day-Glo orange velour brassiere with frilly accents, a knee-length white gauzy skirt, and white patterned tights. We don't see her shoes, but I'm sure they match the bra. And I'll just bet she's sporting a pair of lime-green ankle socks, too. It's like a Wham! video with breasts. Well, a Wham! video with breasts that the gentlemen in said video find arousing. The reject slides a hand along her torso before pumping her hips a couple of times in Cole's direction. Cole's splayed out on a nearby sofa with a half-empty martini glass clutched loosely in one hand and his tongue dangling into his lap. Now that's talent. He's shaved since last we saw him, and he's back in his stylish, lawyerly togs. Throughout the establishment, cocktail waitresses in demure Eisenhower-era two-piece swimsuits pass beneath go-go girls of near-Amish modesty as the bald gentleman from the scene flares into the middle of the room. One of the waitresses nearly rams into him; she would, had they money enough to pay her for a speaking role, tell him to watch where the hell he's flaring. As it is, she simply flips her hair around in a -- dare I say it? -- demonic snit and flounces off. So this is the Charmed version of a demonic stripper bar. Not to get too picky about such things, but shouldn't demonic strippers be, well, stripping? With bestial heads flailing around above their scaly bodies while they perform unspeakable acts with live poultry, or something? These mall-haired implant victims in granny panties just aren't cutting it. It's the Sunday-night family hour on the WB, guys. Why did you even bother?
Whatever. The bald gentleman approaches Cole with details of Raige's slow-motion accident, confirming that both she and the other driver were injured. "All you gotta do is a little mind control on the witnesses and maybe a cop," the gentleman adds, "and we're golden." Cole pounds the last of his martini and rises to leave, but the stripper reject boobs into his face and shoves him back onto the couch. "No time for one little dance?" she heaves. "Kaia," Cole leers after darting a "get lost" glance at the bald gentleman. Kaia? Ha! Where's the crap poetry, hon? Actually, this Kaia lacks the other's lockjaw and really looks more like Amaya after a nose job, what with the blonde hair and the vulgar simper and the massive bumper bullets protruding from her chest and everything. Cole settles back as K'Amaya swivels, and he mutters, "You know what I like." K'Amaya wiggles vacantly and morphs into Feeb form. K'Feebs grins, straddles Cole's waist, and grinds her nether bits into his groin.
I can't...I just...it's too...oh, JESUS.
Cole's eyes glaze over with something we're meant to assume is lust and isn't it funny how "lust" and "disgust" rhyme and Cole plants his hands on K'Feebs's ass and she pushes his maw into her cleavage and Cole emerges from the cleavage chasm all sweaty and drooling and K'Feebs opens her mouth and drops out of sight through the bottom of the frame and she is not giving him a blowjob no she's not giving him a blowjob no she's not giving him a blowjob because it's the Sunday-night family hour on the WB and the network censors just wouldn't do that to us no they can't no they can't be doing that to me and Cole grunts and the credits and the cleavage and the sweating and the blowjob and the fingernails clawing at my face and the blood squirting from my eyes and the vomit and hello heretofore unwanted sequel to Final Destination! You can drop a construction crane on my head RIGHT NOW!
A brief opening travelogue accompanied by several ominous strings and a pair of tense bongo drums whisks us over to "San Francisco Memorial Hospital," wherein a not-terribly-ailing Raige rests her perfect coif on a queen-sized bed in a private room. Rather than on a gurney in the ER. Whatever. Piper's at her side, and asks if she should summon the Dolt for a bit of his tingly healing touch. Raige waves this off, noting that she's suffering from nothing more than a mild concussion. Besides, the concussion is entirely her fault, as she was, after all, nattering away on her phone while attempting to maneuver an automobile. Thanks for the public service announcement, sweetheart. Piper asks if Raige remembers anything about the accident. Raige claims that she was just talking to the Feebs, and the thing she knew, she was "spinning out of control." "Kinda like my career," grunts the Feebs from her perch at the foot of Raige's bed. You selfish. Self-centered. HAG. Your damn sister is lying in a hospital bed after her steering wheel tried to mate with her face, and you bring up the piddling advice column you hack out for some tabloid rag? SHUT UP! Piper, rather than employing the Hands Of Discontent to vaporize Phoebe's skull, picks up the "life sucks" strand of the conversation and knits herself a twin set of self-pity while expositing about P3's plumbing problems, which are quite the irritation given the health inspector's scheduled visit that afternoon. Raige rolls her eyes and mutters something akin to "when it rains, it pours" that unfortunately involves Mercury being in retrograde, like, don't involve the planets in this week's set of massive contrivances, okay?
The gals then tediously recite lessons from the first page of Charmed For Simps when the Feebs too-casually suggests that Piper abuse the Book of Shadows for a temporary solution to P3's problems. Piper laboriously reminds us all of the prohibition against personal gain, allowing Phoebe to pout that dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell can use power for personal gain any time they feel like it and "It's not fair!" and could somebody please move the plot along a little bit? Anyone? They're ignoring me again. A bit of Feeb-tastic baby talk directed at the percolating infant follows before Phoebe darts off to deal with The Bay Mirror's lawyers. Piper rises to leave as well, but Raige detains her long enough to underscore The Cole Issue yet again. Once Piper goes, Raige prepares to change back into her street clothes. A stocky uniformed officer raps at her door. "[Raige] Matthews?" he asks. "You're under arrest." DUN!
Stately Jackman, Carter & Kline. Up in Cole's corner office, the bald gentleman smugs that Raige has been arrested for "felony hit-and-run." "She's going down," he grins. The gentleman's juvenile reference to fellatio proves too much for my still-traumatized brain to process, so let's take a moment to decide on a nickname for the henchdemon of the week. Since he bears a passing resemblance to Michael Boatman, why don't we refer to him as "The Mole"? What's that? Well, of course Kathy Griffin is the actual mole this time around -- I mean, the other "celebrities" involved barely have an entire brain between them -- but you know what? "The Mole" is easier to type than "The Bald Demonic Underling Who Sort Of Looks Like The Guy From Spin City If You Whack Yourself Repeatedly In The Head With The Remote And Squint Sideways At The TV Screen," so deal.
Anyway, The Mole adds that their "guys" are in place at P3 in anticipation of the health inspector's visit. Cole tents his fingers and murmurs, "Excellent." Okay, he doesn't, but he is most pleased to learn everything is proceeding as planned. The Mole enthuses that attacking the Charmed Ones through more-or-less legal methods smacks of genius, and believes the gals won't unravel the cunning plot before it destroys them. Cole believes otherwise, but he doesn't care. His goal, you see, is to assume control of the Manor, and with it the "spiritual nexus" upon which the Manor is built. He even has a set of blueprints featuring the Manor's front elevation and the location of the Nexus in the basement. For those of you who don't remember the backstory -- and honestly, I'm surprised the writers do -- the Nexus represents some sort of neutral, yet powerful, physical intersection between the realms of good and evil. A never-named Glamorous foremother acquired the property to ensure that the Nexus didn't fall into the wrong hands, and the Halliwells have been living above it ever since. As Cole explains, the Nexus gives whomever controls it a power boost. By acquiring the Manor and dispossessing the Ps, Cole hopes to tap into that power boost so that evil will spread on earth. He's also aware of the Nexus's effect on the Manor-born Feebs, and believes that an evil-directed Nexus will lead to an evil Phoebe, and thus will Cole save his marriage. The Mole shoots Cole the same dubious side-eye I'm sending his way. The Mole was under the impression that Cole hoped to reorganize the Underworld aboveground, not score with the ex-wife. Cole bluffs a bit about how the Underworld needs a happy leader and how his path to happiness involves the Feebs and how blah blah blah blah BLAH. It's a good thing they're (spoiler!) killing Cole off week, because this obsessive love pony was beaten to death midway through the fourth season, and I simply can't dredge up a shard of interest in any of it anymore.
And yet am I to receive any relief from this storyline? No, for the object of Cole's affection perks into the office at this moment, toting a basket of wine with the Fun Bags flimsily attired in a tan bikini bra. She tramps past The Mole and shoves her tongue down Cole's throat. Cole pushes her away and snits, "Kaia!" K'Feebs morphs into K'Amaya and mopes, "Damn! How did you know it was me?" He saw the previews like everybody else, you nitwit. Actually, Cole claims that the real Phoebe hates him, doesn't drink, and doesn't use so much tongue when they kiss. Whatever, Cole. I mean, yes, Phoebe supposedly hates you, but we've seen her cocktailing, and I've been subjected to scores of Feeb-centric mack sessions wherein I fully expected her tongue to shoot through the back of her paramour's skull. In any event, K'Amaya simpers and fiddles with her hair as The Mole berates her for following a trick out of the stripper bar. Cole eases himself into a chair and patronizes that K'Amaya's got a little crush on him. The Mole begs to differ, asserting that "Kieran demons are manipulative vixens, and this one has an agenda that goes way beyond 'a little crush.'" "Vixens"? Oh, Mole. You manipulative minx, you. There's some blather about K'Amaya tasting power and wanting it for herself, during which I try very hard not to suppose it's something else K'Amaya tastes because she neglected to rinse out her mouth after the pre-credits lap dance. As you can guess, I failed. The Mole orders K'Amaya gone, so she spins around to boob out in a frustrated pout. "Not like that!" Cole shouts, rising from his chair. "Go out the way you came in!" "On. Your. KNEES!" I immediately add, and if you recognize that reference, be sure to say hello the time you catch me at Showtunes. K'Amaya pauses at the door, morphs back into K'Feebs, and coos, "You want me. I can feel it." The appalled Mole clutches his pearls and breathes, "Insolent!" Oh, fine: Hee!
We cut over to P3 just as the health inspector stamps a big, red "CONDEMNED" categorization onto his report. So, the city's going to tear down the building because the toilets are backing up? Okay, then. Piper wails in frustration as the Dolt attempts to bargain with the guy, reminding him that through its four years of operation, P3's never once failed an inspection. Piper vows to have the plumbing fixed within twenty-four hours, and pleads with the inspector to return the following afternoon before submitting his final recommendations to the licensing board. The inspector's about to acquiesce when an enormous grey rat scuttles across the toe of his shoe. Game over. The inspector suggests that they shutter the club for a month and schedule another inspection after professional exterminators eliminate the rodents. Piper whines that she'll be out of business in a month, but her protestations fall on deaf ears. The Dolt ushers the inspector out the door while Piper bats at the offending vermin with a broom. Eventually, she flicks out a Hand Of Discontent, but the resulting explosion vanquishes only the lower half of a barstool. "What are you doing?" bleats the Dolt. "Reducing the rodent population," sneers Piper. Soothing noises emanate from the Dolt as he leads Piper to a seat on the stairs for a chat. "It's just bad luck," he insists. "It is more than bad luck," Piper counters. "It's sabotage! It's demonic!" Ding! Piper fortuitously puzzles out a connection between Raige's accident, Phoebe's lawsuit, and her own dilemma, guessing that some as-yet-unknown force is behind it all. The Dolt's confused. Shocking, I realize. "Why?" he asks. "Because I said so," Piper snaps, hauling her bloated self to her swollen feet and dragging the Dolt upstairs towards the door. The camera pans past the Dolt's vanishing workboots to a pair of frisky rodents, who presently glow red and flare up into a couple of leather-clad twentysomething white boys. It's the demonic rats! Hooray! Demonic rats! Demonic rats! Demonic -- oops. Sorry. Didn't mean for the crushing boredom to become that obvious. "She missed me by that much," Ratboy One announces, pinching his thumb and index finger together. Ratboy Two raises a brow all, "Dude. Sucks to be you." The Ratboys blink out one by one, never to be seen again. Come back, demonic rats! Come back! Dammit.
Trudeau Memorial, formerly Andy's House Of Beef, formerly The Loneliest Precinct House In The World. A uniformed officer backs Raige against one of those cop height charts while Darryl ruefully averts his gaze. He's probably upset that Raige chose to accessorize her tasteful black scoop-necked top with the filmy, shredded remnants of a chartreuse shroud. Lord knows I am. Upset, that is. Not chartreuse. For those of you consumed by Charmed trivia, I should note the height chart indicates that Raige is five feet six inches tall. For the rest of you, I should note that the filmy chartreuse remnants seem to have a will of their own. The bits collected on Raige's left side migrate frequently between her shoulder and her breast throughout the following scene. Darryl sends the uniform in search of some film for Raige's mug shots so that his wispy goatee can engage in a private round of urgent whispering with the alleged felon. Raige hisses that she's innocent, that something demonic must be afoot, and that Darryl should therefore make the charges against her disappear. Darryl can't do that. Because he's now a lieutenant, his actions are subject to more rigorous levels of scrutiny from his superiors. Just go with it. Also, Darryl stammers with atrocious grammar, "This is legal problems. I-I-I-I can't just make those go away." Shave, moron, while I remind the audience of the time you hid a corpse, the time you swiped damning evidence from a crime scene, and the time you lied about the mysterious, mid-investigation disappearance of a colleague. And those are just the three examples that popped into my head right away. Can't make legal problems go away? My ass you can't make legal problems go away. Raige fortuitously puzzles out a connection between Phoebe's lawsuit, Piper's dilemma, and her own accident as the flatfoot returns with film for the camera. Raige grimaces miserably as the shutter snaps, but she still ends up with an absolutely stunning mug shot. Choke on that, Nolte.
Over at The Bay Mirror, Elise Rothman, Girl Editor impatiently explains the details of the lawsuit to the thick-headed Feebs. Phoebe instructed a bride-to-be to "flee at the speed of a baby cheetah at feeding time" from her would-be groom if the bride had any doubts at all regarding their relationship. And...that advice makes even less sense than the city ripping down P3 because of backed-up toilets. Baby cheetahs at feeding time don't flee. In fact, I'd imagine they don't move much at all, except perhaps to wriggle past other baby cheetahs to clamp down on an open nipple. Shut up, Phoebe. Anyway, having followed this illogical advice with disastrous results, the runaway bride now claims to have found in Phoebe's column a pattern of marriage-destroying "malice" arising from Phoebe's own "bitter divorce," and she's threatening to go public with her evidence. Just go with it. Phoebe suggests that the paper quietly purchase Runaway Bride's silence. Elise exasperates that Runaway Bride doesn't want money. "It's like she's on some kind of vendetta! She wants you fired!" Runaway Bride? Consider this your personal invitation to join the discussion on our forum boards. ["Also…'on some kind of vendetta'? A vendetta isn't a drug, Elise. Editor, heal thyself." -- Sars] Elise suspends Phoebe without pay until such time as the paper's lawyers can negotiate a settlement. Phoebe rises glumly to clean out her desk before fortuitously puzzling out a connection between Piper's dilemma, Raige's accident, and her own lawsuit. "Cole," she mutters through a clenched jaw.
Manor. Darryl enters the front hall to break the sad news of Raige's arrest. Piper greets this development with equanimity -- if by "equanimity," one means "a good deal of incredulous shrieking accompanied by the vigorous pinwheeling of outraged arms." Fortunately, Raige and her tattered chartreuse shroud orb in from the clink before Piper spontaneously expels the percolating infant from her womb. Darryl, needless to say, pitches a fit. How dare Raige jeopardize his career by orbing out of her cell? Doesn't she realize his superiors will blame him for her disappearance? Raige is all, "Chill -- I shoved a couple of pillows into a blanket." Darryl glares. "It worked for Lex Luthor," Raige shrugs. "Or was he the one with the holographic projector?" Or maybe Raige just claims the pillow trick always fooled her adoptive parents. Darryl grinds his teeth and orders Raige to return to jail in time for her arraignment that afternoon at two. Raige promises to orb back as soon as she and Piper figure out who's responsible for tonight's hijinks. Upon Darryl's exit, Piper reveals that the Dolt's off consulting with the ever-useless Elders. Raige rolls her eyes -- ha! -- and sighs, "Let's just cut to the chase: Our problems are legal, right? Who's the only demonic lawyer we know?" Piper nods in agreement and mentions Cole's crazy! behavior as of late, but can't quite grasp how Cole intends to exploit the current situation. Raige won't hazard a guess at this point, but suggests they keep their suspicions to themselves. Because withholding vital information from each other has always worked so well for the gals in the past.
Jackass, Cartwheel & Klutz. Phoebe screams through Cole's office door, bellowing, "You slimy son of a bitch!" And there's the "slimy lawyer" reference I've been expecting since the stripper bar. Phoebe demands Cole admit to his role in tonight's hijinks so she can use magic to fight him. Cole surreptitiously buries the Manor elevation beneath a folder on his desk while feigning innocence. Phoebe slams the door behind her, and I'm sorry, but what the hell is she wearing? The shiny red leather Neverland Ranch jacket with the linebacker shoulder pads I could ignore, and up to this point I've managed to overlook the white blouse with the plunging neckline and the over-aggressive abundance of starched, floral-embroidered frills, but the olive green puffy pants are caught somewhere between "cargo" and "Hammer Time," and that's just eighteen kinds of wrong. Break it down. In any event, the two make with the verbal sparring until Phoebe, in frustration, snatches up random sheets of paper from his desk and flings them into the air. Cole tries to sweet-talk her, noting that her hatred of him "is a breath away from love," but Phoebe's having as little of that foul bullshit as I am, so she spits a couple of insults and storms out of the room.
Out in the hallway, Phoebe flounces towards the elevators, passing as she goes K'Amaya, who's slouched in a chair. K'Amaya, peering over the top of her magazine, craftily studies Phoebe's every move.
Back in Cole's office, K'Amaya slinks through the door and offers to give Cole what he wants, if you know what she means. She morphs into Feeb form, replicating Phoebe's disturbing attire.
Over at the elevator bank, Phoebe taps her foot impatiently, then bolts for the stairs. Just as the door clicks shut behind her, Raige and Piper emerge from a car and pedebitch towards Cole's office. They hit the threshold and gasp in horror. The shot cuts to the gals' shared point of view, and we see Cole and K'Feebs snacking on each other's back molars while grinding against one another on Cole's desk. The shot switches again so we have Cole and K'Feebs macking in the foreground while Piper and Raige, sickened and repulsed, allow their lower jaws to drop into the commercial break.
Jackhole, Cokehead & Kink. Piper and Raige stagger through the hallway, reeling in disgust. Welcome to my world, ladies. Raige pulls it together long enough to shudder, "We need a plan." "How's this?" Piper quips. "We go home. We vomit." Pause. "And?" Raige asks. "That's all I have so far," Piper mutters, stumbling towards the elevator. Heh.
Back in the office, Cole pulls away from K'Feebs and shakes his head. Most of her lip gloss has taken up residence on his mouth. K'Feebs is good, Cole allows, but the One True Feebs is better. K'Feebs morphs back into K'Amaya, simpers, and boobs on out of there. I must admit, Alyssa Milano and the actress portraying K'Amaya have done a pretty good job matching up the tone of their line deliveries in this scene. Let's see how long it takes them to fuck it all up.
Lobby. The Mole spies Phoebe clomping out of the stairwell, mistakes her for K'Amaya in Feeb form, and wrestles her over to an alcove for a little browbeating. It's The Comedy Of Errors, you see. If you replace "Comedy" with "Torture" and "Errors" with "Demian." God alone knows why they're riffing on Oscar Wilde in the episode's title. And there I go again -- pretending that I care. Face! Speaking of faces, The Mole has his jammed into Phoebe's, spackling it with spittle as he snipes, "The leader of the Underworld will never have a whore as his queen." I'd say something like, "Shows how much you know about it, dork," but to the best of my knowledge, Phoebe never charged for it. "Did you just call me a whore?" Phoebe howls as K'Amaya boobs out of the elevator on her way to the street. The Mole goggles for a moment before flaring away with the One True Feebs in his arms.
Manor. Up in the dining room, the Dolt listens with mild alarm as Piper, Raige, and Raige's chartreuse shroud detail the distasteful mackery they witnessed in Cole's office. Raige, honey. Ditch the shroud already, will you? Please? The Dolt reveals that the ever-useless Elders have sensed an uptick in demonic activity, which They believe indicates a reorganization of the Underworld behind a new leader. This information leads to much angst-ridden hand-wringing from Piper and Raige. They mention the various demonic events that closed out last season, and worry that Cole's once again exerting undue influence over their empty-headed sister. Because nothing, I should remind you, is ever Phoebe's fault. If Cole's not making her do something despicable, the Phoetus is, and if not the Phoetus, then D'Eartha, and if not D'Eartha, then a banshee, or the Demon Of Fear, or the Nexus, or "the call of the sea," or a bad boyfriend from New York City, or Cinderella's slippers, or...you get the point. The Dolt splutters that Phoebe might have been doing something completely innocent, like trading sexual favors for information. Piper snarks, "Okay, I like the sound of that. Slutty and manipulative -- that's better than evil any day!" Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Piper. Not that I've tried it myself, mind you. It's just that some of my best friends are manipulative sluts. Anyway, the Dolt suggests they hold off on judgment until they speak with Phoebe herself, because the Dolt is a great big gargoyle-faced buzzkill. And speaking of buzzkills, the Dolt mentions that Darryl phoned just as the much-abused grandfather clock strikes two. "Oh," Raige breathes, dismayed.
The Clink. We hear Darryl furiously manufacturing excuses for Raige's likely absence just as Raige orbs in beneath the blanket on her cot. "Hey guys," she perks brightly as she rises from the bed. "What took you so long?" The guard opens her door with much jangling of keys, and Raige sails blithely past a gobsmacked Darryl. Dorian Gregory makes a series of hysterically sheepish faces before trailing after her.
Casa Del Cole. In the living room, The Mole manhandles -- whoa. Someone cleaned up the Casa. It hasn't looked this good since Grandma commandeered the Barcalounger to watch that Douglas Sirk movie with D'Eartha. Anyway, The Mole manhandles Phoebe as Cole smears into the background. "What happened?" Cole sighs in a beleaguered tone of voice. The Mole confesses that he mistook Phoebe for K'Amaya, and thought it best to detain Phoebe at the Casa until "the operation" has run its course. "Good thinking," Cole grudgingly admits. Then he hurls a Flaming Ball Of Death into The Mole's chest. As The Mole howls and wails and vanishes in a veil of fire, Phoebe adopts an expression of studied boredom and shakes her head. Once The Mole has blazed his merry way to the Waste Land, Phoebe books towards the elevator. Cole calls out to her, apologizing in advance for what he must do, and whips his arms out in an expansive gesture before snatching them back to his chest. Throughout the apartment, the windows flare a brief, bright yellow. Cole's just activated the Casa's supernatural security system, you see. Phoebe's now trapped, unable even to summon the Dolt. Cole ambles over to her side, addressing her as "sweetie" while suggesting that she not try to escape. Phoebe deadpans, "All right: Don't call me 'sweetie.'" Against my better judgment, I smirk, and the smirk threatens to turn into a full-on smile when Cole yanks her deeply unwilling body into an affable -- if insane! -- clinch as he steers her towards the glass-topped dining room table. They're finally playing this ambivalent affair for grins, and it's a damn shame they waited so long.
Cole plants Phoebe in a chair while off-handedly mentioning his dastardly designs on the Nexus. Phoebe arches a brow. The Mole, you understand, revealed nothing more to her than Cole's plan to reorganize the Underworld. "Ooops," Cole hoots casually. Heh. He then shrugs all, "in for a penny, in for a pound," and admits to sabotaging P3's health inspection while sending Raige to jail. Phoebe squawks about the jail thing before reminding Cole that once everyone at the Manor notices her suspicious absence, they'll hunt him down and kill him, or something. Cole giggles that he's got that base covered, and sweeps his hand through the air. K'Feebs instantly materializes at his side and jiggles enthusiastically. Phoebe's aghast, and leaps to her feet to squeal, "You need help!" and "Oh, my God!" and other similar phrases over and over again. K'Feebs artfully parrots Phoebe's line readings, which would be impressive were it not Alyssa Milano parroting herself. You know, not to nitpick or anything, but it might have been a wee bit more effective had K'Amaya been the mimic. Cole hustles K'Feebs into the elevator after retrieving Phoebe's clunky handbag from the floor. "There's some leftover Chinese in the fridge," he offers as the elevator doors slide shut. Snerk.
Elevator interior. In a sly bit of business, Cole clutches Phoebe's purse against his stomach like the whipped loser he is while K'Feebs dizzily fiddles with her hair and bubbles something about offing Phoebe and taking her place. Alyssa's overdoing it with the ditzy intonation, by the way, so that compliment I offered earlier about matching the other actress's speech patterns no longer applies. Cole snarls that K'Feebs can't just kill Phoebe, primarily because he's still in love with her, but also because Phoebe's powers protect her from the sort of lower-level demonic threat K'Feebs represents. Cole pushes the purse into K'Feebs's hands and orders her to the Manor to assume, temporarily, Phoebe's identity. "And stop playing with your hair!" he barks. "Phoebe's more sophisticated than that." The only thing keeping me from snorting up my spleen at that assertion is K'Feebs's chastened, wounded expression. I wonder how many takes that bit of acting took. Cole smears out "to speed things up a little," leaving K'Feebs alone and forlorn.
The Only Hospital In San Francisco. Cole smears into a private room, confirms that the woman in the bed received her injuries in the slow-motion pre-credits fender bender, and places a hand on her forehead. She gasps and chokes as the veins in her neck bulge and tiny bubbles of subtly wicked Waste Land mojo destroy her circulatory system. "Nothing personal," Cole whispers as the woman's lifeless head drops to one side on the pillow.
Manor. K'Feebs tiptoes through the front door, only to be confronted immediately by Piper and the Dolt over the tonsil tango she performed with Cole in his office. K'Feebs wisely plays dumb. Wisely, because Piper -- as written in this scene, at any rate -- has little trouble believing that her sister is an easily-misled moron. I mean, no one in the audience ever has a problem with that concept, but it's a bit unusual for Piper to agree with us, isn't it? Blame it on the icky pregnant-lady hormones, I suppose. K'Feebs convinces Piper and the Dolt that she must be suffering from some sort of Cole-sent spell, and urges them to bind her powers at once, lest Cole lure her into wickedness. Piper readily agrees, despite the Dolt's misgivings. What if the gals require the Power of Three in the , say, twenty-five minutes? Piper argues that she can unbind as easily as she can bind, so the Dolt should just take it the fuck down a notch. Besides, a Phoebe with no power is better than a Phoebe whose powers have drifted into Cole's sphere of influence. K'Feebs nods her head in agreement and adds, "I am my own worst enemy." Oh, oof.
Back in the Casa, Phoebe hurls a supposedly hefty pewter candlestick at the French doors. The supernatural security system flares up, flipping the candlestick back into the center of the room. The thing clatters on the tile like a tin can, and I can think of one Foley editor who won't be receiving a bonus this year. Phoebe bellows uselessly for the Dolt, then notices an enormous ventilation grate in the ceiling. Honey, I realize you didn't live there for very long, and you spent most of your tenancy whacked out on D'Eartha's wastes, but wouldn't you have investigated that cavernous heating duct long before you tossed a tchotchke at the window? Dimwit. Phoebe half-leaps, half-levitates up to the ceiling and tugs at the grate.
Manor parlor. Piper recites the following as the Dolt paces nervously in the background and K'Feebs does her level best to memorize the spell as it is spoken:
This witch's power cannot fight
The lure of evil's magic might.
Before misuse lands her in Hell
Remove the powers of Phoebe Halliwell.
As Piper mouths the last line, the shot cuts back to Phoebe in the Casa. A glowy golden blob emerges from the Fun Bags and vanishes upwards into the vent. Phoebe, presumably stunned by the sudden loss of her implants, releases her grip on the grating and drops into the commercial break.
Should I even bother wondering where Phoebe's powers went? Didn't think so.
Manor. Piper and the Dolt urge K'Feebs to try levitating, just to ensure that the power-stripping spell worked. K'Feebs moves to rise from the sofa, and oh, sweet Jesus. The blouse is cut so low and K'Feebs leans over so far that I watch with mounting horror as the Fun Bags flop forward and spread apart, nearly vaulting completely out of the top before settling back down for the remainder of the scene. Utterly at a loss regarding the physical trigger for levitation, K'Feebs waves her hands in the air like she don't care, and now I have that freaking song in my head. Thanks for nothing, wretch. Also: "Utterly." Heh. Anyway, Piper remarks on K'Feebs's strange behavior, so K'Feebs nervously bluffs that the side effects of Cole's macking spell have made her ill. She fiddles with her hair and asks if she can go lie down for a bit.
Bimbo Boudoir, which, come to think of it, looks almost exactly like Raige's bedroom. In fact, it is Raige's bedroom, with different set dressings. After four and a half years on the air, and with the audience numbers rising markedly since the move to Sunday nights, you'd think they'd be able to afford separate bedroom sets. And how mortified am I that I never noticed this before? Wow. Where have I been? So, Piper leads K'Feebs to the bed and offers to fetch her some tea. K'Feebs smiles that tea sounds lovely, then drops the gracious act the second Piper's out of the room. "Who drinks tea?" she mugs as she locks the boudoir door. She struts over to the bureau and slides open the topmost drawer. Rummaging through a cluster of never-worn brassieres, she finds a dagger and sneers.
Casa Del Cole. K'Feebs flares into the living room and stands above the unconscious Phoebe, murmuring dark threats. Cole unexpectedly smears in behind her and demands to know why she returned without his permission. K'Feebs thinks fast and reveals that Piper's aware of the demonic reorganization. Cole darkly reminds K'Feebs that he never asked her to report to him, and orders her back to the Manor. When the time comes, he tells her, she's to insist that Piper visit the bail bondsman. "Fine, Bossy Boots," K'Feebs pouts. "Whatever gets you off." Too. Much. Information. After K'Feebs flares out, Cole hoists Phoebe from the floor to place her gently on the four-poster in the adjoining room. Hey, Alyssa! Don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but unconscious people don't move. So this bit here? Where you kick up your legs and twist your torso and fling your arms around Julian's neck as he picks you up off the carpet? Yeah. You fucked up. Cole plants a tentative kiss on Phoebe's lips and smears out as soon as he realizes that she's waking up. Phoebe groans and stretches and wonders how the hell she got into the bed.
Bimbo Boudoir. Piper pounds on the locked door until K'Feebs finally opens it with an apology. Why didn't K'Feebs answer sooner? She was listening to her Walkman. Why did she lock the door in the first place? D'oh! Fortunately for K'Feebs, the Dolt arrives with the news that Raige's situation "just got a whole lot worse."
The Clink. Raige huddles mournfully on her cot, the blanket hiked up to her chin. Darryl announces that the doctors believe the other woman from the slow-motion pre-credits fender bender had a blood clot in her brain. Yes, Darryl, she did have a blood clot. A blood clot FROM HELL. Raige chokes on some anguished self-recrimination as tears flow down her cheeks. Darryl offers some additional bad news -- the charges Raige faces now include "vehicular homicide," and her bail has been set at fifty thousand dollars. K'Feebs darts her eyes around and too-perkily suggests that they head to the bail bondsman. Darryl opines that a bondsman will require "some pretty hefty collateral." Or not, "Lieutenant" Morris. As many have pointed out on the boards, a bond of five thousand dollars should free Raige until her court date, so either the Grand Cherokee or Phoebe's new sports car would suffice. Whatever. The crackheads in charge are hell-bent on having Piper hock the Manor, so off she and K'Feebs go to the bondsman with the "grant deed" in their hot little hands. The lumpen bondsman assumes possession of said deed, and passes a receipt to K'Feebs. "Hold on to it," he stresses. Piper sighs all put-upon as she turns to leave. K'Feebs follows, but lingers at the door to turn and smile. The bondsman eyes her impassively, waits until she, too, is gone, and then morphs into Cole. Cole stuffs the deed into his jacket pocket and snickers.
A jarring and superfluous DemonCam On Crack shoots us down a commercial street before dumping us in the Manor's front hall. I immediately notice that the lighting's a bit darker and edging towards saturated reds and blues. How lovely. And how demonic, apparently. Our two intrepid heroines orb in with K'Feebs. The Dolt's there, too, if anyone cares. No sooner is the orb complete than Piper pederants towards the kitchen, nattering something about sleeping better once she knows Cole's lair has been destroyed. Raige and the Dolt, meanwhile, glance into the parlor and gawp. You'd gawp too, I suppose, if you arrived home to find The Mullet Defense League lounging uninvited in your living room. "Piper?" Raige blurts. "We've got a bit of a situation in here." "I knew I forgot something," Cole sneers suddenly from the landing. "My mother always warned me about protecting my house from orbing," he continues as he steps down into the hall. Cole's swapped his pearl-grey lawyering suit for a black wool overcoat with matching turtleneck and pants. "Your house?" Piper howls. Yep -- Cole has the deed. But the Ps have the receipt! K'Feebs slinks over to Cole and morphs into K'Amaya. Piper, Raige, and the Dolt gape photogenically. That demonic lighting scheme has, in fact, taken years off the Dolt's face. There's a joke in there about the lighting in gay bars, but Murphy Brown made it ten years ago, so let's keep this moving, shall we? Cole takes a moment to let the betrayal sink in, then pushes a mojo-laden fist in the trio's direction. The Ps plus the Dolt super-speed backwards through the front door, Kent-style. Within the Manor, Cole wiggles his fingers, and the front doors ease shut before flaring up with an orange force field. Piper, Raige, and the Dolt stand in stunned silence on the front porch as the oncoming commercial break overwhelms them.
And we're back. K'Amaya boobs into the kitchen behind Cole, simpering, "I don't even get a thank-you kiss?" "Thank-you kiss"? That's...not a terribly amusing euphemism for fellatio at all. Cole whatevers that K'Amaya will be well-paid for her services, but she must leave the Manor. K'Amaya frowns, then morphs into K'Feebs. "Is this what a girl has to do to get a little attention around here?" she asks, twirling her hair. Now, here's what bugs me. They went through all that trouble to establish that hair-futzing is K'Amaya's "tell," and no one -- not Piper, not Raige, not the Dolt -- called her on it. Ever. Explain to me the tic's purpose? Anyone? Come on, there has to be an answer out there somewhere. Oh, fine -- you can keep your rotten secrets! See if I care. Cole's had enough, and threatens to smack K'Feebs in the tits with a Flaming Ball Of Death should she not make herself scarce. He glowers, then disappears into the basement. "Maybe I'll just make her scarce," K'Feebs trills before she flares out.
Out on the sidewalk, the Dolt tries and fails to sense Phoebe's location while Piper babbles and Raige paces in frustration. The ladies hiss and scratch at each other until the Dolt orders them to cram it and come up with a plan.
Casa Del Cole. A powerless Phoebe flies backwards through the air to vanquish a framed print with her bony derriere while groaning orgasmically. She picks herself up from the floor and screams something about hating Cole with the fiery passion of a thousand blazing suns, but K'Feebs just wants Phoebe dead. The two Phoebes tussle for a bit, and it's all terribly disjointed and jumpy so that no one in the audience will realize how lousy the effects really are. After a bit of this, K'Feebs morphs back into K'Amaya, eliciting from Phoebe the withering promo-style, "Oh, you're a blonde. I should have known!" Well, she's about as blonde as you were once upon a time, sweetpea, so maybe you shouldn't be throwing stones. Just as K'Amaya whips out her dagger, the glowy golden blob representing Phoebe's powers emerges from its hiding place in the ventilation shaft and plows into the Fun Bags. Phoebe immediately levitates up the ceiling, I immediately wonder if her implants are filled with helium, and the dagger embeds itself harmlessly in the wall. Phoebe boots K'Amaya to the other side of the room, yanks the dagger from the plaster, and guts the hapless demonic bimbo when she charges Phoebe from behind. K'Amaya takes a moment to catch fire, but once she does, it's not long before she boobs away to the Waste Land. Phoebe coolly retrieves her jacket from a nearby chair and leaps straight up into the duct, wherein she bellows for the Dolt.
Manor. Phoebe orbs onto the sidewalk with the Dolt and quickly gets the skinny from Piper and Raige. Just as quickly, they realize that Phoebe must pretend she's K'Feebs if they ever hope to repossess their home. There's also some hasty exposition about the Nexus and the Woogy and whatnot, but believe me, it's already been covered. And I'm choosing to ignore the bit where Piper and Raige abase themselves to receive Phoebe's forgiveness. Seems Phoebe believes they "underestimated" her earlier in the day. Zip it, hag.
On the porch, Phoebe jiggles her way past the bouncer, then sidles through the horny Mullet Defense League crowding the main hallway. The guard at the basement door won't let her pass unless she morphs back into K'Amaya form, so Phoebe plants her high-heeled boot in his stomach, sending him ass over end down the stairs.
Phoebe enters the cellar just in time for Cole to finish up with the Craptin he'd been chanting. The concrete beneath his feet splits, and the dread Woogy wafts up through the unearthly light of the resulting hole. Er, I mean, "Nexus." And -- dude. What's wrong with the Woogy? In its appearances, it billowed blackly through the air. This Woogy looks like a paler, thicker version of those Hollow pellets from last season. And wouldn't you know it? The New And Improved Non-Dread Non-Woogy shoots into Cole's body through his mouth, nose, and eyes -- just like The Hollow! Lame. In any event, The New And Improved Non-Dread Non-Coogy staggers a bit from the power boost as his eyes flip beetle black. He presently recovers enough of his composure to smooth-talk the Feebs. Phoebe simply glares at him as she recites the following, which should be familiar from episodes:
I am light:
I am one too strong to fight.
Return to dark, where shadows dwell --
You can't have this Halliwell.
So go away, and leave my sight,
And take with you this endless night.
A swirling cloud of dense smoke shoots from the Nexus to envelop The New And Improved Non-Dread Non-Coogy, whom it sucks down into the earth. The Nexus sends a series of whirlwinds up through the floorboards into the parlor, where the clouds encase The Mullet Defense League before siphoning them into the earth as well. Just as quickly as it appeared, the Nexus seals itself after consuming the last demon. Then it burps. Kidding! Phoebe, who'd been knocked to the floor during all of this, rises to her feet and hyperventilates a bit.
Suddenly, Cole smears back into the basement. "I thought you were dead," Phoebe states evenly. No, Phoebe. That's week. "So did I," Cole replies, "but now that I know that not even the earth can hold me, I guess I'll just call [The New And Improved Non-Dread Non-Woogy] and try again." The hell? "Not even the earth can hold me"? He escaped the Waste Land, didn't he? So what's a little dirt after all that? Whatever. Phoebe calls his bluff, then takes it a step further and vows, "I'm free. When we do vanquish you -- and we will -- I'll never look back." The corners of Cole's mouth turn down and his eyes glisten a bit before he turns and wordlessly smears away.
Up in the hall, Phoebe greets Piper, Raige, and the Dolt for the Weekly Summation. The lighting's gone back to its customary levels, by the way, and the Dolt's aged a full forty-three years since last we saw him. Phoebe presents Piper with the deed to the Manor. Piper frets about the club and the lawsuit. The Dolt chimes in with, "I think you can use your magic to reverse Cole's consequence-free." How convenient! Unfortunately, there's still the matter of the dead slow-motion pre-credits fender bender woman. Remember her? Yeah, neither do I. This episode is endless. Phoebe levels her gaze at Raige and says, "I promise you [Cole] won't get away with that." Phoebe blinks back glycerin as the camera cuts away to the Manor facade. There's a slow pull back as an ominous chord whacks the soundtrack with a two-by-four.
And yet this episode refuses to end! The tense bongos from the top of the hour escort us back to Bada Not!, where Cole morosely slouches on his customary sofa. Jessica Hahn's equally trampy twentysomething sister dully displays her wares as Cole asks if she's K'Amaya's friend. "Used to be," the syphilitic strumpet listlessly replies. "She tell you what I want?" Cole barks. In response, the syphilitic strumpet crosses her arms over her breasts and morphs into Feeb form. This time, the Feeb clone sports a raven Dorothy Gale wig. "You want Toto, too?" she slurs. Okay, not so much, but that wig's pretty freaking creepy. She straddles Cole's waist and whispers in his ear, "You just tell me what you want, baby." Cole draws her close and jams an athame into her rib cage. As the smoke rises from her sucking chest wound, he pushes her away and seethes, "That's what I want, 'baby.'" The unfortunate whore vanishes in a gout of flame. Cole greedily eyes the gore on the dagger's blade and giggles. He then leans back and scouts Bada Not! for his victim as we fade to black.
up, just as Cole was getting interesting again, the brain trust behind this show whacks him. Sniff.