Fade up on the nighttime Manor exterior, and someone finally remembered to turn off the lights in the parlor before heading to bed. The camera cuts upstairs to The Prue Halliwell Memorial Bimbo Boudoir Of Paisley Tit-Slings And Other Fashion Atrocities, currently occupied by Raige. Why did I have to notice they've been using the same set all this time? We pan past a rose on the nightstand -- real cute, guys -- to Raige herself, lounging on her bed with the phone pressed to her ear. Pink marabou mules dangle from her toes, and I giggle despite myself. I mean, mules? Who the hell wears those things nowadays? Anyway, Raige is chatting with long-lost slampiece and childhood friend Glenn "Stretch" Belland, who's revealed to be elsewhere, piloting a rain-slicked maroon SUV. So much for that PSA about cell phones and automobiles. Seems Slampiece Glenn's latest expedition took him away from San Francisco for far longer than he'd planned, and Raige -- horny as hell because she hasn't had any since that O-Town reject three months ago -- wants to get her some immediately, if not sooner. Well, that's the subtext, at any rate. Raige actually invites him to dinner, because there's "something [she] really want[s] to talk to [him] about." She's leafing through an album as she tells him this, stroking their prom photos before grinning down at a picture taken during some sort of kayaking trip the two had in the past. Rose McGowan and Jesse Woodrow certainly seem to have enjoyed each other's company during these background sessions. However. In the final snapshot, Slampiece Glenn vaguely resembles one of my drunken party-boy ratbag Allentown cousins, and he's gripping a very large pole. I so don't want to go in either of those directions, so what say I just carry on with the rest of the scene? ["Not before I note that his last name is 'Woodrow.' Hee. Okay, go ahead." -- Sars] Glenn can't do dinner, but admits that there's something he needs to tell her as well. Creaks and ooky chittering noises fill the air above Raige's head as she quickly agrees to meet him for lunch. An invisible force slides her telephone from its stand to suspend it in mid-air. Raige snarls at the unseen presence in her boudoir, and there's a bit of daft miscommunication wackiness wherein Slampiece Glenn genially believes she's snarling at him before Raige ends the call by yanking the jack out of the wall. Glenn snickers fondly at his cell as Raige rolls her eyes and grunts.
Down the hall, Piper bitches loudly enough to rouse the slumbering Dolt. The invisible presence has abandoned Prue Memorial to mess with Piper's baby supplies, cheekily hiding a stack of cloth diapers beneath the crib in the percolating infant's closet. The Dolt sleepily protests that it's two o'clock in the morning. Piper doesn't care, and launches into a tirade about the "pesky ghosts and goblins" who've been plaguing the Manor as of late. The Dolt whines that he's already explained the problem isn't spectral; rather, it's the "residual energy left over from all the demons [the Glamorous Ladies] vanquished" in the house. Residual energy that has been dead quiet for four and a half seasons and is only now emerging to add to the weekly hijinks because the writers can't beat the Cole and Phoebe thing into the ground any more. Or something like that. To be honest with you, I enjoyed this episode far too much to pick at the plot holes and the half-assed contrivances and the yawning gaps in series mythology made evident over the course of the hour. What can I say? I'm a sucker for episodes that play the show's ridiculous premise for laughs. Anyway, the Dolt adds that the ever-useless Elders promised the residual energy would dissipate over time. Piper greets this information with a disbelieving snort and some more relentless bitching about how the residue is "getting worse" and "organizing" and "making it impossible for [her] to keep the baby things in order." "Yeah," mumbles the Dolt, absently scratching his drowsy head. "But it's two o'clock in the morning." Heh. A slothful Dolt is a funny Dolt. Wicked, tinny cackling echoes through the room as the unseen entities slyly stow the percolating infant's supplies beneath the crib once more. "They're trying to drive me crazy!" Piper grumbles as she waddles back into the closet.
Sleepytime Dolt's about to mutter something soothing, but he's rudely interrupted by the sudden, high-pitched yodeling that invades the second floor from the attic. The Feebs, waving around a bundle of smoky incense while banging on some sort of Mongolian wind chime, bellows, "Eimo dama sayto mundo!" as she descends the stairs clad in a hot-pink silken Chinese night jacket with matching shorts. I haven't seen her this appallingly goofy in months. Meanwhile, Piper races into the hallway from her room, clearly ready to smack the taste out of Phoebe's mouth. "What the hell is going on?" Raige growls, entering the scene with her fingers pressed desperately into her ears. The Dolt eventually joins them, slouchy and indifferently half-awake. "What are you doing?" Piper howls. "I'm cleansing the house!" perks the Feebs. "At two o'clock in the morning?" pouts Sleepytime Dolt, and give the writers a hand for following The Rule Of Threes. Phoebe yodels in response, taking her act downstairs as Piper, enraged, stomps after her. Raige and the glum Dolt follow, presumably to prevent Piper from vanquishing Phoebe's shrill ass.
Down in the main hallway, Piper snatches the "crap" incense out of Phoebe's hand while The Knockered Nitwit proceeds to make the current infestation all about her. "Cole's residual evil is taking on a life of its own," she shrieks. "Look at my hair! I woke up, it was in a ponytail. I did not put it in a ponytail!" Oh, stow it, hag. Like Cole's got nothing better to do than torment you in your sleep. On second thought...no, I'm not going there, either. "I'm telling you guys, it's all harmless," the Dolt insists, just as the invisible residue hoists a vase from the entrance table and smashes it to the floor while shaking the chandelier, slamming the doors repeatedly, and wailing. Then, to my immense pleasure, the invisible residue materializes in the form of a shadowy white smear that drags Phoebe upwards through the air to the ceiling above the stairs. Piper flings out her Hands Of Discontent, vanquishing a few patches of freshly-painted plaster before Raige reminds her that poltergeists detest electricity. So, what does Piper do? She blows up the nearby light fixture, electrocuting both ghost and dimwit. Whee! Phoebe and the poltergeist jitter and jerk uncontrollably for a bit until the zapped entity zips out through the wall. Phoebe slams her head in the process, then whomps down onto the landing below. Hooray! Hit her some more! Piper gasps in dismay as little bits of plaster sprinkle Phoebe's shredded hair. Phoebe levels her gaze at the Dolt, spits, "You were saying?" and dissolves into the opening credits.
After the commercials, we're treated to an extended dance mix opening travelogue, followed by a lengthy montage of Raige primping for her lunch date with Slampiece Glenn. She vogues around Prue Memorial, blowing kisses and granting princess waves to an imagined throng of admirers before finally squeezing into a strappy white floral-patterned boob sling I believe we've seen before. Down on the sun porch, Phoebe abuses the Book of Shadows for a residue vanquish while pack-mule Piper and pantywaist Dolt sweep up last night's ceiling detritus from the hallway floor. Phoebe's changed into a relatively modest striped silver lace-up satin corset, by the way. Unfortunately, she's chosen to accessorize this with a pair of rose-toned bell-bottom leg warmers she's wearing as gloves. Dizzy moron. The Dolt apologizes for underestimating the "manifestation" lately wreaking havoc on the Manor, claiming in his defense that demonic leftovers have never before strengthened to the extent seen the evening. Phoebe brightly whatevers that they'll handle it. Piper, however, grits and clenches and bitches that she will not raise a child in their current environment. Raige thankfully descends the stairs at this point to interrupt the incessant bitchery with news of her lunch date. After a stream of expository dialogue meant to remind the audience of Raige and Glenn's history together, Piper forgives Raige for bailing on clean-up duty and adds, "All right, Sally -- go meet Harry, and good luck." Which is a stupid, stupid reference that in no way matches the relationship Raige has with her long-term slampiece. Whatever. Raige floats towards the front door on a cloud of hormones. The Unseen Manifestation Of The Writers' Sweaty And Panicked Desperation Now That Julian McMahon's Off The Show For Good screams and dumps another load of powdered plaster on Piper's head. Piper rolls her eyes as Phoebe announces she's found a solution to all of their problems. And what would that be, hon? Midol for Piper? A Male Escort Trust Fund for Raige? A pink slip signed by Aaron Spelling for you? Tell us!
Damn. It's another spell. Back in the kitchen, a potion simmering on the center island explodes as Piper drops a sprig of something into the mix. Scratch that -- the potion's simmering on a large wooden table in the middle of the room, like, what the hell happened to the center island? It never had an open bottom before, did it? Have I finally been driven insane? Raige assists with the ingredients while the Feebs hollers out instructions. "A witch doctor?" splutters the Dolt. "Shouldn't we be talking about this?" Like you have to ask. Of course you'll be talking about it, Dolt -- we can't have hastily-concocted magical creatures added to the Charmed universe without a boatload of appropriate exposition, now can we? Fortunately, the production staff has inserted a lovely shot of the appropriate entry in the Book of Shadows, so all I have to do is copy the text: "Little is known of Witch Doctors except for their dedication to expel evil spirits from demonic footholds. Using strange unknown magic rituals, Witch Doctors feel their outsider status as watchdogs of evil gives them the freedom to attack evil in all it's [sic] shifting guises." The Dolt protests that witch doctors are "wild cards," and adds that the ever-useless Elders have forbidden the Charmed Ones from consorting with such undesirables. Piper snarks that sometimes the Glamorous Ladies aren't too fond of consorting with the ever-useless Elders, either, and besides, does the Dolt have a better idea? End of discussion. The Dolt never has a better idea. Raige tears a strip of snakeskin off the roll of snakeskin they apparently store in the pantry and prepares to add it to the potion while Phoebe recites the following:
Free us from the ties that bind
Of evil magic entertwined
We call upon the one who cures
He who's to the Dark inured.
All of that's [sic], incidentally. And it's so very thoughtful of the editor to include a shot of the spell so I don't have to keep rewinding to transcribe it. Because it's all about me. Thanks, Editor Guy!
In any event, Raige flicks the snakeskin into the pot, which promptly belches out a small swirling cloud of glowing golf balls along with a white vapor. The golf balls and vapor condense into an actor I totally recognize from other shows, but I'll be damned if I can name him. He's sporting a white mock turtleneck beneath a sleek black suit, and his stern and stony expression is a bit too stern and stony, if you know what I mean. You know, like, comical and stuff. It must be that hint of mischief in his eyes. He arches a dangerous brow and politely inquires, "How may I be of service?" The Glamorous Ladies, puzzled, wrinkle their noses. "You're a witch doctor?" Raige asks skeptically. "Let me guess," he shoots back. "You were expecting someone with a bone through the nose and a shrunken-head necklace, perhaps?" The gals nod. Doc Diddy -- as in "P." -- sighs, "You try to change with the times, and it's the stereotypes that persist." No comment. He casually pops a stick of cinnamon into his mouth and barks, "Where's the evil?" He then ducks his head beneath the wooden table, and as many on the forums have noted, it's as if he expects to find said evil in Phoebe's cooter. Which wouldn't surprise me. At all. Piper informs him that the evil is "everywhere." Doc Diddy immediately whips out a talisman fashioned from a bone, with a weeny little shrunken skull stuck to the top. Heh. Way to embrace the stereotype, Doc. Clearly a gentleman who enjoys his line of work, Doc Diddy grins and eagerly asks permission to search the rest of the house. Piper shrugs and gestures. Doc Diddy raises his voodoo tricorder in front of his face and stalks into the dining room. The cautious Dolt whispers, "I'm gonna keep an eye on him," before loping out of the room. Raige and Phoebe are all, "Gotta go! See ya!" and bolt after some Feeb-tastic baby talk directed at the percolating infant supposedly encased in Holly Marie Combs's pregnancy pad. As The Flatulent Oboe Of Miserable Household Drudgery honks on the soundtrack, Piper snits, "Don't worry about me! I'll just clean this all up by myself!" Oh, you love it. Martyr.
The Bay Mirror. Phoebe pedehoots from her office over to Elise Rothman, Girl Editor, and brandishes a full-page ad featuring a rival advice columnist named Spencer Ricks. Phoebe claims the guy's a "chauvinistic" "turkey," because if she attacked him for being "an overexposed, talent-free, gasbag hack," she'd be a hypocritical stoat, and we can't have that. Also, the spell she casts later in the episode wouldn't be so anviliciously foreshadowed. The gentleman featured in the advertisement is a dead ringer for Rush Limbaugh, so draw your own conclusions there. Elise reveals that Rush Rickbaugh's column, despite what Phoebe may think of its content, has dramatically increased sales at the Mirror's primary competitor. Therefore, she and the other editors have scheduled a photo shoot for Phoebe that afternoon at 415 magazine, and that's a publication we haven't heard about in three years. They're doing an "exposé" on local "celebrities," you see, and Elise believes the free publicity can only help the Mirror's circulation. Phoebe balks. Elise insists, "It's all going to be very tasteful" -- and no, "tasteful" is certainly not what it's going to be, but we'll get to that in a few minutes. "I want you to feel free to show off as many of your lovely...assets as you feel comfortable with," adds the Girl Editor, tracing imaginary circles in the air around the Fun Bags with her hands. Phoebe dead-eyes Elise in disbelief for a moment before insisting, "I'm a professional advice columnist, not a Playmate." Shyeah. And Jenny McCarthy is a professional...you know what? Too easy. Anyway, Elise too-casually mentions that Rush Rickbaugh will be appearing in the issue, and dear God, I hope we don't have to see him in a Speedo. Hearing this piece of information, Phoebe immediately agrees to the photo shoot. Circulation whore.
Over in some random park that seems to abut a freeway, Slampiece Glenn arrives to meet Raige for lunch. Raige greets him with a thousand-watt smile and hugs him a little too tightly. He extracts himself from her embrace and compliments her hair and outfit. Quite the suave, smooth one, that Slampiece Glenn. Except for the dead ferret on his head, of course. They babble about his recent trip to the Alps and her recent battles with dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell and whatnot before stepping on each other's promised revelations. Raige insists that Glenn break his news first, so he grins and announces, "I'm getting married!" A nearby motorist conveniently punctuates this announcement by stomping on his brakes as Raige's lower jaw hits the asphalt. Glenn giggles giddily while Raige amusingly attempts to mask her shock and dismay. "I wanted you to be the first to know, after my parents," Glenn continues before spotting The Slampiece Fiancée wandering down the garden path. The Roiling Ruckus Of The Floor Falling Out Beneath Poor Raige assaults my ears as "Jessica" bounces over in slow motion. Jessica's an outdoorsy yet manicured bleach blonde direct from the Aspiring Hollywood Starlet Genetic Modification Ranch in Twentynine Palms, so Raige gapes in horror. Jessica's as pleasant as can be, and enthusiastically greets Raige with the standard "I've heard so much about you!" nattering loathed by all who have ever lusted and lost out to freakish bimbos from Southern California. "So," Glenn finally asks, "what did you want to tell me?" Rose McGowan makes an hysterical stink-face as an anguished, keening wail of searing agony and despair hits the soundtrack.
Smash-cut to the Manor, where Doc Diddy and his Amazing Electric Bone are engaged in a mighty supernatural smackdown with one of the residual manifestations. This one looks just like one of the apparitions in Poltergeist, actually. Not that it matters much, for Doc Diddy's Amazing Electric Bone soon ensnares the thing in a net of flaring blue bolts before sucking it all in through the shrunken head. The Dolt, meanwhile, does his best to keep out of the way. Apparition sucking complete, Doc Diddy rises to his feet and chuckles, "That was a little bitty baby one. Big Mama's still hiding somewhere, but I'll find her." The Dolt furrows his brow and pinches his lips together. Doc Diddy sniffs a corner of the room and gags, "These walls are clogged with evil waste." Thanks for the overshare, buddy. "Are you sure these are good witches?" he asks. "The best," the Dolt snaps back. "Although one of them is going to go very evil on us if we don't get this room cleaned up immediately." Doc Diddy glances distastefully at the Dolt. "Dude, you are so whipped," he sneers. Okay, he doesn't, but I'm sure the thought crossed his mind. Instead, he completely misinterprets the Dolt's assertion and surreptitiously palms one of Piper's lipsticks. The sharp-eyed Dolt catches him, though, and wonders what gives. Doc Diddy lies that he's having trouble differentiating between the Glamorous Ladies' magic and that of the residual manifestations, and adds that "personal items help." The Dolt doesn't quite buy that explanation, but allows Doc Diddy to pocket the makeup. The boys snarl at each other about trust issues before heading downstairs. Once there, Piper confronts them regarding the explosions she heard. Doc Diddy assures her everything will be fine once he traps "Big Mama," and he tiptoes past her towards the parlor with his Amazing Electric Bone leading the way. He's totally pulling an Elmer Fudd with the stealthy tiptoeing schtick, and I'm finding it all far too amusing.
Speaking of amusing, Raige screams through the front door, slams her purse and keys onto the table, and rails, "He's getting married to some bimbette he met climbing the Matterhorn!" It's all in the delivery, people. It's like Rose McGowan has completely given up on taking this series seriously, and so has adopted this "as long as I'm having fun -- and as long as they sign the checks -- then fuck it" attitude towards the whole endeavor. Anyway, Doc Diddy freezes in mid-hunting-wabbits-tiptoe to shoot Raige a wicked side-eye, then continues into the parlor. While Raige tears a wedding invitation in half and rants about Slampiece Glenn and his brazen blonde hussy, Doc Diddy mojos a photo of the Reconstituted Glamorous Ladies from its frame on the wall into his jacket pocket. The Dolt excuses himself from the sisterly bitchfest to spy on the Doc. Just as Raige begins to calm down, a burst of energy from Doc Diddy's Amazing Electric Bone propels the Dolt backwards through the air, during which he and his bloated ass vanquish a chair. Nice one, but it won't make the reel of Dolt abuse I've been compiling. Raige and Piper scamper to the Dolt's side and watch in shock as Doc Diddy sucks Big Mama into his Amazing Electric Bone. That sounds so filthy, but what the hell am I supposed to do here? Raige glances at the shattered parlor television set and peeves, "Guess I'm not watching The Osbournes tonight." I'm sorry, but are the Osbournes the WB's version of TWoP's Rae Dawn Chong Challenge? Have the higher-ups issued an edict that compels individual show runners to mention Ozzy and his brood on every damn series? Because if they have, Sharon should sic her brigade of pit-bull lawyers on this network's ass and file one of those completely frivolous yet undeniably annoying lawsuits demanding royalty payments every time a character takes her family's name in vain. By the way: I love you, Sharon! I don't wish you were my mom, of course, but having you as my fun-loving, wine-swilling, foul-mouthed aunt would be great!
Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Mama sucking complete, Doc Diddy rises to his feet, slyly mojos Raige's car keys from the entrance table into his jacket pocket, and grandly announces that his task is complete. He offers them all a sweeping, elaborate, over-obsequious bow, and flares out. Piper snots that the parlor doesn't look "cleansed" to her, and we get a shot of the Mama-sucking wreckage Doc Diddy left behind.
An odd, super-speed transition follows, wherein the camera shoots backwards through low-hanging clouds above the city before cross-fading to Doc Diddy flaring into The Witch Doctors' Voodoo-Licious Magic Mojo Lounge And Grill. It's a cave. An artfully-lit cave full of photogenic Haitian elders, but a cave nonetheless. Another actor whose name I should know presides over the subsequent confab, during which Doc Diddy insists that the Glamorous Ladies must be destroyed. Why? "They're easily distracted by the pettiness of their lives," Doc Diddy explains, and truer words have rarely been spoken on this show. "Sooner or later, evil will overtake them," he continues, "and along with them, their powers." Head Doc Whose Name I Should Know ponders this for a moment, then concedes, "We must eliminate them -- after this word from our sponsor, The Olive Garden! When you're here, you're family!"
Or something like that.
Back from the break, Piper and the Dolt begin to straighten up the parlor. The Dolt mopes that Piper should have forced Raige to remain in the Manor to help. No, Dolt. Piper should have had Raige recite her all-purpose "Object Of Objection" spell before she left. The prohibition on personal gain shouldn't apply to this situation, after all. It certainly didn't when Raige unleashed the spell on the Casa last season. Whatever. Piper reminds the Dolt that Raige has a bigger mess to deal with, and goes on to whine about the impossibility of incorporating a child into the riotous disarray that is their lives. Shouldn't you have considered that before you got knocked up, missy? Oy. These people. The Dolt still harbors misgivings as far as Doc Diddy is concerned, and mentions Raige's missing car keys. Piper pffts that Raige loses her goddamned keys every goddamned day, and besides, summoning the Doc was worth it just to rid themselves of "the things that go bump in the night." Phoebe clomps through the front door, remarks on the ruinous state of the parlor, then heads off to change her clothes. When Piper wonders why, Phoebe replies that she's going "to a photo shoot to compromise my integrity." Poison Ivy II demolished your integrity years ago, hag, but that's neither here nor there, as the Dolt's noticed the missing photo. "Maybe it fell out," Piper offers. "It was glued in!" he pouts. He then argues that Doc Diddy's up to no good with the purloined Manor possessions. When the Feebs bellows from upstairs about her misplaced toothbrush, Piper pauses for a brief, wide-eyed beat, then deadpans, "I'll go make the summoning potion." The Dolt orbs off to consult with the ever-useless Elders as tense strings thrum on the soundtrack and the camera sweeps in on the shattered and empty picture frame before...
...cross-fading to the stolen photograph itself down in The Voodoo-Licious Magic Mojo Lounge And Grill. The camera then pulls back in a quick pan from the photo to a voodoo doll to Doc Diddy himself, tossing some herbs and such into a bubbling pot. Doc Diddy informs Head Doc he intends to "turn [the Glamorous Ladies'] character flaws into obsessions that will consume them -- destroy them." He fastens Raige's car keys to one of the burlap voodoo dolls and tosses it all into the pot.
Our Lady Of The Dead Heathers. Hello, Ominous Cross-Bearing Angel Of Reputation-Destroying Quarterback Death! I've missed you so. Inside, Slampiece Glenn quietly discusses ceremony plans with a minister and The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms. "The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms" is the name of my third album. Just so you know. Raige edges into the chapel through one of the side doors to apologize, and sweet holy mother of God! What the hell happened to Glenn's hair? I mean, it was bad before, but now? It looks like he massaged some gel into the dead ferret stapled to his scalp, then twisted and tortured the thing into a giant, spiky faux-hawk. What is wrong with you, dude? Ack. Anyway. Ow. Okay, then. Raige meekly apologizes for being so rude to The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms, and I must say Rose McGowan looks lovely in the soft, golden light they've given her for this scene. Slampiece FauxHawk initially mutters about his disappointment with her behavior before having one of those "Oh. Oh!" moments regarding her intentions. "You thought you and I...?" he asks. "No!" Raige bleats unconvincingly, then tries for an entirely dismissive "Duh!" eye-roll/shoulder-shrug combo that comes across as miserably needy and betrayed. The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms sidles over to cough that the minister's waiting. When Slampiece FauxHawk turns to gaze upon The Hussy, Raige's eyes flare an unearthly, yellowish white. She gasps and clutches her forehead in pain. By the time FauxHawk returns his attention to her, however, she appears to be fine. "Jessica, I wanted to apologize," she begins. "For not being very friendly earlier. I really am sorry." The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms lets down her guard a bit and approaches Raige with a half-smile. "Thanks for saying that," The Hussy offers while linking her arm through FauxHawk's. That's when the acid kicks in. "I just don't understand what [Slampiece FauxHawk's] doing with such a blonde bimbette!" Raige perks. FauxHawk and The Hussy goggle as Raige continues, "And, really, who's the surgeon who did those boobs? I should get the number for a friend of mine." Heh. Any guesses as to the identity of the "friend" to which Raige refers? The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms, outraged, stalks away. Slampiece FauxHawk hisses at Raige for a second before darting off to join his intended. Raige smirks.
Down in The Voodoo-Licious Magic Mojo Lounge And Grill, Doc Diddy straps Piper's lipstick to another doll and drops it into the pot.
Up in the Manor kitchen, an urgent Dolt orbs into the kitchen to ask how much longer the summoning potion will take. Piper's reply? "A little bit of snakeskin and a bad rhyme away." Shout-out! Not the best of the episode, but enjoyable nevertheless. The Dolt obliviously babbles on about Doc Diddy's "hex" as Piper's eyes flare an unearthly yellowish-white. She winces in momentary pain, then beelines to the sink and the dirty china therein. "You know, you never can get a dish sanitary enough, can you?" she asks rhetorically before tossing an offending plate into the trash. "Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!" she continues, flinging plate after plate into the garbage. Snerk. The Dolt sputters impotently as Piper spies water spots on the window panes above the sink. She hurls some explosive mojo at the offending stains, blowing the entire frame out into the garden. The Dolt derrs that the wife should maybe keep cleaning while he fetches some help. He orbs away as Piper shoves an entire stack of dinnerware into the trash.
Voodoo-Licious Mojo Lounge. Doc Diddy dips Phoebe's personalized burlap dollie into the pot.
Speaking of persistent stereotypes, hows about a sissy? Well, step right up, kids! The sensitive so-and-so supervising Phoebe's closed-set photo session is so swishy and simpering and sibilant that my television set threatens to burst into flames. Say, didn't Elise promise this would be tasteful? She sure did. Suck it, Elise. The Feebs modestly reclines on a chaise atop a sizzling sand dune as The Sissy, through seventeen layers of sparkly lip gloss, lisps that Phoebe's principled stand against Spencer Ricks should succeed once she sheds several items of clothing. Phoebe demurs, claiming modesty or some such nonsense, like she never once paraded around with gold lamé pasties on her tits. The Sissy shrugs and shouts for some more rolls of film as Phoebe's eyes glow an unearthly yellowish-white. The Dolt scuttles onto the scene to schlep his strangely subdued sister-in-law back to the house. The Sissy notes the presence of unauthorized personnel, and snippily inquires as to the Dolt's credentials. "I'm her brother-in-law!" yelps the Dolt. "Sssssssssss!" hisses The Sissy. "It's a family emergency!" the Dolt pleads. "SSSSSSSSSSS!" "That's okay," insists The Feebs. "I'll stay." She rises to her sandal-shod toes and strips to her scanties. "SSSSSSSSSSS!" sasses The Sissy lasciviously. The saddened Dolt slinks towards the exit as The Sissy's shutter snaps and snaps and snaps some more.
I dare anyone to refashion that paragraph using even more esses. Also, the forearm fur was terribly prominent throughout that scene, leading me to wonder if she donned those rose-toned bell-bottom leg warmers to keep the hair warm.
Our Lady Of The Dead Heathers. The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms storms out onto the portico, followed closely by Slampiece FauxHawk. They bicker about Raige for a while until The Hussy pitches a royal, engagement-breaking fit and races to her car. Ooops! Should have checked the passenger seat before you strapped yourself in, honey! Raige latches onto The Hussy's shoulder and orbs her down to that tiny outcropping of rock hovering above a lake of fire. The attendant effects have improved dramatically since last we saw it. We watch them orb in from a very high angle before the camera swoops down towards the ledge to focus on The Hussy's terrified face. "What happened?" she gasps. "You pissed off a witch," Raige sneers before orbing away. The Hussy clutches the stone wall behind her and wails pitifully for help before vanishing into the commercial break.
Manor kitchen. In a rapid-fire exchange of dialogue, Piper and Phoebe reveal how far they've fallen into their respective obsessions. The Feebs has brewed some sort of nasty vanquishing potion for Rush Rickbaugh, and might have to "flee the country for a while" after she uses it. If only. Piper's anally alphabetized the potion ingredients in the cupboards, and is about to fit every item of furniture in the house with its very own plastic slip-cover. She's also wearing rubber gloves. That's about it, really, though I wonder: Should I mention that Phoebe almost wasn't annoying? Nah.
Our Lady Of The Dead Heathers. The Dolt orbs into the bride's locker room and calls out for Raige. She emerges from behind a screen in full wedding regalia to admire her reflection in a nearby mirror. Barely holding it together, the Dolt asks why she's wearing The Hussy's dress. "Because I'm getting married," Raige blithely and delusionally replies before glamouring into Man-Stealing Hussy form. The Dolt is shocked and appalled. So am I, but for entirely different reasons. The woman I wrote off as just another standard-issue genetic freak actually has some acting chops, in that she manages to mimic Rose McGowan's intonations and mannerisms perfectly throughout the following scenes. That explains my shock. I'm appalled that the producers didn't find this woman back in 1998 and cast her as Phoebe. Anyway, Man-Stealing Raige explains that she convinced Slampiece FauxHawk to move up the wedding. The Dolt attempts to block her exit from the locker room, but Man-Stealing Raige simply orbs past him. "I should have seen that coming," harrumphs the Dolt. Snicker. Also: The Dolt is making me laugh, which I believe means I require an immediate and drastic intervention.
Out in the chapel proper, Man-Stealing Raige glides past the infamous baptismal font, pauses to rearrange her boobs, then continues down the aisle. Classy! The only other people in the church are Slampiece FauxHawk and the minister. I'd bitch about the lack of witnesses, and I'd complain about how unlikely it would be for Glenn to deprive his parents of the opportunity to see their son married, and I'd wonder why Glenn would accept his intended's abrupt about-face on the marriage issue so soon after their knock-down, drag-out hissyfit on the portico, but you know what? I exhausted my rage on The Swishy, Simpering, Sibilant Sissy, and I can't really bring myself to care. Really. You've fan-wanked a mind-control spell that Raige cast during the commercial break to explain this entirely unbelievable situation? Works for me. So, anyway, the bumbling Dolt charges out of the locker room and tangles his feet up in Man-Stealing Raige's train in a clumsy attempt to halt the ceremony. Slampiece FauxHawk barrels down the aisle, spoiling for a fight. Man-Stealing Raige calms the belligerent boys and sends FauxHawk back to his corner, assuring him she'll take care of the Dolt. Once Slampiece FauxHawk is out of earshot, the Dolt demands to know the whereabouts of The One True Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms. Man-Stealing Raige smirks and snarks, "Hell if I know." The Dolt sighs and jogs out of the chapel as Man-Stealing Raige joins Slampiece FauxHawk at the front of the church.
Over at the offices of The Bay Mirror's competition, Rush Rickbaugh lumbers towards the parking lot while leering over his shoulder at some pneumatic chippie's ass. Phoebe pops out from behind a delivery van to confront him. Rush Rickbaugh greets her like so: "Feeble Halliwell! As I live and breathe!" Rush Rickbaugh immediately becomes Demian's new best friend and partner in shout-out crime. Pity the man's so physically and psychically repugnant. It's also a shame The Feebs has to shatter her potion at his feet, thereby transforming him into a turkey, because together Rush and I could do one hell of a number on the Dolt's worthless ass. The Rickbaugh Turkey makes gobbling noises as Alyssa Milano's stunt hand-double reaches for its neck.
And speaking of worthless Dolt ass, one in particular has orbed itself back to the Manor, where it gallops down the stairs to gawp at the supposedly unnerving changes Piper's wrought on the parlor. If you must know, said changes amount to the threatened slip-covers on the furniture and an immaculate floor, but these alterations aren't half as fascinating as the near-cinematic underscore to the Dolt's growing anxiety and dismay. Good thing Raige cast that mind-control spell on Slampiece FauxHawk during the commercial break. If she hadn't, the producers wouldn't have been able to jettison that raft of wedding extras in favor of hiring a real composer along with an orchestra for the episode's soundtrack. Who knew that fan-wanks could save so much money?
The Dolt catches some raucous clattering noises coming from the Manor exterior, and he races outside to find Piper busily de-shingling the roof. The shingles are filthy, you see, and Voodoo Piper simply can't have them defacing her home. The Dolt pleads with her to snap out of it, adding that Raige might have done something drastic to The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms, but his protestations fall upon obsessive-compulsive ears. Phoebe, meanwhile, has motored up to the sidewalk below, and disembarks from her squat and hideous new car to lug the Rickbaugh Turkey up the front steps. "Thanksgiving's coming early this year!" she -- forgive me -- crows as she enters the house. Piper simply warns her not to get blood all over the kitchen. Heh. The Dolt, however, spins around to chase after The Knockered Nitwit, inadvertently tramping through a patch of garden mud as he does so. Piper immediately flings out her Hands Of Discontent, and the Dolt erupts into a shimmering spray of glowy Dolt bits that quickly coalesce back into Dolt form. "What'd you do that for?" he howls, wheeling on her. "Like hell you are bringing those muddy shoes into my house!" spits Piper. The rusty gears in the Dolt's gigantic gargoyle head begin to turn as he remembers Man-Stealing Raige employing similar language in their most recent conversation. "Jessica," he breathes as he orbs out. From the front steps of the house. In broad daylight. In front of the neighbors and various passers-by on the street. Idiot. Piper just sighs and, eyeing the supposedly filthy exterior of the Manor, moans, "This is taking far too long."
Rocky Outcropping Of Doom For Man-Stealing Hussies And Embarrassing Latino Stereotypes. The Hussy, crouched into a tiny ball of terror, peers warily over the edge to gape at a fiery waterfall far below as the Dolt orbs onto the ledge beside her. The Dolt convinces her to take his hand, and orbs out the moment she does.
Our Lady Of The Dead Heathers. Slampiece FauxHawk completes his vows just as the Dolt galumphs down the aisle with The One True Hussy. "What the hell?" grimaces the FauxHawk. Yes, FauxHawk. Exactly. The Dolt lies that Man-Stealing Raige and The One True Hussy are twins, and that Slampiece FauxHawk was about to marry the wrong sister. The minister simply rolls his eyes and bolts to payroll for his check. Man-Stealing Raige, busted, takes a moment before passing her manicured nails in front of her face and glamouring back into Famous Original Raige. Slampiece FauxHawk is angry, hurt, and very disappointed. You would be, too, if you had a rapidly decomposing polecat stapled to your head. FauxHawk draws The Hussy close and pets her far-superior hairstyle as Raige's eyes flare an unearthly yellowish-white. "I can explain," she stammers, but neither FauxHawk nor his Hussy wait for her excuses. Nor does the Dolt, for that matter, as the pressing issue of Raige's temporarily insane half-sisters remains to be solved. Raige passes the Dolt a rueful glance before orbing away from the chapel with him.
Raige and the Dolt orb onto the Manor sidewalk to find Piper frantically sweeping grime from the flagstones. Supposedly, the two orbed directly from the chapel. However, it's now completely dark, so perhaps they stopped off at The Olive Garden for some tasty Chicken Castellina with all the salad and breadsticks they could eat. It could happen. After all, they're family! Raige, still toting The Hussy's bridal bouquet, shoots the arrangement a hilarious stink-face before silently whipping it over her shoulder into the bushes. The Dolt, trying to placate the manic lunatic with the broom, enthuses that he brought Raige back to help with the cleaning. Piper airily replies that she already took care of everything as Raige stares at something immense and horrific off-camera. She wordlessly bats at the Dolt's chest and directs his gaze Manor-ward. Following his eyes, the camera cranes from the street to a spot just above the trees. Where once the Manor stood now sits an empty slab of concrete, with the various stone entry stairs leading up to nowhere. "Piper?" Raige asks delicately. "What did you do with the house?" "Oh, I thought it would be better if we started from scratch," Piper casually replies before focusing her attention once more on the dusty sidewalk. Raige and the Dolt lift their eyebrows to the sky as we get another look at the empty lot before dropping into the commercial break.
Prescott Street. Aftermath. As the camera cranes back down from the treetops to the sidewalk, Raige seethes, "Piper, you cannot just vanquish our house -- people are gonna notice!" "I didn't vanquish it," Piper duhs. "I cast a vanishing spell! It's like a good dusting, only better." Raige and the Dolt huddle for a quick processing summit. The Dolt reminds Raige she was "shocked out of [her] hex" when she understood the effects her actions had on Slampiece FauxHawk. The trick, therefore, is to shock Piper out of her hex as well. The Dolt staggers across a cunning plan. "Piper?" he asks. "Where's Phoebe?" Oh, please. Like Piper would care where the hell Phoebe is after everything that shrew put the family through over the last two and a half seasons. Of course, I've misjudged the Power Of Contrivance yet again, for after a few dismissals of the Dolt's concerns, the consequences of Piper's "vanishing spell" smack her square in the jaw. Her eyes flare up an unearthly yellowish-white, and she immediately discards her broom to tumble headlong up the front steps. Raige and the Dolt scamper after her, with Raige hiking The Hussy's gown up to her knees to do so.
"Oh, my God!" Piper wails upon reaching the top of the stairs. "What have I done?" You've stumbled onto a green-screen sound stage, darling. Seriously, this effect here? Blows goats. However, they more than make up for it with what follows. At the Dolt's prodding, Piper splutters and stammers and wings the following reversal spell:
Let the Object of Objection return
So that its existence may be reaffirmed.
The shot cuts from a close-up of Piper's face to a low-angle of the three glancing around in apprehension. As the camera pans in a semi-circle around the group, twinkly little fairy lights erupt at ground level and race into the air surrounding them, conjuring the Manor's walls, doors, windows, antiques, fixtures, and ceilings as the light shifts from a dusky blue to a warmer incandescent glow. If this were a movie, the sequence would be scream-inducingly awful. For a weekly TV show, it was pretty damn cool. For this weekly TV show in particular, it was stunning. Piper faces Raige and cocks a suspicious brow. "Is that a wedding dress?" "You just noticed?" Raige deadpans. Heh. I get the feeling they ad-libbed that exchange during rehearsals. Meanwhile, the Rickbaugh Turkey gobbles in the kitchen.
Cut to an extreme low-angle of The Feebs preparing to behead the Rickbaugh Turkey with a meat cleaver. The Dolt manhandles her away from the center island, allowing the bird to flee from the room. "I have to kill Spencer!" Phoebe babbles deliriously from deep within the arms of the Dolt. After a bit of confusion, the others realize what Phoebe's done. Piper orders the Dolt to orb Phoebe to the attic while she and Raige pay Doc Diddy a visit. "Yeah," Phoebe Renfields dizzily in excitement. "Take me to the turkey!" Hee!
The Voodoo-Licious Magic Mojo Lounge And Grill. Head Doc and Doc Diddy hover over the bubbling pot, all rubbing their hands together and murmuring, "Excellent!" "Talk about premature jubilation," Raige snarks from off to the side. As the camera swings her way, she adds, "You gentlemen might want to see a doctor about that." Oh, ew. Raige, I've loved you in this episode, but that line was just beneath you. And vile and disgusting to boot. Piper makes with the threatening Hands Of Discontent, so the witch doctors quickly acquiesce to her demands.
Up in the Manor attic, the Dolt slowly backs away from the crazed and murderous cleaver-wielding Feebs, like, hey, Dolt! You're dead! Just take the fucking cleaver out of her hand! Asshole. Moron. Simp. Asshole-simp-moron. Of course, it doesn't matter, because Phoebe's eyes suddenly glow an unearthly yellowish-white as she snaps out of her zealous rage. Alyssa Milano pulls an amusing double-take when Phoebe notices the cleaver in her hand, by the way. With a deep sense of dismay, Phoebe instantly understands the effects of her actions on blah blah blah blah blah. The Rickbaugh Turkey gobbles its way downstairs.
Morning After The Night Before Montage. Raige wistfully examines one of the kayaking photos, paces around Prue Memorial, reaches for the phone to call someone, thinks twice about it, paces some more, sits on her bed, and leaves the room. Over at the park from earlier in the episode, Slampiece FauxHawk listlessly tosses bread crumbs at the ducks until The Man-Stealing Hussy From Twentynine Palms interrupts his reverie. "So, you wanted to talk?" he asks. The Hussy's all, "Uh, no. I thought you wanted to talk." "Actually," Raige says, appearing from behind a tree, "I was the one who sent those messages." Raige offers a heartfelt apology, reminding them that while she was under a spell when she behaved so abhorrently the afternoon, that spell was broken when she realized she'd hurt Slampiece FauxHawk. "And I hurt you because I hurt Jessica," she explains. Therefore, Raige understands that, well, The Hussy won, or something. Like I care. She offers them both a guilt-ridden half-smile, and receives a pair of cautious half-smiles in return. Raige leaves the two alone, but pauses partway down the path for one last look. The erstwhile slampiece is already macking with the man-stealing hussy. Raige turns and...
...dissolves into a breathtaking high-definition digital shot of the city skyline rising up behind the Coit Tower and Telegraph Hill at sunset. Bravo, Stock Footage Guy. Brah. Vo. A quick cross-fade lands us in P3, where the Dolt tends bar as the Glamorous Ladies process their lessons for the week. Raige already received hers at the duck pond, of course, so Piper's forced to reveal that she's learned to embrace the inherent sloppiness of everyday life. Look! She's even left a pile of shattered glass right by the dance floor, and it doesn't bother her at all! Well, it won't bother her until some yuppie in open-toed slingbacks slices through the tendons in her feet. We'll see how long Piper's nonchalant attitude lasts after she's lost both her nightclub and her ancestral home in civil court.
The Feebs jiggles over with the latest copy of 415 in her hot little hands, and guess what? The editors loved her photos so much, they put her on the cover! And in a special fold-out insert! Despite the fact that the shoot with The Sissy was yesterday afternoon! Whatever! Raige examines the centerfold and metas for Holly's benefit, "No retouching!" Phoebe, mortified that she's violated her "journalistic ethics" -- HA! -- demands they return the rag. Raige playfully tosses it at the Dolt, who darts off with it to the other side of the bar. As Phoebe howls and shrieks and yodels after him, Raige and Piper snicker, and we fade to black.
week, the Glamorous Ladies' dreams come true. This is good news for Piper, for her dream involves a tuxedo-clad scorcher, but bad news for Raige and Phoebe, who end up with a scary dancing midget clown and a psychotic cross-dressing axe murderer, respectively. Have fun! Remember -- when you're here, you're family!