Manor. Raige and Slampiece Buttfuck, looking rumpled, edge into the kitchen from the dining room and warily glance about. "Looks like they're still asleep," Buttfuck observes. "Maybe I should sneak out of here." Raige dragged a trick back to the Manor? Tramp. Good for her. Buttfuck's visited the barber for a trim since last we saw him, and the shorter, non-shaggy coif he's sporting suits him far more than the wild, greasy one had in the past. Raige, who simply slipped into a pair of shorts and an old button-down to escort her slampiece on the first leg of his Walk Of Shame, flings her arms around his neck and purrs, "Why don't you stay for breakfast?" Easing backwards towards the sink while dragging Buttfuck along with her, Raige continues, "How do you like your eggs?" If Buttfuck answers, "Fertilized," I'm going to storm out of my apartment and throttle the first person I see. Fortunately for the blameless passers-by on my street, Buttfuck instead worries his brow a bit and wonders, "What about your sisters?" "What about 'em?" Raige shrugs dismissively, taking another step back, and whoops! She trips over the hidden Piper's outstretched leg and plummets to the floor. "Oh!" Piper calls, emerging from beneath the sink. "Sorry." She'd been trying to fix the clogged garbage disposal, you see. Buttfuck immediately apologizes for spending the night without first receiving Piper and Phoebe's approval, but Piper, practically leering, is all, "[Raige] is a big girl. She canhang out all she wants to." Off Buttfuck's Too Much Information eyebrow wiggle, Piper hastily amends, "Not that she does that a lot. I mean --" "You can stop now," Raige grunts. Heh. And thank God for Raige's interruption. I don't think I have enough time to link to every single one of Raige's slampieces, givenhow many of them there are.
See what I did there? Oh, shut up. Raige is a slut, and God love her for it.
Buttfuck, eager to change the topic of conversation, offers to take a look at the disposal. He's all manly, of course, and therefore able to do something about it, or some such bullshit. I, on the other hand, do not hesitate to pester the landlord when the smallest thing breaks down in this place, and I'm not ashamed in the least to admit to that. I pay enough goddamned money to live here, after all. The fat bastard who's profiting off my tired ass can change the goddamned light bulb in the hall, is all I'm saying. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Buttfuck flips a switch, and the vile pond of brown water in the sink gurgles a bit. Piper crosses to lean against the counter with Raige, expositing that in addition to their gunked-up disposal, the cable's on the fritz, the washer's making wonking sounds, and the sink in the upstairs bathroom's suffering from what appears to be an enormous hair plug. "Sounds like fun," Raige offers, while offering no help whatsoever. "That's my life!" Piper jazz-hands. "All about fun." Buttfuck, meanwhile, has been anxiously eyeing the gals. He reaches what is apparently a difficult decision and places his left hand above the Froot-Loop-dotted water in the sink. His hand glows yellow and emits a series of wavering rays of white light that somehow fix the disposal. Raige, delighted, enthuses, "He's handy to have around!" Piper, suspicious, snots, "I thought you didn't use magic anymore." Buttfuck shrugs that he only unleashes his bizarre mojo on "little things." "Do you want me to fix the washer?" he asks. Raige and Piper give simultaneous and contradictory answers. Three guesses which shrew said no, like, button it, Piper. Buttfuck's just trying to help.
“ Seriously -- she's wearing this filmy, low-cut, knee-length pink thing that looks more like a flimsy bit of lingerie than a proper dress, so I have no idea where Piper's getting this 'dressed up' shit. Oh, that's it -- the script. ”
Phoebe distractedly jiggles in for help choosing a pair of earrings, but stops short when she spots the slampiece in the kitchen. A bright, false smile appears on her face as she greets him, and the smile only gets tighter and faker when Piper informs her of Buttfuck's bizarre mojo display. Phoebe orders Piper into the hall, where she hisses, "Didn't [Buttfuck] lose it the last time he used magic? I mean, like, really lose it?" "I can assure you he remained in complete control over the garbage disposal," Piper deadpans before wondering why Phoebe's so "dressed up" at seven in the morning. This will shock you, I'm sure, but Phoebe actually appears to have just rolled out of bed. Seriously -- she's wearing this filmy, low-cut, knee-length pink thing that looks more like a flimsy bit of lingerie than a proper dress, so I have no idea where Piper's getting this "dressed up" shit. Oh, that's it -- the script. Anyway, it would appear Phoebe has a "video-conferencing" "date" with Chronic, who's still in Hong Kong. "We just open our laptops, and there we are," she explains, "in living color." "Mmm-hmm," Piper nods. "In each other's laps." Do not go there, honey. I don't want to imagine the perverted acts those two perform for each other via their web cams, okay? Let's just hope for humanity's sake that they're both on heavily secured DSL lines, because the last thing the world needs is another Hilton-esque atrocity propagating through the internet courtesy of FuckedCompany.com. Though Fucked Company would likely have an amusing headline for Chronic's efforts, wouldn't they? Phoebe tries to flip the topic back to Buttfuck and his supposed Willow-like addiction to magic, or whatever the hell it's meant to be, but Piper sternly warns Phoebe to mind her own business. Piper then glides up the stairs for further drudgery involving the hair clot in the bathroom. Phoebe mugs maniacally while examining her earrings. Drop dead, hag.
Upstairs, Piper mopes into the bathroom with her toolbox, examines the fetid, foul wastewater in the sink, and sighs, "Maybe a little magic couldn't hurt." Be careful what you wish for, doll. Ooops! Too late. The filthy water's surface bubbles up and coagulates into the bust of a curly-haired woman, who pleads, "Help me!" Piper hops back a step in shock.
The shot cuts to the banks of an actual pond over in whatever Los Angeles suburb they're using to represent the Bay Area this evening. Raige orbs onto the grass with Piper and Phoebe and immediately spouts, "Okay, so a watery lady pops up out of the sink -- are you sure she's not a demon?" Okay, so you're ripping off the Camelot legend for this evening's A-plot, Raige -- are you sure you couldn't have called her a watery tart? Whatever. I'm just lashing out because I already blew "bint" on a differentCharmedskank, and "moistened bint" is one of my favorite phrases ever. In any event, Piper's certain the watery tart in question needs help. When Phoebe prompts for further information, Piper admits there's none to be had. "That's all she said," Piper reveals. "'Harding Park pond,' and poof." I'd wonder if there actually were a Harding Park in San Francisco, but I'd have to care first. ["I think it's a golf course. Oh, hold on a sec -- I don't care either." -- Sars] Just as Piper finishes relating the watery tart's instructions, the Jacuzzi Floozy herself bubbles up out of the center of the pond, with -- you guessed it -- Excalibur leading the way. Actually, the sword's the only solid part of the apparition at first -- the Jacuzzi Floozy's physical form is a filmy outline of water that glides atop the lake's surface to land. The Floozy corporealizes once she reaches the ground, and she starts up the small embankment towards the Glamorous Ladies.
“ Apparently, 'proper enunciation' is not a concept familiar to tonight's Travelogue Ovary, so I can't tell if the lyrics are episode-appropriate. However, the Ovary does seem to be well acquainted with 'shrill,' so we'll be skipping through the travelogue if that's okay with everyone. ”
Just as she's about to speak, a hairball in Black Knight drag squiggles in on the other side of the clearing to make with the glowering. "They're coming!" bleats the Floozy, not realizing "they're" already present. The hairball hurls a dagger end over end into the Floozy's back, and she gasps in pain before staggering to the dirt. Excalibur, meanwhile, flies out of her grip and whickers through the air to disappear behind some trees. Hairball glares as the Glamorous Ladies scamper over to the Floozy's nearly lifeless form. Two leather-clad enforcers, apparently summoned by Hairball's glare, squiggle into the clearing with battleaxes and dash off to dispatch the Ps. Phoebe and Raige leap into action as Hairball conjures a smoky sword and glares some more. Blink, damn you! Blink! Hairball ignores me to stare at Phoebe and Raige as they make fried mincemeat of his enforcers. Raige calls for one's battleaxe with her orbing telekinesis, and plants it in the guy's back almost before it's had a chance to reform. That's kind of cool, actually. This first enforcer erupts in a ball of fire and drops out of camera range. Meanwhile, Phoebe wrests the other's axe from his hands and plants the business end in his stomach. This second enforcer vanishes almost instantly in a puff of flame and smoke. Hairball menaces his way over to Piper, who deploys her Hands of Discontent. The blast merely ricochets off Hairball's shield, however, as Phoebe and Raige dart over to provide Piper with cover. Phoebe leans back on one leg and notes, "I like these odds." Hairball glares -- again! Jesus! Blink! For the love of all that's holy and good! Blink already! -- and squiggles out. "Wimp," Raige sneers, even though she should have screamed, "Oh, I see! Running away, eh? You yellow bastard! Come back here and take what's coming to you! I'll bite your legs off!"
Ahem. The almost-dead Jacuzzi Floozy lifts her head from Piper's lap long enough to moan, "The sword!" before losing consciousness for the final time. She collapses back, glows a bit, and dissolves in a splash of water that's quickly absorbed into the ground. "The sword?" Piper puzzles. "Where is it?" "It's in the stone," Raige intones, nodding her head towards the suddenly-appearing papier-mch boulder a few yards behind the gals. The camera tracks in on Excalibur encased in its fake rock before leaping back to Phoebe, who incredulously breathes, "The Sword In The Stone?" "Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Piper groans. "Right?" That twinkle in Excalibur's hilt tells me it's dead serious, Piper. Albeit a little mischievous. It's going to be a long night. Credits.
And the night instantly gets that much longer when I realize there's a Drew-Fuller-shaped hole in said credits. Shit.
Apparently, "proper enunciation" is not a concept familiar to tonight's Travelogue Ovary, so I can't tell if the lyrics are episode-appropriate. However, the Ovary does seem to be well acquainted with "shrill," so we'll be skipping through the travelogue if that's okay with everyone. Back at the Manor, we discover that Raige has orbed the papier-mch boulder directly onto the wrought-iron table in the sun porch. The table, oddly enough, has splintered under the weight of all that paper and glue, so Piper (of course) busily sweeps up the bits of wreckage that remain, grumping and complaining the entire time about her goddamned life while feckless Raige loiters off to the side. Excalibur indicates its displeasure with the relentless Manor bitchery by tossing off a sullen glimmer. "Is it glowing?" Buttfuck marvels. "No!" Piper insists. "It's the sun room. There's a lot of light." And I'll be taking that as a shout-out, because they've never referred to this location as anything but "the conservatory" up to this point. Thanks, Holly! Oh, and congrats on the percolating parasite you've got sloshing around in your uterus! Kisses!
“ Sigh. Another Dark Demonic Forces Threaten To Unite The Underworld, Only To Be Vanquished By The Glamorous Ladies episode. Haven't there been at least seventy of these already? Whatever. These two should be dead in about ten minutes, so why should I care? Right? Right? ”
Anywho, Piper flatly refuses to believe Avalon and all that was real while Raige and Buttfuck attempt to convince her otherwise. Phoebe bounces down the stairs with the Book of Shadows, and there's some more irritating Beware The Buttfuck Bearing Bizarre Mojo bullshit before Phoebe admits that her abuse of the Book was all for naught. No entries exist for the sword and/or the late, unlamented Jacuzzi Floozy. Phoebe did find an page on Hairball's enforcers, however, and we learn that "Executioner Demons" are "minions of a low order -- demonic mercenaries incapable of original thoughts or deed -- usually found in the employ of higher-level demons or mortals proficient in the dark arts." Now you know I'm not a big fan of the writing staff, but I do think they're being a little hard on themselves. They nailed Spelling to the wall, though, didn't they? Phoebe also reveals that Hairball's more properly known as "The Dark Knight," "a power-mad paladin of destruction." And now the writer's have bagged Kern, too. I do hope they don't get fired over this. Then again, fuck the writers, because "paladin"? Of destruction? No. It would help if you actually knew what various words meant before you threw them into the script, assholes. In any event, Raige realizes that now is not a good time to have Buttfuck lingering in the Manor, so she escorts him towards the door. They murmur sweet nothings in the front hall before embracing, and Raige is clearly smitten with her slumming, smack-addicted Getty heir. Aw.
Back on the sun porch, Piper instructs Phoebe to whip up a Hairball vanquish, but Phoebe bails in favor of All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. "I still don't have an assistant, and I'm swamped!" she whines. So quit, bitch. I hated that subplot the minute it was introduced in the fourth season. Get rid of it. Phoebe pays me no mind and wanders off-screen as Piper attempts to pass potion duty to Raige. Raige, however, is on her way to her latest temp assignment. "You know there's a magical reason I've had every one of these jobs," Raige reminds Piper when the latter protests. "Who am I to interfere with destiny?" "So," Piper snits, "you want me to add 'baby-sit the sword' and 'mix vanquishing potion' to my never-ending to-do list?" Raige rolls her eyes. "Look," she states. "The sword is stuck in the stone. You know it, I know it, the bad guys know it, and nobody's gonna get it out until King Arthur pulls it out." That sounds so dirty. "And when might that be?" Piper ices. "How should I know?" Raige grunts. "Maybe a couple thousand years?" Raige turns to flounce off, but stops dead in her tracks when a cunning idea forms in her head. She retraces her steps to the sun porch and yanks on Excalibur's hilt. Nothing happens. "Can't blame a girl for trying!" Raige perks before heading off for good. Piper tugs an earlobe and sighs.
Down in Hell, or wherever, Hairball tosses a flunky up against a heavy door and presses the sharp end of his blade against the guy's neck. And that sounds pretty dirty, too, doesn't it? There's nattering from Hairball about how the useless enforcers from the pre-credits sequence were no better than "cannon fodder for witches" before the flunky proposes a deal. He'll provide a better class of enforcer in exchange for "a seat at the table." The camera's panned back during all of this, and we note that the table of which he speaks is of the round sort, its top engraved with a black pentagram. Flunky exposits, "If your goal is to unite all evil under the corrupted power of the sword, you could do far worse than have me at your side." Sigh. Another Dark Demonic Forces Threaten To Unite The Underworld, Only To Be Vanquished By The Glamorous Ladies episode. Haven't there been at least seventy of these already? Whatever. These two should be dead in about ten minutes, so why should I care? Right? Right?