So, to cleanse my brain of the foul mediocrity that was the season premiere, I fled to the nearest bar the second the final credits rolled. It just so happens the nearest bar was one of, you know, those bars. A gay bar. The kind of gay bar that offers innocuous, boring Sunday-night cable TV programming on the screens facing the street while all of the backwards-facing screens are full of guys named Drake doing unspeakable and possibly illegal things to guys named Kyle. Naturally, my attention turned towards the street-facing screens, mainly because one of them featured a documentary on a couple of conjoined twins who were about to be separated at the head. Fascinating, especially when the screen switched over to an animated MRI of the connection point, displaying exactly where the surgeons involved would restrict blood flow to commence the operation. Unfortunately, the doorman took a quick glance up at the set, determined rather quickly this was material unsuitable for the surroundings, and instructed the bartender to change channels. Which the bartender did, of course, being the sort of obedient twinkmobile (cough BigGayChris cough) who follows his elders' orders promptly. And what did the obedient twinkmobile switch over to? Why, a rerun of Who's The Boss?, of course. Despite my loud and repeated assertions that watching two infants getting ripped apart at the head would be far less traumatic for the patrons than a Who's The Boss? rerun, the set remained fixed on that particular sitcom, which -- honest to God -- I had never seen before in my life. Knowing Alyssa Milano began her pop culture career there, I naturally assumed it was she chopping vegetables in the opening shot, what with the camera's initial focus on a pair of man hands dicing carrots, followed by its slow pan up be-haired forearms before it landed on the loose, densely patterned silk sleeves of a kimono. You can imagine my surprise when the owner of those forearms turned out to be Tony Danza.
Yeah, yeah. Cheap shot. Not nearly as cheap as this premiere, though. Let's get to it, shall we?
Fade up on the sun-flooded Manor façade, from which emanate the pathetic squeals of a wretched infant in severe distress. The camera cuts inside to reveal the red-faced source of those squeals as none other than Tiny Gay Chris, who appears to hate his farm-themed romper as much as I do. Though I have to admit that little Peter Rabbit skullcap he's sporting is simply the most. To say the least. The shot cuts twice to take in two additional sources of Tiny Chris's despair: The be-mulleted Psycho strapped into a high chair on the opposite side of the room, and some random Latina with filthy hair that Piper's apparently hired on as a nanny. Oh, my bad. That's actually Raige, who somehow found the time since last season's finale to get a tan. In San Francisco. In December. Whatever. As the wickedly inept Raige manhandles Tiny Chris's tiny diaper, the simply wicked Psycho does his level best to hurl Cheerios from his food-spattered tray through Tiny Chris's fontanel and into his brain. Failing with the Cheerios, the Psycho tries the same with a banana peel that quite fortunately splatters to the floor some distance from the changing table. I must note, though, that the hateful little brat sports a look of unbridled glee during all of this, and that's nice, because it's rare to see the demonic on this show actually enjoying their work. Creepy little bastard. Raige, flustered, rolls her eyes around in their unnaturally brown lids and whines, "Help! Somebody help, please!" Pack mule Piper answers the call by schlumping in from the dining room with a bone-weary "All right" before crossing to attend to her foul-minded elder son. "What's this?" she sighs in surprise, eyeing the Psycho's suspiciously spotless tray. The Psycho, dead-eyed once more, too-innocently appraises her from the depths of his chair while wielding a long-handled plastic spoon like a dagger. I'd call that spotless tray the first in what is certain to be a long, long list of continuity errors this season, were it not for the fact I'm convinced the wicked brat surreptitiously orbed the mashed-up remnants of his breakfast into his long-suffering brother's diaper while the camera was focused on his mother.
Piper whatevers wordlessly to herself before turning to wonder how Tiny Chris is faring with that nasty diaper rash of his. See? Evil! The Psycho is evil! "Does [Chris] need ointment?" Piper asks, concerned. "I don't know," Raige admits, "I've been kind of procrastinating on that one." "It's not my favorite thing to check," she adds with a squicked grimace. Piper squints that Raige has no problem checking the Psycho for similar ailments, so what gives? "I don't flash-forward to [the dead-eyed, mulleted brat] being 22 like I do with [Tiny Gay] Chris," Raige peeves. "Oh, yeah," Piper spaces ditzily before adding, "Ew," like this particular topic and that particular realization would never have come up in conversation until this very moment, but whatever, because the second in the long, long list of this season's continuity errors has just reared its ugly head: Piper had entered the kitchen in a pair of backless suede slippers. She's now wearing black flip-flops. Christ, I hate this show.
Anywho, Raige, having finally wrestled Tiny Gay Chris out of his befouled diaper, wrinkles her nose and sends the thing into a nearby trashcan with her orbing telekinesis, eliciting a howl of protest from Piper over that whole stupid using-magic-for-personal-gain thing. Fine, Piper, Raige is a lazy sow for not taking two steps over to dump the thing into the bin herself, but then again, it's just a fucking diaper. Have a cocktail already and get over it. And you can get over yourself while you're at it, too. But I'm getting agitated for no good reason, as that exchange simply serves as an awkward segue into an even more awkward bout of expository dialogue involving Phoebe's long-lost powers, Raige's supposed cabin fever, and Piper's newfound agoraphobia. The powers and cabin fever don't interest me in the slightest. The agoraphobia is quite boring in its own right, but as it relates to the death of my very late, very lamented, and very pretty husband, I'll pay attention to it. For now. Raige notes that lately, she hasn't been able to get out of the house as often as she'd like before clumsily adding, "It wouldn't hurt you to get out a little bit, too. I mean, you've been cooped up in here ever since..." Raige trails off as Holly Marie Combs, in a bit of toxically stupid direction, quickly averts her gaze to examine quite closely the bland set of kitchen magnets decorating refrigerator door. That bit of business would have made a certain anvilicious sense if a photo of Big Gay Chris in happier times had been affixed to the appliance. However, you have to remember how cheap the fucking bastards are who produce this shit. If they'd scattered pictures of Big Chris around the Manor, they'd have to pay Drew Fuller for the use of his image, and we can't be having that sort of drain on the budget, especially when some boyband fucktard I just want to PUNCH in the FACE is now on the payroll for six episodes. In any event, Raige urges Piper to open up about the events of the finale, but Piper goes all Cleopatra on Raige's meddling ass, what with the "Chris is FINE, do you hear me? FINE!" type of denial that's sure to swing around and bite her in the asp before the evening is over. Actually, her ex-husband's asp, but I'm getting ahead of myself. And making supremely bad "jokes" while I'm doing it. God, this is awful.
Long story short, Piper shuts Raige down with "It all worked out," just as Phoebe beelines for the coffee pot from the living room. The good news? The hair's growing in, and by that I mean the hair on her head, not the hair on her arms. The bad news? She's just as self-absorbed, badly dressed, and bony as she was at the end of last season. Scratch that -- she's even more bony than she was at the end of last season. I think Alyssa Milano picked up a tapeworm during her U.N.-sponsored jaunt to Africa over the summer. And possibly a touch of malaria as well. As Phoebe pours herself a cup of coffee while completely ignoring the gloomy mood of the room, she babbles something about being late for work -- again -- while nattering out cheery instructions for the others to ready themselves for the wedding they're all to attend that afternoon. And with that, the Feebs glides blithely back out of the kitchen. "Wait -- what?" Piper yowls, spinning on her heel to fly out of the room after the Feebs. "What wedding?" she demands. "Christy's?" Phoebe prompts. Piper The Sudden Agoraphobe oh-nos and immediately cites "the kids" as an excuse to bail on the whole thing as Raige appears over her shoulder with the Tiny Gay Log to remind them all that "the kids were invited, too." Therefore, Piper has no excuse not to attend, and besides, it would be good for all of the Manor Morons to get out of the freaking house for once. Piper, ignoring her, insists she can't leave because "the baby --" "-- needs to be exposed to a germ or two," Phoebe finishes for her. "Build up his immune system?" she continues. "He's too young!" Piper flusters. "Piper," Phoebe replies, not having it. "He's two months old. You can't protect them from the big, bad world forever. They are going to have to leave the house at some point." Two months old, huh? I guess that means this is all taking place in January of year, so I must be writing this recap from the future. Again. Sigh. Piper, momentarily silenced, simply shoots Phoebe A Look while Raige jostles the Tiny Gay Log around in her arms. "By the way," Phoebe artlessly segues, "how's [the Dolt] doing?" "Considering who betrayed him," Piper ices, "he's doing as well as can be expected." With that, she beats a clomping, pissy retreat back into the kitchen, leaving Phoebe and Raige to mug helplessly at each other.
Cut to an overhead shot of a dank, forbidding alleyway. A nearby sign, incidentally, identifies the location as North Beach. Just thought you'd like to know. A grimy Dolt orbs onto the asphalt from above to swagger and eyebrow his way through the general area as he calls out, "I know you're here, Barbas! You can't keep running from me!" Barbas? Fucking hell. Sure enough, the scenery-chomping ham and bane of my existence flickers in beside the Dolt in spectral form to whisper something stupid about fear or whatever, but I stopped paying attention because Barbas specifies that an ever-useless Elder -- and the emphasis is mine -- "tried to kill [the Dolt's] son," like, hello? An ever-useless Elder DID kill the Dolt's son, and fuck all of you for ignoring that fact. ANY-way. The Dolt catalogues Barbas's contributions to Snidely's season-ending efforts, and vows to off him for those contributions alone. The Dolt then whips around to prance down the alleyway, in the process passing right through Barbas's spectral form. For some reason, this causes the demon to flicker out and reappear as a solid with a gaping and bloody wound in his shoulder. No, that doesn't make any sense at all, because it's not as if the Dolt were wielding a knife or anything, but we're not even through the pre-credits sequence of this dismal excuse for an episode, so fuck it. Barbas glances about in shock for a moment before dissolving into a pillar of flame that vanishes down through the street. No, that wasn't a vanquish. It's the way the guy gets around. Unfortunately. The Dolt bounds back over to the space Barbas has just vacated, and Brian Krause pulls his best Smell The Fart acting skills out of his bag of thespianic tricks before the Dolt orbs after the demon.
High atop the Golden Gate Bridge, Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air peacefully meditates above the whizzing traffic below, clad in one of those hideous gold-toned velour Elder outfits. Barbas flames in behind him for the briefest of moments, then flames out again as the Dolt orbs in to take his place. "Zola?" the Dolt pants, more than a bit surprised to find an Elder where the Demon Of Fear should be. Uncle Phil serenely opens his eyes and greets the Dolt warmly. The Dolt, instantly suspicious and hostile, spits, "Where's Barbas?" "Who?" stupid Uncle Phil replies, and I'm sorry, but if this ever-useless Elder is too dumb to know who the fucking Demon Of Fear is, he deserves to die. Ooops! Spoiler! Spectral Barbas flickers in at the Dolt's side to murmur, "He's covering up for me! Oh, you know he is -- you tracked me here!" Stupid Uncle Phil splutters something idiotic as Barbas continues, "One of your greatest fears -- you know, the good guys, the bad guys...pfft! They're all the same now!" "That makes him," Barbas finishes, indicating Stupid Uncle Phil, "just. Like. [Snidely]!" Oh, dear God. Whatever you do, do not pause your tape of this episode right at the moment Barbas sneers Snidely's name, because Krause's face? In this frame? Will have you screaming yourself awake from night terrors for the fifteen years. His features compress and clot in the middle of his face while the tendons in his neck pop out about three inches as his eyes go eerily blank. He looks like George Bush. Eeek!
Anyway, the Dolt unleashes some of that sporking electricity last used on Snidely to lift Stupid Uncle Phil off his feet and slam him up against the wall of the support tower, where the Dolt fries Uncle Phil's stupid ass for a bit as spectral Barbas snickers in the background, displaying each and every one of Billy Drago's rotten teeth in the process. "Where's Barbas?" howls the Dolt, and I am seriously not going to look at Brian Krause's face again for the rest of this episode, as it's now morphed from that of our horrid president into The Angrily Constipated Chimpanzee Face Of Unwatchable Ire And Rage. "I don't know!" Stupid Uncle Phil whimpers, answering a question I'd already forgotten the Dolt had asked. "For God's sake, stop!" Stupid Uncle Phil pleads. For some reason, the Dolt does, and the now somewhat crispy Stupid Uncle Phil drops to the floor of the tower. "Damn! So close!" Barbas hisses as Stupid Uncle Phil pushes himself onto his hands and knees, warily eyeing the hideous Dolt. With that, Barbas flickers out, leaving the two stupid ever-useless Elders to pant and grimace us into the opening credits.
The freshened credits, incidentally, include a couple of new shots of everyone involved, plus an overabundance of snippets from the latter fourth of last season. Yeah, I really don't care, either.
A quick travelogue, sans Ovary but avec wailing lite-rock guitar, whisks us back over to Prescott Street, where the bony Feebs descends the main stairs to the foyer in her work outfit to clack her way into the parlor atop a pair of too-high heels, and whoa. There is something seriously wrong with Alyssa Milano, people. And I don't mean, you know, the usual. She is scarily, frighteningly, unhealthily thin. For one thing, her legs look like they'd snap like twigs with just the slightest amount of pressure, and for another, I happened to pause the tape just as the camera caught her in a dead-on side angle, and seriously? She's taking up less space on the screen than the doorframe to the sun porch. And she's about three feet closer to the camera than the doorframe is. Ack. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah: Phoebe inquires as to Piper's whereabouts, and Raige, covered by a copy of All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me in the depths of the sofa, replies that their missing sibling's upstairs with the infants. What follows is a truly tedious bit of dialogue that sets up what evidently will be Phoebe's main storyline for the couple of episodes. Briefly, she'd like to help out at home more than she has been, but she's too frequently stuck at work, which has not been offering quite the level of satisfaction it had in the past. In fact, she feels "disconnected" from her job and believes she's in a "rut." Raige confirms said rut by proving Phoebe dispensed the exact same advice yesterday to Lost In Los Altos that she gave a year ago to Dumped In Daly, like, do not tell me that newspaper Raige had been napping under is a year old. Please? Fuck you. It's a year old. Apparently, there's room in the Manor for every issue All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me ever published, but there's no room for Big Gay Chris. These people can blow me. Whatever. Mention is made of Phoebe's assy Vision Quest and resulting manhunt from last season, and Phoebe admits she believes "that's what's messing [her] up." No, hon. What's messing you up is the fact that you haven't eaten in four fucking months. Pizza! Now! God! Raige of course disagrees with me and cites the delightfully deceased Snidely as the cause of all their many collective woes. "He didn't just betray [the Dolt]," Raige opines as Phoebe's ever-pointier chin threatens to poke out one of her half-sister's eyes. "He betrayed all of us." Just then, the shrieking racket of an incoming orb cloud heralds the arrival of Stupid Uncle Phil on the sun porch. "Those wounds don't heal easily," he bellows above the noise, startling the ladies to their feet.
The gals skitter into the room to confront the trespasser, who opens with, "Forgive the intrusion. I thought it best I come to you first." "Whatever it is," Phoebe sneers, crossing her stick-like arms across her artificially enhanced boobs, "we're not interested." I'm sorry to keep harping on this, people, but sweet Jesus. Her collarbones are jutting a yard out from her body, and the skin on her upper chest is stretched thinly across a few clearly visible ribs and an equally visible sternum. She looks just awful. And her face! Think Bette Davis. Ancient Bette Davis. Ancient Bette Davis post-stroke. Shudder. Anyway, Stupid Uncle Phil, whom I'm just going to call Zoloft for the rest of the evening because it's easier to type, fills the gals in on the Dolt sitch while insisting that one bad Snidely don't spoil the whole bunch, girl. Or something like that. I'm too busy waiting for the skeletal Milano to keel over dead to pay proper attention. Long story short, the gals are snotty, especially when Zoloft threatens to "recycle" the Dolt, much as the Dolt threatened to recycle Big Gay Chris at the beginning of last season. Either the Dolt drops his "obsession with vanquishing Barbas," pronto, or the other Elders will be forced to send him back to earth via reincarnation. There's crap about revenge not making the Manor's rugrats any safer and some nonsense about healing the Dolt's heart before Zoloft warns that "time is of the essence," as the ever-useless Elders "believe there's a powerful threat looming on the horizon unlike any [they've] ever sensed before." "And for that," he concludes, "we'll need everybody back into [sic] the fold, and soon." "Everybody," Zoloft? Including the Stoopid Magikal Kreatures? If so, fuck you. Thoroughly ignoring me, Zoloft orbs up through the ceiling towards points unknown. And uncared about, frankly. Phoebe and Raige shoot each other a pair of disbelieving side-eyes as Alyssa's tapeworm growls hungrily.
Up in the attic, the still-begrimed Dolt frantically abuses the Book of Shadows until an unseen presence whisks past him. "Barbas?" the Dolt snaps. There is no reply. Tense strings thrum on the soundtrack as the Dolt stomps into the center of the room, demanding the demon reveal himself. By way of response, a transparent, shimmering, disembodied green head materializes in the far corner to sail over to the Dolt, trailing a wake of distorting ripples behind itself. It sounds far cooler than it looks. "Don't let Barbas get away with this," the shimmering head instructs in appropriately dark and menacing tones as it shoots past the freaked Dolt, and am I ever sorry I wasted the "Heady Bizarre" nickname on that worthless Not!warts nerd. The Head pauses to collect itself before swooping back past the Dolt with, "Save your sons!" The Head then makes for the windows on the far side of the room, but dissipates and vanishes long before it reaches them. "Who are you?" the Dolt calls after it. "What do you want?"
"Who are you talking to?" Piper wonders as she wanders in from the upper hall, cradling the swaddled Tiny Gay Log in her arms. "Nobody," the Dolt quickly lies, heading back for the Book before challenging her with, "How did you know I was here?" Piper, sporting a rather fetching black, Vietnamese-style blouse with light blue piping, notes that the Psycho actually sensed the Dolt's presence in the Manor. "Must be that orbing thing you guys share," she kindly muses, tentatively stepping further into the room. "He misses you," she adds as she reaches the Book. "We all do." The Dolt distractedly allows that he misses them as well before asking if the Book has any information on Barbas other than the demon's main entry. "No," Piper replies, not letting him get away with changing the subject. "Would you like to hold your child?" she prompts, indicating the Tiny Gay Log in her arms. "I...I...I can't," the Dolt stammers as the shot cuts to a supposedly guilt-inducing glamour shot of Tiny Gay Chris peering up from his mother's arms at his worthless deadbeat of a father. So happy to see you got rid of the genetic aberration you hired to portray Tiny Gay Chris in the finale, guys, but this kid? Has dark brown eyes. Recast! Immediately! And while I was thus distracted, Piper continued with what is, quite honestly, the only emotionally engaging scene in the entire episode, shadowed as it is with the specter of Big Gay Chris's death. "You need to [hold him]," she softly chides the Dolt. "[Tiny Gay] Chris didn't die. He's alive." Tiny Gay Chris is also working that pacifier like Maggie on The Simpsons. Snerk. Go figure. Oh, did I just go there? I need help. "You need to move on," Piper concludes, ignoring my tasteless remark. "Not until Barbas is gone and they're both safe," comes the Dolt's predictable response. Or is it? When he said "both," did he mean Tiny Gay Chris and the Psycho? Or did he mean both Chrises? Likely the former, I realize, but, you know. Cut me some slack here. We're twelve minutes into this episode, and I haven't given a good goddamn about a single fucking thing that's happened yet. Is this what the whole season's going to be like? Glaah. In any event, the stupid, neglectful Dolt immediately orbs out after that last vow of his, leaving Piper to gaze down sadly at her tiny gay log, alone. Again.
Hell. No, really. We're down in Hell for the first time this season, and color me surprised: The demonic healer last seen tending to Melinda Clarke's rather brutal shishkebabbing a whole two years ago is back to cauterize the gash in Barbas's shoulder with a red-hot andiron. We still don't get an explanation of how the Dolt could have inflicted that wound simply by passing through Barbas's spectral form, but that's not important, I suppose. What is important is that the Head chooses this moment to reappear, whistling past Barbas while muttering something of dark import. Specifically, "Go after the bayyyy-beeeeee." Naturally, the demonic doc can't see the Head and snorts something snide about Barbas's apparent hallucinations, so Barbas smites him with a Flaming Ball Of Death. The good news? We won't be waiting around wondering if that guy's gonna pop up again in Season Nine. The bad news? I have a sickening feeling there's actually going to be a Season Nine. That is, if Alyssa Milano doesn't totally pull a Karen Carpenter before then, of course. Sigh. This is the show that never ends -- it just goes on and on, my friend -- some people started airing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue airing it forever, just because this is the show that never ends -- it just goes on and on, my friend -- some people started airing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue airing it forever, just because this is the show that never ends -- it just goes on and on, my friend -- some people started airing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue airing it forever just because this is the shokldnvlkoeriugdldcnladknckl....
Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Barbas, now alone, calls out, wondering if the Head is "friend or foe." "Neither," comes the rumbling, disembodied reply. "But if you want to stop the Elder," the Head adds, suddenly reappearing to get all up in Barbas's face, "go after the baby!" The Head knocks Barbas on his ass as it buzzes by to vanish once more. Barbas hams something tedious as the scene shifts...
...aboveground, where an "Ask Phoebe" ad trundles across the screen, courtesy of the bus to which it's attached. The bus passes out of the frame to reveal the exterior of All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me, which apparently has pulled up stakes for the second time in its existence on this show to transfer to yet another building. This one suspiciously resembles a repurposed bank. Of course, as we note when the camera heads indoors, they somehow managed to move the entire office interior, like, WHATEVER! Fuck you, Kern! Fuck! You! God, I hate this show. Phoebe, sporting a coat fashioned out of the same drapes Maria von Trapp used to clothe the Captain's children, totters through the glass doors to babble apologies at Elise Rothman, Girl Editor for her tardiness. "It won't happen again," Phoebe promises. "Of course it will," Elise snorts. Ha! But then she blasts my brief amusement all to hell by adding, "But, hey -- if you keep getting responses like this, who cares?" Don't feed the beast, Elise. Actually, I take that back. Feed the beast as much as you want, as long as it's, you know, actual food. Beast is skeletal, is all I'm saying. Anyway, Elise waves a sheaf of wildly positive reader feedback to that morning's inadvertently recycled column while blathering about how "classy" Phoebe makes the paper look, and that should be "klassy" with a K, right, Elise? I seriously cannot take any more of this shit. Uncle!
Long story short, Phoebe cops to the "accidental" recycling and asks for some time off. Elise without hesitation -- and please let there be an ulterior motive behind that -- offers Phoebe a two-month-long "sabbatical," during which period the paper will hire a stringer to ghost Phoebe's column. As the sorely famished Feebs tries and fails to muster the strength necessary to yodel her objections, Phoebe's Non-Mary Cherry assistant announces that one of the Manor Morons is on the phone. Phoebe sighs wearily and crosses into her office to answer. Turns out it's Raige, with one of her typically boneheaded plans. To get the Dolt off his Barbas kick, they'll guilt him into attending the wedding with Piper and Phoebe while Raige minds the kids. Once the other adults have left the Manor, Raige'll abuse the Book for a Barbas vanquish. I suppose she's completely forgetting the fact that the only way to vanquish Barbas is by conquering your deepest fears. Or by having your ex-husband demolish him with a Flaming Ball Of Death. Something like that. Phoebe phrets that she'll be useless without her powers, but Raige counters that Phoebe's pretty much useless with them, so what's the big deal? Okay, so I made part of that up. The upshot of it all is that Phoebe reluctantly agrees to the plan, and Rose McGowan needs to shave. Either that, or she needs to stop slapping on foundation so cakey that it clumps together on her upper lip, leaving her with a Max Factor moustache. I don't want to go there with the Dirty Sanchez cracks, but...yeah. Ew.
And the thing you know, Christy's nuptials are already in progress. So they cut that whole scene where Phoebe and Raige convince the Dolt to attend the wedding? Pity. Not. White-Bread Wonderlass Christy Peters is marrying Hunka-Hunka-Curry-Love Javeen Anand in a solemn-yet-"romantic" Hindu ceremony set beneath a gaily decorated canopy in the middle of a park. Out in the parking lot, the Dolt swings the Grand Cherokee over to the valet station, and the tardy wedding-bound Manor Morons tumble out of the car. "I don't understand why you couldn't leave the baby with [Raige]," Phoebe shrills. "When you're a mother, you'll understand," Piper snaps as she toddles over with the Tiny Gay Chris in question. "That's assuming I'm gonna have any eggs left," Phoebe sniffs as she assists the Dolt with the stroller. No, that's assuming you'll ever ingest enough food to ovulate again, you skeletal shrew. Yeesh. The Dolt's cleaned up considerably, though God knows when he found the time to do so, but I don't care, because this episode sucks, and I hate this show, and I want to die. Piper's also changed clothes and now sports a loose-fitting, gauzy black number. In case you were wondering, which you weren't, because this episode sucks, and you hate it, and you want to die, and shouldn't we have had a commercial break, like, an hour ago? Anyway, Piper, ever the neurotic martyr, immediately whips out her cell to check on the Psycho. Phoebe yanks the phone out of her sister's hand and rather meanly suggests she see a shrink. Piper's all, "Been there, done that," as the three troop over to a...what is the point of this scene? Anyone? Seriously. Because I've watched it five times already, and I still can't figure it out. Tiny Gay Chris, sensing my irritation, draws a tired, bitter hand across his wee face and wails. Piper and the Dolt whatever and pointless and boring! and Phoebe finally pushes the two formerly marrieds into the ceremony. She intends to remain with the squalling, shamefully neglected infant while his parents have fun inside.
Piper and the Dolt manage to hustle into a pair of chairs at the back of the, um, congregation, or whatever, just as the closed captioning people give up entirely on the Hindi vows and instead fill the bottom of my TV screen with strings of letters like, "VARYHANANNAGHANA BABAGANOUSH BABALOO." The formerly marrieds smirk at each other, no doubt contemplating the galling connubial hell that awaits Christy and Jeevan after the ceremony.
Out near the parking lot, Phoebe violently rocks the stroller to and fro while crooning the infant's name in a vain attempt to quiet the monstrously annoyed Tiny Gay Chris. "'Chris,' huh?" the suddenly appearing Inspector Sheridan snorts as she too-casually ambles over with an uneasy-looking Detective Doormat in tow. "Interesting name," Sheridan adds. "Same as the guy who died in your house a couple of months ago, isn't it?" Now, how the hell does she remember that? We were led to believe that everything that happened in the altered reality remained in the altered reality. Otherwise, how would everyone afterwards explain away their memories of multiple amputations for minor offenses, not to mention all those summary executions over parking spaces? Huh? Fucking show. Gah. "Are you following me?" Phoebe demands. Yes, Phoebe. She's following you and you alone, because no one else exists on this fucking show. Hag. Sheridan confesses she would have approached Phoebe sooner were it not for the Doormat's intervention. He thought the gals needed "some time to mourn [their] loss," you see, which should not have deterred Sheridan at all, given the questions she's about to unleash on the Feebs. Sheridan is evidently still investigating the many, many mysteries of Big Gay Chris, and is actually there to serve Phoebe with a summons to appear at Trudeau Memorial, formerly The Loneliest Precinct House In The World, formerly Andy's House Of Beef, for questioning regarding "what really happened to the other Chris." Questions, she continues, like "how he broke out of jail, how come he doesn't seem to appear in any database, how come you didn't have a funeral for him -- what happened to his body? You know, just stuff like that." You know, hon, "stuff like that" would have automatically triggered an investigation TWO FUCKING MONTHS AGO. WHATEVER! Long story short, the Feebs is expected downtown at four that afternoon, and I'm sorry to spin off on another tangent, but this episode's timelines? Are all fucked up. Forget about all the gauzy summer outfits and outdoor weddings and unnerving tans in the middle of January in San Francisco -- shouldn't it have been four o'clock in the afternoon already? When are they holding this stupid wedding -- at noon on a weekday? And am I really writing this recap FROM THE FUTURE? I'm so damn confused.
Sheridan slinks far enough away for Phoebe to rail at the Doormat for abandoning the Manor Morons in this, their latest hour of need. The Doormat overenunciates that he had little choice in the matter, and Dorian Gregory's acting is as dismal as it's ever been, and I still no longer care about the character, so let's keep this moving. "You're gonna have to choose a side," Phoebe tells him. "That's just the way it works." You mean, like the way you chose the side of evil when you became Queen of the Underworld? Great. This should be fun. Not. The Doormat looks conflicted. Or lobotomized. You decide. The Doormat skulks away as Phoebe tucks the summons into her purse. Phoebe's tapeworm is angry, because he thought she would eat it.
Wedding. Jeevan does that thing with the red stuff and the petals that they did on The Amazing Race a few weeks back as the priest gets to the only part of the ceremony that matters. "As the circle is the symbol of the earth and the sun and the universe," he recites as the couple beams at each other, "I call upon the god and goddess that created all things to bless this sacred union." There's more after that, but it's not important, for a burst of golden glowy Hindu mojo has suddenly streamed down from the sky to form two swirling circles above the tent. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Piper eyebrows. The Dolt does indeed, but a quick glance around seems to confirm that everyone else in the congregation remains oblivious. Piper gazes up at the mojo in admiring astonishment for a moment until, for some stupid reason, the separate swirling circles make a sudden dive into the two formerly marrieds. Piper and the Dolt flare up briefly, but barely move in their seats. Once he's absorbed his bit of the mojo, the Dolt asks, "You okay?" "Dunno," Piper replies, blinking. "Feeling a little woozy." She retrieves her handbag as the Snickering Sitar Of Impending Six-Handed Hijinks hijacks the soundtrack. Her two real hands undo the clutch as a third hand reaches around her waist to paw through the bag for a handkerchief. The third hand clearly belongs to an extra, and that extra must have some hellaciously long arms, for not only must the poor woman reach around Combs's body, she must also then stretch up to dab at Combs's forehead for a bit as the Dolt goggles and doofs his way through a reaction shot. I hate this show. Then, in a supremely crappy bit of CGI, a fourth arm erupts from Piper's left side, accompanied by some rather revolting sound effects. "Uh oh," dolts the Dolt.
Back near the parking lot, Phoebe rocks a temporarily placated Tiny Gay Chris as Piper and the Dolt hustle over with Piper's upper body swimming in the Dolt's oversized suitcoat. "Wedding over already?" Phoebe wonders. Piper wordlessly opens the jacket to reveal four crappy arm-like digital inserts wiggling around her waist. This effect sucks some serious ass. The skin tones are off, the lighting angles are off, the proportions are off -- it's just...wrong. "Oh, my God!" Phoebe bleats. Piper rolls her eyes and darts off into the commercial break with the Dolt at her many-armed side.
Manor sun porch. Aghast and all but mute, Phoebe and Raige's Moustache stand gawping as Piper's many arms simultaneously feed Tiny Gay Chris a bottle, tuck Tiny Chris's blanket in a bit, stir up some gruel for the dead-eyed Psycho, and futz with toys on the table. Oh, and did I mention that Piper's changed into that white satin sari-esque shift with purple sash that she apparently just had hanging in her closet? I didn't? Excellent. Kill me. No, really, you can kill me for that omission right now, because I can't take any more of this bullshit, and we haven't even hit Nick fucking Lachey yet. The Dolt bumbles in behind the agog Ps, clad in Eilish's version of traditional Indian attire, so you can immediately understand how good it looks without a lengthy description of its various attributes, right? I will note that it's very beige, which is of course doing the Dolt no favors at all. Hee. The Dolt blithers something about how beautiful Piper looks before bolting to her side. One of her hands reaches around to latch onto his massive ass, but the problem is, the shot's so poorly filmed and awkwardly cut, I thought she was squeezing one of those rolls of fat protruding from his stomach. Raige's moustache mouths something stupid about the ass-squeezing as the phone rings. Phoebe orders Raige's Moustache Bookwards for a little abuse as she herself retrieves the cordless from one of Piper's many crappy arm-like digital inserts. It's Elise, calling with the simply dizzying news that she's already found Phoebe's replacement. Heh. I'd bet Elise has had replacements lined up ever since the skanky Feebs started boning her coworkers in the office during business hours. That is, I would have bet that were it not for the presence of this particular replacement. Over Phoebe's protestations of prior commitments, or whatever, Elise orders her into the office within the hour to meet "Leslie" and snaps shut her cell. "She can hardly wait to meet you!" Elise enthuses as the camera pans over to reveal boyband fucktard Nick Lachey, long ago of 98 Degrees, recently of Newlyweds, and currently, thanks to those marketing geniuses at the WB, of this Godawful motherfucking show. I want to die. But first, I want to PUNCH Nick fucking Lachey in the FACE.
Unfortunately, I have to deal with Piper's many crappy arm-like digital inserts fondling the Dolt instead. And...that's enough of that. !
Attic. Raige's Moustache has instantly found the relevant entry in the Book, and it goes a little something like this (punctuation abuse theirs, of course):
Shakti, the Hindu Goddess of Creation and Shiva, the God of Destruction are commonly invoked at weddings because they're considered to be the Ultimate Lovers.
Shakti, also called the Ultimate Mother, and Shiva, together created All Things, and if they consummate their love again, All Things will be obliterated and the universe will be reborn.
Bummer. ["'Considered to be'? Christ." -- Sars] Bright side? I don't have to recap the scene that follows, because Phoebe and Raige's Moustache basically rehash everything I just typed out above. No, seriously. They just read the entry to each other without even attempting to explain why Piper and the Dolt were possessed or what that possession implies or what the possible ramifications of that possession are, aside from, you know, the world actually ending should the possessed decide to inflict yet another round of Dolt Sex upon the unsuspecting audience. Oh, there is one thing: Apparently, from the entry above, Raige's Moustache has gleaned the fact that anyone who gets too close to Piper and the Dolt will instantly go into heat. So, what does Phoebe do?
Race downstairs to wrestle them apart, of course! How convenient! Though you have to wonder what that same exposure is doing to their poor kids. You also have to wonder what harebrained, half-witted, crack-smoking asshole came up with that particular plot point without considering its effect on the Psycho and Tiny Gay Chris. Oh, that's right: Brad Kern was the harebrained, half-witted, crack-smoking asshole who came up with that particular plot point without considering its full effect! Ain't he always the one? Anyway, Phoebe and Raige's Moustache fill Piper and the Dolt in on the whole annihilation-of-the-universe thing. The Dolt's upset, not because he's possessed by the more destructive half of a pair of ancient Hindu gods, but rather because he's "never felt more potent" in his life, and he's saying that just because he wants to torture me even more by forcing me to imagine a turgid Little Dolt pressing against the leg of his pants. I am not going to survive this episode, am I? ["Not if I have to proofread the phrase 'turgid Little Dolt' EVER AGAIN, you aren't. I MEAN MY GOD." -- Sars] Phoebe and Raige's Moustache suggest that the Dolt take his potency out on Barbas, and now I'm getting the mental image of those two going at it, and seriously. Death would be a sweet release at this point. In any event, the Dolt obligingly exits in a sporking column of electricity, leaving Piper alone to escort her many crappy arm-like digital inserts over to a chair, where she collapses to fan her overheated self while Phoebe and Raige's Moustache strategize. Raige's Moustache is to orb over to Not!warts with the kids, both to ensure the kids' safety and to research solutions for their current predicament. Piper most strenuously objects to Tiny Gay Chris leaving her sight, so Raige's Moustache prepares to exit with the Psycho alone. Phoebe, meanwhile, heads off to the office to fuck her replacement. That should help.
Hell. Boring! Barbas has gathered a gaggle of dark demonic sorts in the healer's former lair to plot the death of the Glamorous Ladies and all who consort with them. There's absolutely zero of interest in this scene. Trust me. All you need to know is that Barbas plans to conquer the gals by abducting Tiny Gay Chris. Just go with it. Oh, almost forgot: The Head "cloaked" the healer's lair so the Dolt couldn't track Barbas, but that doesn't really matter, because the Head uncloaks same in about twenty minutes so Phoebe and Raige can vanquish the almighty ham. Again. Some more.
Not!warts. Boring! Raige's Moustache orbs in with the dead-eyed Psycho to find various Not!warts Nit!wits packing up the main library. None of this is important in this episode, and this whole Z-plot could have been excised without anyone ever noticing. Just remember that Raige's Moustache vows to save the school. By the way, I have a question: Why are the Nit!wits physically packing all that garbage up when they can FUCKING ORB IT ANYWHERE THEY WANT IT TO GO? HUH? HUH? This show sucks.
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. Phoebe topples through the swinging glass doors to collapse in Elise's arms. I told you she needed to eat something already. Elise quickly steers Phoebe into the latter's office to meet Boyband Fucktard Nick Fucking Lachey. Phoebe is, of course, shocked and appalled to learn that "Leslie St. Claire" is a man (well, of sorts, I suppose), because men can't write advice columns for women. Somewhere up in Seattle, Dan Savage has absolutely no reaction to this ridiculous assertion, because Dan Savage is too smart to be watching this stupid fucking show. Outrage! Banter! Boredom! Let's quickly review the important facts provided by this scene: Boyband Fucktard Nick Fucking Lachey, who was awarded his Ph.D. in psychology after compellingly defending his doctoral dissertation on the topic of "Women's Intuition," penned a wildly successful advice column in Philadelphia for years before deciding to move to the West Coast. He'll be in San Francisco for two months before continuing on to Los Angeles to begin writing a long-awaited new advice column for his avid fans in that area. How these idiots delivered this exposition about Nick Lachey without snorting craft services out of their noses is beyond my powers of comprehension. Also, Phoebe, who is in heat because she came within close physical proximity to the possessed, hikes her tongue down Boyband Fucktard Nick Fucking Lachey's throat in front of a thoroughly revulsed Elise before regaining temporary control of herself and making a graceless exit. "Guess that means I got the job!" SL@mp!EcE spARKL!es giggles.
Oh, I suppose I should include a word or two about the boyband fucktard's Slampiece nickname. Why not? This recap's already longer than the goddamned Bhagavad Gita, so what's another little paragraph here or there? The forum board recently featured a poll entitled "Name That Slampiece!" Slampiece Of The Sea actually won a plurality of the votes, but after seeing this original cartoon by board contributor payndz, I decided to pull a Katherine Harris and toss out the real vote. The typing style should be familiar to those of you who frequent various fan sites created and patronized by members of this show's apparent target demographic. And by the way, because it cannot be said often enough: Seriously, Kern. Fuck you.
Now where were we? Oh, yes. Back in the Manor, where Piper and her many crappy arm-like digital inserts are putting Tiny Gay Chris down for a nap up in the Bridal Boudoir. Seconds after she does so, a squad of Barbas's minions squiggle into the room to make with the Flaming Balls Of Death and such, but Shakti Piper, crappily armed as she is, makes quick work of the various dark demonic forces with her three pairs of Hands. Meanwhile, Barbas himself has flamed rather inobtrusively onto the second floor corridor and stalks over to Tiny Chris's bassinet to terrify the wee one with those hideous teeth of his. Shakti Piper fortuitously spins just in time to unleash a single pair of her Hands of Discontent which -- with a little of the same electrical mojo the Dolt exhibited earlier -- spork Barbas backwards through the air and into the opposite wall. Barbas pauses briefly to examine the brand-new gaping wound in his stomach before flaming the fuck out of there. "It's okay, peanut," Shakti Piper and her many crappy arm-like digital inserts croon as they gently lift Tiny Gay Chris from his bassinet. "You're okay." Tiny Gay Chris works that pacifier of his to death until he's mauled by the commercial break.
Manor. Aftermath. Raige's Moustache, shockingly, is finally doing some work around the house, in this case toting a trashcan of battered bits of furniture down the main stairs from the Boudoir above. She's met in the main hall by the running-on-empty Feebs, who barrels in from the front porch with a surprising amount of energy for someone two pounds above organ failure to gripe and moan and whine and yodel and kvetch and swoon over SL@mp!EcE spARKL!es and the possible impact he might have on her uterus. Yawn. Raige's Moustache evidently shares my disinterest in Phoebe's reproductive system, for she bluntly informs her half-sister that Barbas just attacked Tiny Gay Chris. Of course, Shakti Piper wants them both to keep news of the attack from the Dolt, because -- say it with me, gang -- Withholding Vital Information From Each Other Has Always Worked So Well For Them In The Past. And of course -- of course -- the Dolt blunders into the foyer at that very moment in search of his ex-wife, with whom he wishes to inflict Dolt Sex upon the unsuspecting audience. Or something like that. I need a nap. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache hem and haw and doof and natter for a very long stretch of time before the Dolt sidles past them and up the stairs. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache exchange worried looks. Well, Phoebe shoots a worried look at Raige's Moustache. Raige's Moustache just puckers in dismay.
Bridal Boudoir. The Dolt takes one look at the shattered furniture and begins to rage around the room. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache tiptoe uneasily into the doorway. "What happened here?" the Dolt demands. "You're not gonna like it," shrugs Raige's Moustache.
Meanwhile, down in the foy...oh, this is just fucking ridiculous. Sheridan and the Doormat use a motherfucking crowbar to crack open the never-ever-ever-locked front door, and to what end? To present the Manor Morons with a search warrant. With no backup. And no crime lab technicians. Not that the latter would be of any use at this point, because the alleged crime took place TWO FUCKING MONTHS AGO. God, the cops on this show are idiots. Sheridan goes all Pepper Anderson with her brassy attitude and her pistol cocking and that you're-either-with-me-or-against-me tirade she delivers to the Doormat, but please. Give it a rest, honey. You just used a crowbar to open an unlocked door. The Doormat flusters as Police Woman hits the stairs.
Up in the Boudoir, the Dolt's launched himself into a pissy little rant while Phoebe and Raige's Moustache stand helplessly by. Police Woman picks this moment to barge into the Boudoir and order the gals to place their hands in the air. The Dolt, not having it, telekinetically hoists Pepper off the floor and flings her headfirst across the room, where she brains herself on one of the antique gaslights suspended from the wall before crashing, unconscious, to the floor. Ow. That actually looked like it hurt. The Doormat comes thisclose to howling, "What do you think you're doing? She's a cop!" but instead chooses at the last minute to go with that old standby, "Are you out of your mind?" The Dolt whatevers and sporks out of there with his jockeys in a wad. Piper and her Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent arrive too late for the action, but just in time to bitch at everybody for making so much goddamned noise. Once Shakti Piper spots the quite possibly dead woman on her bedroom floor, though, her eyes widen as she breathes, "Where's [the Dolt]?" Phoebe goggles and rolls her eyes around while shifting tensely from foot to foot. Raige's Moustache -- whose pancake makeup is so dark, thick, and unnatural in this shot that it's turned her into a dead ringer for Natalie Wood in West Side Story, and this is not a good thing -- simply gapes.
Golden Gate Bridge. Barbas flames in atop the support tower to find Stupid Uncle Phil -- remember him? Yeah, me neither -- meditating in the same place upon which he was so violently attacked that morning. Just die already, Stupid Uncle Phil. Barbas flames out immediately, the Dolt sporks into Barbas's place, and again with the questions and the stupidity and the hammy overacting and The Angrily Constipated Chimpanzee Face Of Unwatchable Ire And Rage and you know what? Just reread the parallel paragraph from the pre-credits sequence, only when you get to the part where the Dolt relents, pretend I instead described to you how the Dolt's sporking bolts of Stupid-Elder-killing electricity leave Zoloft in a bitty pile of ash atop the bridge. Spectral Barbas gloats for a bit before flickering out, and...wait a minute! Shakti Piper opened up an enormous wound in the demon's gut not five scenes ago. Who the hell did Barbas summon to heal that, huh? And when the hell did he find time to do it? God, this episode sucks, and I'm actually thinking most of the blame can be laid at the feet of those marketing wizards at the WB. It's becoming pretty clear this was meant to be another of Charmed's two-hour extravaganzas, but the production staff were forced at the last minute to slice it down to an hour, and the disjointed end result is just ass. Not that the two-hour version necessarily would have been any better, but still. God, I hate this show. Oh, by the way: The stricken Dolt just got his massive ass smacked around but good by the final commercial break.
Not!warts and Mrs. Winterbourne and crates and boring! Shakti Piper and her Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent stand in the center of the library, with the anguished Dolt slumped on the floor off to one side. Tool is wearing a pair of brown leather loafers with white socks. Stupid Dolt. Raige's Moustache skitters in and pauses to agonize over the stupid Dolt, but Shakti Piper and her Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent propel her towards a pile of books on a nearby table. Raige's Moustache flips quickly through the topmost volume and recites the following spell:
We call upon the mortal ways
And gods who guide but may not stay:
We seek those of divinity
To separate from and set them free.
The lower four Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent dissolve into a glowy golden cloud of Hindu mojo that rises from Piper's body as a similar cloud erupts from the stupid Dolt's limp form. The two clouds join and shoot up towards the library ceiling, dissipating rapidly as they go until they've vanished. Raige's Moustache gazes on anxiously as Piper gently inquires of the stupid Dolt, "Are you all right?" The stupid Dolt waves his hand around in the air before slouching even further towards the floor. "Piper," Raige's Moustache begins, but Piper curtly orders her off, first to find Phoebe, then to vanquish Barbas with that potion that's not supposed to work, because you need a demonic ex-husband to banish Barbas to the Waste Land. Or wherever. It's getting to be too much of a chore to keep all of this show's contradictory stories straight. Raige obediently and immediately orbs out, leaving Piper alone at last with the de-possessed and dejected Dolt. She wordlessly kneels down beside him and waits for him to speak. "I killed another Elder," he finally admits, and nope! Not gonna look at Brian Krause's face for the rest of the episode, and I mean it this time. Remember how I said way back when that Krause was one of those blond doofus stoner surfer fratboys who hang on to their youthful looks for an unusually lengthy period of time, only to have it all catch up with them in what seems to be a single day? Today's the day. Dude's so haggard in these shots, he looks old enough to be my grandfather. And my grandfather was born in 1893. Do the math. In any event, Piper comforts her rapidly aging, gargoyle-faced ex-husband as best she can, promising that "nobody else has to know" because -- shout it if you know it! -- Withholding Vital Information From Each Other Has Always Worked So Well For Them In The Past. Ass. This show is ass.
Manor and Angie Dickinson and Doormat and boring! Well, except for that EMT who's training a penlight on Pepper's cockeyed pupils, because he's kind of cute. Cute EMT and his partner evaluate Pepper's overall post-braining condition as Phoebe and the Doormat hover in the background, fretting about what Pepper may or may not remember. Long story short? The Doormat's still useless, Dorian Gregory still can't act, and while Pepper remembers nothing of her temporary union with the wall, she does remember the search warrant that led her to the Manor in the first place. Oh, for Christ's sake. Just dump some of the Dolt's mystical fairy dust on her head already. It worked on that asinine jury, didn't it? Raige's Moustache darts in from the kitchen to break up the little soiree in the parlor, as she and the Feebs have a vanquish to attend.
Hell. Phoebe and Raige's Moustache clatter into the healer's former lair in time to catch the tail end of Barbas's failed attempt at a tête-à-Tête with the Head. There's some dismissive smirking on the gals' part regarding Barbas's "invisible friend," and there's some aggravating scenery chewing on Billy Drago's part before Raige's Moustache throws the vanquishing vial like a girl -- complete with a little sissy "Unnnh!" noise -- and manages to shatter the thing at Barbas's feet. A rapidly spinning whirlwind of dark red embers erupts from the floor to engulf Barbas as he shouts above the whirlwind's roar, "You know I'll come back! Fear always comes back!" Right before his body dissolves in a gout of flame, Barbas howls upwards at the Head, "You set me up!" The Head, of course, does not reply. A little sprinkle of Barbas ash cascades to the chamber floor after the gout of flame vanishes upwards. Phoebe smirks something about "never get[ting] tired of seeing that" as Raige's Moustache frets about the unseen "friend." Phoebe whatevers. Raige's Moustache wrinkles her brow. Are we done yet?
Rrrrgh. The closing travelogue passes from night into day, leading us over to All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me's new/old headquarters. Haggard, bony Feebs staggers through the glass doors to enter her once and future office, wherein she finds SL@mp!EcE spARKL!es casually perusing that morning's edition. The Cooter Tat is visible. And it's dying for a fucking cheeseburger. Would someone feed this woman already? Egg salad! A Zagnut! Anything! Also, Nick Lachey in this scene looks so much like a Botoxed Teletubbie that it would scare the crap out of me, were I paying any attention whatsoever. As I couldn't give a flying rat's ass about either SL@mp!EcE spARKL!es or this stupid subplot, I'll skip to the end: Phoebe approves of spARKL!es's first column, and wishes him luck. She also warns him not to "sully" her "good name," like, don't you think it's a little too late to be worried about that, trash? Phoebe exits with a smile on her face. Her tapeworm hungers still. Are we done yet?
No? Crap. Back in the Manor kitchen, Raige's Moustache again vows to save Not!warts, even though she doesn't as yet have a plan. Meanwhile, Piper decides to head out "into the big, bad world" with the kids for the first time since last season's finale. And...that's about it. Are we done yet?
Still? Shit! Down in Hell, the stupid Dolt plays with Barbas's ashes. Just go with it, because there are only twenty-seven seconds left. The camera suddenly shudders all the way across the floor to get all up in the Dolt's face and I'm looking away now! From somewhere above, the disembodied Head snarls, "Barbas was right -- killing him doesn't kill the pain of betrayal." The Dolt, I believe, rises to his feet to challenge the Head with "Who are you? What do you want?" "What do we want?" the Head repeats as it rapidly materializes at the far end of the chamber before howling, "We want you!" Muah ha ha ha ha ha ha! Also: DUN! Is that DUN! going to last all season, or will other episodes get their own DUN!s? I just can't wait to find out!
Oh, wait a minute. I totally can.
week: Hag On A Nag. I can't get into the details with you because I'm still far too traumatized by the promo. Yeeesh.