My condolences to Rose McGowan for the absolutely dismal reviews she's collecting for her performance as Ann-Margret in this weekend's Elvis movie. You know, comments like, "With her squashed-pudding face, lisping delivery, and appalling lack of sex appeal, McGowan is at best a debased Tina Louise." See, darling? It isn't just me. Previously on And The Worms Ate Into My Brain, everything that ever happened to Pepper Anderson, everything that ever happened to Zankou, everything that happened two weeks ago to the Dolt, and everything that happened last week to Raige. Seriously. Everything.
Currently on It Burns! Oh, God, How It Burns!, we fade up on the Manor façade for a brief swing through the front yard before heading inside to the kitchen, where we find the Dolt on his hands and knees, sopping up the dismembered remains of various once-frisky garden mammals from the floor beneath the Psycho's high chair with a small towel. Or maybe it's scrambled eggs. It's never easy to tell when the Psycho's involved. Raige storms in from the dining room behind her brother-in-law and spits the following at his bowed back: "[Dolt]! I need your help. The [ever-useless] Elders have assigned me a charge!" And I'll be taking bets on that charge's time of death...now. The Dolt, much as one would expect, greets this news with a maniacally chipper level of enthusiasm. Raige, much as one would expect, is not nearly as thrilled. "I'm a chick in her twenties who'd like to have a life!" she shrews. "I don't have time for this!" The sage Dolt, who putters ceaselessly about the room on his single-minded mission of post-breakfast sanitation during what follows, sees quickly through the lippy bastard's rampant bitchery and diagnoses a case of nerves and self-doubt. The proposed remedy? "Toast and venting." Which translates into Raige babbling and shrilling her way through an endless monologue with her mouth full, all the while spraying random bursts of bread crumbs at the camera. Shut up, Dolt. You too, Tina. Raige, having so processed through her Issues for the moment, heaves a sigh and orbs out through the ceiling. The Dolt violates a loaf of Roman Meal.
Elsewhere on the Paramount backlot (I believe we're quite close to "Columbia" "University," in fact), a rather fetching blue-collar type (literally blue collar, as he's clad in a light-blue uniform shirt beneath a darker blue windbreaker) buys a hot dog from a vendor with a cart (which, as everyone knows, are everywhere in San Francisco) as Raige orbs in discreetly behind a nearby newsstand (and I'm just going to pretend she orbed from the kitchen to her bedroom to fetch that pink jacket she's now wearing before orbing to her current location, because she sure as hell wasn't sporting that thing in the last scene). And I've just spent more time (parenthetically) establishing things than the subsequent bits of dialogue take to play out. Raige Valley Girls her way through a horribly overdubbed introduction that includes a patently insincere and canned pep-talk, which the fetching blue-collar type dismisses instantly, to his eternal credit. But not before Raige's unnaturally affected inflections and mannerisms put the poor man off his lunch, unfortunately. "Mitchell Haines" tosses his hot dog into the trash, lobs a few choice remarks of the "fuck off and die" variety in Raige's direction, and stalks off the screen. I think I'm in love. Raige, meanwhile, gapes in dismay.
P3. The infernal racket that generally accompanies a demonic attack actually spills into the vacant parking lot before the camera scurries us inside where, down near the bar, Piper makes quick work of some black-clad intruder with her mighty Hands Of Discontent. One of the just-vanquished's colleagues lopes around the corner of the bar to hurl a Flaming Ball Of Death at Piper's head, but she naturally manages a dodge that results in the FBOD fizzling harmlessly against a far wall. "New rule!" she lectures, wagging an aggravated index finger in the air. "I will not tolerate demon activity in my house or in my club!" She then rather stupidly nullifies whatever effect this lecture might have had by blowing its recipient to bits. As the hapless demon's body vanishes in a ball of fire that dissipates almost as quickly as it appears, Raige orbs into the room just as yet another demon, um, grows in beside her. Seriously. The guy initially appears as small, shapeless, black blob suspended in mid-air before slowly morphing out into his full demonic form. We never see this effect again this evening, so I have no idea why they bothered with it here. Stupid show. Raige, predictably enough, is more than a bit thrown to find herself standing to an agent of Hell, but quickly recovers to bean the guy with a barstool via her orbing telekinesis. The demon crashes to the floor, where he squiggles out just as Piper flicks her wrist at him. "You okay?" Raige fusses as she crosses to Piper's side. Piper confirms that she's fine while Raige goes on to wonder what the hell the demons wanted. Piper hasn't a clue, but that's not particularly important at the moment, for she's just noticed an unconscious and apparently grievously injured deliveryman sprawled on the floor in the club's back hall. Piper frowns as Muggy McGowan widens her eyes and stretches her lips out all the way into the opening credits.
Endless -- endless -- opening travelogue, with utterly unintelligible ovary. It was at this point that I realized how much of a filler episode tonight's presentation would be, as this travelogue drags on forever. In fact, after the first run finished airing, I went back and timed the previouslys, credits, and travelogue -- because this show has finally driven me insane like that -- and discovered they eat up a combined three minutes of an episode that only lasts a total of forty-one. I shouldn't complain, but really: Hacks. Incidentally, the footage they're using of the Bay Bridge is years old at this point, as the city's in the middle of constructing, right to the current one, a hideously expensive replacement that is nowhere visible in any of these shots. Anyway, back at P3, paramedics wheel the injured deliveryman towards the door as Raige and Piper chat with a uniformed cop mid-bar about what the deliveryman recalls of the attack, which isn't much, as the guy was hit from behind and remembers nothing after that. The cop warns the two ladies to stick around, as "the detective" will want to follow-up with a few more questions, and he steps aside to allow the gals an opportunity to grumble and complain about their miserable lot in life. Well, pretty much. "That's the last time I call 911," Piper grunts as she and Raige amble past the bar's empty stage. "Sadly," Raige reminds her, "now that [the Dolt] can't heal us, I think we're going to be calling that number a lot more." Not if this show gets cancelled after the three episodes, honey. HA! And would it kill the fucking Elders to grant you the power to heal? I mean, why are they giving you charges if you can't knit up the wou-- never mind. I got halfway through that question before realizing the answer would of course be, "Because the Elders are fucking idiots just like everyone else on this goddamned show, and I hate it, and someone really needs to CANCEL THIS. NOW." Gah.
Innyway, Piper takes this opportunity to growl, "I can't believe this -- they attack me at work now? What, is no place sacred?" Rrrrgh. I'll just note that dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell have been attacking Piper and her sisters at her various places of employment since the first goddamned season and leave it at that, because I have neither the time nor the patience to scrounge up the links to each specific instance. I hate this show. Raige attempts to get Piper interested in her Mitchell-related Issue Of The Week, but Piper, God love her, already got a whiff of that crappy subplot and none-too-subtly suggests Raige leave her out of it just as Pepper Anderson, The Best Policewoman In The History Of Forever, ambles over with a friendly smile on her face. She's still under the influence of Dead Bulging Brody's special Whitelightery fairy dust, you see, and has no recollection of meeting Piper and Raige in the past. After making with the affable enough introductions, Pepper Anderson gets down to business, crossing her arms and asking for a description of the morning's attackers while prompting, "Tall? Short? White? Black?" "Didn't really get a good look at them," Raige lies. Badly. With much over-exaggerated rolling of the eyes and shrugging of the shoulders and puckering of the lips and nodding of the head. Pepper Anderson peers at the obvious epileptic with cautiously cocked brow, no doubt wondering if she should summon those paramedics for an intervention. Piper follows up with some poorly delivered tale of how they were in the back when they heard a commotion, but by the time she and Raige emerged into the bar proper, the attackers were gone. "What I don't understand," Pepper Anderson wonders, momentarily shaking off her suspicions regarding Piper and Raige's hardly believable version of events, "is why they would rob the place in the middle of the day, before you even opened?" She wonders this because Pepper Anderson, despite being The Best Policewoman In The History Of Forever, is just as fucking stupid as everyone else on this godforsaken show, and obviously does not realize that a club as wildly popular as P3 will have thousands of dollars' worth of last night's receipts sitting in the back office prior to that day's bank run. HATE.
ANY-way, Raige lies badly again -- because she must, because the script compels her to do so in order to set up yet another round of this tedious Pepper Anderson nonsense -- that she and Piper were wondering the same thing. Piper does not place a quieting hand on her stupid half-sister's arm and inform Pepper Anderson that it's probable the intruders were after last night's receipts, because Piper's got her head so far up her ass, she'll need a couple of windows in her tits to see where she's going for the rest of the episode. Pepper Anderson absorbs all of this rampant stupidity with an odd half-smile on her face, thanks the ladies for their time, and promises to keep in touch before heading across the room to consult with the forensics team. Raige bright-sides something dumb about Pepper Anderson not remembering them thanks to Dead Bulging Brody's special Whitelightery fairy dust, allowing Piper to lay the following bit of unnecessary exposition upon the long-suffering and rapidly dwindling audience's collective ass: "Yeah, but it's not a hundred percent guaranteed. If we give her the slightest cause, her memory could come flying back." "Which," Piper adds, tossing a final glance in Pepper Anderson's direction, "is another reason we need to find the demon who did this." Muggy McGowan rolls her eyes so far back in her skull, she looks like she's been temporarily possessed by Patrick Bauchau's character on Carnivàle. Hey! Now that I think about it, between Raige's moustache and Lila's beard, those two ladies would make a pretty sweet couple.
No. Kidding. Ew.
Cut to The Lair Of The Demon Who Did This, and hoo boy, do I hate the set-up for tonight's A plot. You see, The Demon Who Did This is a supposedly unsightly hag named Imara who intends to weaken Zankou by first taking out his "most trusted lieutenants" on earth, a trio of upper-level sorts named Daleek, Benzoar, and Lintzen. As these demons can only be vanquished by unusually powerful forces of good, Supposedly Unsightly Imara plans to switch bodies with one of "the beautiful Charmed Ones," and needs a lock of hair to complete her wicked spell. Why do I hate this? Because everyone around Supposedly Unsightly Imara behaves as if she's so ugly, she's impossible to look at, which naturally means Imara has beauty issues, and it's obvious those issues will result in her downfall long before this evening's over, so why should I care about any of this at all if the conclusion is so obviously foregone? So, there's that. Even worse? Imara's not so much repulsive to look at as she is badly wigged. She's also suffering from the detrimental effects of indifferently applied prosthetic makeup effects, primarily an obviously fake nose spread across the center of her face, along with a pair of furry eyebrows taped to her forehead. If half her face were melted away, say, or if she looked like the second version of the original Source -- hell, if she looked like Joey Ramone, for Christ's sake -- I could maybe sort of buy all of this crap. As it is now? Never. God, I hate this show.
Anyway, long story short, Imara sent her most trusted underling, Lantos, to P3 to snatch a lock of Piper's hair, but as that attempt failed and Piper most certainly will be expecting another attack, Lantos must now target Imara's second choice, Phoebe. Poor Suzanne Krull. In addition to laboring beneath that wig and that nose for all of her scenes this evening, she's found herself saddled with snaggle-toothed dentures that are just killing her diction. That last line actually came out sounding like, "Shinsh she'w be ekshpectink anozzer attack, I need you to go aftaw a diffawent shishta now: Feevee." God, I hope they paid her well for this humiliation. In any event, Lantos protests that Raige would be easier to trap, as she's "less intuitive" and "more predictable." Unfortunately, as Imara notes, "She's also a Whitelighter now, which puts her in constant contact with the [ever-useless] Elders." Not a good thing, as Imara will have to fool everyone she comes into contact with for her plan to succeed. Besides, she notes with deepening envy, "Feevee's a shelebwity -- idolized." Desirous to secure similar treatment for herself, Imara sends Lantos on his new mission. Just remember, though, that when Imara initially came up with this masterful plan to switch bodies with a "beautiful Charmed One," she picked Piper first. Hee. Suck it, Phoebe. Even hideous crones in the Underworld think you're second-rate.
Manor. Shut up, Phoebe. No, seriously. SHUT UP, PHOEBE. Christ. Hag ignores me. Hag always ignores me. Bitch. The ill-mannered Feebs blares her way into the kitchen from the dining room, completely ignores the fact that Piper's rather intently brewing up a massive amount of something dangerous on the center island's burners, further ignores Piper's attempts to fill her in on the latest demonic situation, and proceeds to spend the three hours bitching about the fact that the legal department at All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me wants a professional, degreed psychologist to vet all of her columns before they're printed, in the interest of avoiding lawsuits. Which...doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense, but if the lawyers at All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me really have nothing better to do with their time, so be it, because I'll be wasting as little brain energy on this asinine subplot as is possible for the remainder of the evening. Piper finally manages to get a word in edgewise and informs Phoebe of the attack earlier in the episode. Phoebe Oh! My! Gods! and offers the brutally dimwitted comment, "Demons never attack at P3!" -- like, yes, they do, you stupid, stupid, hateful, wretched excuse for a human being -- before Piper notes, "Even weirder? I don't think they wanted to kill me." "One of them could have easily nailed me with a [Flaming Ball Of Death]," she explains to the slack-jawed, barely dressed moron now leaning heavily against the counter, the better to display the vast expanse of boobage the latter's top is struggling to contain, "but then didn't." Nevertheless, Piper's determined to off whoever dared to violate the sanctity of her workspace. Piper passes Phoebe a vanquishing vial -- which they are all to carry at all times henceforth for their own protection -- before Phoebe begs off to deal with her stupid work issues. Piper sighs.
Not!warts, and not caring! The Dolt, demonstrably competent at his new job in ways dim Raige never dreamed of being, orders an underling about for a bit and agrees to substitute for a sick teacher, all the while focusing part of his attention on his lippy bastard of a sister-in-law's own Issue Of The Week, which I still don't care about. Shut up. All of you. Now. None of them pay me any heed. There follows an endless pep-talk from the Dolt, who urges Raige to trust her instincts as far as Mitchell is concerned, much as he himself did when he was confronted with the trio of shrill, shrieking harpies the ever-useless Elders tossed in his direction oh, so many years ago. And...scene? Yeah. Whatever.
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. Phoebe, in a pair of distressingly low-riding pants, spews something into her cell phone at the paper's lawyers, or whomever, before entering the just-arrived elevator car alone. Lantos and a henchdemon squiggle in silently behind her to menace her with a pair of scissors. The henchdemon slings an arm around Phoebe's waist and pushes her face-first towards the elevator wall, but she hoots and yodels and runs her feet up the paneling until she's hurled herself into a backflip that positions her once more in the center of the car. Without so much as a backwards glance, she boots Lantos in the head while landing a punch on the henchdemon's jaw that sends him staggering away from her a bit. Phoebe frantically paws through her pockets for the vial Piper had given her, and finds it just as Lantos recovers to stalk up behind her. Phoebe manages to land the vial in the henchdemon's chest, and henchdemon go boom right there in that tiny, enclosed space. Lantos, undeterred, leans forward and successfully snips off a swatch of Phoebe's hair. Phoebe immediately spins around to yank the shears from his mitt while backhanding the demon in the teeth. She spins once more to, um, build momentum, or something, and rams the scissors through the air in the direction of Lantos's heart. Lantos, however, has long since squiggled away, and the scissors simply embed themselves in another bit of the elevator's paneling. Needless to say, the elevator comes to a stop at this point just in time for two visibly perturbed colleagues of Phoebe's just to get an eyeful of Phoebe's asscrack as the Feebs crawls up onto the car's railing to yank the scissors out of the wall. Phoebe doofs something inane about the shears as she too casually fans away the smoke left over from the henchdemon's vanquish, while flashing the hateful Cooter Tattoo at the unsuspecting and undeserving pair who now plunge into the commercial break to commit suicide.
Or something like that.
Imara's Underworld Boudoir Of Very Bad Wigs And Even Worse Body Issues. "What pretty hair she has!" Imara croons, stroking the Phlock Lantos retrieved for her. "This is going to be fun," she promises, crossing away from her minion to approach the camera, and Imara? I'll be the fucking judge of that. Lantos -- who's not a bad-looking guy, quite frankly, even though I don't normally go for the bald sorts -- blathers on and on about Phoebe's intuition and Piper and Raige's own powers and wah, but Imara impatiently shuts him up so she can get all crazy jealous while "wonder[ing] how men look at [Phoebe]." "With lushtful heawt, no doubt!" Imara spits through her dentures. The absolute only thing that saves that line is Suzanne Krull's delivery of it, which ends up giving us the impression that Imara's just as disgusted as we are that so many losers chase after that bony skank. After issuing a smackdown on Lantos's ass for his incessant impertinence, or whatever, Imara crosses to one of her maids and drops Phoebe's hair on the salver the woman holds, just as the screen flares and we find ourselves...
...back at All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me, where Phoebe's examining the damage to her coif by angling her compact around her head while whinging at Piper via her office phone regarding the same. "And I just spent $250 on a cut and color!" Phoebe adds indignantly. Two hundred and fifty dollars on a fucking haircut? Death is too good for you, you stupid bitch. Piper's of the much the same mind as I am on the matter, only she's far less verbal with the whole Death To The Stupid Bitch bit. Instead, she chooses to pump her wicked, wasteful hag of a sister for further information on the attack, and is pleased to hear that Phoebe has the scissors in her possession, which should of course allow them to scry for the current position of the demon responsible. At this moment, Phoebe spots the lawyer-recommended psychologist arriving in the outer office, and abruptly hangs up after promising to return to the Manor with the shears as soon as she can. "Dr. Randall" then enters Phoebe's office to make with the introductions, and I will be paying no attention at all to any of this, especially because the Cooter Tat threatens to leap from the screen and suck out my brain through my eye sockets the longer I linger on this scene, so let's head back down to Hell, shall we?
Ah. See? It's always so much better down in Hell. Imara twiddles the Phlock of hair while chanting some Craptin. Eventually, she lets it drop into a massive, steaming cauldron, which emits an explosion strong enough to knock Imara onto her back on the floor. A black cloud representing Imara's infernal essence, or whatever, pillars instantly from her inert body to plunge upwards through the chamber's ceiling.
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. As the doctor snidely belittles the Feebs for her educational shortcomings, Phoebe's glowy white soul takes sudden leave of her body and descends into Hell, just as Imara's essence arrives to assume control of Phoebe's physical form. Great. Once again, an episode in which Alyssa Milano has to portray Phoebe as possessed or impersonated by someone or something else. This should blow. As much as "Enter The Demon," "A Paige From The Past," "Y Tu Mummy También," "The Importance Of Being Phoebe," "Oh My Goddess Part Two," "Used Karma," and "Show Ghouls" did, at any rate. What's that? I've been watching this show for far too long? Why, yes! Yes, I have. Still doesn't mean they can recycle the same fucking plot device for the same fucking character eight fucking times in three and a half fucking years, right?
But before we get into all that, we return to Hell, where Lantos and the henchdemons manhandle Imoebe into a gilded cage suspended from the chamber's ceiling. Once Imoebe's locked inside, Lantos waves a red crystal around in front of the thing, which activates a force field that audibly glows through the cage's bars as Imoebe protests mightily above it all. Well, not so much with the "mightily" bit there, to be honest with you. Suzanne Krull's obviously done her homework, as she now raises the pitch of her voice by an octave and skillfully adopts a couple of Alyssa Milano's physical and verbal tics to portray Phoebe-within-Imara's confusion, fear, and dismay. Again, another really good performance by a guest star in an episode which, as scripted, is entirely unworthy of the effort. Anyway, Lantos vows that Imoebe's view from inside the cage will be "the last one [she] ever [has]" as Imoebe herself flutters around impotently within the bars, before the screen flares back to...
...All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me, where the blowing is already in progress, as Phoemara and her trusty Cooter Tat respond to the psychologist's sneering condescension by shoving their tongue down his throat. Did I mention that this psychologist's the same sort of smug, supercilious, self-satisfied, doughy, pasty, pudgy, balding, uptight prick they always set against the Feebs in these situations, and so this tongue-hiking is made that much more disgusting as a result? Well, I just did. You can thank me later, because right now I have to follow Phoemara as she saunters from her office into the main room, flirting shamelessly with anything currently in possession of a dick. Which, one would assume, would now include Elise Rothman, Girl Editor, but she's not in this episode until the very end. Ooops. Was that a spoiler? Oh, fuck it.
None of that matters, anyway, because it's time to head back to the Manor, where Piper learns that her useless husband's Not!warts-assisted research has proved fruitless and the Dolt wants a nooner. No, seriously. No. Seriously. Keep it in your pants, Dolt. Vile fucker. Ew! The Dolt, fortunately not getting any anytime soon as they have demons to vanquish, runs through the possible suspects in Phoebe's hair attack, but there are just too many options given the paucity of information available to them at this point in the story. The two banter about Piper's efforts to send the Underworld a message for a bit before Phoemara ambles in through the front door, eager to off herself a few bad guys. Unfortunately, she's quickly distracted by something shiny -- in this case, a mirror in which she coos over her appearance -- so it's left to Piper and the Dolt to strategize their moves. The Dolt suggests a little Book abuse, despite the fact that their earlier abuse was a waste of time. Phoemara, still examining herself in the mirror, overeagerly agrees with him. Piper, rather than growing instantly suspicious over the fact that her self-centered and lazy sow of a sister now, suddenly, is eager to work, chooses to vanish into the commercial break with a massive roll of her eyes. I hear ya, P.
Up in the nonexistent attic, Phoemara effortlessly flips through the Book of Shadows's pages -- like, so much for the Book protecting itself against all evil, no matter how minor -- while the Dolt explains the reasoning behind his conviction that they're dealing with a soul-swapper. Soul-swapping is far more complicated and involved than any sort of, say, voodoo intervention, and so requires "fresher ingredients." This is the reason, he believes, that the demon or demons unknown snipped off that Phlock of hair, rather than stealing a brush from one of the Manor bathrooms. Phoemara, eager to divert the conversation from the topic, disputes the Dolt's argument, noting that demons have attempted many times in the past to impersonate Charmed Ones, but were always found out because of how well the gals know each other. Why, then, would a soul-swapper attempt such a thing now in light of that history of failure? Piper's more or less torn between these opposing points of view, but does believe they'll find Lantos's scissors of some use, and asks Phoemara to hand them over as promised. Phoemara, quickly realizing her dimwitted minion must have left behind some rather incriminating evidence, promptly fakes one of Phoebe's orgasmic premonitions to shut Piper up. Conveniently enough for Phoemara's overall plan, she happens to have the Book open to Daleek's entry, and soon persuades Piper and the Dolt to target this first of Zankou's "lieutenants." Once that's settled, Phoemara makes to flee from the room to change into "something a little more sexy." Piper calls her on this verbal slip, but Phoemara's able to cover by amending "sexy" to "comfortable." Phoemara's about to disappear down the stairs one more time before Piper shouts out, "Wait!" "God," Phoemara hisses to herself with a seething irritation. "What is it this time?" Whoa. Alyssa Milano's quite believable as the vexatious diva bitch, isn't she? Go figure. Anyway, long story short, Piper thinks they should enlist Raige's aid, the Dolt reminds the wife that they'll have to get used to working without Raige now that the latter's a Whitelighter, and Phoemara agrees with the Dolt. Despite the fact that the central conceit of this show is the Power of Three, and if Piper and Phoebe are going to have to get used to working without Raige now that the latter's a Whitelighter, they might just as well fire Rose McGowan and quit pretending the show's original concept has anything at all to do with the bullshit we're watching now.
Wow. Where'd that come from? Like I give a rat's ass about this show's original concept. Besides, why simply fire Rose McGowan when they can CANCEL THIS ENTIRE SHOW. NOW. Ahem. Where was I, again? Oh, yeah: Phoemara at long last exits the nonexistent attic to change clothes. Piper and the Dolt make dizzy "That's our Feebs!" eyes at each other. Scene.
Imara's Underworld Boudoir Of Very Bad Wigs And Even Worse Body Issues. Imoebe vows her sisters will save her, and Suzanne Krull really is doing a good job here with the Phoebe-esque vocal inflections and such. Pity, then, that little about this scene matters in the grand scheme of things, because it amounts to nothing more than Lantos making with the threats and promises of Underworld domination we know are empty, because we know both he and Imara will be vanquished by the end of the evening, and yawn. The only thing I suppose we should keep in mind is the fact that, at this point in the game, Lantos believes Imara's ultimate goal is to destroy Phoebe's body, leaving Phoebe's soul with nowhere to go but up -- as in, towards the Afterlife. Don't think too hard about why a foul-looking demon so covetous of physical beauty would destroy a supposedly perfect physical form once she's wrested control of it from its rightful owner. I'm sure the typewriting crack monkeys didn't, after all. Though feel free to crack wise about how even one so repulsive as Imara will reject Phoebe's bony ass after taking it out for a test ride. God knows I did. Crack wise, I mean. Don't even go there with me taking her bony ass for a ride. Ew.
Oh, this is just stupid. Over in Raige's pointless subplot, a blonde has managed to wrap her car around an electrical pole just across the street from Mitch's auto repair shop, and the transformer-topped thing now threatens to topple over and mash the blonde to bits. Mitch, after carefully eyeing the surrounding area to ensure no one will see what he's about to do -- like, you might want to make a note of that, Raige -- super-speeds over to the blonde's car and yanks her through the driver's side door to super-speed with her back into his body shop, just as the electrical pole falls to flatten the car. Of note: Mitch's super-speed, unlike the last demonstration of the power we saw on this show, appears to be more of a swift-moving, earthbound orb cloud than anything else, which I suppose would explain how he could lug the blonde around at that velocity without having her burst into flames due to friction and such. Also? The blonde is actually a glamoured Raige, there to prove that Mitch could be a valuable part of magical society, or some such bullshit. This subplot can blow me. Mitchell blows her off again, some more, and stomps out of his shop. "Can someone tell me why I'm trying to help this person?" Raige puckers. Oooh! Oooh! Over here, Raige! I can answer that question for you! Come closer. Closer. No, closer. Okay, close enough! You wanna know why you're trying to help him? BECAUSE IT'S YOUR FUCKING JOB, ASSHOLE.
Bitch.
Not!warts. The Dolt chides Raige for deliberately totaling her car. She shrugs that it was a rental and the insurance will take care of everything...thereby raising the rates for everyone who doesn't commit insurance fraud, so, uh, THANKS FOR NOTHING, BITCH. Anyway, long story short, Raige wants to bail on this whole Whitelighter thing until the Dolt accuses her of cowardice, or something, and suggests that Raige stop focusing on Mitchell as a witch and start focusing on him as a man. I bet Mitchell hates witchcraft because someone near and dear to his heart suffered needlessly because of his gift. Am I right? Huh? AmIamIamIamIamIamIHUH? I'm totally right. Because I've seen this plot point play out about forty-seven times already on this stupid, stupid show. I swear to God.
Over at some municipal building that most certainly is not San Francisco's City Hall, Piper and Phoemara wander through a hallway as Piper incredulously grunts, "Vanquishing a city councilman? Are you crazy?" Phoemara, who's changed into a surprisingly modest knit dress that is nevertheless an idiotic and eye-catching shade of bright pink -- like, way to be as inconspicuous as possible, there, you dumb demon -- natters something about Piper being okay with the plan before they arrived, which naturally leads Piper to peeve that she thought they'd be confronting the current target of their animosity in "an alley or a warehouse, not downtown." "We can't afford to be reckless," Piper hisses, "especially with [Pepper Anderson] lurking around." Phoemara couldn't care less, and in fact has begun preening herself in the reflective surface of a fire extinguisher's housing. "What are you doing?" Piper demands, calling her on it. "Don't be so vain." "I just want to be presentable!" Phoemara snips. "Then maybe you should put on a jacket!" Piper snaps back. Heh. The two approach the security reception area and, rather than subtly freezing the scene from a distance, the dim witch who's oh-so-worried about recklessness and exposure waits until she's in full view of the security cameras before flipping out a hand. Oh, Piper. Why you gotta be so stoopid? The two Ps motor on over to the inner sanctum of "Councilman Wexler" to confront him, and when the upper-level demonic elected official conjures a Flaming Ball Of Death with which to toast their asses, Piper unleashes her Hands to knock him back against the wall before Phoemara tosses a vanquishing vial into his chest. Daleek quickly vanishes in a small puff of fire. "Wow. That was awesome," Phoemara breathes, unduly impressed, which would be a signal to Piper that all's not quite right with the Feebs, were Piper not so intent on being as wretchedly stupid as everyone else this evening. Piper spins on her heel to power out of the office, trailed by Phoemara, who assures Piper that "no one will ever know [they] were here." Of course, Phoemara delivers this line as the camera lands on the security monitor, frozen on the image of the two women confronting the receptionist. D'oh! Also: Commercial!
Manor. Piper and Phoemara pedenatter through the front hall, blithering endlessly at each other until Piper finally confronts Phoemara on her increasingly odd behavior. Phoemara attributes her scattered demeanor to concern both for her column and for Piper's well-being, before disappearing upstairs to change after making a doofy, promo-style remark I'll not be recapping. As Phoemara vanishes, the doorbell rings, and this is just unbelievably dumb, so I'll be getting through it as quickly as possible. Basically, Pepper Anderson's arrived both with news of Councilman Wexler's disappearance and with a print-out of the image of Piper and Phoemara at the security desk EVEN THOUGH IT JUST HAPPENED ALL OF TEN MINUTES AGO AT MOST. Whatever! WHATEVER! WHY WILL THEY NOT CANCEL THIS STUPID, ASSY SHOW NOW? WHY, GODDAMMIT, WHY? Pepper Anderson makes suspicious noises, Piper counters with some soothing ones of her own, and Pepper eventually exits the Manor with a promise to "keep in touch." Piper slams shut the door and pisses her way into the flashing transition that whisks us down to...
...Imara's Underworld Boudoir Of Very Bad Wigs And Even Worse Body Issues. Imoebe paces the tight confines of her gilded cage, fretting her way through her current situation as Imara's minions appear to heckle and sneer at her. Imoebe shortly enough stumbles across a cunning plan in that cramped cage and pretends to pass out for a moment before rising to berate Imara's underlings. "They figured it out!" she lies. "The witches switched our souls back! It's me!" Lantos isn't buying it, though, even after Imoebe confronts him over the scissors he so foolishly left behind. Lantos orders a henchdemon to stand guard while he himself heads topside to investigate Imoebe's claims. Imoebe yells something at the remaining underlings, but they ignore her.
Raige's Pointless Subplot. Raige orbs into Mitch's body shop, and yawn. Here's the subsequent conversation in a nutshell:
Raige: I know what happened to you because this is the twenty-third time we've used this plotline in the last four years!
Mitchell: Fuck off, Raige.
Raige: I'm not listening to you!
Mitchell: Fuck. OFF! Raige!
Raige: You cannot escape! Now admit that your fiancée died at the hands of demons and CRY, Mitchell! CRY!
Mitchell: Even though I have repeatedly told you to FUCK OFF, I will now break down and admit to the error of my ways because you, a total stranger to me until this very morning, have mentioned my dead fiancée! Why have I wasted my wondrous gift for, lo, all these many years? Woe! O grievous, grievous woe!
God, I hate this show.
Manor. Nonexistent Attic. More wacky Phoemara-related hijinks, including a faked orgasmic premonition regarding Benzoar's current whereabouts, and Phoemara blithely instructing the paper's shrink via her cell phone to make any changes he wants to her column, as she really doesn't care. Piper shoots her supposed sister a supremely suspicious glare at this last, but nothing comes of it, for the dreadful sounds of the sadistic Psycho mercilessly abusing poor, neglected, and doomed Tiny Gay Chris invade the nonexistent room at this moment from the floor below. Piper whisks out of the room to wrangle her constantly feuding children just as Lantos squiggles in behind Phoemara with a Flaming Ball Of Death at the ready. "What are you doing here?" Phoemara demands. Lantos promptly gets appropriately obsequious as he fills Phoemara in on the current situation down in Hell. Phoemara barely has time to process this new information before Piper calls out from the stairwell. Phoemara, thinking quickly, calls out, "Piper, help!" "What are you doing?" Lantos splutters. "Covering!" Phoemara sneers as Piper lopes in from the upper landing. "Blow him up!" Phoemara urges, and Piper complies without hesitation. Once Lantos has howled and wailed and blazed his merry way to The Waste Land, Piper and Phoemara, joined shortly by Raige, conduct a brief processing summit, during which Phoemara lies that Lantos mentioned his mistress's name before Piper vanquished him. Phoemara leads the others to the Book and quickly locates her own entry. Yikes. The watercolor illustration makes Imara look like the unholy love child of Illeana Douglas and Fran Lebowitz. With worse hair. In the interest of thoroughness, the entry itself reads as follows (emphasis mine):
Considered to be little more than a hag by most upper-level demons, Imara dreams of power and beauty denied to her in the Underworld. She is a master of spells and incantations, however, and her ambitions make her dangerous and unpredictable.
Gosh, but Phoebe and Imara have a lot in common, don't you think? The camera pushes in on the hideous watercolor before the screen flares white, dumping us...
...down in Imara's Underworld Boudoir Of Very Bad Wigs And Even Worse Body Issues, where Imoebe quickly convinces the gullible underling to release her from the cage. The second the fool opens the gate, Imoebe grabs onto the upper bars of the opening and plants both heels in the idiot's chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. As she smirks in triumph over the temporarily stunned demon, the shriek of Raige's arriving orb cloud assaults her ears. "Took you long enough," Imoebe giggles as she spins to greet her sisters. The giggle quickly dies when she spots Phoemara at the far end of the chamber with Piper and Raige. "Actually," Phoemara ices, "I think we're right on time." With that, she flips a vial into Imoebe's considerably saggier Fun Bags as Imoebe impotently cries out, "No!" Imoebe's physical form is quickly engulfed in flame but, oddly enough from Raige and Piper's perspective, the immolated demon releases a glowy white spirit that shoots up through the ceiling. "What was that?" Raige gapes. "That was Phoebe's soul," Phoemara enthuses, stepping over to place her hands on the underling's shoulders. "We just killed your sister!" Um. Hooray? I must admit, I'm not feeling any joy, here. Mainly because the wretched Feebs is still befouling my television screen. Bitch. In any event, Raige and Piper goggle as Phoemara squiggles with her minion into the final commercial break.
Manor. Aftermath. The only one who seems to care about Dead Phoebe is Piper, but even she drops it after the Dolt assures her that they can still reverse Imara's original body swap. Oooo-kay. Whatever you say, there, Dolt. Piper frets that the spell requires a lock of Phoemara's hair. How ever will they manage that? Raige has a plan. Because she's so smart.
Courthouse Where Cole Used To Work When He Was Still Pretending To Be An ADA, Like, Five Years Ago, And Even Though I Don't Feel Like Looking Up Its Nickname, So Devoted Am I To You, Dear Reader, That I Shall Now Travel Back In Time (Or At The Very Least, Back Through The TWoP Database) So I Might Remind You We Called It "Courthouse" Back In The Day. Well, that was a waste of time. (Or not, maybe, as I discovered in the process that the first recorded use of the word "shimmer" to describe the squiggling method of demonic transport appeared in "Sleuthing With The Enemy." The more you know! Yeah, yeah: The more you want to kill yourself.) Long story short, Phoemara and The Underling confront Benzoyl, who's masquerading as "Judge Thomas Hendricks" (and, by the by, Gavin Newsome might want to start vetting his elected and appointed officials a little more carefully, because this is about the eighty-fourth dark demonic public servant we've seen in the last seven years. Believe it or not, not one of them has been Tom DeLay. Yet), and then Phoemara vanquishes him, but not before Benzoate lobs a shot of something sinister that takes out the minion. And before you know it, Mitch super-speeds into the room, super-deftly snips off a lock of Phoemara's hair, super-slowly pauses to make with the quippy remarks, and super-quickly skedaddles. Phoemara phreaks.
Manor. Nonexistent Attic. The Dolt paces around worriedly as Raige and Piper calmly prepare the necessary potion and spell. Mitch super-speeds into the room and, panting a bit, giddily admits that Phoemara's "pretty pissed." Raige playfully accepts the Phlock of hair and drops it into the smoking copper pot on the table, whereupon the potion erupts in a far smaller explosion than the one we saw earlier. Phoemara squiggles into the nonexistent room to make with the menacing and such, but Piper and Raige ignore her entirely in favor of reading the following aloud from the slip of paper Piper holds in her hand:
Lock of hair completes our goal
To help us reclaim our sister's soul:
Banish this demon, spare no pain --
Bring Phoebe back from the Ghostly Plane!
Phoemara, by the way, tossed an FBOD at the gals during the middle of all that, but Piper quite casually flicked out a Hand that sent the thing bursting backwards in Phoemara's direction, apparently knocking the latter to the carpet, for when we see Phoemara, she's pretty much cowering on the floor as Imara's black infernal essence emerges from Phoebe's body. Imara's essence billows up towards the ceiling for a bit, where it's met by Phoebe's soul returning from...wherever. Phoebe's soul reunites with its body, and Phoebe snaps open her eyes in time to watch Imara's essence shriek and wail its way through the floorboards on its way to The Waste Land. "You okay?" Raige queries after the howling is done. "No, I am not okay!" Phoebe shrills, leaping to her feet to advance upon her sisters. "How could you not know that thing was inside me?" she demands. "Don't start with me!" Piper cringes in mock terror, before Phoebe notes Mitch's presence in the nonexistent room and promptly horns up. "Who's he?" she twinkles, instantly flooding her panties. Raige makes the necessary introductions. "He's cute!" Phoebe doofs. "She's baa-aack!" Raige and Piper chime in unison. Wah. Wah. Waaaaaaaah. Mitch, in that instant, realizes his true orientation and super-speeds to the nearest payphone to ring me up, because that tantalizing mechanic's ass of his has really been needing to CALL ME ever since this dreary episode began.
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me, and boring! Elise Rothman, temporarily sans her Dick, enters Phoebe's office with the delightful news that Phoebe's managed to get another employee fired. Yep, Elise shitcanned the shrink because he told one lie after another about Phoebe hitting on him and relinquishing control of her column's content and you ladies can end this scene anytime you feel like it, okay? I mean, don't let the nine pages of dialogue you've yet to deliver stand in your way. And...scene. Thank you!
P3. Tonight's guest testicles arrive via the D.J.'s turntable, thank God, so it's quickly over to the Manor Moron's private alcove, where Piper and her flabby grandma arms chat with mouthy Raige for a bit about their entirely unimportant Issues Of The Week, before Phoebe arrives with a pair of Perrier bottles to drop the following bomb: She's headed back to Berkeley for her "graduate degree." The jokes just write themselves, don't they? So you'll have no problem inserting your own at this juncture, right? Good. Raige greets this oh-so-welcome news with yet another dire warning about Pepper Anderson. Way to kill the mood, Raige. Phoebe goggles, because she's an idiot. Who will nevertheless have a Ph.D. in Social/Personality Psychology by the end of the season, despite the fact that it's a fucking four-year program. I hate this show.
Meanwhile, over at Trudeau Memorial, formerly Andy's House Of Beef, formerly The Loneliest Precinct House In The World, some random detective barges into Pepper Anderson's office to inform her of the judge's suspicious disappearance. Which happened THIRTY MINUTES AGO AT MOST. This fucking show. Random detective leaves as quickly as he'd arrived, and a pensive Pepper pores over a stack of S.F.P.D. files labeled "Halliwell." DUN!
Also: DONE! For this week, at any rate. up: Mangy Jesus returns, only he's not quite as mangy as we remember. In fact, Wes Ramsey looks so much like the clean-cut WeHo go-go boy waitron he played in Latter Days that I might have to start referring to Piper's eldest as Sodomite Jesus. See you in Hell!