As the cat glares reproachfully at me from under an armchair, I become blinded by a neon sign on the anvil that screams, "Check it out!! It's like a drug metaphor with Willow!! Ain't it seedy??!!" I try a little yoga breathing to slow my pulse and then drag the TV to a safer location. I finally coax the cat out with an offer of tuna juice. She's all about the tuna juice. Rack derisively says to Amy, "You were a rat!" He laughs that he hopes she learned her lesson about using spells that were too difficult for her. Nope, Rack, she hasn't learned a thing. As he rubs his hands together, they begin to crackle with red electricity. He approaches Willow, saying, "This one's giving off vibes." He can sense power coming off her, but Willow seems very nervous about the situation. She's not sure what she's there for, so Rack tells her, "Amy said I could help you. But did Amy say how you could help me?" Well, no, she didn't actually. And not to spoil it for anyone, but neither does anyone else in the entire episode. Exactly what Rack gets out of the deal is never explained, or even mentioned again. Willow offers money or computer help in exchange for the goods, man, but Rack isn't interested. Instead, he lays his hand on Willow's chest. His hand begins to glow red, and both Rack and Willow seem transported. I don't want to pussyfoot around -- they're making sex faces. Rack begins to breathe hard and then pulls his hand away from Willow, who stands looking all doped up with her eyes shut and her jaw slack. Rack puts his lips real close to Willow's ear and whispers, "You taste like strawberries." ["Hey, Ace. I don't know if you know this, but a 'strawberry' is essentially a crack whore. A neighborhood girl that exchanges sex for the rock. Straight from N.W.A. to you, 'Strawberry, strawberry is the neighborhood ho.' The song is 'Dopeman,' from their seminal album Straight Outta Compton." -- Sep] ["Wow. I totally did not know that. I spent the '80s listening exclusively to broody British music and '60s garage rock." -- Ace] Rack is creepy. Then about ten more anvils crash into my room, followed by a minor deluge of cow pies as we launch into a trippy-druggy sequence the likes of which has not been seen since The Trip and Psych-Out.