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.