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.