Welcome to the fifth-season premiere of the show The New York Times calls "a tawdry knockoff" of Buffy the Vampire Slayer! Let's dive right in, shall we?
Kill me. Please?
Fade up on Stately Luthor Manor. Kidding. You know which house it is. Inside, Piper and Phoebe pedebabble up the main staircase to the second floor. The Feebs is running late for an on-air interview with a couple of drive-time schlock jocks named "Skip" and "I Pay Southern White Trash To Have Sex In The Vestibule Of St. Patrick's On The Morning Of The Feast Of The Assumption," but first Piper wants Phoebe to take a gander at the work the Dolt's been doing on the nursery for the little stranger percolating in Piper's uterus. Piper and the Dolt evidently intend to shove the impending newborn into Piper's closet once he or she has arrived. You think I'm kidding? Look over there -- it's the Dolt himself, sawing an octagonal hole in the closet wall for a window. Phoebe, tiring of all this baby chatter, quickly returns the conversation back to her favorite topic -- herself -- asking the others if they've noticed the billboards The Bay Mirror has erected around town to promote her advice column. Piper playfully snarks something about the signs being visible from orbiting spacecraft, while I darkly sneer that Phoebe's terrifying visage pouting vapidly at San Franciscan motorists should result in a sixfold increase in auto fatalities within a matter of days. Phoebe notes that sending her husband to Hell has done wonders for her career, while a russet-haired Raige orbs in to Piper's boudoir, screaming, "Bogey in three! Two! One!"
The Glamorous Ladies scamper into various defensive positions as a muscle-bound nipple pony clad only in a batik skirt and a black-and-white voodoo mask materializes at Raige's side. The nipple pony blows a presumably-poisoned dart at Raige's neck. Raige ducks, leaving the dart to plunge into a teddy bear perched on Piper's dresser. The teddy bear's head shrinks to one-eighth its original size, and no, that makes no sense whatsoever, because it's just a freaking teddy bear and not an actual carbon-based life form, but we're only a minute and a half into a two-hour premiere, and in order to prevent my head from exploding, I'll simply remind you all of the Times's "tawdry knockoff" comment and move on. Piper shrieks and freaks and flings her hands in the nipple pony's direction. He rears backwards and dissolves into a cloud of black goo, leaving his forlorn voodoo mask to hover in the air for a moment before dropping tragically to the carpet. Shame, really, because that nipple pony had one hell of an upper body. Rrrwaor.
After a beat, Raige extracts a notebook from her purse and scribbles something down as she airily notes, "So much for the theory that Borneo Demons are impervious to magical powers. I can't wait to tell the local witch doctors." "Borneo Demons"? Like, from the actual island of Borneo? Because that nipple pony was of European extraction, honey. Trust me on this one. I looked. Several times. The Dolt interrupts to chide Raige for putting his "daughter" at risk by enticing a demon into the general vicinity of the nursery. Which is Piper's closet. Did I mention that they intend to shove the kid into the closet? And how do they know the genetic makeup of the embryo already? Whatever. The Dolt goes on to berate Raige for her off-screen, during-the-hiatus "magical kick." "I mean, look at your hair," tuts the Dolt. "It's still red from that potion you blew up last night." "Do you have any idea how much this would cost in a salon?" Raige pertly replies. Rose McGowan should be able to answer that question, for as those on the forums know, it was she who authored the above exchange after she appeared for work the first day of shooting with a radically different hairstyle unsanctioned by the apoplectic suits at the WB. True story. The Feebs jiggles over to Raige to compliment her purportedly inadvertent new 'do before darting out of the room. Piper gently reminds the Dolt that despite her pregnancy, she's still destined to protect the innocent, so the Dolt will have to get used to the idea of his little textbook-example-of-child-abuse-to-be getting jostled from time to time. The Dolt looks sad. Shut up, Dolt.