Piper takes a moment to examine Raige's top before wondering, "Why are you so dressed up?" and I have to assume she's being sarcastic here, because Raige is, as I've noted, sporting a flimsy undergarment and calling it a blouse, and I refuse to believe Piper's as stupid as her lippy bastard of a half-sister. Raige, retrieving a coffee cup from the cabinet near the sink, babbles something about the ever-useless Elders and a new charge -- another future Whitelightery type she's quite eager to meet, the implication in her tone indicating that she's horny and hopes to get some from the new guy. Which I guess explains the lingerie-as-outerwear look she's going for this morning. Phoebe jiggles in at this point to rant about Piper never answering call waiting, or some such nonsense, as Agent Murphy's been trying repeatedly to contact them, evidently. "He's got a case for us," she carefully enunciates as she grabs a mug of her own. Raige plants a fist on her hip and snots, "A case? What are we, Charlie's Witches? We don't work for him." And I've said it before but I'll say it again: Get some new material, Raige. Four years ago. "He seems to think that we do," Phoebe grunts, ignoring me, as is her wont, "especially after reminding me over and over that he bailed us out of our little jam," and you know what? I just realized I've been happily typing away here, covering line after line of the sort of normally tedious expository blather I'd been skipping thus far this year, and I'm almost certain it's because we've seen neither embarrassingly clad hide nor hideously bleached-out hair of The Retarded Bimbo in the one and a half minutes since this episode began, which I believe hasn't happened since the season premiere. They really do need to fire her talentless ass, don't they? And then of course they need to cancel this shit for good, but that goes without saying, I'm sure.
Anyway, Piper responds to Phoebe's news with a mock-outraged, "That's blackmail!" "That's your taxpayer dollars at work," Phoebe counters grimly. Raige, mindful of her new charge and the possibility of brain-blowing sex said charge carries with him, bails. Or attempts to, at any rate. Phoebe immediately yodels, "You are not dumping this in my lap! I am very busy too! I have dates! Lots and lots of dates!" Mugs pulls this hysterical stink-face in reaction to Phoebe's crass, hag-ass self-centeredness as Piper gets a nastily teasing glint in her eye and too carefully inquires, "Are you trying to get pregnant again?" Heh. Piper, you bitch. Hee. "No," Phoebe pouts, "I'm trying to find love, so I don't have any more time than you guys do to go through cold cases." Raige, who'd maintained her massive stink-face throughout Phoebe's little self-serving tirade, drops it at the mention of Murphy's cold case files and wonders what gives with all that. Phoebe explains that the good agent has a backlog of murders and disappearances and such that he believes are supernaturally related, and he expects the Glamorous Ladies to paw through the boxes to see if they can find anything. "How many boxes?" Piper sings.