Cut to the Batcave. What? It's a cave, and there are bats. Granted, the "bats" look like Beanie Babies on sticks with rubber wings stapled onto their backs, but still. Bill Clinton's erstwhile girlfriend Elizabeth Gracen reposes on a pile of satin pillows beneath a canopy of sheer crimson fabric as the light thrown from a couple of flaming braziers dances across her saline implants. We'll soon discover the braziers aren't the only things in the room that are flaming, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Get it? "A-head"? Okay, no more oral sex jokes. I promise. Maybe. A quartet of scantily clad strumpets pamper Miss Knee Pads 1982 while she conducts business with the skeptical gentleman from the pre-credits sequence, and get your minds out of the gutter. He's got his pants on. Besides, for this evening, she's definitely not that kind of a girl. Lizzie scoffs that she'd never think of attacking a new Source without speaking to him first. The skeptic suggests she remove her head from the general vicinity of her ass and get real. One look at her bosom should be enough to tell anyone this woman hasn't seen "real" since the Ford administration. The skeptic ignores me in favor of violating the exposition with a cattle prod. Lizzie and her strumpets were banished from Hell eons ago, and there's no reason to think The Sole will let them back in anytime soon. The skeptic doesn't believe The Sole has what it takes to lead the various demonic hordes, so he's come to Lizzie with a business proposal of his own: if she and her minions join forces with the skeptic and his, they will all rule Hell together. Lizzie mulls this over silently, sharing a lingering lesbionic moment as she does so with the strumpet doing her nails. She instructs the skeptic to leave her with her, um, thoughts for a while. She'll contact him when she's reached a decision. The skeptic squiggles out.
Lizzie glances over to a clean-shaven Sam Ball, who's been observing the negotiation, and warbles, "Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?" He responds by swiveling his hips around, curling his upper lip into a rakish sneer, and yodeling his best Elvis impersonation. Okay, they do no such things, but you have to believe me when I tell you he was really, really good in Urbania, and I have no idea why he's suddenly guesting on all of these crappy WB shows. Next thing you know, he's going to show up as Simon's much-older boyfriend on 7th Heaven. Sam: Please. Get a new agent. Lizzie smiles playfully at Sam and says, "I want you to offer the new Source an olive branch." If The Sole accepts it, fine. If not, she notes, "Keats [the skeptic] has a new ally, and we have a new enemy." Sam grins back at her and turns to follow her instructions, leaving me to wonder what one calls the gay male equivalent of a fag hag for lesbians. Is Sam Lizzie's dyke tyke? Lizzie shoos away the strumpets so she can fondle her implants in peace.