Sidebar: my first pass through this scene, I didn't bother to think too much about it -- this is Charmed after all. I even found it modestly entertaining in a campy sort of way. You know, they're vampires, for Christ's sake. Grain-of-salt and all that. It wasn't until I went back to edit what I'd written that I developed a nagging unease that quickly amped up to a low-level fury. Aaron Spelling should be shot in the head. That these obviously queer characters are stomping around forcibly "converting" people is bad enough. I'd be willing to suspend the outrage if it stopped there, but it doesn't. Not only are these queer characters forcibly converting presumably "normal" people, they're also such an abomination to the accepted order that they've been banned even from Hell -- so deceitful, so irredeemable, so vile that even The Source Of All Evil wants nothing to do with them. This on a show set in San Francisco. I can just imagine Aaron sipping a vodka tonic in his grotesque mansion, idly remarking to Candy -- who's wrapping gifts in that special room of hers, natch -- that "San Francisco was such a nice place before the faggots took it over."
Or maybe I'm reading too much into the whole thing.
ANYWAY. Lizzie finds Sam's plan deliciously fabulous and instructs him to gather up as many helpers as he might need to complete his mission. That those helpers shall not count among their number the strumpets sponging off Lizzie's implants is implied. Sam grins and takes off. Keats pisses me off by brushing the imaginary gay vampire cooties from the spot on his leather jacket where Sam was whispering into his ear. Fuck you, Keats. And the Brad Kern you rode in on.
P3. Piper and the Dolt approach Raige at the bar, and my. GOD. The NIPPLES, Raige. PUT THEM AWAY. Jesus. They're like coat hooks. Apparently, Raige is all bummed because Sam stood her up or something and Piper's all happy she's married or some such and I'm sorry if I'm being vague, but THE NIPPLES are so terribly distracting. Raige plunks THE NIPPLES down on the bar while airing her latest beef with The Sole. Piper wisely tells her to zip it just as Phoebe appears, looking "haggard." I know this because they all tell me it's so. Phoebe thought she just had a cold, but as her condition worsened throughout the day she realized it might be a side-effect of the Harpy wound. The Dolt, fool that he is, begins to apply the tingly touch right there by the overcrowded dance floor. In turn, Piper, Phoebe, and Raige swat at him jokingly before they all head off to the back office. Next time, ladies, use vodka bottles. And use them on his head.