Just how twisted am I after recapping this show for two and a half years? I'll tell you: I cheered when Debbi Morgan finally appeared. Cheered and bounced around on the couch while squealing, "It's D'Eartha! Aiiiieeeeee!" I trust you'll pardon me while I gush about Miss Morgan like the blithering simp I've become because of this wretched series. She looks fab-ulous. Gone is the dismal orange poncho she wore during her nine-episode run last season, replaced by a lovely off-the-shoulder, cleavage-enhancing violet crushed-velvet gown, and her hair's twisted into a fierce, weave-me-alone pile high upon her head. I luh-hove Miss Morgan. Not enough to watch her crappy new show on Lifetime, of course, but still. Whee! "I know how sensitive you are about your age," Miss Morgan purrs as she ambles up to Cole. She smirks, and with a wicked, bemused side-eye, bows briefly before offering, "Happy birthday." With every gesture and expression, she telegraphs to those watching just how little she thinks of Cole. Love. Her. Julian McMahon's open-mouthed, gobsmacked expression of shock makes me snicker for a second until Cole pulls it together long enough to blurt, "Seer! You're...alive!" Heh. Miss Morgan cocks a suspicious brow at this, then shrugs that suspicion off to laugh at Cole's "joke." The laughter's short-lived, though, for Cole's next question sets off every bell and whistle attached to Miss Morgan's finely-tuned bullshit detector. "Where's Phoebe?" he asks. Miss Morgan shoots him a small glare laden with distaste, directs Cole's gaze to the stairs, and -- oh, God.
Phoebe appears on the landing with an attendant who futzes with her hair, and I'm sorry, but this is just wrong. According to the script, she's meant to be working a "sexy, satin designer dress," but all she's actually working is my last nerve. And Natalie's hairstyle from The Facts Of Life. Her gown, such as it is, is fire-engine red and slit up to her cooter, and she's also modeling an ungainly cubic zirconium necklace. It's vile. Then again, it's perfectly in keeping with the hundreds of fashion disasters that preceded it, so I suppose it's appropriate for this, The Very Special Hundredth Episode. Cole, taste-free bastard that he is, immediately starts drooling, and hustles on over to greet her. He slavishly compliments her look, eliciting a tart, disbelieving sneer from the Feebs. A brief furrow of confusion crosses his face, but he gamely leans in for a quick peck. Phoebe wrinkles her nose and shoves him away, snitting, "What the hell is the matter with you?" She slips past him to beeline towards...is that the guy from An American Werewolf In London? No, it's Michael Bergin. Holy Mother of God, what happened to him, and why is he on my television? Ew! I suppose whatever happened was dreadful, because here he is in a non-speaking role on an Aaron Spelling show as one of Alyssa Milano's boy toys, right? Right. Miss Morgan knifes through the crowd to comfort a dismayed Cole, urging him not to worry. "Once she conceives your magical heir," she croons, "you won't need to keep up pretenses." Or anything else, it seems. Ba-dum-bump. She places a gentle hand on his cheek and adds, "I'll take it from there." Oh, D'Eartha. Scheming, disloyal, triple-timing, vicious, poisonous, power-hungry D'Eartha. How I've missed you.