Previously on Charmed, Jolly Green Van Der Beek went Dolt diving, and I'm Not Candy showed The Blockheaded One some cunning new minimalist decorating schemes for the Manor. Meanwhile, Li'l Bulging Brody knew what evil lurks in the hearts of men as Piper took a tuning fork in the spleen. The Dolt then became an Avatar and got all furtive and shifty-eyed at P3 while sipping on a gin and tonic.
Currently on Charmed, a bespectacled and black-gowned Ann Cusack stands in the middle of the Not!warts Not-So-Great Hall, flipping through a pile of library books while a midget in a red conical hat calls out various objections to said books' content. Lord of the Rings? "Historically inaccurate." Harry Potter? "Filled with juvenile delinquents." The Wizard of Oz? "Disparaging to little people. Munchkins being persecuted." Munchkins being persecuted? What about the damn audience, you pint-sized git? Incidentally, the midget's got a glass eye that seems always to be staring straight through the camera directly at me, and it's freaking me the fuck out. Raige, who'd been following the argument from her perch on a sofa at the far end of the room, impatiently slams some paperwork down on the coffee table and storms over to upbraid the midget for his asinine attempts at literary criticism. "It's the same story with all the books," Ann indignantly exposits. "None of them deserve to be banned!" The pugnacious peewee blathers something about Lady Godiva that has absolutely nothing to do with the issue at hand, and Ann Cusack and I roll our eyes around before Ann starts ranting about the dwarf stifling freedom of speech, and now I roll my eyes around alone, because how much stifling of speech can the weeny one really accomplish from all the way down there on the floor? Wee Willie Wall-Eyes flings a little mojo at Ann's mouth that seals her lips shut, and I quickly stand corrected. Fucking magic. Raige instantly orders him to reverse the spell, and once her mouth is back in working order, Ann rages, "Why, you little worm!" This, of course, elicits charges of sizeism from Wee Willie Wall-Eyes, and would somebody wake me up when he's dead?
Raige steps between the two and asks for a moment alone with the freaky-looking shrimp. Once Ann has wandered away, she argues that none of the books he proposes to ban are dangerous, including a small hardback entitled Crossed, Double-Crossed that she rather conveniently hoists from the top of the pile. The retro cover design features the black shadow of fedoraed, gun-toting gent splashed against a red background, with the yellow title arched across the top. "This doesn't even look magical," she squinches as Wee Willie Wall-Eyes announces that he's certain it's disgustingly violent and unsuitable for children and Will No One Think Of The Children? and wah, despite the fact that he's never read it. This revelation sets Raige off, and she peeves something about the troll banning things he hasn't bothered to examine beforehand and Censorship! and First Amendment Rights! and Freedom Of Thought! and seriously, would somebody shoot the little fucker already? Because this is getting boring. And ludicrous, especially when Raige concludes her argument in defense of the novel with "The thirties were a fabulous era -- drama, passion, intrigue!" Also: Breadlines, Nazis, and Shirley Temple. Shut up, Raige. Wee Willie Wall-Eyes side-eyes the boss like the latter's finally lost what little had remained of her scattered mind.
Fortunately, the Dolt arrives at this moment to interrupt the proceedings, and if there's one thing I absolutely hate above all else about this show, it's being grateful to the Dolt for anything. Before Raige crosses to join the erstwhile brother-in-law, she chides Wee Willie Wall-Eyes thusly: "Professor, the next time you attempt to ban books, how 'bout you attempt reading some?" Raige, the next time you attempt to reprimand a professor, why don't you employ proper usage? Dimwit. With that, Raige clatters away in her heels, leaving the wonky-eyed midget to stroke his beard thoughtfully while yanking Crossed, Double-Crossed from the top of the library pile. He flips it open to an entirely random page and begins to scan the text. Don't quote me on this, but I think he's doing it with his glass eye. I hate this show. In any event, the book almost immediately glows white and emits a cloud of mojo that envelops the midget, who promptly vanishes into the pages. Having so devoured Wee Willie Wall-Eyes, the book drops to the floor and snaps shut of its own accord. The camera pans down slowly towards the cover, so the audience gets a chance to note that it was written by "The Mullen Brothers."