Charmed
Desperate Housewitches

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Demian: F | Grade It Now!
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Desperate Crackmonkeys

Oh, Jesus. Back in the nonexistent attic, The Retarded Bimbo's still playing around with her telekinesis and those stupid whippy-around things, so let's just skip ahead to the point where an infuriated Piper bursts into the nonexistent room from the upper hall, followed by her Dolt of a husband, shall we? Oh, I'm sorry. That's not much of a better idea, actually, because what is the cause of Piper's rampant and incessant bitchery this evening? That's right. THAT STUPID FUCKING NORMAL LIFE SHE'S BEEN WHINING ABOUT FOR THE LAST SEVEN FUCKING YEARS THAT SHE NOW HAS. AUUAUAUUGH! Over the strenuous objections of the Dolt, Piper intends to use some spell in the Book of Shadows to concoct the rest of the Psycho's costume for his stupid school play. Eventually, the Dolt convinces Piper to make the costume herselzzzzzzzzzz. Would something fucking happen already? Please? What is it with this tedious shit?

God! Finally! Over in the still-ruined Not!warts, Michelle Stafford smears into the middle of the debris-filled library, where she's greeted by a black-clad Latino demon who's sporting a rather disturbingly feathered yet greasy poof on the top of his head. "Well?" the greasily poofy henchdemon inquires. "I'm beginning to gain the boy's trust," Michelle Stafford allows, before noticing the disarray that surrounds her. "What's taking you so long?" she spits. "You were supposed to have this cleaned days ago!" Some lesser henchdemon begins to protest that reconstructing Not!warts is more difficult than they were led to believe, but before he gets halfway through his sentence, Michelle Stafford shoots across the room to push him into the air by his throat. "I don't want to hear any more excuses, do you understand me?" she howls before flinging the mouthy lesser henchdemon backwards through the air into a stringy vanquish. What? That's what happened: He dissolved into a rapidly deteriorating fringe of stringy demonic bits that presently vanished into the floor. Hey, don't look at me. I'm not the one who comes up with these shitty effects.

In any event, once the mouthy henchdemon's echoing screams have dissipated, Michelle Stafford -- standing in the foreground of the shot in horrendously rendered green-screen, by the way -- once more smoothes her hair and smiles, "We need to create a comfortable place for the boy -- a familiar place, or else he'll never do what I want him to do." Michelle Stafford's tense minions gaze at her warily as she twitches her head around a couple of times before her eyes roll back in their sockets and she drops out of the frame to the floor, leaving behind the dark demonic force who's apparently been possessing her body all this time. Allow me a moment, if you will, to praise the work of the makeup department here. They've uglified Elizabeth Greer, the actress portraying the demonette, to the point that several long seconds had passed before I realized she wasn't a man. In fact, in this initial shot, she sort of looks like Wentworth Miller, of all people. Without the elaborate tattoo, of course. Well, I'm assuming, because she's thoroughly covered up in a black-on-black-on-black turtleneck/dress pants/calf-length coat combo here. In any event, fiendish Elizabeth Greer shoots a withering, contemptuous sneer at Michelle Stafford's unconscious form before turning her beetle-black gaze on her greasily poofy primary henchdemon. "Don't let that thing die," she growls through a set of discolored dentures, referring of course to Michelle Stafford. "Not 'til after I'm done using it to get [the Psycho]." Fiendish Elizabeth Greer's pasty, corpse-like visage hangs on the screen for a moment before disappearing into the first commercial break. ["I thought that effect was a little bit cool. This is what we call 'grasping at straws,' boys and girls." -- Sars]

Manor, the following morning, and they're cribbing so much from the original Desperate Housewives script that I feel like calling Mark Cherry's lawyers for him. Specifically, despite having spent the entire night stitching together the Psycho's pumpkin costume, Piper's as perky and chipper as Lynette was after she turned into a Ritalin junkie. No, I am not kidding with that, and because I am not kidding with that, I'll be skipping the entire stupid scene between Piper and Raige that follows except to note that Raige, overnight, has stumbled across a cunning plan to expose Vex Pexter for the cheating bastard she believes him to be. This should blow. Pun not intended. Maybe.

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Charmed

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