Fade up on a black-and-white yearbook page entitled "Memorable," with the subheading "A panorama of our favorite pariahs and pantheons." I'd bust on that "panorama of pantheons" crap, but I, too, worked on the yearbook staff in high school, and that sort of nauseating nonsense is pretty much par for the course in those things. The upper right-hand side of the page is dominated by an image of Alyssa Milano adorned with a long, dark, bebanged wig and a black leather motorcycle jacket. One hand clutches a grubby messenger bag while the other's splayed open facing the camera, which combined with that "GUH!" expression on her face is a fairly accurate depiction of the sort of pot-smoking, shoplifting, slutty delinquent Phoebe supposedly was in high school. The caption reads, "Most likely to Serve...Time?" And even for yearbook writing, that construction makes No...Sense? Shut up, stupid Phoebe's stupid fucking yearbook. "Interesting," Raige breathes as the toilet flushes in Piper's bedroom.
Holly Marie Combs, no longer playing Block That Fetus! and looking like she's about to expel her real-life percolating infant onto the floor of the set at any moment, waddles out of the bathroom to groan, "I don't remember having morning sickness this bad with [the littlest Psycho]." As Piper joins Raige on the bed, we learn that Phoebe's somehow convinced Raige to tag along to Phoebe's ten-year high school reunion that evening. Which makes Less...Sense? than that stupid yearbook line above. Why would Phoebe drag her long-lost half-sister to a party where she will know and be known by no one, and why would Raige agree to go? Oh, yeah: Because Rose McGowan has to earn her paycheck somehow this week, and because this show is ass. Whatever. In any event, Raige is doing a little background research before the event with the help of Phoebe's annual. Piper peers over her sister's shoulder to wonder if a certain "Todd Marks" is still alive. "Phoebe tended to hang with the bad-boy crowd," Piper notes. "Anything to piss off Grams." Nice try, Piper, but the guy in the photo looks like a dentist. We learn that Todd was, in Piper's words, Phoebe's "first lust," and that another young gentleman by the name of Rick Gittridge was the ringleader of Phoebe's little gang back in the day. Piper warns Raige to avoid Mr. Rick should he be in attendance that evening, as he's apparently insane, or something. Raige, of course, is delighted with this newfound knowledge of her half-sister's sordid back-story, like, you'd think they would have covered this at some point in the last two and a half years, but whatever, because this show? Is ass. Piper psychobabbles something about Phoebe's rebellious adolescence and its connection to the death of their mother, despite the fact that Phoebe was barely a year old when Finola Hughes took the swim that needs no towel, and I'm torn between aggressively rolling my eyes around in my head or closing them and going to sleep.
Eye-rolling wins out when the Feebs shrieks -- loudly -- from elsewhere in the upstairs hall. Raige and Piper, startled, race out into the hallway to find Phoebe muttering, "Oh, my God!" over and over again as she staggers towards them from her boudoir with a cranberry-colored dress in her hands, looking for all the world like a special Olympian plowing through the last draining leg of a 400-meter relay. Seems the dry cleaners have ruined the dress she'd been planning to wear that evening, though the stain she displays on the thing's shoulder is suspiciously Lewinsky-esque and more likely the last remnant of Chronic The Hedgehog in San Francisco. Piper chides the dimwit for screaming over a stupid dress as if the Manor had come under sudden demonic attack. "I'm sorry," Phoebe claims, totally not sorry at all, "but what am I supposed to wear to the reunion?" "How about prison stripes?" Raige snarks. "You told her about the shoplifting?" Phoebe sighs. Piper hadn't, and Raige's eyebrows lift skyward at this additional glimpse into Phoebe's sordid past as Phoebe psychobabbles something stupid about "acting out" before getting back to the matter of her wardrobe. Raige suggests that black suit I like so much, but Phoebe thinks it'll be "too threatening." She flaps her hands around and clomps back to her boudoir to rifle through her closet, giving Big Gay Chris room to orb into the upper hall from points unknown, clad in a filthy yet alluring duster.