Fade up on Phoebe blundering through the swinging glass doors of All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me. "Any calls?" she asks her Non-Mary Cherry assistant. Non-Mary rattles off a list of messages from various loser-type advice-seekers before adding, "Oh, and your nephew called." "Chris?" Phoebe blurts instantly, snatching the sheaf of memo sheets from Non-Mary, who's all, "Uh, no, dumbass, [the Psycho]." "Actually," Non-Mary adds after a bit of thought, "I think Piper did the dialing for him." Yeah, guess again, honey. It's far more likely the demented Psycho assumed telepathic control of some hapless Pacific Bell operator's brain and forced the poor woman to connect him with the newspaper just so he could fuck with your head. What? You know anything could happen with that little dead-eyed nightmare of a freak. In any event, Non-Mary squints quizzically at Phoebe and wonders, "You have another nephew?" "No!" Phoebe too hastily replies, before stammering her way through the lousy cover of, "But but maybe someday I will, you know?" while goofily and awkwardly backing herself into her office with a bright, fake smile on her face. Non-Mary, presumably well used to such asinine behavior from the boss by now, looks on mildly enough, but you just know she's mentally filing this latest transgression away for later addition to her very own Rage Diary.
Once inside, Phoebe jumps a bit in surprise when Big Gay Chris pops up by the office's sofa. "I need your help," he opens as Phoebe scrambles to shut the door. "I have been calling for you all week," Phoebe seethes in response. "Didn't you hear me?" "First couple of days? Yeah," Big Chris shrugs. "Then I put you on mute." Hee. Would that it were that easy for the rest of us, Chris. Phoebe guhs in a minor fit of outrage at this revelation as she crosses behind her desk and begins to remove her jacket. Big Chris repeats, "I need your NIPPLES." Ooops. Sorry. I got distracted for a moment, because the Fun Bags evidently determined that the lighting levels were a bit low in this scene, and decided to switch on their high beams for better illumination. Chris actually repeats his request for assistance, but Phoebe's not going to let the conversation continue until after she's chided him for "drop[ping] that bombshell" on her and then disappearing for a week. "You expect me to keep this secret," she gripes with much flapping of agitated hands, "and I don't even know why I'm keeping this secret." Chris gets a wee bit tedious when he whips out his standard response to such questions, which is, of course, "No one can find out Piper and the Dolt are my parents! It could mess with the whole future!" Phoebe plonks herself down in her chair and shoots back, "If you didn't want anyone to know, I don't know why you told me." "You busted me!" Chris exclaims. No, Chris, darling, she didn't bust you. You were anxious and tired and alone and desperate to confide in someone, and you even considered telling Raige about the whole thing first, but the be-NIPPLED dimwit here conveniently happened to have that peyote-induced premonition involving you and your murderous older brother last week, so there you go. You're still pretty, though, so I'll let it slide. Once you cut your goddamned hair. Didn't I tell you to do something about that months ago? Sigh.