Piper -- realizing how simple the vanquish will be, and horny to boot -- bails to schedule a late-afternoon booty call with Hilton Cooties after ordering Phoebe to put Saba back in her bottle. "No offense," she offers before sailing out the door, "but we've been burned before." Phoebe apologetically restates Piper's request, and Saba dematerializes in a whirlwind of pink smoke to vanish down the garish bottle's neck. "I feel so bad," Phoebe glums. "As well you should," Big Chris chides, in tones indicating that he's well aware he's addressing someone with the mental capacity of a particularly slow four-year-old. "If we don't do something soon," he continues, "I could end up half-fireman." "I'm running out of time, here," he adds, crossing from the Book's stand to his aunt, "so whaddya say we use that genie to make Mom and Dad…you know." "That's vile," Phoebe squints, disgusted. "And against the rules," she adds. "I would think that you wouldn't want to be conceived that way." "Better than not being conceived at all," he counters with an annoyed shrug. Phoebe rolls her eyes and reminds him she agreed to help, but only on her terms.
In the meantime, she's finished the vanquish, which she squeezes into a vial with a turkey baster, and the turkey baster appearing so close to all this discussion about Big Chris's conception takes me to a foul place involving the Dolt, a stack of skin magazines, and a sperm bank, so thank God a crappy digital insert crashes through the attic's bay window at this moment, because otherwise I might have done something drastic involving wire hangers and my carotid artery. Bosk's "flying" carpet clips Big Gay Chris, who smacks into the Book's stand before crashing to the floor. Phoebe wings the vial at Bosk's chest, but the amulet flares red and demolishes the thing. "Not this time, witch," he sneers before launching a demonic dart at her head. Phoebe ducks behind the table, frantically eyes Saba's garish bottle with something approaching panic, and blurts, "Jinny, I wish you free!" The pink whirlwind instantly erupts from the bottle's mouth to deposit a non-genied Saba atop the attic carpet, and whoops! Her ludicrous Scheherazade outfit's been replaced by something black, slimming, and decidedly demonic, and she steps forward to sneer in unaccented English, "Well, it's about time." "Who's the master now, bitch?" she snots, conjuring a Flaming Ball Of Death which she promptly embeds in Bosks's chest. Okay, she didn't actually say the "bitch" bit, but I have to admit, between The O.C. and The Chappelle Show, I've been unwittingly appending that particular word to just about every sentence that's flown out of my mouth over the last few months. It's made for some very awkward social situations, I can assure you. Anyway, Bosk howls and wails and blazes his merry way down to Hell just as Piper arrives on the scene to gape. Phoebe, incidentally, is nowhere to be seen. Saba lunges for the garish bottle still resting on the potions table, so Piper shouts a warning to her younger son on the floor. Chris flips a little telekinetic mojo at the thing, and it zips across the room into his hand. Piper deploys a couple of her own Hands in Saba's direction, but Saba dodges the resulting explosion by flinging herself onto the "flying" carpet, which plows out of the room through the shattered window. Piper goggles some more as Chris pulls himself from the floor with, "Where's Phoebe?" "Here!" comes the tinny response. "In here!" Big Gay Chris raises the bottle to his quizzical eye to find Phoebe pulling a Barbara Eden in the padded depths of the thing, complete with a three-foot-high braided blonde wig and yards of teal chiffon. "Hello," she grins goofily before being swallowed by the commercial break.
Fade up on Phoenie in her plush bottle surroundings as Piper's voice howls, "Would you come out of there, please?" "I can't!" Phoenie wails. "I don't know how -- try commanding me!" The camera angle switches so we get a Phoenie POV of Piper's enormous brown eye peering down the bottle's neck. "Oooo-kay," Piper's Eye begins before growing annoyed and adding, "Get the hell out of there!" "Not you," Phoenie sighs before adding hesitantly, "My…master." Piper's Eye rolls itself around and makes way for The Eye Of Big Gay Chris, and my, but this is a pretty sight, what with the green and the long lashes and the dangerous brow. Woof. "You mean me?" inquires The Eye Of Big Gay Chris. "Well, yeah," Phoenie explains. "You did pick up the bottle, didn't you?" "All right," offers The Eye Of Big Gay Chris, sounding bemused. "Get out of the bottle -- I command you." Phoenie crosses her arms, flares white, and bursts into a powder-blue whirlwind that presently deposits her on the attic floor. Piper takes one look at Phoenie's belly-baring velour-and-chiffon outfit and bursts into gales of snide, mocking laughter. "You look ridiculous!" Piper giggles. "How am I supposed to get back to [Hilton Cooties] now, with all this?" "Is that all you care about?" Phoenie whines. "Look at me -- I am trapped in pantaloons!" She clomps over to the nearby full-length mirror and gasps in dismay, "And why do I always get stuck with the wig?" "Trust me," Piper eye-rolls, still amused, "you don't." You know, I tried to find appropriate links for those last two lines of dialogue, but these women have sported so many goddamned falls and weaves and polyester nightmares on their heads over the last six seasons, I wouldn't know where to begin.