Previously on Charmed: Phoebe got shot! Phoebe got shot!
Currently on Charmed: We fade up on the Dolt lugging the nearly unconscious Feebs through the front door to toss her onto the parlor sofa, as he orders Raige to shove the dead-eyed and mulleted Psycho into his product-placed playpen over by the sun porch. "I don't want him seeing this!" the Dolt shouts as he applies the special Whitelighter tingly touch to the gaping gunshot wound in Phoebe's torso. Um, I think it's too late for protecting the toddler, dude. I wouldn't worry too much about it, though. Judging by the Psycho's dull, leaden stare, he couldn't care less about the current situation. Wait. I take that back. He quite possibly could care less, but only if it were you lying there with a bullet in your chest, monkey boy. In any event, it's taking quite a while for the tingly touch to kick in, so there's a bit of anxiety involved. "Dammit, [Dolt]!" Raige exclaims. "You should have just healed her outside." "Right," the Dolt spits, "and risk you getting shot, too? I don't think so." Big Gay Chris descends to the foyer from above with news that he's sent the Pinhead and Even Gayer Big Chris back through the nonexistent attic's portal into Bizarro World. As he rounds the corner into the main parlor, he adds, "Although " before drawing up short upon catching sight of Phoebe's prone form and gulping, "What happened?" I really want to know how he was going to finish that sentence, and we're never told. Bastards! In any event, the tingly touch chooses this moment to do its job, and Phoebe bolts upright into a sitting position to gasp and heave. "Thank God," Raige breathes as the Dolt orders Big Chris to remain with his creepy-ass older brother. "I got him," Chris assures his father. The creepy-ass sibling in question shoots Big Gay Chris a look all, "Bitch, you don't have me. You never did, and you never will. Any of you." Or maybe I'm reading a little too much into his typically blank and emotionless expression.
Raige crosses to her restored sister to ensure that the latter's okay. Phoebe gamely quips something about remembering never to park in Mrs. Noble's spot again as Big Gay Chris peeves, "Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?" Raige fills him in on recent events, and Chris reacts with appropriate amounts of disbelief. "Why?" he asks, eyes widening as his eyebrows reach for the sky. There follows a rapid-fire round of expository dialogue amongst the Manor Morons to explain this half of the finale's central predicament, with the Dolt somehow understanding instantly and completely what happened to the world outside. As the Snidelys contrived to overload Bizarro World with people from our own, they've managed to upset that much-mentioned balance that was never fully explained in the last hour. As a result, our world has tipped over into being "too good," a place where "every little infraction is a capital offense." In other words: Singapore. The entire planet is now Singapore. Or, you know, Saudi Arabia. It's your choice. Mind you, how turning each and every annoyance and misdemeanor into a hanging crime equates to the world being "too good" is beyond me, but Big Gay Chris is pretty, so I'll go along with it. For now. Raige snarks that they're all "starring in a little movie called Pleasantville," which is an unbearably stupid thing for her to say, mainly because no actor on the screen at the moment comes anywhere close to meeting the caliber of Joan Allen or William H. Macy or even Reese fricking Witherspoon, but also because no one got shot in the tits over a parking space in Pleasantville. Moron. Big Chris whatevers, and I'd like to think it's because he understands how asinine Raige's last line was, but it's far more likely due to the fact that he never saw the movie in question. He wonders why the present Manor Morons were unaffected by the shift. Naturally, the Dolt has a far-too-convenient answer for this as well. Naturally. "We must have been crossing over when the shift occurred," he notes. Also, Snidely remains unaffected "because he's an [ever-useless] Elder," which, again, is way too convenient, but whatever. I'm spending far too much time on this silly premise and not enough time contemplating the many wonders of my pretty, pretty husband, who as I type this is batting his eyelashes while snorting something about Snidely turning the current situation to his advantage in order to mount another attack on the Psycho.