Out in the parking lot, Brittany The Big Bleached Blonde shakes her tattooed, law-flouting ass over to her fuel-efficient import. I really shouldn't be so hard on her. Compared to the scrawny little lollipop-headed stick girlies they normally hire as innocents on this show, this actress looks, well, healthy. Then again, way back in 1998, all of the women on this show looked healthy. I'll be counting the episodes until they dwindle down to their more familiar anemic selves. Anyway, The Big Bleached Blonde peers about nervously, then opens her driver's side door. Whoops! Didn't check the back seat, did you? Bad Brittany! Bad! Should we stone her now? Huh? Brittany eases herself into the car and adjusts the rearview mirror to check her lipstick. Of course, when she does so, the squinty, glinty eyes of some serial-killing creep appear in the mirror to stare back at her from the depths of the back seat. Of course. Brittany lets loose a deep-throated howl of abject terror that would do Jamie Lee Curtis proud as the camera tracks back from her lonely little Fuel-Efficient Import Of Doom.
I was expecting the credits here, but I suppose they hadn't settled into that particular routine at this point. Instead, I get a lovely shot of a mist-enshrouded San Francisco at night as seen from a hill in one of the residential neighborhoods, and then we cut over to Shannen Doherty's naked thighs. I let loose a deep-throated howl of abject...never mind. Prue lets an oversized sweater drop down over said thighs as an out-of-focus, shagged-out, and shirtless Andy Trudeau snoozes on his stomach on a bed in the background. Prue quietly crosses to retrieve her purse, shoes, and skirt from a chair near the window as Andy snorts in his sleep. Just as Prue approaches the bedroom door, Andy's alarm clock goes off. For a moment, I'm confused that it's already a quarter to six in the morning, and then I remember they jettisoned continuity to land that initial full-season order. Prue jumps at the sound and whirls around to glare at the clock. The clock obligingly sails out of the open window before Andy can sleepily shut it off. Hee! Prue darts out of the room to commence her walk of shame as Andy flips around on his bed, and wow. Now I understand why people have such fond memories of this guy. Quite the muscled little slampiece, this one. They should have more well-built half-naked men on this show. And on that note, we slowly fade out into the opening credits.
As the Dolt-free credits roll by, I think to myself, "Okay. They should have more well-built half-naked men who aren't Brian Krause on this show."