Next up? Piper and the Dolt. That evening in a packed P3, Piper admits that she's selling the club after Rawkin' Pat's performance. "Being a mother-slash-Charmed One-slash-businesswoman is just one slash too many," she tells her husband. "Something's got to give." The Dolt confesses that the thing that's giving is his full-time job. The ever-useless Elders have granted him paternity leave so he can stay at home to care for The Percolated Infant. Piper's surprised, of course, but also pleased. They move in for a clinch as Pat Benatar takes the stage. "You're the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasies! The invincible winner -- and you know that you were born to be!" And that's...two to grow on. It also RAWKS, but I think you already knew that.

And finally, Phoebe, who thankgodfully has traded in The Pants for a girlishly pink frock. Normally, I'd slam the Lara-Flynn-Boyle, Hilary-Swankishness of it all. However. The Cooter's disappearance has suffused me with such an overwhelming sense of gratitude, I feel it would be unnecessarily churlish to criticize the color of the cloth covering The Vile Thing. If the Feebs just slapped some concealer on those unsightly tattoos, she'd look rather fetching, actually. Anyway, Phoebe's wandering through that low-key nightclub from earlier, scanning the crowd for Cyrano73, whom she agreed to meet at some point during that scene I couldn't watch. Blame The Pants, people. To absolutely no one's surprise, Cyrano73 is actually Chronic The Hedgehog. Although now that I think about it, "Quixote73" would have been the more appropriate handle, given the whore he's been pursuing all evening. Ouch! Sorry! Rather than slapping him with a harassment suit of monumental proportions, Phoebe accepts his proffered rose and has him fetch her a dirty martini. And that's...absolutely nothing to grow on at all, honestly. Moron.

Next week, Kit The Undead Cat gets a sex-change operation. My brother Síobhan Meow would be so proud.