Manor. Phoebe arrives on the sun porch to share the fruits of her mad deductive skillz with Piper, Raige, and the Dolt, but of course Raige has already filled the others in on this evening's tawdry rip-off. A brief processing summit ensues, after which Raige announces she'll head back to The Retarded Bimbo's palatial dorm room to swipe The Retard's scrying materials, while Piper and Phoebe remain in the Manor to whip up some vanquishing potions. And...scene.
Meanwhile, down in the sewer, The Retarded Bimbo -- once again clad in her ludicrous black hookerwear (and oh, dear Lord. I just remembered she claimed to have bought it all at Saks. Can you imagine? No, neither can I) -- picks her way through the tunnels until Haas and Little Miss Notoriety pop up in front of her so Haas can pimp-smack The Retarded Bimbo forty feet through the air and into a concrete wall. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Slow-forward. Haas is the best demon ever! The Retarded Bimbo crumples to the filthy ground with a bloody gash on her cheek as Haas and Little Miss Notoriety advance upon her to make with the threats and such. As he still believes The Retarded Bimbo is one of the glamoured Glamorous Idiots, Haas orders Little Miss Notoriety to "send [The Retard] through." "Then," he sneers, "after her sisters find her wandering the streets and come looking for revenge? We'll. Send. Them. Through. Too." I. Should. Be. Dreadfully. Worried. About. This. Terrible. Development. Shouldn't. I? And. Yet. I. Remain. Utterly. Indifferent. Because. This. Episode. Sucks. But at least we've hit the final commercial break! Hooray!
Nonexistent Attic. Phoebe squeezes the freshly prepared vanquish into a couple of vials with a turkey baster -- and yeah, turkey basters should have no part of an episode so devoted to Phoebe's attempts to get herself knocked up -- as Raige enters from the upper hall with a laptop, a memory stick containing The Retarded Bimbo's supermagical scrying software, and news of The Retarded Bimbo's disappearance. Before Phoebe and Raige can track The Retarded Bimbo down using the latter's supermagical scrying software, Piper halts them to voice her suspicions regarding The Retard: What if the bimbonic black hole of suck is actually working with the demons to draw them all into a trap? Raige and Phoebe gape.
There follows an absolutely horrendous sequence in which The Retarded Bimbo finds herself fleeing from various Haas-induced hallucinations from the pages of Alice In Wonderland, including, as Sars put it in an appalled email to yours truly, "ANTHROPOMORPHIZED PLAYING CARDS?" She then wondered how long the show had been this bad and refused to believe me when I attempted to assure her that this sort of thing has been going on for at least three years. Sigh. ["I still don't believe you. I can't believe you. The fact that Brad Kern received a check for this dreck is suicidally depressing." -- Sars] Anyway, long story short, just as Little Miss Notoriety's disembodied head is about to go all Queen Of Hearts on The Retarded Bimbo's oddly elongated neck with an axe -- no, really -- Little Miss Notoriety's disembodied head suddenly howls and wails and bursts into flames before presumably zipping on down to The Waste Land. Haas, startled, quickly blinks out and presently, the entire Haas-induced hallucination dissolves, leaving The Retarded Bimbo squinting at her own badly manicured hands deep within the bowels of the sewer. "Are you in there?" Raige calls out from one of the tunnels beyond. The Retarded Bimbo answers in the affirmative and wanders around the corner to find Haas cringing on the filthy ground beneath the apparently de-glamoured Glamorous Idiots. "I shouldn't have underestimated you," Haas growls as he pulls himself to his feet. "I knew you were alive!" "Too bad you won't be around long enough to tell anybody," Phoebe rather coldly promises, and with that, Phoebe and Raige fling the remaining vanquishing vials into Haas's torso, and yet another demon go boom. Once the smoke and the flames and the charred shards of demonic flesh have dissipated, The Retarded Bimbo teeters over on her too-high heels to enthuse, "Wow! So you really are the Charmed Ones!" "Whadda we do?" Phoebe asks, referring to The Retard and her newfound knowledge of their true identities. "Blow her up?" Piper suggests. PLEASE do, Piper. If you blow this oddly proportioned slice of trash up right now, I promise I'll never complain about your whinging, your bitchery, or your shrewishness again. Please? Alas, it is not to be. The Retarded Bimbo instead brokers a deal with the Manor Morons in which she will battle any and all dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell if the gals agree to teach her everything they know about magic. "All right," Raige assents on behalf of her half-sisters before adding, promo-style, "on one condition: Lose the cheap vinyl outfit." Yeah, you're one to talk, Raige. And you can just shut right the hell up as well, Disapproving Smirk On Phoebe's Face. Piper? Feel free to look disgusted. But only if you toss a couple of those glares at the scantily clad idiots you call family.