Down in the main hall, Piper pedebitches down the stairs into the dining room about Phoebe's erratic behavior as of late, with Raige trailing meekly behind her. "First all she cares about is her stupid condo," Piper rages, "then she comes back here to help, and now she's suddenly trigger-happy? She's all over the map!" Or, you know, demonically possessed. Just maybe. I realize you're rather addled-brained over the fate of that gigantic ice pop of a husband of yours, honey, but how many more times are you going to ignore all of these and similar warning signs? Oh, that's right: Not too many, because this shit is SO CANCELLED, and how often can the typewriting crackmonkeys recycle this plotline in the next nine episodes? Don't answer that. I really don't need to know that Phoebe's going to be demonically possessed another nine times this season. Anyway, Piper blusters and flusters and screams for the Book of Shadows, which is still up in the attic, so she clomps up the stairs just as Raige's cell rings. It's Darling Henry, who, with the help of that muse, not only finished all of his recommendations, but also had time to pen a "love letter" to Raige. Awwww. No, really. I mean it. Sort of. Just when it seems everything's set for their date that evening, however, one of Darling Hank's fellow parole officers buzzes him on the intercom to let him know that "the GPS" just went down on all of his parolees' ankle bracelets, so Darling Hank might have to cancel on her after all. "Bad luck," he offers by way of apology. As the twee tootling of The Mischievous Pan-Pipe Of Annoying Irish Stereotypes kicks in on the soundtrack, Raige stumbles across another cunning plan.
Yeah, it involves another fucking leprechaun. However, as they hired Michael J. Anderson of Twin Peaks and Carnivàle fame for this evening's presentation, it's not nearly as bad as one would expect it to be. Though I have to admit it would have been much, much better if he'd recorded all of his dialogue backwards and then lip-synched to the reverse playback. That, in fact, would have rocked. Anyway, long story short, Raige wants The Man From Another Place to blow one of his magical trouser nuggets all over Darling Henry's fuzzy head so, I don't know, the global positioning satellite will reboot? I don't care. The important thing is, she's supposed to meet him at Trudeau Memorial in an hour. The Man From Another Place dutifully recites the Gaelic required to activate his stupid rainbow and exits just as Savard sneaks up behind Raige to smarm, "Don't you just hate leprechauns?" Why, yes! Yes, I do, but you weren't talking to me, unfortunately, and you're really only here to sweep your hand in front of her face, in the process sending Raige into an instant stupor on the floor, right? Right. Packrat materializes in the parlor and morphs into Raige form as Savard kneels to squiggle the real Raige down to Hell. Once alone, Rattrap murmurs something vaguely threatening until she's swallowed up by the next commercial break.