Demian: Baron von C., you are the wind beneath my wings.
Couch Baron: Oh, come on. I'm still trying to heal over here, and you hit me with Beaches? Ew!
Demian: I meant that in the best of all possible ways.
Couch Baron: Get over yourself. Though I suppose it's better than being a complete DICK DICK DICK DICK ASSHOLE dumb-ass who sucks the ass of a llama, right?
Demian: True. Hey, not to change the topic or anything -- because, you know, llama ass? Yowza! -- but I was wondering…
Couch Baron: Yes?
Demian: Do you think I could borrow Miguel Alvarez for a couple of nights? Maybe after sweeps?
Couch Baron: You realize Miggy doesn't go for the guys, don't you?
Demian: Oh, no. I knew that.
Couch Baron: Well, what the hell are you going to do with him?
Demian: I just thought it might be nice to have him kick the holy crap out of Brad Kern. Repeatedly.
Couch Baron: Done.
Fade up on one of the ugly Done Ones writhing about in his bassinet in the Manor parlor. Oh, don't look at me like that. Granted, this Percolated Infant isn't a complete eyesore, but that one from last week is way cuter. No offense to the stage mom pimping out her newborn here, but lady? Your kid's head really is quite oddly misshapen. Just thought you should know. Raige, crooning a lullaby, hovers above Quasimodo as a roach-infested dark demonic force lurks in the background, waiting for the right moment to fry Raige's distracted derriere with a Flaming Ball Of Death. Ooops! That's not a dark demonic force at all! He's actually Raige's new slampiece Nate Parks, as portrayed by Norman Reedus. Those of you who caught Norman in Gossip should not be surprised to learn that he looks just as pestilential here as he did in the movie. It's called a shower, you skank. Look into it. A little something to tighten up the luggage beneath your eyes wouldn't hurt, either. Anyway, once Quasimodo's drifted off to sleep, Raige and Slampiece Ratbag retire to the sofa for a bit of flirtatious banter. Ratbag compliments Raige on her vocal skills, noting that she's "better than most of the singers [he] book[s] at the club." Raige titters nervously. She's been painfully self-conscious about her voice ever since an unfortunate incident dating from her eighth-grade graduation, wherein she froze up in terror when it came time to warble out the school song. She emphasizes that she's avoided public singing ever since that awful day, so we all know Ratbag's going to haul her up onstage for a manky duet before we hit the half-hour mark, right? Right.
Having dispensed with this bit of the exposition, Raige and Ratbag snog for a bit before Ratbag rises to fetch some more Merlot from the kitchen. As he vanishes through the dining room, an astonishingly well-built and shirtless demon of color materializes behind Raige and clamps her head between his hands. Raige squeals in agony for a bit while DOC's wicked mojo races through the bulging CGI veins in her forehead. She orbs out of his clutches to the other side of the room and whispers urgently for Piper and the Dolt. The two orb in, obviously from a night on the town, and Piper instantly demolishes DOC with a flick of her wrist. Raige races back to stamp out the flaming carpet, like, since when did the vanquished set fire to the furnishings as they howled and wailed and blazed their merry way to Hell? Slampiece Ratbag returns with the wine, and awkward chatter regarding Piper and the Dolt's stealth reappearance ensues. "I didn't hear you come in," Ratbag notes. Then you must be deaf, scuzzball, because the Dolt made as much damn noise as he always does when he orbed in from dinner. "Yeah, how about that?" Piper replies, playing along. "Kinda like magic." Shut up, Piper.