This week Alyssa's in heat, Holly Marie's in Dan-ial, and Shannen goes drag king to prevent The Cranberries from wailing on her for stealing their "screaming like a banshee" shtick in her wonderfully bad TV flick Friends 'Til the End.
P3 After Dark. Closing time. People are departing. Phoebe "Eulah! Eulah!" Halliwell comes down the stairs in a sewn-on slip dress, fanning herself. She can't believe this heat wave, the one the WB executives cooked up to strip their young nubile casts down and oil them up for November Sweeps. Piper "Picked a Pecker" Halliwell says, "Tell me about it. The Cranberries are playing an animal-rights benefit here on Saturday and it's going to be a hundred degrees." As if anyone will show up to be inconvenienced, Piper. Phoebe grabs a piece of ice out of the cooler behind the bar and starts rubbing it all over her chest. Piper tells her that if Pheebs keeps making like she's on Red Shoe Diaries, she'll have to break out some "man repellent." Heh. Two barbacks ogle Pheebs, but Piper shoos them away. Phoebe says she "can't help it." Piper: "Am I going to have to hose you down?" Ew. For one thing, please don't, because Phoebe clearly isn't wearing anything underneath that white sausage-casing dress. For another thing, there has to be an air conditioner at full-blast on the set, because it's pretty obvious that, um ... Phoebe's high beams are on (tm Maggie) ... Phoebe's smuggling peas (tm Sars) ... Phoebe's got company (tm Wing)... Phoebe's turkey is done (tm Moira). Don't make me draw y'all a picture. Pheebs explains that she's in a "highly excited state" right now. Piper feels her forehead; Phoebe is burning up. Phoebe says something "freaky" is happening to her. Piper tells her to see a doctor. Phoebe says she doesn't feel sick, just "aroused." She whispers to Piper that she's been having a "sex dream" every night that's unusual. Unfortunately, she explains that she's dreamt about sex before, but this dream contained "a real swank penthouse -- a love den, candles, satin sheets" and "a different man every night telling [her] that [she's] irresistible." Phoebe adds: "Let's just say we could win the gold in the Hugh Hefner Olympics." Hugh Hefner? Did my father write that line? Piper wonders why the dreams are so bad. Phoebe says they're good, but in each one, she "kills the guy." Piper thinks that might be a metaphor for sexual frustration, and says she can relate. Prue "Bren or Brenda?" Halliwell walks in and exclaims, "Oh good, we're decoding men." Piper asks what she's doing there. Prue bitches about what she's not doing: "Lighting candles, getting a back rub, running a hot bubble bath for her date." Phoebe the cardio-thoracic surgeon figures out that Prue's date with a guy named Alan did not go well. Prue complains that it was their third date, and she barely got a kiss goodnight and an "I'll call you." Piper cites "I'll call you" as "the kiss of death." Phoebe nods an emphatic "Uh huh, girlfriend!" Prue bitches some more that she gave Alan "all the signals" but he ignored them. Neither of the docile Ps takes Prue's incredibly horrific hairstyle into consideration here. Just what did Alan think of Prue's reverse corn-row Mohawk, with tight braids running down the top of her head and the sides remaining fallow? Phoebe says that she's had enough talk about men and gets up to go home for "a cold shower and a good night's sleep." Piper tells her to have sweet dreams, but not to kill anyone. Prue looks perplexed. Piper tells her not to ask. Word.
Halliwell Manor. Same night. Phoebe twists and turns in bed. We cut to her hazy B&W dream. A handsome man is telling the camera that he "can't believe this is happening." He's with "the most beautiful woman [he's] ever laid eyes on." We see arms caressing him. Then an insert of the "let there be lips" shot from Rocky Horror. The handsome man thinks he's "falling in love" and the object of his desire is "irresistible." The lips open, and a tongue comes out. It has a head. The head opens, and the tongue's head bares its teeth. ["Ah, yes, the dreaded penis dentatus of folklore." -- Sars] The tongue goes down the handsome guy's throat, and sucks stuff out of his skull. Cut to the straggly-haired, wide-eyed corpse of Freud sitting bolt upright in his grave. Oh, my bad -- it's just Phoebe, waking from her nightmare.