Halliwell Manor. The camera pans from yet another blowing fan over to Piper, who's carrying a tray of iced tea into the parlor to Phoebe. Pheebs is wearing a tank top, coochie shorts, and nine ounces of baby oil. Pheebs begins to recount her "turned on" dream of sex and murder from the night before. As she speaks, she picks up the pitcher of iced tea, rubs it all over her forehead and chest, then chugs straight from it. That's okay, Lazy P, I'm sure Piper wasn't thirsty anyway. Sheesh. Piper pooh-poohs her sister about not really killing a man in her dream, and prepares a thermometer for her. Phoebe declares that she "could feel his body shaking uncontrollably under hers." Piper: "Now you're making me sick." Word. As Phoebe adds that she "can still taste his blood," Piper sticks the thermometer in her mouth. Woo hoo! Granted, it's not a gag and some duct tape, but it'll do. Prue enters and asks how Phoebe's doing. Phoebe: "Mmm tho hot." The thermometer reads 100.5 degrees. Piper asks Prue what's going on with Morris. Prue shows the docile Ps the crime photos. Phoebe freaks -- the men were all killed in her dreams. Phoebe: "Coincidence? I think not." Piper and Prue decide that Pheebs must have a psychic link with the killer. Phoebe seems to believe that she could actually be the murderer. Piper doesn't agree. Phoebe reminds her about turning into the Wendigo. (I saw that ep last summer and liked it because Piper finally told the lazy Ps off.) Prue wants Pheebs to go to the dating service with her while Piper researches the killer in the Book of Shadows. Phoebe: "I might be a man-killing demon and you send me to Bachelor Central?" Owen: "Contrivance? I think so."
Fine Romance Dating Service, or rather some building with a cheap scroll banner taped over the front door labeling it as such. Outside, Morris and a sexist pig cop, who I'll call Deputy Horndog, are taking photos of the lazy Ps as they enter. Deputy Horndog: "Wow, look at the racks on those babes!" Daryl: "Do your job." Deputy Horndog: "Blah blah taking pics of potential suspects blah blah those two have lots of potential click click click." Don't y'all be fooled for a second. I'm sure this guy's been written in to balance this episode out with a negative male stereotype, but you'll see that it's sexually aggressive women who are truly taking it on the chin for the full running time.
FRDS. Office. A blonde refugee from the set of V.I.P. (the Pamela Lee series, not the Liz Taylor-Richard Burton vehicle) greets the lazy Ps. Her name is Darla and she's no stranger to collagen and silicone; the latter fills out the old-lady bathing suit with skirt she's wearing as a dress. Phoebe leaves Prue with Darla to sign up. Darla gives her sales spiel -- today, and today only, they're offering a year-long special for only $3,500. Prue balks. Darla leans her cleavage forward (for whose benefit, I wonder) and tries to seal the deal with, "I can always tell the frustrated ones. You've been having man trouble lately, haven't you?" Prue makes a stink-face. So do I. Single straight people are actually paying $3,500 dollars each to find one another in San Francisco? Aren't there only 287 of them and they all hang out together at P3AD already?