Fade up on the big gay hand of Big Gay Chris as it fans a tarot deck face-down upon the bar in an otherwise deserted P3. He slides one card from the middle of the pile and flips it over to reveal Judgment. According to one website I jumped into, this card "represents a loving and kind discussion, one in which both flaws and accomplishments will be brought to light," so, you know, the writers got something right for once, if of course by "a loving and kind discussion" they meant "a spectacular Dolt smackdown." Chris sighs thoughtfully and stares off into space as the lights suddenly flicker, heralding the arrival of "Dennis," one of the bar's managers. "What are you doing here?" Chris asks. "I work here, remember?" Dennis replies with a teasing grin on his face. Back away from my husband, bitch. Don't make me fly out to San Francisco to hurt you. Dennis exposits that Piper called to ask him to head in a little early to prepare for this evening's special guest testicle. "Piper called?" Chris repeats. "From where -- the doctor's?" Dennis shrugs, then, noticing Chris fretful expression, wonders if anything's wrong. Chris assures him it's just a regular check-up for Fetal Gay Chris, and goes back to brooding. Dennis eyes my husband for a moment before wondering, "You mind if I ask you a question?" Chris is all, "Go for it," so Dennis continues, "Why the fuck are you still shacking up in the back office? Get an apartment already, for Christ's sake." No, he totally doesn't. Rather, he asks, "What's the deal with the ex of hers? I mean, dude gets her pregnant, right? And then skips town on her? I mean, what's up with that?" We've been wondering the same thing, Denny my man. Big Chris averts his gaze and mumbles something noncommittal in response. "Huh," Dennis grunts, removing a stool from atop the bar to set it on the floor. "As far as I'm concerned, she deserves a hell of a lot better." Didn't I just tell you to stop sucking up to my husband? Knock it off already. Chris darts his eyes in Dennis's direction and states, "Couldn't agree with you more." Dennis vanishes into the depths of the club as Chris sighs once more, examining the Judgment card one last time before tossing it back into the deck.
Elsewhere, a pink-coated Raige presses an elevator call button, purses her lips, and peeves, "Are you hormonal, or just plain crazy?" The camera cuts to Piper, who grits, "One woman can only take so much!" The shot pulls back to reveal that she's frozen the entire reception area of her doctor's office, presumably to prevent a nearby matronly type from fondling her bloated midsection. "If these people walk out of their offices," Raige worries, "what do you think they're gonna see?" "Well," Piper coolly replies, "they won't be touching my stomach anymore, that's what I think." "Piper!" Raige chides as the elevator arrives. "That's not a good enough reason to freeze people." "I think it is," Piper airily replies, gliding past her sister to enter the car. As she does so, she casually flicks her wrist, unfreezing the room. The Matronly Groper, thrown off balance, staggers forward into Raige's arms as Raige hastily concocts an excuse involving vertigo. Raige quickly joins Piper in the elevator to sneer, "No wonder Chris grows up to become such a neurotic little freak." Unfortunately, the elevator door slides shut before I can counter, "'Neurotic little freak'? You're one to talk, missy, after everything you put Slampiece Buttfuck through this season. And besides, if we're assigning blame for my husband's psychological tics to anyone, honey, Phoebe and the Dolt would be at the head of the line. God knows those two morons have destroyed my mind, and I'm not even related to you people."