Big ups, as always, to SunMoonStar.
Fade up on the Manor porch at night. The Glamorous Ladies emerge in tandem through the front door, clad in a rather drab set of party togs. Like, really drab. Prue's wearing a simple burgundy scoop-neck top over a dark skirt and a pair of low-heeled slingbacks, and Phoebe's pretty much clad all over in your basic black. Most offensive is Piper's pale-pink floral-patterned summer shift with the dark-red piping at the neckline, and it's not so much offensive as it is inappropriate for evening wear in late October in San Francisco. They're giving me absolutely nothing to work with here. In any event, the gals natter about the housewarming party to which they've been invited across the street. Prue has to work the following morning, so she's planning to bounce through the soiree in about twenty minutes and then leave. Phoebe, needless to say, won't be satisfied until she's completed several rounds of tequila slammers and enough keg stands to forget the name of the guy she's going to drag back to the Bimbo Boudoir in about four hours so she can have the drunken sex. And Piper? She's having "a bad hair day." Yawn. The ladies cross out of the frame into the street.
The camera pans up to the bushes in front of the house to reveal an Ominous Black Mastiff, panting in the heat, or something. In honor of recent events in Bay Area, I'd call the mutt "Bane," but too many people would then confuse the dog with Prue's second-season underwear-model jailbreaking one-night-stand, and "Cujo" is trite, so let's call the pooch and his murderous, saliva-dripping chops "Snuggles." Snuggles eyes the gals' progression from his perch above the sidewalk, and those eyes of his glow yellow.
As the Ps enter their new neighbors' home, Phoebe perks, "Hey, I have an idea! Why don't we throw a party and charge admission? It's a great way to make some extra cash." Bonehead, this is not Party Girl, and you most certainly are not Parker Posey, so shut it. Prue snidely remarks, "Hey! I've got an even better idea: Why don't you get a job?" We love the Prue. The three elbow their collective way through a throng of early twentysomethings in the front hallway to greet the neighbors. Said neighbors are, in order of appearance, Marshall, a dark-haired young man who's a bit like Ted from Queer As Folk with just a hint of gonorrhea, especially around his nose area; Marshall's brother Fritz, who looks like the unholy love child of John C. Reilly and Simon from Go by way of the unruly-haired millionaire freak the latter actor played on Roswell; and, finally, their sister Cynda, a butch-yet-pretty mix of Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bernhard. Well, if they're going to have an episode about morphing, they might as well hire actors who are basically blended versions of other people, right? They're like a trio of rejects from the Hollywood Geneticists' Lab. Marshall, apropos of nothing, is the more attractive of the boys, though his easygoing and affable demeanor and his overly pleasant and unthreatening tenor make me think I shouldn't develop a crush anytime soon. I've a feeling he's going to be vanquished before the evening is over. Must be that bowling shirt he's wearing.