Anyway, Phoebe won't shut up about her stupid subplot, prattling endlessly about how Sparklies picks only "fix-it" letters to publish in the column and she's left him three messages in the last twenty-four hours about it but he's ignored every single one of her calls and would you please, please just fuck him already and send him on his way, hag? Because NO ONE CARES. And even more boring, if that is at all possible? Piper's Issue Of The Week, which involves getting the Dolt to spend more time with the kids in order to convince him that "he's loved and needed" and that "life isn't all that bad." I neither love nor need him, and life at this very moment quite frankly sucks. So there. Someone whack me with a tire iron when this is all over to make sure I'm not dead.
Oh, Christ. While all of the above has been transpiring at the Glamorous Ladies' table, a couple of yuppie extras seated far down the sidewalk have been peering through binoculars at the Tiny Gay Log stapled to Piper's right one and making stink-faces about the supposedly scandalous situation to the café's manager. Eventually, the manager strides over and orders the gals to make with the tit-sucking elsewhere, only he does so in the most obnoxiously unctuous tone possible, like of course he would be a complete prick about the whole thing. Of course. And why is that, you ask? Because the Manor Morons Can Do No Wrong, and anyone who disagrees with or crosses them is a Poopy-Brained Doo-Doo Head who is also, in all likelihood, Jiss Jellass. Piper, ever the martyr, immediately prepares to exit, but Phoebe chooses to leap to her feet and bray, "You can't do this!" "Actually," the manager notes, "I can." He directs her attention to one of those "Management Has The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone" signs, and you will never in a million billion gazillion years be able to convince me that this would actually happen in San Francisco so whatever and bite me and why wasn't this show cancelled four years ago? Rrrrgh. Phoebe starts to make a federal case out of it, but Piper presses her lips into a grim little line and hisses, "We're going!" Phoebe splutters and gapes and annoying! while Phoebe's tapeworm inches forward into her mouth to salivate over the untouched cinnamon buns on the café table.