Over in another part of the room, Douchebag Duncan slumps dejectedly into the depths of a sofa as the fat turd joggles into the frame to needle him about the spell, or something. Duncan tells Fat Turd to go blow as Spectral Maury Sterling tiptoes over to unleash some sort of demonic mojo on the Douchebag's ass. "Such intense frustration, pent up," Spectral Maury intones, sounding exactly like the lecherous Duke in Moulin Rouge!. "Let me help you let it out," Maury smirks as he wiggles the fingers of his right hand. The Douchebag's face flares up, and cloudy streams of reddish -- what? Repressed emotion? Fine. We'll go with that: cloudy streams of reddish repressed emotion eddy from the Douchebag's head into Maury's right hand, which begins to glow. The glow quickly suffuses the rest of Maury's spectral form, which becomes a bit more solid once he's processed the stuff. Douchebag Duncan immediately leaps to his feet and flies at Fat Turd, beating him to the ground while whining, "You son of a bitch! Leave me alone! Stop picking on me!" Lunch Lady God rumbles over to threaten, "Break it up!" as a pack of nose-picking thirtysomething extras quickly gathers to cheer and place bets on the winner. Or something like that. A random teacher eventually yanks the Douchebag off Fat Turd to disappear down the hall with him as Spectral Maury watches them go. "Interesting," he eyebrows to himself, turning to scan the others in the room. "I have a very good feeling about this," he adds with more than a bit of sibilance in his pronunciation, and I was totally right -- he's channeling Richard Roxburgh for this, and I can't say I disapprove. Spectral Maury steps close to the camera and grins.
Manor. Phoebe, mid-harangue, shrieks, "I can't believe you of all people are against this!" as she helps Piper shove the enormous double baby carriage into the front hall from the porch outside. "We have to do something," Phoebe continues. Piper, looking like she's had more than enough of Phoebe's shrill bullshit on the way home, rolls her eyes and snorts, "You are not writing a letter to 'Ask Phoebe' about my breast!" As Piper hisses for the Dolt, Phoebe blithers, "You're the one who said I needed a cause." Phoebe apparently intends to co-opt Piper's humiliating experience at the café that afternoon to teach Slampiece Sparklies a lesson, or something. Self-centered bitch. And there's a subplot I'll be ignoring for the evening, starting now. Piper leads the way back through the dining room into the kitchen, hissing for her deadbeat of an ex-husband all the way. Phoebe continues to make the whole situation All About Her as Piper impatiently slams a bagel into the toaster, reminding Phoebe that there's already a law on the books protecting the rights of new mothers to breastfeed in public. Phoebe urges Piper to sue the café, then. Piper tells Phoebe to mind her own fucking business for once in her goddamned motherfucking too-long life. In so many words. "I have other things to worry about," Piper grunts, crossing to the refrigerator to retrieve some cold cuts. "Like work." "Yeah, I don't have to worry about that," Phoebe glums, refusing to shut the fuck up. "I'm on sabbatical. I'm lost." Piper, over it, howls, "For crying out loud, [Dolt]!" She's answered by the shrill racket of an orb cloud, but alas, it's Raige's. Raige materializes with a freaked Godiva and immediately makes to hustle Bookward for a little abuse.