P3. I'd refer to tonight's guest band as The Whitss, but as that show's got both feet in the grave and is merely waiting for someone to come along to kick the dirt back into the hole, I suppose I'm going to have to come up with a new nickname for these people. For what it's worth, the singer looks like Eve Ensler, if Eve Ensler bothered to have those unsightly warts removed from her face. Over at the Halliwell table, the Glamorous Ladies snicker about Raige nearly orbing in on Phoebe and The Sole in flagrante. Molly eases her way through the crowd to inform Phoebe that she's The Bay Mirror's new advice columnist. Molly decided she'd rather spend more time with her son than put up with her bitch of a boss, so the job's Phoebe's if she wants it. Terrific recommendation there, Molly. Did I mention that because of the infection, neither Molly nor Raige can remember the events of the day? Well, I just did. Molly thanks the gals once more for their help, and leaves. The Ps jokingly toast each other, but the toast turns ugly when Phoebe realizes that Molly set her demonic sights on Elise because Elise was already the object of Molly's rage. It follows that in Raige's deep little heart of hearts, there lingers an overwhelming animosity for Cole. Raige insists that she doesn't hate Phoebe's husband -- she just can't find it in herself to trust him. Phoebe runs from the table to the bar in a furious snit. Piper takes a beat to determine which sister needs her more at this moment, then tags along after Phoebe. Raige is left alone once more, and even though both her hair and her salmon-pink top are fabulous, she is so very sad. The camera tracks back from the table, and various two-drink-maximum club goers obscure Raige from the audience's view as we fade to black.
Next week, the Dolt finds himself assaulted by gentlemen who've been dead for nearly sixty years, but you wouldn't know that from the previews. Take it easy.