I can't...I just...it's too...oh, JESUS.
Cole's eyes glaze over with something we're meant to assume is lust and isn't it funny how "lust" and "disgust" rhyme and Cole plants his hands on K'Feebs's ass and she pushes his maw into her cleavage and Cole emerges from the cleavage chasm all sweaty and drooling and K'Feebs opens her mouth and drops out of sight through the bottom of the frame and she is not giving him a blowjob no she's not giving him a blowjob no she's not giving him a blowjob because it's the Sunday-night family hour on the WB and the network censors just wouldn't do that to us no they can't no they can't be doing that to me and Cole grunts and the credits and the cleavage and the sweating and the blowjob and the fingernails clawing at my face and the blood squirting from my eyes and the vomit and hello heretofore unwanted sequel to Final Destination! You can drop a construction crane on my head RIGHT NOW!
A brief opening travelogue accompanied by several ominous strings and a pair of tense bongo drums whisks us over to "San Francisco Memorial Hospital," wherein a not-terribly-ailing Raige rests her perfect coif on a queen-sized bed in a private room. Rather than on a gurney in the ER. Whatever. Piper's at her side, and asks if she should summon the Dolt for a bit of his tingly healing touch. Raige waves this off, noting that she's suffering from nothing more than a mild concussion. Besides, the concussion is entirely her fault, as she was, after all, nattering away on her phone while attempting to maneuver an automobile. Thanks for the public service announcement, sweetheart. Piper next asks if Raige remembers anything about the accident. Raige claims that she was just talking to the Feebs, and the next thing she knew, she was "spinning out of control." "Kinda like my career," grunts the Feebs from her perch at the foot of Raige's bed. You selfish. Self-centered. HAG. Your damn sister is lying in a hospital bed after her steering wheel tried to mate with her face, and you bring up the piddling advice column you hack out for some tabloid rag? SHUT UP! Piper, rather than employing the Hands Of Discontent to vaporize Phoebe's skull, picks up the "life sucks" strand of the conversation and knits herself a twin set of self-pity while expositing about P3's plumbing problems, which are quite the irritation given the health inspector's scheduled visit that afternoon. Raige rolls her eyes and mutters something akin to "when it rains, it pours" that unfortunately involves Mercury being in retrograde, like, don't involve the planets in this week's set of massive contrivances, okay?
The gals then tediously recite lessons from the first page of Charmed For Simps when the Feebs too-casually suggests that Piper abuse the Book of Shadows for a temporary solution to P3's problems. Piper laboriously reminds us all of the prohibition against personal gain, allowing Phoebe to pout that dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell can use power for personal gain any time they feel like it and "It's not fair!" and could somebody please move the plot along a little bit? Anyone? They're ignoring me again. A bit of Feeb-tastic baby talk directed at the percolating infant follows before Phoebe darts off to deal with The Bay Mirror's lawyers. Piper rises to leave as well, but Raige detains her long enough to underscore The Cole Issue yet again. Once Piper goes, Raige prepares to change back into her street clothes. A stocky uniformed officer raps at her door. "[Raige] Matthews?" he asks. "You're under arrest." DUN!