Currently on This Wretched Abomination That Improbably Lives On, we fade up on some hazy, panoramic views of the city center, before cutting over to what is clearly meant to be an alleyway near the waterfront. Raige orbs in amid the garbage and debris with Piper, looks around briefly, and puckers, "Weren't we here before?" "I mean," she continues, picking her way across the asphalt, "doesn't that mattress look strangely familiar?" "Probably because we saw one just like it in the last alley," Piper grunts, "and the 150 before that." Because this is, of course, the 150th installment of this hideous miscarriage of entertainment, and we all know how they like to get all self-referential during anniversary episodes. So much so that "150" would be the trigger for tonight's Pee-wee's Playhouse Secret Phrase Screamfest, were a certain four-letter word not abused far more often this evening. Just wait. "Now where is this paragon of good we're supposed to protect?" Piper wonders, glancing about while continuing to stroll along with her lippy bastard of a half-sister. Raige snaps something about Piper slowing down, allowing Piper an opening to grumble about returning to the Manor before the Dolt is "sentenced" by his fellow ever-useless Elders. "Don't worry!" Raige twitches. "When the [ever-useless] Elders hand down their punishment, you're gonna know!" "Well, this waiting thing sucks," Piper bitches. "I mean, [the Dolt] was an Avatar for less time than it's taking them to make up their minds." Raige stops short at this and spins to face Piper, assuring the latter rather impatiently that it's extremely unlikely she'll "lose [the Dolt] again." Which, of course, means the stupid Dolt's going to go missing in, say, the next five minutes, but that's not really the issue. No, the real issue is, as always, the Feebs, because everything -- even an episode supposedly devoted to the Dolt's ultimate fate in light of his role in the recent Avatar debacle -- is All About Her. Raige blunderingly segues into a tedious expository ramble regarding Phoebe's "man" disappearing tonight. "She didn't tell me she had a thing for Drake!" Piper exclaims. Raige admits Phoebe didn't actually cop to certain fond emotions herself, but as Drake is "cute" and "funny" and "smart" and "destined to leave," it makes him a perfect candidate for Phoebe's affections, given her sordid dating history. And no, neither Chronic nor Sparklies were cute or funny or smart -- God knows neither was that last, most certainly -- but this is a ferociously long and boring episode, and I really need to keep things moving, so let's head on into the next paragraph, shall we?
Ah. Much better. Referencing the Feeble One, Raige wonders, "How many times does a girl have to get hurt before she wakes up?" During this, a redheaded do-gooding hippie type has wandered blurrily into the far corner of the frame behind Raige. "So you think she's..." Piper begins before catching sight of the new arrival over Raige's shoulder. "The innocent," Piper concludes, clearly eyeing The Paragon Of Good. Raige, misinterpreting completely, denies this vehemently and starts ranting about Phoebe's own liability for her crappy love life -- word -- until Piper snatches at her sister's arm and yanks her around while hissing, "I meant 'behind you, the innocent.'" The Paragon bubbles over with a bright smile and a friendly "Hey!" before plucking a couple of sheets from the stack of paper she totes in her arms and offering, "If you women ever need a hot meal and a place to crash..." "Okay, hi," Raige snottily interrupts while waving a hand around in front of her face. "I'm wearing lip gloss. Do I look homeless?" No, that's not it, Raige. This woman saw the way you were dressed and figured you for a whore. The Paragon gets this mortified look on her face as Muggy McGowan vigorously rolls her eyes around in their sockets while making a series of "Um, DUH!" grimaces in The Paragon's general direction. Shut up, Muggy. Piper snickers and tosses out a freeze that grinds The Paragon to a halt just as some smoking hot demon with elaborate tribal tattoos running down one side of his body squiggles into the alleyway behind the innocent. Piper barely blinks before switching over to the mighty Hands of Discontent, and the demonic hottie instantly explodes into gouts of flame and a spray of tiny black bits. Damn. I hate it when they dust the cute demons so quickly.