Back at the Manor, Piper retrieves a Mason jar of some no-doubt foul substance from the kitchen cabinets as Phoebe bumbles into the room, burbling something vapid about how much a gal can get done in a day if she wakes up early enough and doesn't mind a little sleep deprivation. "What about the demons?" Piper interrupts, cutting through the crap. Phoebe "couldn't find anything in the Book to help identify them," but she did have a fabulous time reading up on the family history. "Did you know that Beatrice Warren only had one leg?" she wonders, unduly fascinated by this tidbit of information, and I'd bust on her for that, but alas. I greeted the news of my great-great uncle Louis Brabander's similar legless existence at the turn of the last century -- in Cleveland, of all places, like, ew! -- with an equal amount of inappropriate fascination. So, you know, no room to talk -- leg room, that is! Har, har, har! Okay, that was abjectly pathetic, but I've got to do something to prevent myself from throttling the yowling canine shit factories befouling my apartment at the moment, and if telling rotten jokes is it, then you'll all have to deal. So there. There's a bit of uninspired, promo-style non-hilarity involving the vat of demon blood bubbling on the center island's burner before Piper announces her intent to scry with said blood for Kevin's current location after she completes the vanquishing potion. "Wow," Phoebe eyebrows, hoisting one of the vanquish's apparent ingredients from the counter. "Jacklebeet. So exactly which state are you trying to blow off the map?" Please say Ohio, Piper. Please, please, please, please, PLEASE? Stupid Ohio.