Back at the BASH!!, Phoebe and her dykey hair and her NIPPLES jiggle on over to the Dipshit, who's pouring himself a screwdriver. Long story short, they flirt, I vomit, she asks him out, I push thumbtacks into my eyes, and Big Gay Chris discreetly orbs in behind a van. Chris jogs over to drag Phoebe back to the Manor for the Trokster vanquish, and scene.
And my season premiere Hell continues. Over in another part of the city, a pack of five variously-sized dogs drags Raige and her painfully unfettered tits down the sidewalk, with Raige inelegantly shrieking the entire time. When she loses her tenuous grip on the clutch of leashes, the dogs race off down the street as one, so Raige up and orbs over in front of the mongrels to stop them before they flee any further. Subtle, Raige. An adorable basset puppy yowls as Rose McGowan metas, "I gotta get a real job," and I've been telling her that for a year. Before we can embark on further canine-related hijinks, Big Gay Chris orbs in to remind Raige of the previously scheduled Trokster vanquish. A beleaguered Raige pouts, "Can't you see I'm working?" just as a runty little bulldog starts humping her leg. No, seriously. No. Seriously. Someone on the production staff actually went out and hired a dog wrangler to train a teeny little bulldog to hump Rose McGowan's leg. I suppose one could argue her endless engagement to Marilyn Manson more than prepared her for an acting challenge such as this, but I doubt I'd associate with the type of person who'd make that particular point. The Fag and His Hag share a brief -- yet wacky! -- round of reaction grimaces, and then, to top things off, we cut to a shot of the supremely phallic Coit Tower.
Someone wants me dead.
After that open invitation to visualize a San Francisco landmark molesting Rose McGowan, it's back to the Manor, where Raige and Chris orb into the main hallway with Raige's various leg-humping mutts. Phoebe notices the miniature kennel and arches a brow. Raige explains that her temp agency "screwed up" and sent her on a dog-walking assignment. Chris cuts through the blathering to urge the ladies to focus on the Trokster at hand. "Lighten. Up!" Phoebe bitches. "Sending us after all of these demons is getting to be a real drag." Speaking of real drags, there must be legions of female impersonators with now-worthless wigs cursing the day Alyssa slipped into the salon for a Halle Berry. Oh, who am I kidding? As if there's a drag queen in the world so desperate for material, she'd even consider doing La Milano. Chris snarks that Piper hasn't been complaining, to which Phoebe retorts, "Piper doesn't complain about anything anymore." "Ever since [the Dolt] left to become one of the [ever-useless] Elders," Phoebe continues, "all Piper does is walk around the house all chipper." "It's unusual," Raige agrees, before adding, "and what's worse, it's not Piper." A bizarrely inappropriate musical cue hits the soundtrack just as Piper flutters down the stairs with Tiny Gay Chris tucked under one arm. Piper's blithely confirming a play date on the cordless, but I swear to God, the sound editors lifted the music out of that Kids In The Hall Buddy Cole skit regarding the proper care and feeding of male slaves. And what's even stranger is that as soon as Piper rounds out of sight into the kitchen, the music cuts out. The fuck is going on tonight?