Charmed
Valhalley Of The Dolls, Part I

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SPARKLE, Phoebe, SPARKLE! (Part I)

Kidding. The Dolt has no nuts to kick.

Back from the break, we retrace our steps from the Isle Of Dykes back to the Manor for a processing summit involving Raige, Phoebe, Big Gay Chris, the Book of Shadows, and Oscar The Raige-Humping Bulldog. Yes, the bulldog's name is Oscar. Yes, there is bulldog-related tomfoolery. No, I won't be recapping it. I realize the disappointment you feel at this moment must be crushing. Deal with it. Raige lands on the Valkyries' entry in the Book, which she and Phoebe read aloud: "A powerful race of demigoddesses who scout the battlegrounds for dying warriors, then take their souls to Valhalla, where they prepare them for the final world battle." And all of that would be [sic]. I'm not up on my Norse mythology, so I have no idea if this entry possesses even a passing acquaintance with accuracy, but more importantly: I don't care. The gals bombard poor Chris with questions, which he artfully evades by announcing his intent to consult with the ever-useless Elders. Phoebe and Raige persist, however, so Chris is forced to hack up the following bits of exposition: orbing into Valhalla results in immediate detection; the one way to infiltrate the island safely is through the crappy green digital overlay generated by a Valkyrie's jade pendant; Big Gay Chris can and will provide the appropriate bauble only if absolutely necessary; and finally, once on the island, the Glamorous Ladies must convince Bride Of Vaughn that they too are Valkyries, which can only be accomplished by arriving "with a warrior's soul." Raige twists her face into a tiny moue as Phoebe snits, "Where are we supposed find a warrior's soul?" Big Gay Chris is all, "Not my problem, bitches," and orbs away. God love him.

Somewhere…else, a uniformed police officer takes a round of bullets in his chest and collapses to the floor of a dank, forbidding alleyway. Dude. I can't remember the last time I saw a dank, forbidding alleyway on this show. But where are The Convenient Shipping Pallets Of Grave Bodily Injury? Sigh. As the perp clomps away, a crappy green digital overlay opens in one of the walls. A pleasant-looking Valkyrie emerges to soothe the dying cop. Unfortunately for her, Big Gay Chris orbs in with pendant-snatching on his mind. "The witches found [the Dolt] sooner than I would have liked," Chris explains. "That's not my problem," she replies evenly. "We kept our end of the deal." Chris assures her that he's "forever grateful" for the Valkyries' compliance up to this point, but he can't risk the Glamorous Ladies figuring out his plan. He reaches out with his right hand, curls his fingers into a fist, and flicks his wrist. The pleasant-looking Valkyrie grasps at her chest, gasping for air, and presently falls to the asphalt. Chris slowly approaches her lifeless form, whispers, "Forgive me," and yanks the jade pendant from her neck. The Valkyrie's remains promptly disappear into the ether. Chris then hovers over the prone cop, hesitates for a beat, and retrieves the two-way radio clipped to the cop's shirt. "Officer down," Chris reports. "Eighth Avenue sewer. We need an ambulance." A sewer? Dammit! I don't think I'll ever see a dank, forbidding alleyway again.

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Charmed

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