Manor. Big Gay Chris poses prettily at the window while behind him, Raige scries for the Dolt in great, sweeping circles over a map of the world. I take that back. She's actually scrying for him over maps of San Francisco, the world, and the solar system, like she's gonna orb her braless ass to Mars on the off chance the crystal slams down in that general area. Phoebe enters to shit all over Raige's diligent efforts, noting that scrying only works when the scryer scries with a personal item of the scryee. Oh, shut up. You know exactly what I meant by that. Raige smugly hoists a plaid shirt into the air. Hee. "I was thinking something a little more special than that," Phoebe snots. "[The Dolt] loved those shirts," Raige sagely intones. "His entire closet's full of them." Dude. Shout-out. And speaking of closets, Phoebe and Her Fucking Backup Band have apparently detected Big Gay Chris's, for she wheels around to spit, "What's your problem?" at his back. His pretty, pretty back. Demian pet the pretty pretty Big Gay Chr-- what? Oh. Sorry. Big Gay Chris huhs? for a second before masking his true thoughts by ordering them to focus on their sister, not their "ex-brother-in-law." There's one absolutely raging moment during this exchange wherein Big Gay Chris plants his hands on his hips and sasses Raige with, "Well, you better find another way, 'cause you are not gonna find him, missy." Okay, I added the "missy," but it was there in the intonation. Atta girl.
Anyway, Big Gay Chris argues that the ever-useless Elders can well handle the Dolt, but for every minute Piper's powers remain on the fritz, the Glamorous Ladies leave themselves open to ever-increasing amounts of danger. Phoebe and Raige bang their heads together to realize the Dolt must have mojoed Piper's "pain" during his last visit. Should they manage to restore Piper's memory and reconnect her to the anguish she feels over her ex-husband's abandonment, or so they reason, Piper's powers should snap back into place. Raige proposes immediate work on a "magical laxative" for their errant sibling, so Phoebe crosses to the cordless to cancel her foul lunch date with Dipshit. When she reaches the restaurant, however, she learns he's already phoned to cancel the reservation. An outraged Feebs jiggles off to "grill" "a DJ." The Fag and His Hag roll their eyes at each other all, "What's her problem?"
The BASH!! Hangin' Dipshit's just scored a flame-broiled brat over at the Weber when Phoebe and Her Fucking Backup Band arrive to confront him. You know what? The hell with this stupid scene. We're never going to see the Dipshit or his bratwurst again, so let's cut to the chase: Phoebe and Her Fucking Backup Band read every single one of Dipshit's stereotypically chauvinistic emotions, then proceed to channel the anguish of some five-year-old shrike who took a digger on the Rollerblade path nearby. After far too much of this, Phoebe realizes something potentially exciting has happened to her powers, and leaves.