Piper and a smirking Phoebe jump up from the sofa to follow Prue, and stop her at the bar. Piper hands Prue an invitation they've received from Justin Harper, last week's convertible-driving slab of manmeat for Prue. It seems he would be honored by the presence of the three Halliwells at his family's annual barbecue. Phoebe thinks this would be fun, but Prue begs to differ. As she and Justin are still in the "flirtatious banter stage" of their relationship, Prue feels that meeting his entire family at this point might be counterproductive. Phoebe asks Prue if that's the only reason Prue has for avoiding the Harpers' party, wondering if the problem is really Prue's aversion to the idea of a "big family gathering." Prue tells her sisters they shouldn't bother playing the "Prue-has-parental-issues card," and Piper replies that while all of them find it difficult to see intact families in action, they shouldn't waste their time trying to avoid such situations. Contrivance calls from Sars's apartment in New York City, where he's taken up residence for the remainder of the current television season, and apologizes for not being able to make it to Chicago to guide me through this episode. I thank him for his unwarranted concern, reassure him that I'm perfectly capable of seeing through this tiresome sham without his help, tell him he really should be helping out with the housework while he's staying there, and hang up. Prue tells her sisters the only problem she has at the moment is the damn song spinning through her head, dismissively hands the invitation back to Piper, and resumes her search for the DJ.

As Prue, humming the insistent tune to herself, maneuvers her way through the gyrating white yuppies, we cut to a shot of an ice-cream truck that is piping out the same sequence of notes. The truck parks in a dark, forbidding alley -- as if there is any other kind of alley on this show -- and an Aryan tot approaches the windows. "Would you like some ice cream, little one?" the man inside asks, managing to sound like the stereotypical nightmare of a demonic child molester from Hell we're all supposed to think he is. The Hitler Jugend replies in the affirmative. The shaved head of the Ice-Cream Molester emerges from a haze of dry-ice fog to reply, "You didn't say, 'Please.'" The camera pulls into distorted close-up of the Nazi's screaming face, and we cut to the opening credits.