Previously, on Demian's Thanksgiving From Hell And Other Sordid Tales From The Dark Side, de tongues of de Secretly INSANE Brodys is be full of deceits; Detective Doormat hissed that it was as if Pepper Anderson, The Best Policewoman In The History Of Forever, had "disappeared off the face of the earth"; de tongues of de Secretly INSANE Brodys is be full of deceits, again, some more; Raige and Secretly INSANE Brody totally did it, even though they tried to convince the audience otherwise; the Dolt got a promotion; de tongues of de Dolts is be full of deceits; the Dolt said it with roses; the Dolt was of the opinion that Piper would come to understand him in her own time; and Piper replied, "There may be hope for you yet." No, Piper. There is not and never has been any hope for the Dolt whatsoever. Shut up.
Currently on Charmed, the dead-eyed Psycho, having at last escaped Holly Marie Combs's impressive post-pregnancy cleavage, coldly yanks at his uncomfortable and ludicrous bowtie with one hand while preparing to ram a plastic toy frog up Crewman Daniels's nose with the other. No, seriously. It's Matt Winston from Enterprise, last seen rather smugly gloating to Cap'n Tightass himself about one damn thing or another as the timeline reset itself after those stupid Nazi episodes at the beginning of the season. Considering last week's push of The Great Big Reset Button In The Sky on this particular series, it's either an inspired bit of stunt-casting or simply an example of the cunning corporate synergy you'd expect from the bozos responsible for this mess, given the fact that both shows now shoot on the same lot. In other words, they're poaching cast members to cut down on audition costs. Expect Ensign Maybelline to appear next week as a leather-clad go-go boy Mute Demon. Anyway, Daniels, here playing a portrait studio photographer, has just finished positioning the icy sociopath on a grey fabric block in front of the latter's massive Dolt of father, and now retreats behind his camera while mumbling something about the Psycho looking "like a little angel." Yeah, in the world where little angels habitually impale their prettier younger brothers to the walls of the house with carving knives, when they're not setting out bear traps for the neighbors' pets. Speaking of prettier younger brothers, Piper's seated to the Psycho's right, and I believe that thing she's rather delicately balancing upon her lap is...yep, it's a chunk of rapidly decaying, rough-hewn whale blubber that's been sculpted into the approximate shape of her younger son, then squeezed into an infant's clothing for effect. Seriously, people. Recast! Immediately! All members of the family, incidentally, sport various combinations of black and shades of blue for the portrait, the only exception being of course the Psycho, whose uncomfortable bowtie is a bloody, murderous red. More proof that Big Gay Chris died in vain, I suppose.
Anyway, Piper gets an earful of the angel comparison and, glancing dismissively at the current backdrop of clouds and such, is all, "Yeah, now that you mention it? Not so big on the whole Up There look. Maybe we should try the brown again." Daniels leaps to pull down the requested background as the Dolt rolls his eyes around and sighs. "Okay, let's do this!" Daniels perks, but Piper's changed her mind again in favor of "the Moroccan one." The Dolt leans in to whisper, "Piper. Other people are waiting." Piper, as is her wont, explodes. "Well, I've been waiting for years!" she shrews back at the Dolt as Daniels shifts around uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Ever since I [expelled the dead-eyed Psycho from my uterus]," she hisses, "I've wanted a family portrait, and it was always one thing or another with him going...you know what, and you going bonkers." The Dolt tosses an uneasy smile in Daniels's direction as Piper finishes, "Now that I have everyone here, I'm not going to be pressured into making any hasty decisions!" Blubbery Gay Chris -- whose sky-blue shirt-and-sweater combo precisely matches his mother's silk blouse, like, fag! -- has by this point lolled his tongue out of his mouth as if to say, "This neurotic wench and her incessant bitchery have EATEN MY BRAIN!" After some more back-and-forth between the bickering divorcés, swishy Crewman Daniels is all, "Okay, pretty people! Let's do this!" You know, according to his IMDb entry, Matt Winston is married. To a lady. With two kids. I find that...difficult to believe. Anyway, just as Daniels snaps the camera's shutter, activating the strobes, I'm Not Candy, Uniqua, and that other Avatar we haven't seen in nearly a month flare into -- wait a minute. Is that Phoebe's office? It is! They're totally using All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me's set for this sequence. God, this show is cheap. Anyway, the Avatars flare in and halt all time, everywhere, just as the strobes go off. The Dolt squints through the glare to glance over at them before uneasily edging himself out of his pose, leaving the ex-wife and his sorely neglected sons frozen in position. The Psycho looks like he flays little kitties for the hell of it, Blubbery Gay Chris looks like he's suffered several debilitating strokes in the last week, and Piper looks like the sort of suburban housewife who keeps herself heavily medicated to avoid dealing with points A and B. Heh.