Indeed, my impressively fanged friend, but now is not the moment for such criticisms, for The Whorine's entire apartment took the greaseball's last line as a cue to start rattling around as if it were the epicenter of a most uncommon New England earthquake. She leaps to her feet in terror, and now that I can see what she's dressed like, what with that purple lace bra barely concealing her goods beneath a black, grommet-bedecked bustier over a frayed denim mini-skirt, I'm inclined to drop the "in" in "Whorine" and just call a spade a Phoebe. "It's time to listen to the message He's sending!" screams the greaseball as just about everything in The Whore's apartment crashes to the floor. "It's time to listen to the word of God!" Among the items now crashing to the floor are those tormented clay angels. Among the items that refuse to crash to the floor is the fucking television set, which one would think would be the first to go. But no, the slimy little Southern-fried greaseball continues to yowl in the background as The Whore somehow manages to back up and brace herself in a doorway. A roar rather similar to that in the opening titles lashes through the air behind her, and as she shakily turns to face it, a bright white light opens up to flood across her features. The camera jumps around to capture the apartment's main hallway from her perspective just as a column of rather noisy light bursts open in front of the door at the far end to allow a shadowy shape to emerge. Before that shape forms itself into anything recognizable, though, we switch back to The Whore's face -- and the bright white light is doing her years of favors, here -- as she soundlessly mouths, "My God!" We get a brief glimpse of the mysterious visitor continuing to take shape before the camera switches back to The Whore, whose scraggly hair is flying out behind her in the unearthly breeze as she draws a hand to her horrified face right before she gets swallowed up by the METAL TEETH CHOMP!