I realize that some might find this difficult to believe, but I became a fan of the 1998-2006 fantasy series, "CHARMED". During the series' first four seasons, I was a devoted viewer. Unfortunately . . . the series took a nosedive in quality - well, as far as I am concerned - after Season Five began and it never improved. Not even in the end. Despite the show's mediocrity, I managed to enjoy myself while reading Demian's hilarious recaps of the show's episodes on the TELEVISION WITHOUT PITY website. Below are excerpts from Demian's recaps that I found especially funny. I hope that you enjoy them. Now, without further ado:
Best of TELEVISION WITHOUT PITY - Demian's "CHARMED" Recaps
From (1.09) "The Witch Is Back":
"Melinda Warren, blood of our blood,
We summon thee!
Actually, in the interest of anal-retentive recapping, Phoebe and Prue give it a mere six "greats." Piper slipped in the seventh, and judging from my own family tree, she should have knocked in an eighth or a ninth to get them back to the late 1600s. Whatever. It worked. A Swirling Cloud Of Glowing Golf Balls (the first! I think) materializes over the landing by the window, followed presently by Melinda herself. She swallows a great big refreshing gulp of stale attic air and beams, "Oh, blessed be." I hate her already."
From (1.09) "The Witch Is Back":
"Up in the attic, Piper rejoins her sisters and Melinda around that low table. Needless to say, none of the gals wants Melinda to leave, but Melinda's all, "Whatever, you bitches. I'm gone." You think I'm kidding? That's pretty much what her little speech boils down to: The present is not her time, but rather that of her great-whatever-daughters, so, you know, she's hitting the road. The Feebs takes Melinda's hand and asks for a premonition of the Glamorous Ladies' future. Melinda sees generations of her descendants stretching out across the coming centuries. Way to be vague, nitwit. Melinda carefully fastens the Fabio locket around her neck, and the four women clasp hands. Prue, leveling her gaze kindly at Melinda, intones, "Melinda Warren, blood of our blood, we release you." The Swirling Cloud Of Glowing Golf Balls engulfs Melinda as she beams, "Blessed be, my daughters." Oh, cram it, Granola Queen. The evening ends with the glum gals glancing wistfully at each other. "We can always bring her back," Prue grins. Yeah. And you call me when the shuttle lands, sweetheart."
From (3.01) "The Honeymoon's Over":
"Phoebe prepares to jujitsu Emilio's butt as Prue rushes to protect Cole. Phoebe leaps to give Emilio a little taste of chunky sandal served raw, but what's this? She keeps ascending ceilingward, flying up about ten feet off the ground, where she then hovers and makes some startled blonde hooting noises. Emilio, distracted by the grunts and howls from the airborne Phoebe, doesn't see Prue's quick TK slap coming, and she hurls him across the garage onto another car. As he crumples unconscious on the hood, Phoebe whoops and yodels some more as she drops like a bag of rocks to the ground. "An active power," she guesses, but I don't see how you can call "hovering in the air and flapping your arms while howling like a constipated barn owl" either "active" or a "power"."
From (3.05) "Sight Unseen":
"They pull one of those somewhat distasteful lip-sucking kisses -- Cole with his eyes open for most of it -- and then settle into a more traditional liplock as the scene fades to... God, no. No, please.
I've never done anything in my life horrible enough to merit having to watch what follows. Really. I might tipped less than fifteen percent on occasion, and yes, I've told guys I'd call them just to be polite and then threw their numbers out behind their backs. I've gone fifty in thirty-five-per zones, I've even drunk straight from the communal carton of milk, but for the sake of all that is holy and good, I never did anything to deserve this: Piper and Leo, naked in bed. Piper's just coming down from (ohGodithurts) orgasm as Leo rolls off of her, praising her superior technique (killmekillmenow) when she "concentrates." Way to make her sleep in the wet spot, champ. Overhead shot of the two in (thepainthehorriblepain) post-coital bliss, with Piper shouting up at the Powers That Be and, by extension, the viewing audience, "I hope you enjoyed the show." Cram it, slut.
I should get battle pay for shit like that. ["Done." -- Sars]"
From (3.06) "Primrose Path":
"Chez Belthazor. Shirtless Cole. I pause the tape and light a cigarette. People in the forums have insisted that Julian McMahon is a hairy beast. If so, Spelling Productions must have included a trimmer in his contract package, because his torso, while certainly not waxed, would not put me in danger of developing hair balls at any point in the future, if you know what I mean. And I think you do. Mmm. Shirtless Cole. Where was I? Oh, recap."
From (3.14) "The Good, the Bad and the Cursed":
"They turn at the sound of gunshots coming from the saloon. Cole and one of Sutter's minions fire a couple of rounds at each other until Cole runs out of bullets. The two rise to their feet, the minion menacing, "I'm going to enjoy this. See you in Hell." Cole: "Been there. Done that." The minion draws, but Cole tosses a Flaming Ball Of Death at him. Cole giggles merrily as the minion disappears in a wall of fire, but stops laughing when he turns to find Prue eyeing him with disgust. "Like I said," Prue snits. "Once a demon, always a demon." Get over your self-righteous ass, Prue. You just shot a senior citizen and TKed him through a door. I think Cole can have a little fun as well."
From (4.04) "Enter the Demon":
"Cole hoists two scabbards from their place on the basement wall and hurls one at Feebs. "You think The Source is going to challenge me to a swordfight?" Phoebe snorts derisively. "Hand-to-hand combat is too safe," Cole preaches. "Swordfighting teaches confidence. Intensity."Oh, please. Knock it off with this Mr. Miyagi shit and just stand there and look pretty, okay, hon?"
From (4.06) "A Knight to Remember":
"Raige eventually emerges from the can in a pink satin bra and a tiny wraparound red-and-black plaid skirt. I think it's a skirt. Given the size of the thing, it could just as easily be a napkin. She crosses to the bed with a blouse, telling the slampiece that her responsibilities have expanded of late to include the "stuff" she does with her newfound sisters. She pulls the blouse over her head, and wow. Ow.
I've seen some gruesome fashion crimes on this show, but nothing on this scale. You know that scene in last week's Band of Brothers, where the little Italian guy stumbles across the concentration camp? And in the aftermath of the discovery, he comes across the Irish replacement soldier he'd been razzing earlier? And the Irish guy is just sitting dazed and shocked into silence on the ground? And the little Italian guy gets a look at what's derailed the Irish guy so badly, sapping his will to go on? Imagine that as a blouse. It beggars description. The color of dried Pepto-Bismol, it features an aggressive flourish of ruffles that looks like a marauding pack of anemones has risen from the sea to attack Rose McGowan's bosom, shoulders, and neck. It's hideous. It's deeply disturbing. It's Charo. Raige and the Slampiece are talking, but I've been struck deaf, if that's possible. At some point, Slampiece Glenn starts macking on her again, and I'm grateful, because if Raige caves and takes a Sex Day, she'll remove the horror from my sight."
From (4.17) "Saving Private Leo"
"The jerky hand-held camera. The grainy washed-out colors. The ADD-addled jump cuts. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are now watching Band of Brothers. Or Black Hawk Down. Or any movie, television show, or miniseries dealing with The Horrors Of War that was produced after Spielberg lost the Academy Award he was planning to receive for that overlong, overindulgent, over-praised epic from which this episode has stolen its name."
From (4.17) "Saving Private Leo"
"Phoebe descends to the stairwell landing, draped in the scraps of black fabric Belinda modeled earlier in the elevator. White. Trash. Up to and including the white dahlia she has pinned above her ear. Believe it or not, the fabric scraps looked better on Belinda. Almost wearable. On Phoebe, they hang as they might on a twelve-year-old girl. Did the Fun Bags take the week off to sun themselves in Cabo? Also, the wraparound skirt is riding so low on her hips, it's about to throw its muffler. Speaking of things that go "muff," Alyssa Milano has a heretofore-unseen tattoo that begins two inches below her navel and travels down towards regions best left unexplored. Bet you didn't need to know that, did you? Yeah, neither did I."
From (5.03) "Happily Ever After":
"Phoebe rashly decides to don the pumps to prove Cole's involvement. Raige counsels caution, as they can't be certain it's not some other demonic force promoting the attacks. Unfortunately for Raige, Grams nixes this idea, arguing that they can't loll around the Manor waiting for the next evil character to burst through a window. Piper, ever the sheep, follows Grams's lead, and urges Phoebe to try on the shoes. Phoebe slips the things onto her feet. Almost immediately, the pumps glow white, and a shimmering spiral of glowing pixie dust swirls up her body as Walt Disney's heirs speed-dial their lawyers to file breech-of-copyright lawsuits against Brad Kern. I, meanwhile, speed-dial my lawyer to file a pain-and-suffering lawsuit against Eilish for the unspeakable monstrosity masquerading as a ball gown that now assaults my senses. Phoebe's ensemble nearly beggars description, and quite frankly seems better suited for a belly dancer. A low-rent, talent-free, syphilitic hag of a belly dancer, but you get my drift. The outfit consists of a backless, strapless, midriff-baring opalescent bodice piece, connected to a foofy, bustled, be-bowed train, dangling over a white miniskirt, accented with tiers of silver lame ruffles that descend to the floor from her right hip. What remains of her hair has been fried into something approximating ringlets. It astounds me that even after all this time, they can still come up with new ways to horrify me."
From (5.11) "The Importance of Being Phoebe":
"The DemonCam dumps us in an establishment I'll be calling Bada Not!, for lack of a better nickname. A blonde reject from the Adam & Eve catalogue writhes up and down a pole beneath black lights, clad in a Day-Glo orange velour brassiere with frilly accents, a knee-length white gauzy skirt, and white patterned tights. We don't see her shoes, but I'm sure they match the bra. And I'll just bet she's sporting a pair of lime-green ankle socks, too. It's like a Wham! video with breasts. Well, a Wham! video with breasts that the gentlemen in said video find arousing. The reject slides a hand along her torso before pumping her hips a couple of times in Cole's direction. Cole's splayed out on a nearby sofa with a half-empty martini glass clutched loosely in one hand and his tongue dangling into his lap. Now that's talent. He's shaved since last we saw him, and he's back in his stylish, lawyerly togs. Throughout the establishment, cocktail waitresses in demure Eisenhower-era two-piece swimsuits pass beneath go-go girls of near-Amish modesty as the bald gentleman from the previous scene flares into the middle of the room. One of the waitresses nearly rams into him; she would, had they money enough to pay her for a speaking role, tell him to watch where the hell he's flaring. As it is, she simply flips her hair around in a -- dare I say it? -- demonic snit and flounces off. So this is the Charmed version of a demonic stripper bar. Not to get too picky about such things, but shouldn't demonic strippers be, well, stripping? With bestial heads flailing around above their scaly bodies while they perform unspeakable acts with live poultry, or something? These mall-haired implant victims in granny panties just aren't cutting it. It's the Sunday-night family hour on the WB, guys. Why did you even bother?"
From (5.11) "The Importance of Being Phoebe":
"Cole pounds the last of his martini and rises to leave, but the stripper reject boobs into his face and shoves him back onto the couch. "No time for one little dance?" she heaves. "Kaia," Cole leers after darting a "get lost" glance at the bald gentleman. Kaia? Ha! Where's the crap poetry, hon? Actually, this Kaia lacks the other's lockjaw and really looks more like Amaya after a nose job, what with the blonde hair and the vulgar simper and the massive bumper bullets protruding from her chest and everything. Cole settles back as K'Amaya swivels, and he mutters, "You know what I like." K'Amaya wiggles vacantly and morphs into Feeb form. K'Feebs grins, straddles Cole's waist, and grinds her nether bits into his groin.
I can't...I just...it's too...oh, JESUS.
Cole's eyes glaze over with something we're meant to assume is lust and isn't it funny how "lust" and "disgust" rhyme and Cole plants his hands on K'Feebs's ass and she pushes his maw into her cleavage and Cole emerges from the cleavage chasm all sweaty and drooling and K'Feebs opens her mouth and drops out of sight through the bottom of the frame and she is not giving him a blowjob no she's not giving him a blowjob no she's not giving him a blowjob because it's the Sunday-night family hour on the WB and the network censors just wouldn't do that to us no they can't no they can't be doing that to me and Cole grunts and the credits and the cleavage and the sweating and the blowjob and the fingernails clawing at my face and the blood squirting from my eyes and the vomit and hello heretofore unwanted sequel to Final Destination! You can drop a construction crane on my head RIGHT NOW!"
From (5.17) "Lucky Charmed":
"Tonight's opening travelogue is accompanied by a ukulele version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" that was featured prominently in several episodes of Young Americans a few years back, which only serves to remind me of a certain product-placed beverage and poor Pamie's summer-long bout of gender dysphoria. And Verve. Can't forget the Verve. Hey, did you see him on last week's Law & Order: SVU? He had sex with John Ritter's son. John Ritter's son, people. I mean, how desperate and/or skeevy do you have to be to bone the fruit of Jack Tripper's loins? And did you know that Ian Somerhalder and I share a birthday? Yep -- Sammy Davis Jr., Verve, and me. And Teri Hatcher and Kim Basinger, but we don't like to talk about them. Of course, Verve's ten years younger than I am, and…what's that? You want me to talk about the episode? Well, screw you. This episode sucks."
From (5.17) "Lucky Charmed":
"Manor. Up in the kitchen, Auntie Phoebe unleashes a torrent of sick-making baby-talk upon The Percolated Infant. By way of response, The Doltine Cracker horks his pacifier into her face. Heh. Incidentally, because the gang on the boards has been overcome by The Done One's cuteness and is therefore incapable of concocting appropriately vicious and ugly nicknames for the kid, because "The Non-Asian/Asian Precious Done One Log" is far too much to type, and because I myself am otherwise drawing a blank, I'll be mixing up the three…what? Oh, yeah. Episode. Right. Over at the center island, Piper bobbles a piping-hot bottle of formula, screams for the husband, and receives no response, which leads to the following mini-rant: "Fricking ever-useless Elders! What is taking them so long?" And that, my friends, is a shout-out if ever I heard one. Meanwhile, Phoebe's received an amu-- Holy Mother of God! What the fuck is she wearing? Oh, sweet Jesus! From the waist up, she looked fine. I mean, yeah, the black sweater's cropped above her navel, and her hair's an unsightly mess, but we're used to that. It's those pants! They're skin-tight and riding so low, the waistband grazes both her beavage and her ass crack, and I, for one, never needed to know about that tattoo on her left butt cheek. God! DAMN! What the fuck is wrong with Alyssa Milano? AUUUGH."
From (5.21) "Oh Goddess! - Part 1"
"Piper exchanges a supposedly light-hearted smirk with Mrs. Darryl, but you can tell she's wicked pissed, and I'm sorry, but she's got a hell of a lot of gall to whine about her husband's repeated absences in front of a cop's wife. Suck it up already or divorce him, Piper. Millions of men and women deal with situations similar to yours without shrieking about it every five goddamned minutes, you tedious, peevish shrike."
From (6.01) "Valhalley Of The Dolls, Part I":
"No such luck, for the next shot features the fully Valkyried Ps stepping through the crappy green digital overlay to arrive on the Isle Of Dykes, and Mother of God in Heaven -- some idiot's gelled an upturned, corkscrewed forelock into La Milano's "hair." She looks like Tin Tin. In a fucking miniskirt. With boobs. Are they blind? Is everyone who works on this show blind? They are, aren't they? Jesus. What-EVER!"
From (6.04) "Power of the Three Blondes":
"Oh, shit. I'd forgotten about this next scene. Sigh. Phoebe slinks through a crowded and tony eatery to crouch behind a potted plant. Feel free to insert your own joke about difficult it is to distinguish between the two. From Phoebe's vantage point, she's able to eavesdrop on the uncomfortable and embarrassing dinner date Chronic's having with Midge. And by that, I mean "uncomfortable and embarrassing for the audience." Chronic presents Midge with an expensive diamond necklace. To show her appreciation, Midge dives beneath the tablecloth to give him a blowjob. No, seriously. No. SERIOUSLY. Jenny McCarthy gets down on her knees to go down on Eric Dane. She even wipes the sides of her mouth when she reemerges after many excruciating seconds. Fuck it. I can't deal with this shit anymore."
From (6.10) "Chris-Crossed":
"The Dolt paces behind him, angrily calling for Phoebe and Raige, who, of course, ignore him. Piper floats in from the kitchen in a satiny blouse, burbles some Psycho-care instructions at him, perks, "Wish me luck!" and sails out the front door to get laid. The Dolt waves his arms around in impotent frustration until the squiggle noise hits the soundtrack. "Hoo-HUH!" LesBianca grunts from off-screen, and we see her boot introduce itself to the Dolt's face. The Dolt pitches through the air to slam into the alcove on the other side of the hall. His head rams into the window seat, and he slumps into an unconscious heap on the carpet. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Slow-forward. That was a spectacular example of Dolt abuse, people. So spectacular, I might have to give this episode an 'A'."
"As Chris obediently orbs up through the ceiling, Darryl snots, "Where's he going?" Upon hearing the answer, Darryl splutters, "This is the last time I work crowd control for you guys!" before ducking back out the door. Dude, I don't know why you're even talking to them after they killed you in the first damn episode of the season, so whatever. Also: Shut up!"
"The Glamorous Ladies regroup, with Piper expressing doubt that Patrick Cassidy's death was enough to realign the timeline. She reminds her sisters that Grams flew into a rage when she found her husband dead (in 1964, three years before the events of this episode). Piper then indicates the wimpily weeping LYGrams and asks, "Does that look like a demon killer to you?" Raige and Phoebe gawp."
"Finally, and at Phoebe's prompting, LYGrams topples the much-abused grandfather clock onto The Spawn Of Busey, who lapses into unconsciousness. "Now you do something really final," Phoebe helpfully hints. LYGrams squints and ad-libs the following spell:
Snuff this warlock
His days are done,
But make him good
For the ecosystem.
I hate this stupid fucking sucky-ass show."
From (6.13)"Used Karma":
"Piper spots the shattered remnants of the vase and wonders, "What happened here?" "Bonjour!" Phoebe calls as she wafts down the stairs in a hideous bra-and-micro-mini set stitched together from swatches of cherry-red sateen, accented with vast swaths of sheer pink and tangerine chiffon. It's deeply hateful. What's even more deeply hateful is that she apparently had this thing hanging in her closet on the off chance she'd ever need clothing appropriate for possession by a long-dead Jazz-Age Eurotrash whore. "What the heck are you wearing?" Piper growls. "Just a little something to help me get my boyfriend back," Phoebe replies. "Showing a little skin never hurt." Millions of viewers at home beg to differ, skank. Piper supposes this means things didn't go well with Chronic the previous evening. "No," Phoebe admits before adding, "Je ne sais pas pourquoi." But instead of pronouncing it "Zhunsaypa," the dumbass goes, "Zhuh-na-say-pas," because Phoebe's a fucking moron, even when she's been possessed by a long-dead Jazz-Age Eurotrash whore."
From (6.17)"Hyde School Reunion":
"Down in the main hall, Mr. Rick's hurled Phoebe against the window seat in the foyer and is demanding she alter his appearance immediately. Raige wanders onto the scene, Mr. Rick levels the shotgun in her direction, and I'll tell you right now, for the next four minutes, the only thing I was doing was chanting, "Orb the gun, Raige. Orb the gun, Raige. Orb the gun, Raige. "ORB THE MOTHERFUCKING GUN, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT." So, needless to say, I missed quite a bit of the subsequent dialogue, but this show is ass, so whatever. Mr. Rick, having decided Phoebe is now his "leverage," reveals Ramona's location, then orders Raige to change his face. Phoebe stumbles across a cunning plan, if by "a cunning plan," one means "a hideous abuse of both Raige's power and her own that violates every established doctrine regarding the difference between human and demonic evil and how best to deal with each." In other words, Phoebe suggests that Raige turn Mr. Rick into Big Gay Chris. Get it? So the Scabbard Demons will materialize and destroy him with their sprays of green acid? Yeah. Fuck this show. Raige, for some stupid reason of her own, obliges by improvising the following couplet:
Who you were, you're now another:
Take the face of [the Psycho's] brother.
Mr. Rick morphs into Big Gay Chris, and poor Drew Fuller. He simply cannot play the menacing heterosexual convict type very convincingly. As in, he can't play the menacing heterosexual convict type at all. It doesn't help that Mr. Big Gay Chrick still has Chris's voice, either. It would have made far more sense for Rod Rowland to overdub the two lines Mr. Big Gay Chrick gets before the Scabbard demons waste him, but this show is ass, so whatever. Raige and Phoebe promptly hole themselves up in separate Manor nooks to avoid the messy murder that follows. Three Scabbards materialize in the parlor and hose Mr. Big Gay Chrick down with multiple streams of acid. Mr. Big Gay Chrick screams and dissolves into a flailing tower of black goo that presently sinks to the floor and vanishes. After the demons dematerialize, Phoebe and Raige emerge from their hiding places to survey the carnage.
"You okay?" Raige breathes. "Yeah," Phoebe mutters. "You know you had to, right?" Raige offers. Phoebe nods as I call bullshit, because they didn't have to, because Raige could have ORBED THE MOTHERFUCKING SHOTGUN AWAY FROM HIM, but this show is ass, so whatever. WHATEVER."
From (7.02)"The Bare Witch Project":
"Piper, God love her, peeves that altering the course of history is just a wee bit more important than that stupid fucking magic school. Just then the blender roars to life, and the frisky-fingered Godiva shrieks in fright and hops back a couple of paces. Piper chases the dim, badly bewigged "blonde" back to Raige's side and sighs, "On the other hand, how much history could a naked woman on horseback really affect?" Excellent question, Piper, and I have an answer for you: none. None whatso-fucking-ever, especially when you consider the fact that the whole ride is a tawdry, Church-sponsored myth to begin with. The real Lady Godiva owned Coventry outright. What does this mean? It means that her husband had no way of imposing or collecting taxes himself, and that if Godiva thought the peasants were tithing too much, she could have taken care of it herself without stripping off her clothes. Unless, you know, she was into that sort of thing, but what scant evidence we do have indicates she was not the eleventh-century equivalent of Gypsy Rose Lee. ("Her name's Louise!") So, while the Godiva on the show predictably protests that her non-existent ride was indeed quite important, I'll not be paying any attention to anything she or any of the other idiots might have to say on the matter, because the whole stupid thing is a sexist lie to begin with. So there. Nyaaah!"
From (7.02)"The Bare Witch Project":
"Oh, shit. Piper hustles across an intersection to arrive at the sidewalk café from the pre-credits sequence. "This better be good," she gripes as she reaches Raige's side. "Yeah," Raige snorts, redirecting Piper's attention further down the street. "It looks like Lady Godiva had quite an impact on our Phoebe's cause." Piper's shock, disgust, outrage, and revulsion at what she sees very nearly matches mine. But not quite. We cut to a shot of various pedestrians gaping in abject horror before cutting again to brief glimpses of what is causing the general distress. A bare foot in a stirrup. A leg. A hip clearly unencumbered by clothing, with the butt cheek partially obscured by the bottom bits of a long, blonde wig. A shot of bareback, horseback, crappily bewigged Phoebe from behind as she guides the nag over to the sidewalk café. And then, finally, a pan up Milano's torso through some terrifyingly bony cleavage to Phoebe's grinning rictus of a face. The café's manager emerges onto the sidewalk to get an earful from the Feebs about how he's living in the eleventh century and he wants women barefoot and pregnant and to stay at home and how breastfeeding is the most natural thing in the world and the crowd starts cheering her and there's a mime. Yes, there's a goddamned mime in the midst of the throng, applauding as lustily as anyone else. I hate this show. HATE. "It's a shame that women have to take off their clothes to be heard," Phoebe speechifies. "We shouldn't have to be exploited like this." So why in the hell are you working for Aaron Spelling?"
For (7.10)"Witchness Protection":
"Next week, Charisma Carpenter returns to give the lie to her first name, because she's totally boring as hell."
From (7.20)"Imaginary Friends":
"The good professor snaps that last week's class discussion on imprinting ended up in this week's "Ask Phoebe". "I'm assuming we're discussing next week's content, no?" she sneers. Phoebe splutters in protest, but The Very Good Professor cuts her off with, "Please. We both know why you're taking my class. I've spent years studying and teaching psychology, Miss Halliwell -- dedicating my life to it," The Most Excellent Professor continues, "but I'll be damned if I'm just going to let you poach my class to steal a sound bite or two for your column." The Most Excellent Professor Ever To Appear On American Television concludes, "You want to learn about imaginary friends? Do the research!" before casually striding away from the flabbergasted Feebs. BOO-ya! The Feebs is all, "But...but...I didn't...I don't...oh, fuck it! That BITCH is so eating a wall before this evening is over!" Seriously, Professor Slotkin. I'd switch teams for you after that scene, but I must express my concern for your physical well being. No one calls Phoebe on her bullshit and lives to tell about it.”
From (8.04) "Desperate Housewitches"
"Evil Michelle Stafford prompts the Psycho to poke his index finger in the bowl's contents, promising, "It'll make some really neat magic!" The Psycho complies, and the bowl emits first a reddish glow, then a stream of sparks that leap across the room to dive into the inverted pentagram on the wall. The pentagram's sides burst into crappily CGI'd flames that push out from the wall to spin clockwise for a moment before contracting to spit The Famous Almost-Original Source out all over the floor. "WHERE AM I?" Peter Woodward howls, snacking away on any and all nearby scenery in the process, and dude. For one thing, dial it down about eight or nine notches, okay? We're not deaf. Kisses. For another, I'd be very careful with the scenery chomping if I were you. I mean, they barely have enough money in the budget to cover your salary, much less replacement costs for any Not!warts walls you happen to get stuck in your teeth. "WHO BROUGHT ME BACK?" Peter Woodward continues, and sigh. They never, ever listen to me, do they?"
From (8.07)"The Lost Picture Show":
"While I was thus distracted, the Manor Morons had been babbling on about their Issues Of The Week, and I'll be frank, here: None of these subplots are of any interest to me whatsoever, because each and every single one of them is a retread of an Issue we've seen play out in previous episodes. Piper and the Dolt's marital strife? "Siren Song" with the body swapping, "Cat House" with the first attempt at counseling, and "Oh My Goddess Parts One And Two" with the second. Raige's troubled relationship with her genetic father? "Sam I Am". Phoebe's time bomb of a biological clock? Every single fucking episode since she embarked upon that goddamned Vision Quest in "The Legend Of Sleepy Halliwell". Or so it seems. So I think I'll be ignoring most of them tonight. This might be the shortest Charmed recap ever. By the way, apropos of entirely nothing, I had an incredibly disturbing dream last night in which Brian Krause kissed me. And I liked it. Yeah. Chew on that horror story while these tedious fuckwits babble at each other for another five minutes."
From (8.15)"The Last Temptation of Christy":
"Raige and Phoebe enter the Manor foyer from the front porch when we return, already discussing Chrissssty's warning, pedebabbling about Them and who They could possibly be and why They might want Chrissssty back before the Retard arrives in the main hall from above toting Chrissssty's untouched breakfasssst to interrupt the two with, "It doesn't matter, because They won't be getting her back." The three proceed into the kitchen, where Raige suggests they formulate some sort of game plan. "We don't know anything!" the Retard protests. "We don't know where They've been keeping her this whole time!" and yes you DO know where They've been keeping her this whole time because YOU WERE JUST THERE AT THE END OF THE LAST EPISODE, YOU STUPID STUPID AWFUL EVIL INSIPID WRETCHED INEPT INCOMPETENT EXUSE FOR A WOMAN. GOD! DAMMIT! I HATE THIS SHOW!"
From (8.15) "The Last Temptation of Christy":
"Phoebe jiggles onto the second floor from below just as Raige arrives from the nonexistent attic and, to steal a turn of phrase from Keckler, oh my awesome. The Retarded Bimbo is on fire. Crappily CGI'd fire, but fire nonetheless. Hooray! And she's such a fuckwit that she's spinning around, flapping her arms in the air, rather than stripping her blazing jacket off or rolling around on the floor. I swear, this woman is too stupid to breathe. And if I'm remembering my C.S.I.s correctly, she shouldn't be breathing right now, because her windpipe should have slammed itself shut from the heat by this point. Raige, doing the only thing she knows how, orbs the blazing hoodie off of the Retard's bizarrely proportioned body and towards points unknown before she and Phoebe race to the Retard's side, wildly wondering what gives. Chrissssty, bless her traumatized little heart, used her pyrokinesis to set her sssstupid ssssisssster on fire, then fled from the Manor with a demon. Why we saw none of this thoroughly delightful series of developments onscreen, I'll never know, especially when they could easily have dispensed with the entire Hilton Cooties scene prior to this one and most of the Simon Mocks sequence that preceded that. Whatever. CANCELLED! The Retarded Bimbo makes squawking noises as Raige and Phoebe gape their collective way into the next commercial break."
And here it is, folks. I have saved the best for the last . . . the piece de resistance. From (5.19) “Nymphs Just Wanna Have Fun”:
"The Forest. Because, you know, San Francisco is just bristling with forests. Whatever. The Nymrods titter and giggle and lead my brother-in-law down the garden path while Raige straggles along behind them. Rose McGowan's face is plastered over with this Kill Me Now expression, like she's thinking, "Okay, they tossed that fucking leprechaun mess into my lap, and I dealt with it, but this shit? Is just too goddamn much for one woman to bear." I hear you, my sister. Matters only get worse when she hits the breathtakingly stupid feminist-versus-pre-feminist argument they've written for her and the Nymrods. The Nymrods are all, "Demian's new brother-in-law is our man and we have to do everything he says!" and Rose McGowan's all, "But you don't need a man to define your…you know what? Fuck this shit. Is this fucking season over yet? It isn't? Jesus H. motherfucking Christ on a stick! Get my fucking agent on the phone NOW! Stupid motherfucker pushes me into a goddamn motherfucking TV series, and this is the shit I have to put up with? Hey, asshole! It's Rose McGowan. You're fucking fired, you fuck!"
Well . . . there you are. I hope that you had enjoyed them. I have certainly enjoyed Demian's "CHARMED" recaps over the years. Thank you, Demian!