Nonexistent Attic. The Dolt arrives to find The Retarded Bimbo pacing the floor. When he once again nixes the proposed field trip to Not!warts, the stubborn Retard snatches up a vial she'd been preparing during his absence and smashes it into the floor. A white cloud erupts to envelop the pair, whisking them from the nonexistent room and over into the hallway just down from the Not!warts library. The Dolt spots Fiendish Elizabeth's lesser henchdemons busily cleaning, and hauls The Retard into Snidely's old office. The lesser henchdemons, incidentally, are all wearing jeans and button-down shirts, because this show no longer has a production budget that can support tossing its legions of extras into black pleather pants with matching shredwear, apparently. "What are demons doing here?" The Retard dims. "Taking over!" the Dolt gasps. DUN! Also: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
Not!warts. Aftermath. The Retarded Bimbo, eyeing Fiendish Elizabeth's greasily poofy primary henchdemon, horns up because she is sorely lacking in taste, which all leads to much outraged chiding from the Dolt, but really. After Phoebe's three-year-long obsession with the Colethazor, he should be used to such stupidity from the women he's chosen to surround himself with. The Dolt insists they return to the Manor immediately, but The Retard, of course, has neglected to bring along the necessary potion, having assumed the Dolt could get them back himself. The camerawork, by the way, has shifted to jittery, hand-held stuff meant to ramp up the sense of urgency and danger, and it's failing miserably. Go figure. In any event, the Dolt quite suddenly remembers a transportation spell that can be found in one of the books, but just as he's about to reveal his plan of attack, two rather fey-looking henchdemons lope around the corner. The Dolt's all, "Pretend you're invisible!" or some such bullshit, but The Retard instead chooses to whip out her fists, activating a burst of telekinetic energy that yanks a set of nunchucks from the wall. The things whip through the air to clock the fey henchdemons in the head, and they drop to the floor, unconscious. "Can you give me a hand?" The Retard asks, clomping over to grab one of the zonked-out fey henchdemons by his feet. "What are you doing?" the Dolt guhs. "If you can't beat 'em," The Retard replies, dragging the henchdemon into Snidely's old office, "join 'em." This should be thrilling. Not.