Manor. Will this episode never end? Phoebe barges through the front door bellowing for her sisters, who soon join her in the main hall to process through recent events. "Who do you think did this to us?" blurts the egregiously dimwitted and oblivious Feebs. "The RETARD, you jackass!" comes Piper's reply, in so many words. "She's the only one who knows us well enough to use our past against us!" "Oooh, I'm gonna kill her," squints the Feebs. Piper just stares blankly at her brutally stupid hag of a sister before deadpanning, "Where ya been?" Heh. After a bit more babbling, The Manor Morons head up to the nonexistent attic to strategize.
Unfortunately, when they arrive, they find the nonexistent room positively swarming with the many Stoopid Magikal Kreatures who survived the recent demonic turkey shoot, led by the depressingly still viable Man From Another Place. Damn you, Charmed, for making me hate Michael J. Anderson! The Glam Gals start out all conciliatory, but that quickly goes nowhere when a smelly ogre man stomps up behind the Feebs, shouts, "You betrayed us!" and backhands her bony ass halfway across the nonexistent room. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Play. Pause. Rewind. Slow-forward. That was some good shit. Piper and Raige, of course, hasten to Phoebe's side to haul her back up onto her heels, and barely have they managed to do so when More-Or-Less Openly Evil Chrissssty and The Ultimate Retard push their way through the collected Kreatures to sneer...whatever. CANCELLED! After the maggoty-necked hissing is done, More-Or-Less Openly Evil Chrissssty thinks real hard for a moment and presently conjures a rapidly expanding ball of flame that Maggot Neck telekinetically redirects towards The Manor Morons. The ladies of the house, thinking quickly, dive for the Book of Shadows before Raige yanks them all upwards in a cloud of orbs. Alas, Raige's Whitelightery reflexes aren't what they used to be, and Chrissssty's billowing mass of pyrokinetic mojo slams hard into their orbs, propelling the cloud through the nonexistent room's front windows, which shatter outwards onto the lawn from the impact. D'oh!