Lucky Charmed

Episode Report Card
Demian: F | Grade It Now!
This Show Blows, And I Want To Die

Over in Munchkinland, the leprechauns have gathered in a sun-dappled clearing to hold a midget processing summit, which they conduct in Irish accents so appallingly horrific, I want to take The Cooter's letter opener and plunge it into my ears. The evening this episode originally aired, I suffered a minor psychotic break within seconds of this scene's first line. In a desperate attempt to preserve what little remains of my overall sanity, my brain decided to shut itself down, blocking all sensory input from the TV set until the camera finally switched back over to the Manor. To prevent that from happening again, I've muted the sound, so you'll have to bear with me as I recap this scene using the captioning alone. Most of the midgets want to hide from Big Bad Greg. One of these wee lads was the A-plot victim on a recent C.S.I., and another I recognize from one of ER's Christmas episodes. Unfortunately, neither of these gentleman is tonight's lead little person. That honor goes to the one they're calling Seamus. The captioning's misspelling it as "Shamus," by the way, which is funny because of the whole killer-whale connection. Seamus is a fiery Italian who wants his fellow dwarfs to "pool [their] luck" to fight Greg. No, seriously -- the actor's Italian. I checked. Though I suppose we should all be thankful that Crackhead Brad didn't grant the role to the Korean dwarf who's been lurking in the corner of the frame throughout this scene. After a bit of predictable back and forth on the overall issue, Seamus rallies the troops with a heartfelt call to arms or something and the scene finally ends.

Manor attic. Raige smoothes her shrunken and stained sweater on the table, then reads the following from a slip of paper:

Personal loss
Should not be mine.
Restore this sweater
And make it fine!

She sets the paper alight with a candle and drops it into a copper bowl. The shrunken sweater promptly flares out to its original size, sans demonic gore. Flush with success, Raige perks, "I should try this on my credit rating!" You do that, honey. Just as long as I don't have to sit through it, okay? The Dolt enters from the stairwell, cradling the swaddled Done One in his arms, and upbraids Raige for violating the prohibition on personal gain. He notes that the ever-useless Elders informed him that the forces of good have endured a run of bad luck of late, and suggests Raige expend her energies investigating that particular problem rather than mending her wardrobe. Raige cocks a brow and informs the Dolt that she happens to have written the perfect spell for just such a predicament. She plucks another sheet of paper from the pile on the table and reads:

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