Fade up on the Manor dining room, wherein Phoebe and Raige are just finishing a formal sit-down dinner with Chronic and Slampiece Buttfuck. Well, it's sit-down, at any rate. I don't know how formal it could possibly be with Buttfuck in a track suit and the gals in those flimsy camisoles they've decided to call blouses this evening. Buttfuck, by the way, seems to have no problem attending tonight's Manor affair despite his oft-cited mysterious and annoying problems with magic. Raige, meanwhile, seems to have no problem chugging on that fat glass of wine, despite her oft-cited problems with the hooch. In any event, Raige announces what a swell time she's had, then awkwardly segues, "But Phoebe actually brought us here tonight to say something -- didn't you, Phoebe?" Raige and Buttfuck smile encouragingly, silently urging her drop the bitchcraft bomb on Chronic's horribly coiffed head. Phoebe, gracelessly gathering plates while still seated, dodges the issue. Buttfuck shiftily darts his eyes around while Raige glares. Chronic, clueless, natters something about their impending trip to Paris the following morning to finalize a "French merger," but Raige won't let the issue drop, needling Phoebe in so many words to just come out with it already. Phoebe, flustered, allows her evasive responses to sputter and die, and ends up simply grinning goofily at the boyfriend. Buttfuck steps into the awkward conversational gap to offer Chronic a hearty "You must have great business karma." And if that's an example of his conversational skills in social settings, perhaps he should remain alone in Castle Montanague at all times. "I don't believe in that stuff," Chronic claims, and much as it pains me, I'm forced to agree with him. While it's nice to hope, as Chronic admits he often does, that "if somebody cuts [you] off on the road," "they're going to get what's coming to them," a belief in karma also dictates that if you find yourself suffering from, say, the heartbreak of psoriasis, you deserve it. You rotten, wretched, worthless excuse for a human being. And that? Is bullshit.
Buttfuck waxes poetic on the nature of karma just long enough for Raige to get as peeved as I've been since the beginning of this episode, and she cuts him off with "Great -- whatever," before brutally booting the Feebs in the shin beneath the table. Phoebe tiresomely makes as if to drop her bitchcraft bomb before offering a last-minute toast to Chronic's super-fabulous French merger. Raige scowls and orders Phoebe to haul her ass into the kitchen, pronto, so she can "help [Raige] with the cobbler." The gals skedaddle while Chronic cluelessly mumbles, "Uh, am I missing something?" Slampiece Buttfuck wiggles his wonky eyebrows.