Badonk is still working The Magic of Christ on Steven, which is a lot like The Magic of David Copperfield, but without the billowing blouses and tight pants. "I know you're lonely, but it's not about a girl," Badonk insists. "It's God you're missing." Steven doesn't seem wholly convinced, but lacks the testicles to get up and walk away. "The Word is strong right now," nods Badonk importantly. "Know who's a strong believer of The Word? Charlie Sheen." This impresses Steven, who obviously has just realized that one can believe in The Word while also spanking whores and snorting cocaine off their nipples. Badonk adds that Chris Tucker is also a huge fan. He digs G-to-the-O-D. "Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?" Badonk minces in a mediocre imitation of Chris Tucker. Steven, though, enjoys it, and seems attracted to the idea of discovering The Word. God looks up from his fantasy football draft and is all, "Dude, you think I care what you do? It's the NBA finals and every single damn player is thanking me for giving them big feet and free Nikes. I rule." As Steven giggles at the Chris Tucker bit, Badonk edges closer to his recruit. "That's an impression I do," Badonk explains. "But, do you really understand the words coming out of my mouth?" Steven awkwardly assures him that yes, he does understand, but he's just not into religion. "Uh huh," Badonk nods. "And how are you feeling today?" Something clicks in Steven. That something is God. Or Charlie Sheen.

Later, Steven and Heath stroll pensively together across the quad, the former clinging to a newly acquired copy of The Bible and the latter clinging to an existentialism text. Steven's face is tilted toward the sky and the sweet heavenly angels therein, while Heath stares at the ground at the filth with which he now equates himself. Shaggy skips over, oblivious to the winds of change blowing his friends' skirts up around their waists. "Saturday night, we're totally throwing it down at the Poochy Party Palace," he pants. Heath cringes. "Did you ever think that maybe the entire way you looked at the world was wrong?" he wonders, wounded. Shaggy chews on this. "Oh, yeah, man, I used to be a Goth guy," he answers, still out of breath. "Met this chick with black fingernails, and totally, like, pale, so hot...turned out to be an Albino. Anyway, you guys want to get a keg?" Heath bursts into tears. "I don't know anything anymore," he whimpers. Oh, man, but beer shouldn't make you cry. That's just wrong. Beer is love. I just helped put down a half-case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and I can't for the life of me prove that the liquor store clerk didn't piss in every single can of that terrifying liquid venom, but you don't see me crying. Steven says nothing. He hasn't had time to ask Jesus what he'd do. Shaggy waves them off. "It's okay, I'll figure it out," he decides, sprinting off down the quad.