William Bradford, multimillionaire magnate and profligate lecher, was busy ogling one of the more attractive women at the cotillion behind his wife's back. He was sitting at a banquet table surrounded by some other of his friends, who were gorging themselves on canapés. "A perfect opportunity for some payback," thought the genie, and he sauntered over to Mr. Bradford's table.
"Hmph! You've kept us waiting long enough," Mr. Bradford said haughtily. "Anyway! Give these gentlemen that bottle of champagne, and more hors d'oeuvres." He was clearly a little sauced.
"Very good, Master Bradford," said "Gene", and he set down his tray of canapés and popped open a bottle of champagne, imperceptibly casting a spell over both. "That will be all, waiter," dismissed Mr. Bradford.
Mr. Bradford and his friends popped hors d'oeuvres down their throat and washed them down with bubbly. "This is quite the cotillion, Will!" said one of Bradford's friends, "though I must confess that the food tastes strange..."
"I'm sure you're imagining things, Bruce," said Mr. Bradford. "Now won't you check out that fine lady over there? Mrow! I'd like to get some action from her, if you know what I mean!" His friends chuckled obnoxiously.
Bruce remarked, "Will, I think something's off with your hors d'oeuvres. I feel the most peculiar... tingling sensation." Mr. Bradford shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable. "Hrm. Now that you mention it, I feel odd too." His friends muttered in agreement...