We watch Nicole sing the same piece of the wailing song again. Chakdaddy has to close his eyes and shake his head so blood doesn't pour from his nose.
Cut to them listening to the final version of the song. David Foster is leaning over Chak's chair talking to "the people." Behind him stand the Hyphentwins, ready to make their final appearance. Jennifer just went ahead and had her mouth sewn shut like it should have been at the beginning of the series. The girls are proud of themselves and everyone claps for them. Jennifer tries to tell them that she brought copies of their first single in as a surprise, but the narrator says the same words right over her, so there's the last of Jennifer for you. The girls freak out and Maile is whining behind them that she can't see anything because Ivette's big ol' head is in her way. We can't hear what anyone is saying over the background music.
Rosanna says it was really nice for David Foster and Jaymes to come in with copies of the single. Jennifer jumps off the 143 Records parking lot. She only twists her ankle, because that's her damn luck. Rosanna says that being told she just finished her first album was "the heaviest and the lightest words [she] ever heard." Then she laughs a scary laugh that forces my cat's ears back.
The narrator says that finishing the album also completes a "major step" in becoming "Popstars." Uh, like, the step? Just sayin'. The girls show us the single, but the CD isn't in the case. The narrator reminds us that there are more things in store for the girls so we don't stop watching the show now.
Next week: "The girls begin their new lives as celebrities." I lean over my coffee table and vomit a week's worth of pizza. The girls are all in coats as a DJ tells them that 60,000 people downloaded "Get Over Yourself." And some Fanatic girl in a "Cutie" t-shirt screams her head off at the sight of Travis in her doorway. I guess I would, too. Then the girls perform in front of 1,500 teens that are paid to scream and shout. Nicole loves it. Maile hates it. Of course. Fucking Maile.