Out in some courtyard, the Good Doctor proceeds to publicly humiliate his charges. "I want you to listen carefully," he states clearly. "You are so self-absorbed. You need to sort out your personal lives and think about the group. I don't think we worked all that time, took all that effort, to come here and have a bad time." He goes on to tell them to show a little pride and give the best performance they possibly can.

AAAAGHHH! AAAAGHHHHHHH! Is that -- oh, God. I think I'm going to be sick. Scooter and Kaytee are holding hands! Ew. EWWWWW. No, I don't think they're together. I think it's just a supportive hand-holding thing. But. Still. Ew. Move away from the bad Scooter, Kaytee. Move. Away.

Back in da Bahamas...Shanna and Allie are rediscovering their freshman friendship while looking at a stingray in the ocean. They chat about really important things like enjoying high school and changing friends and sand crabs and the pitfalls of popularity, and Allie imparts her stoner wisdom upon her renewed friend.

Roadster, having not succeeded at hooking up with as many random chicks as possible, decides to make a long-distance booty call to Saran Wrap. He goo-goos and gah-gahs into the pay phone, and I call 911 to tell them to send an emergency stomach pump and a barf bag because I am going to hurl mac and cheese all over my computer monitor.

He gets off the phone and practically jizzes all over the camera in his ultimate orgasmic love for the clingiest girlfriend of all time. Did I mention the hurling? I see that I did.

Back in the USSR, or China, or wherever. It's time for the last concert, Scooter tells us. The hell? Where was the first concert? The only performance I saw was some sort of half-assed thing where the kids just slouched around and wore their warm-up jackets and kind of rolled their eyes all over the place. Didn't look like much of a concert, if you ask me. Anyway, a group of Chinese midgets, a.k.a. "children," take the stage of the Shanghai Youth Orchestra. They're wearing tuxes and formal dresses and they look like they could kick the ass of the London Philharmonic, let alone the cutters from HPHS. And you know what? They kick ass. A bunch of stoic eight-year-olds with instruments just kicking ass and taking names. Truly unbelievable.

Scooter's all, "These kids learn the violin when they're eight. They're geniuses. How can we hope to beat them?" Dude. It's China. CHINA. They start teaching their kids violin at conception. What'd you expect? It's CHINA. You know, the CHINESE? This is what they do. It's their job. Communism, acupuncture, and CHILD GENIUSES. Get over it. Let it go. You will never beat the Chinese. NEVER.