"I'm a survivor and nothing affects me I'm still confident and I'm still sexy" and that weird gay secretary k-thx thing happening throughout: "Okaygreat " and then some bitching: "Oh Miss Paula I'm going to be doing it, I'm going to be singing English, and I'm going to be singing Spanish -- I'm bilingual, yes -- well, and well, I don't know what race you are... [Oh, cool, because that means I get to be about twice as mean as I was going to, because you're actually pretty much a douche.] Um, and Simon I'm going to be doing it and I'm going to be doing it and [three times total he says this] because I'll be representing you [note: I have no idea what he means by this, unless it's some reference to that little-known guild, the Bitchy Queens of the Northern Hemisphere, of whom I am so not a member]. Randy, you don't even matter. I mean, what have you done? You haven't even been in the industry, what have you, produced a couple of songs with Toni Braxton and Mariah Carey [aww, bitter that your Toni Braxton lies/shameful truths didn't carry any weight]? Wow, um and Sugar Ray, whatever your name is, one-hit wonder? Have you ever sung a note? Do you know what that is? I don't think that you do, but guess what? My album is going to be multi-platinum. Not just one [uh, platinum?] like you, but many of them [um, platinums?]. And Paula? Not just three [you loser, with your three platinum albums], but actually eight! [Precisely?] So anyway, that's going to be my future, and you just wish you could be as fabulous as me." Derek Braxton: He has a nice smile. Lovely smile. I think with no mustache he'd make a pretty lady. Kind of the black version of David Spade's "admin asst" character. Woe betide the breaker of a flaming homo's dreams. Braxton out.
And now to carry us through the horror of where we're at right now, there's a medley of bad singing of patriotism. A guy in a t-shirt with no sides and he's wearing pajama pants and plaid boxers over them, singing badly and forgetting all the words and just humming with a hopeful look on his face. Then a super-weird girl who looks like a victim of her trailer-park uncle wearing latex pants and a blue tank top who hasn't really conditioned her hair ever, swaying creepily with her hips like she wants to fuck Francis Scott Key even though he's dead and singing breathily and gross and forgetting the words and her number paper falls right off her troublesomeness. This wacky guy who moves his arms robotically at the elbows, palms up like he's cursing in Italian about abbondanza, instead of forgetting the words to the national anthem, which is actually what he's doing. Then this creepy undead kid with a really nice voice, actually, that unfortunately cracks and it's too bad. Then Boxer Shorts comes back and I don't know what he's doing, exactly.