Tyra Mail! "You ladies are SICK! But I'll help you get better. Love, Tyra." The girls head to their limo. When the screen between the back of the limo and the driver drops down, it reveals Tyra. She tells the girls that she's been driving the damn cab every day of the week. I'm sure it's just a special investigative report for The Tyra Banks Show. And then she'll be all, "I spent a day undercover behind the wheel of a taxi cab, and it changed my life forever." And next season, the girls will have to dress up as immigrant cabbies who are living on scant tips and a dream. Tyra tells the girls to go upstairs and get dressed. They head to the locker room of a dance studio, where they find bright red skintight ensembles. When they stand in a row, it's like the thermometer aisle at CVS. Lauren, being naturally uncoordinated and rhythmless, thinks she's screwed.
Tyra enters the dance studio in a trench coat and a wig. She will soon rip off the trench coat to reveal...an armpit wig with tiny little bangs. Fierce. She tells the girls that there have been lots of complaints about their walks, chief among them being that they don't do the de rigueur three-second pose at the end of the catwalk. They practice together as Tyra yells things like, "Keep it fierce! Let me feel the wind in the hair! Work it! Fierceness! Fierceness!" It's like the marines, once they started letting gays in the military. Oh! And then Tyra does whip off her trench coat. That she wants us to kiss her fat ass remains unspoken, but the sentiment fills the air like the aroma of barbeque sauce.
And then! Tyra stumbles. She's all, "Ugh! Damn! Ahhh!" and puts her hand to her head. Because when you sprain your ankle, the first place your hand gravitates toward is your head. At least it does when you're...ACTING! Tyra busts into poses of pain. Turns out this is the biggest modeling trick there is. When you're stuck for a pose, pretend that it hurts! "Think pain, but beauty," she says. She demonstrates some of the most painful ailments there are: headache, heartache, and menstrual cramps. And then she does what is perhaps my favorite ad-lib of all time as she clutches her midsection: "I need some pain pills! Acetaminophen!" It's like Robert Altman is speaking to us from beyond the grave. Tyra must have gotten some Tylenol, because she then writhes around on the floor with the kind of sprained ankle that causes you to get charitable, whip your feet up over your head, and tell Mr. Jay to go on and be quick about it.