The girls walk (or, in Ebony's case, box -- check it out, it's the weirdest thing) down the steps of the H&RC and out onto the icy, depressing, New York street and back to the Elyse-otel (geddit? Because she's so...oh, never mind). Once we're back upstairs, the attention turns to Ebony, who is standing in front of a bathroom mirror, rubbing her face and yelling, "I'm supposed to make my skin faaaaaaaaaaabulous!" In a confessional, wee land rovers drive around the surface of Ebony's face as she mindlessly brushes away a tiny American flag jammed into her cheek and speaks loudly enough to drown out the sound of a tiny voice radioing back to Ebony's Face Houston that it's one small step for Ebony's Face but a giant leap for Ebony's Face-kind. Amidst this ruckus, she is still able to tell us with all confidence, "I'll work on it. It will be flawless." She might even go so far as to adopt the lexicon of the city she's in, because it's not passé for her to say her skin will be "like buttah," because she's marinating herself so much that one shot of direct sunlight would cook her straight through and make her tastier than a Thanksgiving turkey. Elyse can't even look at Ebony because she's already full from the Centrum she had for breakfast.

The plot bastes. Giselle checks in from across the room, lying in bed and thinking about how tired she is and how at home she gets her servants to come and lie in her bed for her. From there, she smirks at Ebony, who is wearing a white bathrobe and rubbing some serious lotion on her legs. Giselle hires a rickshaw to carry her over to the nearest confessional, where she laughingly tells of us of Ebony, "She uses so much grease on herself that, like, her grease gets on the doorknob of the bathroom." And now, after a thoughtful beat: "She's so loud." And, sure as hell, we cut back to the bedroom, where Giselle eats some cereal that I'm sure is a delicious bowl of Honey Bunches Of Proof Of My Last Confessional while Ebony rubs some kind of moisturizer shit all over her and screams nonsensically to anyone (though no one will) listen, "You get up on your booty and you move it!" She's like one of those subway preachers who shouts abstractly to no one about how Vietnam made her realize that the government was putting mind-control drugs inside aspirin and that the advent of rock and roll was a governmentally-sanctioned plan to make people take more aspirin and be more controlled in the mind. And that's why we have Ted Nugent.