Sitting in a confessional room she apparently brought with her and won't let anybody else use, Yoanna sits in the room with the huge green street sign featuring the words Fashion Avenue (get it? GET IT?) superimposed behind her and thinks, "Next confessional? Maybe we'll rethink this pink scarf ensemble thing for once. Y'know. For ONCE." What she says, however, is even more about her, if possible: "Catie being eliminated just goes to show me that the tables can turn any time during this competition." They then splice together four separate thoughts delivered by Yoanna on four different days in four different vocal registers, cobble them into some semblance of order using gauze and a toothpick, and patch them together with bubble gum until "Yoanna" "says" something like, "I really thought...that Catie...had what it takes...to be a top model," even though the sentiment probably began before the editing room as, "I really thought Camille was annoying and that Catie thought so, too. If Camille had what it takes, she'd be more like me, the ideal, scarf-donning candidate and most likely to be a top model. Oh, and I hate Camille."

"I've changed," Camille tells us. And you know, give her props. It's true. Before? Black tank top. Now? White. She's versatile enough to play either character in a live-action version of Spy Vs. Spy. And they said her acting was crap! "I've made an effort to not talk over people," she promises, instead opting for the far more sly conversational gambit of never having allowed them to get a word in edgewise to begin with. "All I can do is be me, is be me one hundred percent." With the exception of the troublingly go-getter and mathematically dodgy "one hundred and ten percent," I simply can't envision a worse thing for her to be.

A shot of the Brooklyn Bridge (I can see my house from...oh, ever mind) swoops us over to a shot of the somewhat unappealing southern skyline (or, as I call it, "Downtown Hartford"), which I guess symbolizes that we're about to take a sudden, chaotic journey to the outer boroughs...of the soul. Back inside the ZoLoft, we discover Shan-Deee-Lite- From-The-Global-Village- In-The-Age-Of-Communication (whatever. Her t-shirts use all the good nicknames, so I end up with these hoary, arcane ones. And, anyway, that album rawks) on the phone with someone the subtitle believes is "Shandi's boyfriend." She kicks things off by telling him, "I'm wearing your dress," referring to a brightly-colored potholder that proves her boyfriend's identity once and for all as noted fashion designer and renowned color-wheelist Roy G. Biv. Roy, elated, squeaks out a pleased "Yaaaay!" Shandi shares with us that she's been dating this so-called "Eric" for two years, adding, "He's my best friend." Yup. Your high-talking, dress-making (or dress-buying, dress-sending, whatever...the fact that he's a dress-knower-about-er at all is more than enough information for me) Eric is going to be a lot of girls' "best friends," my dear. They end the quickly-montaged-through call with exchanged "I love you"s, though they've clearly edited out Roy's well-known tagline and corporate branding catchphrase he calls out at the end of every conversation, "Biv and let dye."