Zurich, Switzerland. Hotel room. "Kevin cam." Britney, in her PJs, runs and slides on a big conference table. K-FedNow camera-talks that once they both loosened up and started being goofy, it "turned into this fun thing." Fun for you guys only. Trust me. K-Fed is a really good argument for forced sterilization. He could go on with his life, sniffing around from trailer park to trailer park, weaseling his way inside every C-lister he could find, without sending his lazy, slack-jawed, sideways-G-Unit-baseball-cap-wearing swimmers to impregnate yet another Moesha co-star or soon-to-be Vegas nightclub performer. K-Fed jumps and slides on the table in his socks. He does not, unfortunately, slip and break his neck. BritBrit takes a few tries to successfully do a handstand. K-Fed says, "Look at her ass!" Brill.
Private plane. K-Fed, night-visioned, peers into the camera and says, "This is mile high confessions right here ha ha ha." Hork! Boobney tells us that she's never been a good flier. BritBrit is freaking out, wondering why the plane is getting louder. She tells Fee to hold her hand and for whoever is filming to stop. Boobney relates a really dramatic story about how one time she was on a plane in Sweden and the plane just "dropped out of the skaaay," and ever since then she's been afraid on planes. Thrilling! BritBrit, looking extra-tore-up and more rode-hard-and-put-away-wetter than ever, screws up her face and digs her voice deep into the Louisiana swamp from whence it done came and yokels, "Felicia! What if we don't see the ground when we land and then we just hit the ground? And it's going to scare me outta nowhere! This has happened before!" Ha. And, wha? Fee tells her to prepare herself and she looks out the window and shuts her eyes and freaks out and the whole time music is playing that sounds like the Osbournes are doing something wacky -- like Ozzy is trying to figure out how to work the treadmill while Lola takes a crap in the corner. BritBrit keeps whimpering and whining. Plinky strings.
I'd like to just say a word right now to the future film and TV composers out there: cut it with the plinky strings. I'm fucking serious. If I see one more "comedy" where Steve Martin or Eddie Murphy is babysitting a bunch of children and he's looking around for one of the kids and doesn't know they're right behind him and as he goes from room to room looking, the plinky strings plink-plink-plink and the funny-sounding oboes and bassoons point out even more just how wacky and funny this completely unfunny scene is, I'm going to march down to ASCAP headquarters and…I don't know, deliver a strongly-worded letter! But seriously, please stop it. You are hurting music and comedy at the same time. Thanks.