Kelly walks down the hall and makes "Nick" say hi to her. I guess he's a PR guy, because Kelly sulkily shows him a tabloid clipping about her that says, "Ozzy Girl's As Batty As Dad." She says that it came from the Sun. Kelly says that she hates England. So does America, honey.
Meanwhile, Sharon goes over merchandise, telling "Mike" that something should be in red, and then saying that she doesn't like something else, at all. I imagine Sharon is a hard boss to work for, and Ozzy is very nice, but aloof and weird. Kind of like Bad Cop, Stoned Cop. Sharon works on a price list and gets to panties. She asks us, "How much do women pay for knickers?" 'Arf a quid, Gov'nah!
Outside somewhere. Jack stands with a band loading stuff into a van. Sharon calls him and asks him to give Melinda a "Fuck You" shirt that has Chinese writing on it. (They bleep it, as with everything, so I'm not exactly sure what she said, but that's my guess.) She needs it to copy it for an Ozzy shirt. Isn't that stealing? Oh, right -- Sharon is above our quaint American laws.
Montage of Jack and the band fucking around in the parking lot. Jack tells someone at Divine that the dude has competition now; Jack has started his own label. The Sammy Hagar-looking guy tells Jack that he's a smart kid, but you just know that if it wasn't the boss's son, he'd bitchslap Jack and tell him to shut up and go fetch him some coffee. Meanwhile, Sharon tells us that Jack lives for music and wants to get his label running. (Sharon really means, "I will crush your little label, Jack! Crush it!") Back with the band, one Donovan Leitch-looking motherfucker tells Jack that he has "good hair." The band says it's always changing and that hair is important. (Yes, arms are good and hair is important.) Jack banters that you need someone in development with good hair. He says that no shit, with his hair alone on their side, their band is going to be huge. He goes on to say that they'll be "TRL #1" every day. Isn't it sad that the hopes and dreams of every young musician have been distilled into that one goal. Carson must be stopped. Someone take away his mic, his car vouchers, and his Frequent Fro-Yo Club membership at TCBY. That'll slow him down some.
The house. Daytime. Jack is asleep. Conked out. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, we're back on that day when Ozzy started drawing his masterpiece, the three-fingered scary clown. Ah, it's magical; it's almost like seeing the original sketches for the Mona Lisa, only, like, bad. Sharon says that Jack is asleep and Ozzy says he's just contemplating his next move. Sharon interrupts that he's contemplating "his next wank -- whether he uses his right hand or his left." Oh, man. That's gross and harsh and inappropriate. (How shocking that those three words would be attributed to a flower like Sharon!) Ozzy tells her not to be disgusting. He stutters on that Jack is contemplating his next move with his fucking empire. Jack sleeps on. Hee.