"Now, Lita, you'll have to really scramble to get the deal for Seven Degrees Celsius, since Rachel was supposed to have already gotten it five hours ago, and the show only has a one-hour time slot, so we really can't afford to waste half of that hour showing the attempts at getting a record deal," Mulder spoke earnestly. The red-haired femme fatale nodded, and vowed, "Don't worry, Mr. Folder, I'll get the job done!"
"That's Mulder!" Mulder yelled out after the sultry redhead, as Lita and her glow-in-the-dark cargo pants dashed out of the studio. Mulder and the newly named Seven Degrees Celsius watched anxiously to see what Lita would do. Her intentions became clear, as she made a mad dash for her car, dropped her car keys down the sewer in her haste, looked worriedly in all directions for a nanosecond, before deciding in the blink of an eye what to do to solve her problem. Unfortunately, Mulder realized in dismay, it involved pulling the driver out of the nearest car, beating him up to a bloody pulp, and taking off in what appeared to be a brand-new--and now stolen--Mercedes-Benz. Mulder and his new pop band watched in open-mouthed amazement, as Lita gunned the engine of her stolen car and peeled off the curb at a hundred-and-two miles per hour, leaving the rightful owner lying by a ditch.

Mulder shrugged.
"Oh, well," he mumbled. "At least with that attitude, we can ensure the girl will get a damn contract." He turned around, and motioned for his boy band to follow.
"Now, Seven Degrees Celsius, we're going to ship you off to a dance studio, and..." Mulder stopped blabbing, when he realized that only one member of said boy band had followed. Turning around irritably, he began to holler, "Jericho and Helms, will you two quit drooling after Lita and get back here! So what if she can beat up guys and wears a thong, she's still your manager--!"
"Wait a minute--that crazy redheaded chick was wearing a thong?"

Mulder stared in dismay, as Mysterio made a full one-eighty and sprinted over to join Helms and Jericho by the window, who were now pressing their noses against the glass and squinting to get a better look at the tiny little red dot that was the Benz that Lita had hijacked.

A good half hour after Lita and her glow-in-the-dark cargo pants had long since disappeared in the hijacked Benz did Mulder finally manage to pry away the men of Seven Degrees Celsius into a shoddily-rigged dance studio.
"We're on a tight budget, but we're hoping that once Rachel--urk, Lita gets the contract, the record label will provide a real dance room and recording studio," Mulder spoke up. Jericho, Helms, and Mysterio looked around at the shabby room and poorly-waxed wooden floor, then at each other, then at their dingy surroundings again, and promptly tried to split. Fortunately for Mulder but unfortunately for the three wrestlers, they all made a break for the door at the same time, and thus got squished together to the point where not one of them could get through.
"Get back in here, you three stooges!" Mulder scolded. "How many times do I have to keep reminding you, you can't see Lita's thong from here!" And he reached over and pulled all three back into the room, slamming the door firmly shut.
"Now," Mulder began, "since the network was too cheap to get you three a choreographer, I'm afraid you're going to have to learn all the dance steps by yourselves." Jericho turned around, a skeptical expression on his face.
"I don't know about these two assclowns beside me, but I'm a huge rock star," he remarked arrogantly. "Now, us huge rock stars may headbang onstage and get into trouble offstage, but we don't do the twirly thing." Helms and Mysterio nodded along enthusiastically to their self-proclaimed frontman's words.
"That's okay," Mulder beamed. "If Britney and 'NSYNC could learn them, then surely you three can as well."
"But we don't have a choreographer," Helms pointed out wisely. Mulder whipped out a tape from hammerspace, and pushed it into the VCR.
"No problem," he said. "You'll learn by observing this video." And he pushed Play.

"...And up, and down, and up, and down...All right, ladies. Work those thighs!" a nasal, high-pitched, and nauseatingly enthusiastic female voice chirped shrilly. Jericho, Helms, and Mysterio took one good look at the video that they were supposed to learn their pop dance routine from, and their jaws dropped straight to the ground.
"That's a friggin' aerobics video!" Helms complained, boggle-eyed at all the Spandex onscreen. Mulder shrugged, before cheerfully handing out Spandex shorts and flimsy tank tops.
"I told you we were on a cheap budget," he reminded the three wrestlers. "This video will just have to do until my eight-year-old niece brings in that tape of hers with the "Bye Bye Bye" video she recorded off of MTV."
"Oh, great," Jericho grumbled, staring at his Spandex suit distastefully.
"Now suit up you three and start waving your arms in a silly fashion," Mulder ordered. "C'mon! Feel the burn!"
"...And up, and down, and up, and down..." the overly enthusiastic aerobics instructor onscreen chirped.

Lita paced around the reception room restlessly, while the bleached blonde bimbo sitting behind the desk boredly polished her nails, occasionally allowing a wary, dumbfounded look or two at the fiery redhead wearing a hole into the ground.
"Um, like, maybe you should wait outside, or, like, something," she finally suggested. Lita turned around and growled, "I don't recall asking for your opinion!" The blonde receptionist shrugged, and went back to polishing her nails. The frustrated Lita grouchily tossed back a headful of red hair, before seething, "Now, I've been waiting for two hours, and the little S.O.B. still won't see me, what's the deal?" The receptionist shrugged.
"Like, I don't know," she muttered. "I'm just supposed to, like, stand here and look sexy."
Lita let out a frustrated growl, digging her fingernails into her temples, before sinking down on the couch and grudgingly resuming her long and tiresome wait.

"...That's it, that's it! Feel the burn! Come on, ladies, work those buns!"
Offscreen, Jericho, clad in a pair of rather, um, snug-fitting Spandex shorts that left little to the imagination, stopped flapping his arms for a while and turned to Mulder to complain, "I'm tired of doing this girly version of the grind!"
"It's called aerobics, and from what I've heard, it's really fun," Mulder defended the tape. Helms muttered sarcastically, "Sure it is; I mean, I just can't think of anything more fun than jumping around in Spandex and doing the Chicken Dance."
"Hey, my eyebrow piercings are starting to jiggle!" Mysterio observed.
"And my Spandex shorts are cutting off the circulation to my legs!" Helms whined.
"And how come I still have to keep this stupid boxers wedgie? Do you know how hard it is to do the Macarena in Spandex while wearing a pair of boxers hitched up to your nipples?" Jericho grumbled. Mulder rubbed his temples with his hands, as he rummaged around a drawer, mumbling to himself, "Must find aspirin. Must find aspirin. Must find aspirin. Must find..."

Just then, there was a brief knock at the door, before one of the XYZ cameramen peeked his head into the room.
"Package for a Mr. F. Mulder," he intoned. At the 'F. Mulder' part, Helms stopped feeling the burn and snapped up to give a suspicious glance or two at the supposedly not from The X-Files Mulder. Mulder quickly took the package, and slammed the door shut. Ripping apart the brown paper, he pulled out a black videocassette, and pumped his fist in the air when he realized what it was.
"Finally! It's about time Mary-Kate-Ashley sent in that 'NSYNC video of hers!" He breathed a sigh of relief. The three Spandex-clad wrestlers, meanwhile, stopped flapping their arms and legs, and turned to stare at Mulder.
"So, like, do we finally have a proper instructional video?" Mysterio ventured cautiously. Mulder grinned.
"Not quite," he admitted, stopping the aerobics video and taking it out of the VCR. "But this should get you started." And he pushed the tape into the VCR and pressed Play.

"...Bye Bye Bye!"
A chorus of girly male voices intoned, as Jericho, Helms, and Mysterio's eyes bugged out.
"C'mon, Seven Degrees Celsius!" Mulder ordered, like a drill sergeant. "Start imitating those fruits in the video!"

Back at Lè Teenybopper, Lita was still pacing around restlessly. Her head snapped up in indignation, as the receptionist ushered in a pair of blonde, busty bimbos who were practically popping out of their tiny tube tops, into the executive's office. What got to her was that the two giggly airheads had barely arrived five minutes earlier and were already granted a meeting with the men behind the teenybopper juggernaut, whereas she had been waiting for damn near five hours and had yet to even get a glimpse of the executives running the record label.
"Hey! How come those bimbos get a meeting with the executive after only waiting for five minutes, while I've been waiting for, what, five whole hours and nothing's come out of it yet?" Lita demanded angrily, glaring daggers at the receptionist, who eeped and hid behind her desk.
"Um, like, I totally have no clue," she admitted.
"Well, would it help if I were bursting out of my top?" Lita wanted to know. The receptionist shrugged.
"Like, I don't know," she said. "But, like, if it does help, let me get you a tiny little tube top." And she hopped off her seat and bounced over to the back. Lita grinned wickedly; the bimbo had given her the opening she wanted, as she stood up and made a direct beeline straight for the executive's office.

Meanwhile, rifling through the collection of tiny tube tops, the blonde receptionist wondered why she suddenly heard noises resembling bimbos screeching and furniture being thrown around. Shrugging, she added, "Must be, like, one of the new songs by, like, that girl pop group, T&A," before resuming her search for a tube top that would, like, totally not clash with that redhead's hair.

"...And that ain't no lie, baby bye bye bye..." 'NSYNC continued to sing, um, harmonize, um, drone. Meanwhile, standing in front of the TV screen, Jericho, Helms, and Mysterio continued to try their best to imitate the boy band's bizarre arsenal of 'dance steps.' After the 93425027 chorus of 'bye bye bye', Helms's ears could tolerate it no longer, and the now-blonde former superhero promptly fainted dead away. Jericho paused amidst all the twirling and what he thought was spelling out the lyrics using American Sign Language, long enough to glare at Helms collapsed on the floor and growl, "Sure, take the easy way out, why don't you?"

Mulder, meanwhile, with a pair of ear plugs snugly fitted over his ears, called out, "Come on, Jericho! Get back to work!" Jericho muttered something incomprehensible and surely not very flattering under his breath, before reluctantly resuming twirling around the dance floor and flapping his arms.

The snotty, wannabe French executive of Lè Teenybopper stared in wide-eyed fear, as some crazed, tattooed redhead wearing ripped scarlet fishnet and glow-in-the-dark cargos pounded his two blonde sluts into the floor, before throwing them out the window.
"What...what do you think you are doing?" he demanded, feebly making an attempt at a French accent as he poked around his desk for the Security button. Lita, meanwhile, stopped admiring her handiwork for a while and turned to advance on the executive.
"I've been waiting for five hours to say this," she began. The executive swallowed hard, before squeaking out a guess.
"This is a holdup?" he eeped, as a confused expression appeared on Lita's face.
"Huh? No, why would I want to rob some pop label?" she wanted to know. "No, I want you to sign the band I'm supposed to be managing to a temporary fifteen-day pop contract." The executive finally found his red Security button, and pushed it. Now reassured that this crazy redhead was going to be carted out sooner or later, he regained his air of pompous arrogance, and replied snottily and in a bad French accent, "I'm sorry, but we're not signing anyone at the moment."
"But you don't understand, this is only a temporary deal for a reality TV series--" Lita started to explain.
"You heard me the first time, we're not signing any new artists at the moment," the executive replied arrogantly. "Especially not a group stupid enough to be managed by you." He smiled in relief, as he saw a pair of security guards rounding the corner and approaching the office. Lita's eyebrow, meanwhile, had begun twitching dangerously, as she growled in fury, "Excuse me?"
"That's what I said," the executive replied. "Any boy band stupid enough to sign you on as their manager, we're not interested in." Ah, the security guards were almost there. An outraged Lita stormed purposely over to the door, and slammed it shut, right into the guards' faces, knocking them out cold. The executive gulped, and pulled at his collar, as Lita locked the door and turned around with a terrifying expression on her face. Cracking her knuckles, the tattooed redhead growled in a deathly quiet voice, "I don't think you heard me right the first time. I have to get this band signed."

Meanwhile, back in the reception hall, the blonde bimbo was still searching for a suitable tiny tube top for Lita, when she suddenly paused. There goes the sounds of furniture being tossed around and girly screams again, she thought to herself. Shrugging, she added, impressed, "Wow, T&A must, like, really be making an impression if, like, the boss is totally asking them to do a second song." And she promptly went back to searching for a tube top.

"Bye bye bye..." 'NSYNC droned for the billionth time, as Jericho and Mysterio grimaced, both on the edge of fainting like Helms.
"Come on, Seven Degrees Celsius," Mulder called out. "Show some effort!"
"They're dancing on the walls and ceilings, for Christ's sake!" Jericho complained. "How am I supposed to copy that?" Mulder shrugged, as if he had no idea.
"I don't know. Lean at an angle?" he suggested, before returning to his copy of Sports Illustrated.
"My eyebrow rings are jiggling again," Mysterio complained, stopping to try and steady said piercings.

After she had beaten the snotty executive to a bloody pulp, Lita held up the poor black-and-blue man by the collar.
"Now," she threatened, "unless you want a repeat of what happened earlier, you're gonna give my boys a contract and offer them a fully-equipped studio with which to record songs and shoot music videos!"
"Okay, okay!" the poor executive squeaked out, bullied into signing the deal. Lita smiled in satisfaction, and let him go. The man promptly flopped to the ground like a Raggedy Andy doll that had just been fished out of the garbage disposal.
"Great," Lita said happily, and both herself and her glow-in-the-dark cargos skipped out of the Lè Teenybopper offices, passing by the receptionist bimbo, who was still searching for a suitable tube top. Lita got into her hijacked Benz, gunned the engine, and peeled off the curb at a fairly tame ninety miles per hour to give the good news to Mulder.

Mulder stared with concerned eyes, as he absently pulled off his ear plugs.
"Oh," he murmured mournfully, "this isn't good."

Just then, Lita sprinted into the studio excitedly, waving a bunch of papers in the air.
"I got it!" she cried. "I got us the pop deal!" Mulder turned around, and had to resist the urge to dance around and scream in delight like a little girl.
"Great!" he yelled enthusiastically. He then turned to the three unconscious men on the ground, who had fainted after hearing one too many bye bye bye's being sung, um, harmonized, um, droned, and chirped, "They'll be so happy to hear the news--once they come to, anyway."

Unfortunately for Mulder and Seven Degrees Celsius, however, beating up executives wasn't exactly the best way to get some exposure for one's boy band. They found that out the hard way, when they arrived at the studio Lè Teenybopper had prepared, ready to shoot Seven Degrees Celsius's first ever music video, only to find out that all the crew members and technicians were mail-order brides from Timbuktu who spoke not a word of English. Mulder glanced around in dismay.
"Well...this isn't quite what I had in mind," he murmured, when Lita asked him what he thought of the job she had done. Turning to the tattooed redhead, he added, "Erm...I think it's about time I sent you off on that other assignment." At that, the lovely Lita blinked, confused.
"What other assignment?" she wanted to know. Mulder racked his brain, but drew up a blank.
"Well...I'll have my people think up something for you," he muttered, as he propelled Lita out the door. "But, uh, great job! At least we got a pop deal."

The three members of Seven Degrees Celsius, meanwhile, stared at their surroundings, dumbfounded.
"So, now what?" Mysterio demanded. Mulder sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Don't worry," he assured the three men. "I've still got one final trick up my sleeve. It is now time to unleash my secret weapon on Lè Teenybopper." He then walked out of the studio, returning a few minutes later with a slim, pretty blonde.
"Gentlemen of Seven Degrees Celsius," Mulder introduced, "meet your third--and, hopefully, final--manager: Miss Kelly Bundy!"