Which they're not, 'cause they've totally just been kicking back with a few brews tonight while FLICKERSTICK and HARLOW are workin' it big time. I think these guys are still a little cocky from the pilot, don't you think? Some serious tables have been turned, here. I don't know if I can go on. Oh, all right.
Some shots of Beastie shakin' his junk on the dance floor.
Time for some delicious commercials. Thingamajob.com? Is there really that large a shortage of domain names? Oh, yeah. Life 2.0? What does that even mean?
HARLOW time. It's four in the morning, and Rayshele is driving. She's a little pissy 'cause they didn't do what she wanted to do that evening. Everyone else is too drunk to respond tactfully, so they pretty much remain quiet.
DODES BAND is still talking about the botched football game promotion scheme they launched earlier. Boring.
FLICKERSTICK is absolutely wasted. Rex is acting out exactly the type of behavior he's always bitching about. He tells Fletcher that he smells, and starts spraying Febreze right in his face. Everyone's laughing, but you can tell they just want him to shut up. As do I.
Sunday morning. Show day. SOULCRACKER is getting ready for their show at The Subterranean. Beastie admits that "we were all getting a little bit nervous and started to doubt ourselves about how much work we had done."
FLICKERSTICK gets a radio interview through one of Dominic's friends. But what's really funny is that while Dom's on the phone hooking it all up, Cory is behind him flipping him the bird spastically. Heh.
Various shots of bands preparing. Rebecca: "I'm feeling good about tonight. We're gonna rock the house. Whether we get any people here, that's a different story." Daryl: "It doesn't really matter if there's only five people there, 'cause in the end I play for myself and I play for my bandmates." Whatever, Daryl. That's such a lie. You think you're so smart. Poo on you.