Okay, so FLICKERFLICK is in the lead. Not.
Anyway, it's 9:20 the next morning, and I can't believe Brandin is up already. There are beer cans everywhere. Rex and Cory are looking pretty damn comfy all cuddled up in that bed. ["Those aren't pillows!" -- Steve Martin]
We get some shots of HARLOW packing up and leaving their hotel. SOULCRACKERNOT is doing the same, looking all sad. Beastie totally looks like he's gonna cry. Watch it, Beastie. I think you kind of suck, so buck up, toothy.
Finally, all the bands meet up at some random meeting place and start chewing the fat. Josh Dodes is all psyched to give everyone his CD so they can listen to it. A.P. pretends to be all excited to get it, but you can tell he could give a crap. Everyone else starts demo-swapping and getting amped for their travel.
Brendon and Katina, the tour managers, appear as if out of thin air to announce the next city and whatnot. Katina, who I find rather fetching, recaps the current scores (FLICKNIP, $1121; BARFLOW, $1062; FLUSH LOADS BAND, $1029; POLETHWACKER, $803). Rex: "Yeah, of course I'm happy. We're winning!" No shit, buttlock (a buttlock is a lock of hair from someone's ass -- not to be confused with the buttclamp, which has more to do with someone just being a tight-ass in general, like Daryl from DODES). Adrian is blown away that SOULCRACKER is losing, as is A.P.: "We're definitely feeling the pressure now. We're dead last." Now that that's established for the thousandth frigging time, we can move on to bigger and better things. Not really. Brendon: "The next stop on the tour is Cleveland!" Woo-hoos, high-fives, cheering. And they're off.
HARLOW is trying to figure out if they know everyone's names from all the bands. They know everyone in FLICKERPOO, and POSH TOADS BAND. They only know half of SOULCRACKER.
Fletcher mentions that he really likes HARLOW. He thinks Amanda is really "talented." Sure, talented. Dude, not really.
SOULCRACKER listens to DODES's CD. They clearly think it sucks. Beastie says he would listen to it "at home if I were wearing a tweed jacket with the patches on the elbows!" Like, ha ha, you jerk. Beastie, oh my God, I want to smack you. Like you are just the lofty peak to which we should all aspire, oh arbiter of all things musical. Not. All you do is jump around the stage and sing back-up. You're not even the lead man. Sutton is, and he's much cooler than you in so many ways. So just shut up, you dweeb. Judge not lest ye have huge-ass teeth. Beeotch.