Back at the FLICK hotel room, a fight breaks out. Some dude -- a cameraman? A production assistant? -- is holding Corey back. Dom has a swollen nose. Brandin separates the two of them and says he's "disappointed" and that they picked the wrong time "to drop the ball. This is what they want! This is what they want you to do!" Seriously, the night before the BoB? Sure, the pressure is on, but don't lose it now! Dom acts like he did nothing wrong, and Brandin tells him to shut up. Dom tries to get another shot in on Corey and Brandin straddles him, yelling "shut up" a few hundred times. Then he gets off and says, "Shut up and go." Dude, can I just say I yell at my dog the same way? Although I like to say "GIT!" Then, with each guilty party banished to a neutral corner, Brandid says he's "disappointed" again. They should be ASHAMED of themselves. And GET OFF THE COUCH!

ASSPOUNDER trots off to play the national anthem. Can we stop for ice cream too? Please? No, we have to sell CDs? Aww.

In FLUSH'S hotel room, no one's talking to each other. Stress, pressure, yeeks!

My Bloody Valentine plays the song that was the anthem of almost everyone I know during 1991-2, "Only Shallow," as ASSLICKER'S van rolls up to the arena and Beastie-itis says he "can't think of a better bonus opportunity" than to play "The Star-Spangled Banner." What an ass-licker! I'm sure he's just saying this because Sutton said it was a dream of his to play the national anthem. Anyway, the announcer is all, "SSOOOULCRRRACKKERRR!" Bob doesn't close his high-hat cymbals at all, so it sounds like PSHH-PSHH-PSHH! But the crowd "woo"s and everything. "SSSSOULCRRACKERR!" They do a decent job, but Beastie is all over the place.

One hour to the BoB. There's a montage of SPOOLSPOONER slapping hands and hugging all the people they invited to come out and vote for them. How interesting that they never bothered to make friends in any other cities. I bet the people of Chicago and San Francisco and Cleveland and Memphis and Nashville and New Orleans and Pittsburgh are crying big fat salty tears right now. And by "crying big fat salty tears" I mean "thanking the skies above they didn't have to face Beastie and his giant teeth bearing down on them, talking shit a mile a minute and staring at them with his huge, bulgy eyes." FLICK hangs in the shadows in their black turtlenecks, swigging beer and looking scared. Fletcher says he's "disgusted" at how the CRACKHEADS are out in front of the club pressing the flesh and kissing babies and everything. Brandin says he really wants to win just because CRACK talked shit about them.