Huge shout-outs to all the cool folks that hang out on the boards.
Previously on BOTR...holy crap, they're going back to day one. There's everyone assembling in Chicago, hugging; we see DODES banging away on his keyboard; Amanda's throwing the horns and rolling away in a limo; in Cleveland, Daryl flips the bird and looks left as he makes a right turn into a parked bus; Pittsburgh; the college party when COFFEESTIRRER double-books and leaves HOLE-OH out of a gig, and Rebecca objects, and Boob is all like, "Yeah, we can do that. We just did." Jerk. There's a neat cut between Brandin yelling, "SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" and DOODOO'S backup singers singing "shut up" prettily; Rebecca's cymbals are flaming out of control, and she gestures with her sticks to someone to put out the fire; Rex smashes his guitar. FLOWDES is cut from the tour. Nashville and New Orleans fly by, and ROLO plays "Blue Lie" and SHITCAKE plays on a balcony. Some highway footage rolls by, the road sign says Tampa, and we bid farewell to HARLOW. Sigh. Bye, girls! LICKERFLICK and SNACKCRACKER are left to duke it out in Miami; Beastie says his thing about "corporate yuppie rock" continuing to "reign supreme" if his band loses, and then the Dallas Goodfellas knock on his door and ask him to eat a little crow. That brings us up to speed, just about.
Here we are, season finale, 2:39 a.m. at Tobacco Road, the red-table-clothed blues bar. FUCKERFACE and BAINDESOLEIL are all knuckle-bitey and grim-faced. Oh, boo hoo! It's so rough! Being on a TV show and getting paid and all that! Let me get my tiny violin! The tour guy and gal explain the rules: The band has to eat all the worms and then lie in a coffin filled with rats and not move for thirty minutes. Just kidding. Next up for the bands is the Battle of the Bands, the purse for which is $5000. The audience votes on which band they like the best. Each audience member's vote is worth one point, except for a few specially-invited-by-VH1 music-industry "experts" whose votes are worth five points. Unless SUCKSOULER can raise $1,719 more than FUCKERLICK, the winner of the BoB will win the show. Wow, SC really sold a lot of fucking merch. They should open a store when they go home to San Diego. Maybe a Taco Bell franchise. Or a Radio Shack. ["Or an H&R Block, Bob." -- Sars] But wait, there's a bonus opportunity -- to play a rendition of the national anthem at a Miami Heat game. SHITSPITTER are stoked; FLICK, not so much. Corey dubs it "cheesy." Sutton says he's "psyched." And wait, there's another bonus opportunity. Sutton says he wants to win both of these opportunities, just like "we want to win everything." Maybe now's the time to think about the possibility that you may lose. Just consider it. Roll it around in your head for a while. Is it so bad? It is? Well, then, too bad for you.
In the SHAKERATTLEANDROLL van, Sutton babbles on about how he really wants to sing the national anthem and how he used to be "jealous" of people that got to sing it. Sutton? Dare to dream a little bigger. His band titters nervously. They know better than to bust on Sutton. I, however, don't care: I'm not in his stupid band. I know lots of famous people have sung the national anthem, and that it's performed before every sporting event and stuff, but! Singing the national anthem. Is. Not. Cool. And it's not cool to be all into it. Hell, every boy band and Jessica Simpson clone out there has done it. Has Weezer? I bet they haven't. So sorry, but I had to say it. SNACKCAKE practices and works out vocal parts and writes down the music and everything, and Beastie sits there smugly and says his band works so hard, and the other bands don't work and aren't focused, and he bets LICKERFLICK is just watching TV. I raise my middle finger to Baba Beastie just as we get a shot of FLICK…watching TV. Well, they sure showed me! But I still hate the CRACK. Brandin plays guitar all alone, trying to do an arrangement all by himself. The band doesn't even come with him to watch him sing.