Brandin ("It's not a typo," says Arnold S.) is the really "creative" and "artistic" singer of the group ("We're all artistic. We're in a band!" snaps Cory. "Easy there, Surly McPissface," says Mr. Stupidhead). There's something that sucks about Brandin. Oh, yeah. His hair. ["And his face. Did he have a nose job that went wrong? He's just so…elfin." -- Sars] Brandin's brother…
Fletcher plays the bass. He seems to like it. He's okay at it. Fletcher doesn't have much to say. Yet (mwa ha ha ha ha ha not). He's 24. Woohoo.
Rex is 32, married (which he keeps bringing up, and it's like, "Dude….dude, no…seriously though, like, I'm married, don't you get it, dude, it's like, yeah."), and doesn't like anybody anywhere. He seems really bitter: "I have a wife and two dogs. I'm they guy added on to make Brandin a rock star 'cause he didn't have to play guitar anymore." Huh? Rex, you're such a little whiner. But you're really tall, so you're actually just a big old whiner. Shut up, Whiney O'Complaineggan. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Don't be such a piece of poo. Rex is my least favorite so far. But we haven't met HARLOW yet.
Dominic (drummer, 30) is "an animal." He can drink his own weight in Bacardi 151, likes to get laid (which Rex is appalled by), and can "beat the hell outta those drums." He is a good drummer, but he is definitely a raging hog beast. He's revolting, and he looks like he smells like a hockey bag.
Time to meet HARLOW, a.k.a. "WHORELOW" (tm Sutton of BUTTCRACKER), "FARTBLOW," or "GOTHTRON 5000." Oh, yes, that's right. I went there. So, these girls basically just learned how to play their instruments yesterday afternoon. They're all kinda goth-y, and they don't sound very good at all. But considering...
Amanda (27, singer/guitar) pretty much taught everyone how to play just so she could have a band. She taught Rebecca (26) to play drums and Rayshele (31) to play guitar. Chimene (29), the bass player and only trained musician, thinks that "Amanda's sort of blind faith in things and blind faith in herself and being so unafraid has really put this band together." Clearly. But you can't teach talent. And I'm not saying that chicks can't rock, 'cause that just ain't true. It's just that these chicks can't rock. Not yet, at least. And Amanda gives me the creeps. I dunno.
Time to meet Kasey, the tour manager. Don't know what to think of her. She's kinda just there. She talks a lot about auditioning thousands of bands, hundreds of CDs, blah blah "chosen three" blah blah blah. Woohoos from everyone. "Today, you three bands will drive to San Francisco where you're going to play separate venues on the same night. The band that makes the most money from ticket and merchandise sales will be the winner. We're gonna provide you with $20 per day for each band member, a gas card, and a phone card. Now, it's time to hand over your cash, your ATM cards, your credit cards, and your cellphones." Everyone bitches and moans. Then Kasey flashes her gang symbol, says, "Peace out, y'all. I'll catch you on the flip, money grip! Beeeeooootch!" and she's out. More cheers. Rex screams something stupid. Shut up, Rex. Your big ugly head is as dumb as a butt.