So, Brendon is “sure everyone had a good time in New Orleans, but it’s time to move on. Browgay! Time for some tour earnings info:

FLICK -- 5854
HARLOW -- 7176
SOULCRACKER -- 7535

Atlanta’s the next town. Woo hoo. Ramsey and Sutton say goodbye to their girlfriends as Amanda and Chimene watch and comment. Heh. Amanda (about Kelly, Ramsey’s chica): “She’s got a great ass. She looks like she needs to be bent over.” Chimene: “You’re fucking evil.” Agreed. Amanda: “I like [Sutton’s] girl. She’s cool.” Chimene: “Too cool for him.” Laughs. Okay. Whatevs.

The bands are on their ways to Atlanta, The Big…Uh…In Georgia. Ramsey estimates that “it’s about a ten-hour drive.” That’s nice. It’ll take us about a minute, as always. In what way is this important?

Over in the FLICKVAN5000, Fletcher is wondering “what we’re gonna do next. We’re two thousand dollars behind first place, so we’re just along for the ride at this point.” Too bad, man. If you guys didn’t drink, um, all the time, you could probably get some serious loot. But I guess then you wouldn’t be FLICKERSTICK, would you? Food for thought, folks. Food. For. Thought. Not. Cory is convinced HARLOW doesn’t really want to win at all. “They’re so close to first, you would think they would get off their asses. I guess not.” Touché, Cecil. I mean, Cory.

It’s funny, cuz Amanda and Rayshele are talking about winning too. Amanda: “Do you think we could do it?” Rayshele: “Well, we’re only three-fifty behind. But I’m wondering if it would be in our best interests to win this thing.” What are you talking about? Buck up, camper. I understand your desire to keep things “on the underground tip,” but there’s also some equipment and promotion opportunities at stake that could make your band life a lot easier, so get in gear, girlie, and try to win this thing. Somehow. God knows your music won’t sell itself.

Beastie is talking some shit about how conscious the other bands are about their images. Well, dude, they’re bands. You know how it goes. You’re in one. And let me tell you something else. Your band has an image, too, whether you like it or not. The image is “shit.” So shut up. Buttlock.