Jen's inside, wandering around the frat house with a cup and a superior smile. She's approached by a guy with dyed blond hair, who wonders if she'd like to go upstairs and "look at his stereo." Is that what the boys are saying now? When I was a freshman in college, two hundred years ago, it was more along the lines of "dude, come upstairs." None of that "look at my stereo" crap. Jen chuckles and tells him that she bets "he's got some bitchin' black light posters up there, too." And he does! Oh, all right: ha. The black light poster thing is funny. Because it's real. Jen tells Black Light that she's going to pass. "Why?" Black Light wonders. "Because I'm not going to sleep with you," she tells him. "Well, how do you know? You might get up there and change your mind," Black Light offers. Jen's doubtful.
Elsewhere at the party, Dumb Guy With A Dream is tapping the keg. Mid-tap, he looks up to find Jack, waiting with his glass. They chat a bit, and the DGWAD hits Jack with the "Join A Frat! We're A Family! Also: We Have Roofies!" speech. Jacks sort of hems and haws over the whole frat-joining concept. DGWAD tells him to "think about it," and walks off, snapping his fingers. Immediately, the pledge at his heels snaps a Polaroid of Jack, who blinks.
Hollywood, The City Of Whatever. The Set Of A Fakey McAccent Movie. Dawson stumbles over toward craft services, an entire tray of coffee drinks precariously in his grasp. He, of course, manages to drop all of them, everywhere. Smooth move, Dunston. The entire crew, including Fake Accent Todd, turns and stares. "Incompetence. Everywhere I look. Even down to the friggin' intern," Todd says through his megaphone. Dawson grimaces and grabs a roll of paper towels, and starts cleaning up. "Screw you," he mutters under his breath. Todd turns back to Dawson -- see, because Todd had already returned to work, so belated and wussy is Dawson with his "screw you"s -- and asks if he has something to share with the class. Or, er, the set. Dawson sputters that he doesn't. And then, saints preserve us, he changes his mind. He stands up. And he speechifies. "Hey, Todd? What I said was 'screw you,'" he calls. Oh, Christ. "You should be ashamed of yourself, man. Not because you treat people badly, because a lot of people do that. You should be ashamed of yourself because you have an amazing privilege and you don't even take it seriously. You get to make movies, man, you get to do it for a living and you don't even appreciate it. This movie's probably going to suck. I know that, you know that, the entire crew knows it. And your next movie's probably going to suck, too. Somebody gave you the keys to the kingdom and you're blowing it. I feel sorry for you. If I ever get here, I'm going to do things a lot differently." He finishes with a dramatic flare of the old Dawson Leery Nostril Of Melodrama. And the crew claps. They fucking clap. What is this, Jerry Maguire? Without, you know, the good-looking people? Todd shoots the crew a dirty look, and everyone immediately puts their hands in their pockets. He walks, very slowly, over to Dawson. "You've got balls, kid," he begins, almost admiringly. Oh, please God, don't promote him. Don't promote him. If you promote him, I'll turn off my television, and recap this show using only my powers of extrasensory perception, and multiple calls to Miss Cleo. "Now get off my set. You're fired," Todd finishes. Dawson blinks. I yelp with joy. The Sad Piano Of Broken Dreams twinkles in the background as Dawson turns and leaves the set.