Later on a classroom set, Schmarce, Dickless, and Meat are rehearsing the all-important "confrontation" scene. The stand-ins get called in as the principals walk off. Dave takes his space. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see a massive flirt-fest going on with Meat and Schmarce. When he hears Meat ask Schmarce out for that night, he starts to walk over to them because, apparently, he's forgotten that he's a stand-in. Which means, primarily, that he's, um, you know, SUPPOSED TO STAND?! And what did he think he was going to do anyway? Hit Meat over the head with that placard hanging around his neck announcing to the world that he's officially Johnny's fucking lackey and then swoop Schmarce into his arms and ride off into the sunset on a collapsible scooter? I don't fucking think so.
That night in front of Johnny's trailer, Dave and Dickless are engaging in that favorite pastime of pimply thirteen-year-olds: hackey sack. Dave wants to know when Dickless is going to talk to Schmarce about Meat and his wicked panty ways. "Dude," sneers Johnny. "What is your deal with her? It's almost like you're hot to mack on her yourself!" Dave puts on his best "NO WAY" face and says, "Man, come on! You heard that Brady guy, he's just gonna use her like a tissue; one blow and she's in the garbage." Johnny looks like he's gonna barf. "Dude. Pick another image next time," says Dickless. Dave then tells Dickless that Meat's going to take Marcy out after wrap, and that she'll listen to Johnny. Johnny eloquently and poetically says, "Dude. It's none of my business." Dave once again becomes my hero when he says, "Damn. You know, Marcy'd probably do just about anything for you? And you don't even care if some guy uses her? Dude, that's cold." Dave tosses his sack at Johnny and leaves. The hackey sack, I mean. Not his...oh, never mind.
Meanwhile, Schmarce is in her trailer, getting ready for her date. She's evidently decided to color some tinfoil with a pink Magic Marker and try to pass it off as a dress. It's shiny. It's pink. It crinkles. What the hell would YOU call it?
Johnny enters, and Schmarce offers him a drink. Johnny declines and instead lounges around on Schmarce's bed. She's far too busy trying to keep her dress from ripping and releasing the precious flavorful steam inside to pay attention to the fact that her preferred love monster is lying prone on her bed. Schmarce asks Johnny's opinion on her dress and, instead of just grunting like he normally does, Johnny does his duty. "Marcy, listen, about that Brady guy...he's bad news. He's actually got, like, a panty collection from all the chicks he's banged and, anyway, he said that you were just another panty in the pile. So stay away from him. Okay. I'm done. You know what? Maybe I will have something to drink. What've you got?" Schmarce stares at him with the same flabbergasted expression she's been wearing since about the middle of his speech. I don't blame her, really. I mean, come on -- he starts off strong, trips in the middle, and returns to his same lame-brained surfer routine by the end. I'd stare at him with my mouth agape too.