A group of wignecks at the bar are all, "Sing it, Elton!" -- which, not for nothing, but that's ten times gayer than actually singing an Elton John song, girlfriend -- and Michael tries his level, usual, desperate best to be friends with them: "Hey, thanks, guys! Hey, where you guys from?" Predictably, they just came from Michael's mama's house*.
Meanwhile, Pam totally snakes Terri (Mrs. Stanley)'s drink. The guys get not very creative and tell Michael to sing some songs, which he was already doing, and telling him to do it doesn't make it more embarrassing, because there's no such thing as "more embarrassing" right now.
(*I don't think they were actually at his mama's house, but I do know she lives in Dickson City, which is a suburb of Scranton, so I guess it's possible, depending on Mrs. Scott's level of what we used to call "womanly virtue." Or how long you're willing to drive, if you're the kind of person whose regular bar of choice is Chili's.)
Michael begs them to fuck off, because it's an office party, and they totally start throwing shit. Like actual bottles and garbage. Not cool! Please don't throw garbage at Michael! Jim takes offense, as he always does when Michael's truly threatened, but for once he doesn't actually dive in right away. I think he would have, right then, except Michael scoops him and backs down for once, because he doesn't know what else to do. He signals Dwight to cut the music, and smoothes ahead. But too quietly, too unenthusiastically, to be believable: "I had a few more Dundies to give out tonight, but I'm just going to cut it short, and wrap it up, so everybody can enjoy their food. Um, thanks for listening, those who listened." Oh, Michael. "This last Dundie is for Kevin, this is the âDon't Go in There After Me' award, it's for the time that I went into the bathroom after him, and it was really, really smelly, so..." he drops the mic, and walks over to Kevin's table to hand him the award. "There you go," he practically whispers. Everybody gets bummed out.
And then there's Pam. Whose anger has a good side, because it's actually more like Jim's disaffected pep than anything else, when it's not her own life getting compressed down to this angry, tiny, one-dimensional point by her awful choices. It's not the things she says: "Yay, Kevin! Whoo hoo for Kevin! For stinking up the bathroom!" They catch on, and begin to clap. Jim shouts for Kevin; more Dunder-Mifflinites clapping, but her revolution knows no bounds. This isn't about Kevin, it's about Michael, and if it's about Michael (and she's seen Jim do this before, and she'll see him do it a hundred times more), then it's worth the sacrifice of shame: "Hey! I haven't gotten one yet!"