Huge shout-out to Sars and Mr. Stupidhead. Thanks, y'all.
Wait, this show has adult language? Shit! Awesome!
Previously: Sutton takes to drink. Can anyone blame him? Fletcher says that "this is serious now." Heh. FLICKERSTICK totally dominates in the battle of the bands; Rex says, "We will beat them a-GIN!" HARLOW is sent home. Aw.
Sad montage of HARLOW packing. Amanda is wearing Goth Gown #3, the possibly velvet, purple-y black one, and is pounding water. She holds a glass to her lips the whole time as Rebecca is talking, gravelly-voiced, about how they "went out with a bang" last night and are "in dire need of going home." Is this some kind of parlor trick? Is Amanda throwing her voice? Rebecca jokes that they're "going to go to rehab -- just kidding." No, she's not. Yes, she is. She says they're going to make a record. There's a montage of hugging (even Beastie gets in on it, the hypocrite, and quotes the scarecrow line from the Wizard of Oz), and then Corey says he's glad it isn't them going home. Right -- you still have more girls to bang, don't you? Amanda chugs more water and hugs no one. Brandin calls her "emotional." I think that's code for "rankly hungover and will barf if she has to hug people like Beastie." Rayshele says she's "proud" of HARLOW's efforts. I think that if they had won, Rayshele would have been crushed; there's no cred in success. What if she had to go live on the beach again? That would have been a National Enquirer story for sure. The camera zooms up to the HARLOW van, their beloved "coffin of pimp," and then fades to white. I am going to miss those crazy girls. The sleepy-lidded Ramsey drones on about how "the boys" are glad to have made it to this, the final leg of the tour, and that "there was some mutual respect" between them. Dude, are you high? You guys hate each other. A lot. Go practice your scales and modes and shut up.
Tour Guy assembles the ragged, yawning cast in their stupid semi-circle and gives us the breakdown -- two shows left, and one final Battle of the Bands, before a band can be declared the "winner."
Total tour earnings to date are:
FLICKERSTICK: $6669 (And how cool a number is that?)
SNACKCRACKER: $9684
SOULSUCKER is leading, those pansy hacks. But wait! Even though the winner is determined by who has raised the most money, and ASSLICKER thought they had a lock because of all of A.P.'s pushy salesmanship, sponsor Guitar Center has swooped in like Superman and arranged to give the winner of the BoB $5000! SOULFUCKER's faces fall and shatter. They know they are fucked. They have always lost the BoBs. And FLICKERSTICK always dominates. HA HA HA HA HA! Brandin says smugly of Soulcracker, "There was no way they thought they couldn't win." Corey says, "Whoever wins the battle of the bands wins the show." Rex says, "WOOOO!!" The boys pile into their vans and drive off to Miami. On the highway, SNACKCRACKLE throws ice and shoot bottle rockets at FLICKERSTICK in the name of playful vandalism, but -- come on. They want to win. If FLICKERSTICK dies in the process, hey, they can live with it. Corey, behind the wheel, screams and throws the horns. He isn't scared.
In the SHITCAKE van, Sutton clings to his hopes that his shitty band can somehow win this thing. How come they never show them actually smoking the crack? They so obviously do. He thinks they can draw three hundred people to the BoB venue and get their votes. This is their strategy. Dude, has that happened? Ever? In your whole career as a musician? Could it now with camera crews following you around? But it still hasn't? Give. It. UP. Bob still clings to the hopes that they can keep selling CDs and still win. Sutton isn't down with that. Plus, he knows there is no chance in hell they can sell $2,500 worth of CDs in a week. Knowing when you're beat can be a good thing. Just try and enjoy Miami, boys. Unclench a little. Maybe have a drink or two, Sutton.
That fucking Will Smith song plays as we get a montage of the Miami skyline, hotel facades, and girlies dancing. Of course, SHITLICKER goes right to their venue, which is a smallish, red-tableclothed blues bar. They aren't happy with this. Yeah, there is clearly no blues influence in their "music." Hell, they probably don't listen to any records made before 1977. What arrogance. Sutton comes over with a newspaper, says unironically, "Check it out," and suggests they bag their venue and go to the venue where the BOB is, the Culture Room in Fort Lauderdale. Tools.
FLICKERSTICK loads into their venue, which looks like a totally respectable rock dump, and play, even though it's Saturday and their booked gig is on Tuesday. It looks like one of those "practice gigs," when you play to, like, no one but get to run through a set regardless. Dominic says this will help them get ready for the BoB, because blah blah blah they-have-to-win-it-cakes. The crowd is into the band, and they scream and "woo."
SNAILTRAILER is happy at the Culture Room, which is a neon-encrusted Home Depot-ish club. A long-haired metal band plays, and Beastie calls the joint "total heshin'-aggression." Has he ever been laid? Didn't think so. The whole band walks around and smokes and grins, as if kissing everyone's ass will help them win. No one in the club pays any attention to them. Sutton thinks they "can appeal more to the general audience" of the CR than FLICKERSTICK could. And that would be the first time on the whole tour that this has happened. A coup. And they say they feel "a glimmer of hope." I start to feel the joy that will come when those hopes are dashed and SOULCRACKER is crying big fat salty tears and go home to no fanfare or accolades. I could be wrong. But I'm not. They go and kiss the owner Greg's ass. He looks totally Goth, not rock at all, but they try and tell him how rockin' they are and shit. Dude, they should have told him how much fucking merch they sold; a club would respect that more than anything. They're in business to make money! Which is not the case with many musicians. Nonetheless, Greg says, "Now you're in a rock room." This night of the week, anyway. Beastie gushes, "It's so nice to be home." Shut up, Beastie. Show me a band with two lead singers that doesn't suck, and then you can talk. Two words: Air Supply. That could be you and Sutton, except that Air Supply had hits. Anyway. Greg lets them set up and play a little that night. I hope he didn't cut any of the other band's set time, but hey, it happens. SOULSHITTER plays to about fifteen people, two of whom "mosh" weakly. Cut that weak shit OUT, people. Did you do that to Bad Brains in 1983? No? You were listening to Air Supply back then? Then don't mosh now. Ramsey says they need to "polarize [them]selves from FLICKERSTICK, to appeal to people that would only like us." Okay, those people? Live in your imagination. No one only likes you. No one. AP says, "We rock harder than them." Then he says, "Not." No, really, I heard him! The song they play is called "The Sound Of Losing." That's what all their songs sound like to me. The ten people clap, and Beastie says, "If we lose, corporate yuppie rock will continue to reign supreme." Dude, what radio is he listening to? What charts is he looking at? Last I heard, hip-hop and rap-core were the big-selling records. Do Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney have records out now? What is he talking about?
It's five a.m. FLICKERSTICK is trashing their hotel room. Brandin tapes Corey's face a la Pee Wee Herman. Dominic smashes a lamp, then rushes into SNACKCRACKER'S room and jumps on their beds. Hey! They were trying to sleep! They have to get up and sell CDs all the livelong day tomorrow! Beastie says in an interview that "there's something about [FLICK] that scares [him]." Is it that they have balls? Don't be scared -- yours will drop one day. Heart you have to be born with, though. Sutton watches as FLICKERSTICK smashes the clock radio from SOULCRACKER'S room. Beastie whines, "I ain't paying for that!" You aren't paying for the room either, dude. Sutton opines that while the Who used to trash hotel rooms on a regular basis, they "also had millions of dollars." Don't forget the good songs they had. Those helped The Who make the millions of dollars. See how it works? Sutton callls his girlfriend and tells her that they've been calling FLICK "the new Goo Goo Dolls" and "pussy rock," and that he'd "never spend more than an hour with them voluntarily." Hurts so bad! Not.
Totals for Miami:
FLICKERSTICK: $0
SOULCRACKER: $0
SOULCRACKER leaves the hotel, reading their horoscopes. Bob's says, "You will get laid at least five times in Miami. Emphasis on boners." I hate to say it, but heh. Then as FLICKERSTICK hangs out at a sidewalk cafe, two hot blonde girlies come up and fall all over them. Wow, I wonder if Bob and Dominic share the same astro sign! The girls say they're staying at the Versace mansion, and Dominic notes in a bored tone that they are in fact "pretty hot." Yes, yawn, more pussy, they exchange numbers and you know the rest.
SOULCRACKER is back at the Culture Room, kissing Owner Greg's ass. Again. Some more. Greg has put some pages together for them. That was nice! Then he asks "where the other band" is. Here's SOULSUCKER'S chance to slag FLICKERSTICK. Beastie says he doesn't want to "shed a negative light" on them, but FLICK is a bunch of lazy fuckwads. He also says they are a U2/Pink Floyd-sounding band. He forgot the Radiohead in that equation. Then he goes, "It's a case of rock versus...." Ramsey lamely supplies, "Not rock." Hate to say it guys, but -- rock? Isn't really selling these days. But U2 did have a really well-received record this year. With top-ten hits. Gee. Standing by their van, POLETHWACKER reiterates that they have set up a David-and-Goliath type of thing. We. KNOW.
Dominic primps to go meet his blonde hussies du jour. Corey says he's so glad that they are partying and meeting girlies while SOULFUCKER is "scurrying around like ants." Then he makes scary ant noises. Hee.
Beastie sets up a house-party gig with one of the guys from the metal band. He's hoping that, at said house party, they can win over enough people to stack the deck so that they can win the battle of the bands. Dude. It. Can't. Happen. Don't you see? You're just a puppet of Viacom Entertainment! They decide to blow off the VH-1-booked show. Beastie calls to cancel and says that "a couple of things came up." What assholes.
Versace mansion. Brandin says the girls didn't even say why they were there, though he has a few ideas. "Shady" is the word he uses. "Hootchies" is one I'd throw out there. As FLICKERSTICK walks down the street in slow-motion in that flying-v formation (tm Mr. Stupidhead), some guy rushes up to them and tries to pick a fight. We don't see it, but Dom explains that the guy put a stupid light-up necklace around one of the girlie's necks, and she took it off, and it broke. SO worth coming to blows over. Not. They throw a few punches, none of which really connects, and the guys run off, knowing they're outnumbered. Fletcher screams, "Corey broke his cherry! Corey broke his cherry!" Fletcher? Maybe now's the time to have our little talk.
Nightclub montage. Dom's tongue makes its first, but by no means its final, appearance of the show. Power Station plays their stupid eighties version of "Bang a Gong." I make a note to remind SOULSUCKER that it was T. Rex that did the original version. Dom takes a cab back to the hotel with his woman, and licks and blows on her toes. The camera guy's eyes burn in his head; he keeps filming, though. Dom says he does "practice safe sex, most of the time, when [he] remember[s]." You'd need to double-bag with Dom. Whoever said on the boards that Dom's sex life is 1975 is right fucking on. What a ho. He and his strumpet close the door in the camera's face and go bang a gong.
FLICKERSTICK learns that SOULCRACKER has been badmouthing them and calling them "corporate yuppie rock." We see the Beastie quote again, but this time he goes all Max Headroom on us and says, "Cor-cor-corporate yuppie rock!" Fletcher wants to "kick SOULCRACKER ass." Go right ahead! We won't mind. ["At least it'll snap Fletch out of his Angela funk." -- Sars] Corey says, "You better believe they'll get an ass-kicking." At 6 a.m., FLICKER knocks on the SUCKER's hotel room door. Only Beastie comes out to face the mob. Without yelling or punching, FLICK explains their outrage and why they think it's wack that CRACK has been talking smack. Fletcher asks if Beastie thinks that talking shit "will make [them] look good." Baba Beastie smokes rapidly and basically caves in faster than microwave popcorn. He's like, oh, sorry, you're right, gee, sorry, yass boss. Brandin strokes his elfin chin and says, "You guys did a smear campaign on us before people even got a chance to see us." Fletcher's black-fingernailed hand squeezes Beastie's shoulder, and I half expect this to turn into a scene from GoodFellas. Get the baseball bat! Do it! Beastie takes full responsibility, and in an interview, his eyes bulge scarily as he says, "What does a preacher do in front of a bunch of zealots? He talks about the devil!" Don't make excuses. FLICK is not the devil. Well, maybe a little. Finally, Brandin says he thought it was "really cheap" of SMELLYUCKER to talk shit, and they leave. Fletcher says that they "were planning on being a little bit meaner," but I bet he wasn't expecting Baba Beastie to totally puss out like that.
Dom wakes up with his blonde du jour. Rex says he was awakened to the sound of "squeaky squeaky." Gross. She asks for a ride to the airport, and Dom hands over $30 for a cab instead, and tells her to "walk riiight out the front door." Oh, Lord, this is sad. When she's gone, sitting in the front seat of the cab for some reason, Dom calls her "dumb as nails." Well, she must have been to be into you! Water finds its own level, right? How dare he complain. Did they even talk? It seems that Dom mostly uses his tongue for other things. Oh, ew.
Beastie, shirtless in bed, is -- sorry, my eyeballs just exploded. The end.
Just kidding. The shirtless monkey boy tells his other stupid bandmates about FLICK'S nighttime visit. They're all like, "Ohhh, shit," and their knees start knocking together like coconuts. Bob actually laughs at the idea that SORELOSER isn't "corporate rock." Hey, that's actually generous. But they still want to win, and he wants to "concentrate on sales." That's just dumb. As they are all ready to go, Slutton lies in bed, covers drawn up to his chin. Bob totally yells at him, calling him a full-of-shit hypocrite. They are falling apart. And I love it.
The FLICK van pulls out to head to Ft. Lauderdale and try to do some damage control. Corey fumes and thinks SHITSPITTER's tactics prove that they think they can't win in a straight BoB. I'd have to agree. Then he agrees that Beastie was scared, and thinks Beastie knew that, if he had wised off, they would have "peter-rolled his ass." Hee.
The FLICK boys are throwing a football around on the beach. Fletcher goes up to some chicks sunbathing topless, who don't mind getting on-camera for a few minutes as he borrows their cell phone to cancel their VH1-booked gig, so they can be like SOULCRACKER. So many camera whores in the world! I really didn't know.
Bonus opportunity: a drum-down and a strum-off. FLICK doesn't want to do it. Dom says, "None of us are solo artists. That's 1985." Hee! Beastie has no problem saying he thinks Bob and Ramsey can outplay the guys in FLICK. Lucky for you it wasn't a sing-off, pal.
Both bands are invited to eat at a fancy restaurant, Tantra. FLICK is down; SNACK declines. "We'll be working." Wow, they are lame. As much free stuff as possible! Instead they went to the Godsmack and Limp Bizkit show. Oh, this was a bad idea. They shamelessly rush the crowd, asking them to come out to the BoB and "help keep rock alive." Do I even have to say it? Okay, I will. Rock? Is dead. No one CARES anymore. I love bands like the Supersuckers, Rocket from the Crypt, New Bomb Turks, and The Hives -- "hard," "aggressive" rock music. You are at a RAP-CORE show. NOT ROCK. LIMP BIZKIT'S AUDIENCE DOES NOT EVEN KNOW THEY AREN'T LISTENING TO ROCK. You, SOULCRACKER, want to be FAMOUS. You don't care about "the rock" as much as you say you do. If you did, you would be doing it, not churning out your weak, muddy brand of shorts-punk that makes even Blink 182 sound like fucking revolutionaries. STOP DRAGGING THE NAME OF ROCK INTO YOUR EFFORTS! You are pissing me off. One Limp fan has the brains to call Sutton on his bullshit when he describes his band as being like "a harder Weezer." Dude, Weezer are GOOD. They are a good, tight band with good hooks and good lyrics. I have seen Weezer, and I have all three of their records. And you, Sutton, are no Weezer. Sutton still thinks that some of their songs are "totally metal." A.P. says, "Power-pop songs with an edge." Beastie guesses, "Aggressive alternative." Pick one! Hell, pick even one BAND to copy and stick to it and you won't sound so all over the place! I'll give you one: Cheap Trick. Start copying them and don't stop until you have at least ONE good song. Okay, I feel better now.
Tantra. The place is fabulous. FLICKERSTICK has a great time and drinks wine and eats lobster as SOULCRACKER get mocked in the parking lot at a lame-ass rap-core show. Hee!
In the ASSCRACKER van, Sutton theorizes that the reason why FLICK wins in the BoBs is that they "wreck their gear." Wow, a new low. "Maybe we should too." A.P. agrees, because "people are so stupid to get fooled by that move." Underestimating the intelligence of an audience is a stupid mistake that lots of performers make. Here's a tip: An audience can see into your heart more than you know. FLICK has heart. SOULCRACKER has confidence to the point of arrogance. Musical abilities aside, which quality is an audience going to respond to with warmth? SPITSHINER goes to play another show at a bar; Sutton is totally out of tune and gets drunk, against his better judgment. Bob hopes Sutton doesn't descend into alcoholism again, or something. Slutton does descend onto a blonde, busting out the weak line, "Oh, the things I'd do to you." She falls for it anyway.
A sunlit montage of Miami flashes across the screen, and I can't help but flash back to all the Miami Real World episodes I recapped. The bands pull up to Guitar Center for the challenge. First up, the drums. Bob goes off in a style my boyfriend calls "tasty!" Say "tas-taah!" Dom concedes, claiming insecurity and saying he's "not a solo drummer." Brandin gets up and bangs on the bass drum, and goes off like Animal from The Muppets. Brandin is kind of like a Muppet. No, Brandin is from Fraggle Rock.
Okay, strum-off. Ramsey gets up and does a little jazz wank. Hey, where's the aggressive edge? Oh, there it is. He saves it for last. The judges look unimpressed, but clap anyway. Then Corey sits on the floor and doesn't even try to play a song. SOULCRACKER totally wins it. Brandin says, "I got robbed." Hee.
House party. SNACKCRACKER busts it out to try to get the party people to come to the BoB and vote for them. The people at the party look like they don't mind having VH-1 cameras in their house, but hardly look as if they'd go to a VH1-sponsored event. So, will "the call to arms" be heard? We'll see. The party people clap and "woo" regardless, and take the free CDs. Keep an eye out for those on eBay! ["Where they will totally not sell." -- Sars]
FLICK goes to the Culture Room to try to promote, but it's closed. Sigh. Where will they find girls?
The bands assemble at Tobacco Road for the final count. Neither of them has had any ticket sales since they canceled their shows. So...
Miami earnings to date:
FLICKERSTICK: $47
SOULWACKER: $10
Total tour earnings:
FUCKERSTUCK: $6786 (not as cool as the $6669)
SUCKSOULER: $9994
SOULCRACKER is mortified! But still in the lead. The BoB will be forty-minute sets by each band. If SOULCRACKER makes $1740 in three days, they can lose the BoB and still win. SOULCRACKER should get to a cash machine.
week: Brandin says, "Shut up! SHUT! UP!" And the battle of the bands!