By Charles Lam
By R. Scott Moxley
By Taylor Hamby
By Matt Coker
By R. Scott Moxley
By Charles Lam
By LP Hastings
By Taylor Hamby
Photo by Jack GouldANNOUNCER: Once again, OC Weekly editor Will Swaim!
SWAIM: Well, here come the music awards! Whooo!
[Audience whoops and hollers. Suddenly the Reverend Robert Schuller runs onstage pushing a flaming hoop. He sets it up, runs back, does a series of cartwheels, flips and then does a swan dive through the hoop, grabbing a quarter off the floor with his teeth as he barrel rolls and ends up with his face just inches from Swaim's.]
SWAIM [incredulous]: What the . . . ?
[Schuller growls, quarter still between teeth.]
SWAIM: Are you trying to tell me something, boy?
[Schuller, growling, nods his head.]
SWAIM: Is something wrong?
[Schuller growls, nods and then whispers in Swaim's ear. Swaim's face lights up with sudden comprehension. Quickly he grabs the quarter from Schuller while putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a small snack. He places it in Schuller's mouth, who eats it quickly.]
SWAIM: Good boy! Now beat it!
[Schuller scampers off.]
SWAIM: Well, ladies and gentlemen, as things sometimes happen in live TV, we've had a mix-up. It seems three important technical awards were omitted from our video presentation. So I'd like to give them their recognition right now. First, we have the award for Best Chinese Restaurant. That goes to Peking Restaurant in Westminster. Whether it's Taiwanese "little eats" of seaweed strips or "stinky"—but delectable —tofu or a family-style, five-course dinner at an unimaginable bargain price, even served with steamed fish and topped with pot stickers, diners at this cozy Taiwanese eatery feel they are in culinary heaven.
SWAIM: Next is the award for Best Thai. This goes to Thai Kitchen, a posh restaurant that belies the banality of its name. It serves a steady crowd of noontime Irvine yuppies, but at night, the atmosphere is decidedly more intimate. Bring your date and imagine you are in the land of a thousand smiles. The food is exquisite —try the delicious seafood dishes—and the service excellent.
SWAIM: Finally, we have the award for Best Cuban Restaurant. This is always a tight one between Habana and Felix Continental Café. But the nod this year goes to . . . Felix Continental Café! The menu and plantanos, but also Spanish fare, such as sumptuous paella. Portions are large, and you can eat outside on the sidewalk patio of the fabulous Orange Circle—which won in our Best Shapes category. Of course, the food is delicious at Habana, too, and they serve a wonderful margarita, and you can eat outside. So, hey, everyone's a winner. Except real Cubans living in Cuba; they're just getting screwed every which way, but hey, that's another show. And also hey, speaking of enemies of the state, here now to present the music awards is Weekly music editor Rich Kane!
KANE: Thank you. You may ask, "What constitutes a 'best' club, anyway? Would 'best' be the Galaxy, Sun, Coach House or Crazy Horse, with their big-name national-touring talent?"
Could be. But, not to knock those very fine rooms, to our ears, "best" means clubs that consistently book local bands and musicians as part of their regular schedule. Each of tonight's nominees does just that, in big, fat, soundwaves of aural wonderment. "Best" to us also means all-ages places—sorry for all you alcoholics out there, but people who go to all-ages rooms are there first for the music and are generally more respectful to the bands than some sad slob who's only there to get some booty with his beer. Plus, we're not too down with the age discrimination thing—can somebody out there please open a place that serves booze and lets everybody inside?
[Applause. Drunken shouts of "You tell 'em, King!"]
KANE: Also, excuse the rampant regionalism here, but we're sadly forced to leave out such nifty Long Beach clubs as the Blue Cafe, Que Sera, The Lava Lounge, The KB Club and the semi-secret Bong Leach Warehouse. We strongly recommend each of these, and just as strongly condemn the Weekly awards committee for redlining Long Beach. Sorry, kids—maybe we'll make the LBC a separate category next year. But as for now, the nominees are . . .
Chain Reaction. When Tim Hill took over the remnants of a shuttered Mexican restaurant in a dingy little Anaheim strip mall in 1997 and turned the room into a rock club, most probably thought his place would quickly go the way of many other all-ages OC rooms: here today, gone today. Three years later, Chain Reaction is not only still here, but it's also thriving. They've hosted bands as large as the Get Up Kids, The Voodoo Glow Skulls and Papa Roach who reportedly owe their careers to two shows they played at the club last year—don't know if that's true, but we'll say it anyway—and crusty punk bands so underground that they have to look up to see Hell.
[Applause. Drunken shouts of "Fuckin' A, Rick!"]
KANE: The Hub. If you can snag a seat on their outdoor patio where the bands play, then this is perhaps the sweetest OC spot to just kick back and savor live music. The outdoors thing is a big lure but the Hub is also eclectic enough to book everything from punk rock to coffeehouse folkies to bands who do that "emo" stuff. A major player in downtown Fullerton's recent club explosion, site of the day-long—and free—Earth Day fests which are getting more mega every year, and conveniently located behind the Reagan Years, OC's coolest video arcade, which is also the perfect way to wait out band set changes. And if you caught Jay Buchanan there when he was playing every Tuesday night a few months ago, you can say you saw him when.
[Applause. Drunken shouts of "My grandfather voted for Buchanan! Lincoln sucks!" Shot of Mary Todd Lincoln breaking down in tears.]
KANE: Koo's Art Cafe. Like the Hub, Koo's has been around since 1994. And, like Chain Reaction, this was another all-ages club nobody thought would last, even more so when they put up a graffiti wall in the back so aerosol artists would have a place to spray their stuff. That last action, in particular, raised the ire of Santa Ana city councilman Ted Moreno, who basically saw Koo's and the young people who gathered there not only for the music but also for the occasional lefty-leaning socio-political event as Evil Instruments of Satan Incarnate.
[Shot of Bob Saget hostingAmerica's Funniest Home Videos flashes on the screen behind Kane.]
KANE: I said Satan. So, the laugh's on Moreno, who was busted for accepting cash in exchange for his vote. Also, Koo's remains the only live music club in OC regularly booking live hip-hop, a stat that alone deserves a nod.
[Applause. Drunken shouts of "Oh, so you think you're better than me?!"]
KANE: Linda's Doll Hut. Okay, so Linda's isn't all-ages, we're fudging here.
[Drunken moan of "Mmm, fudge."]
KANE: But as the oldest continuously-operating local music club in OC (active since, um, 1989—but in this county, that's a friggin' eternity), Linda's deserves the Meryl Streep slot, earning a nomination because . . . well, just because it's the Doll Hut! And dissing Linda's Doll Hut would invite Bad Award Show Karma.
[Applause. Shot of men dressed in black leotards and tights with "Bad Award Show Karma Krew" written on their chest dejectedly being led out of the hall.]
KANE: Steamers. A jazzer's dream room, Steamers has been largely responsible for putting the words "Fullerton" and "nightlife" together, something unfathomable just a decade ago. Steamers differs from most jazz clubs in that their main interest is in serving music, as opposed to other rooms that offer up music and dinner—places where the performers are relegated to mere background noise by the Time the appetizers arrive. Steamers is cozy and intimate, so much so that when regulars like Joey DeFrancesco, Ron Eschete or Ron Kobayashi are locked in their groove, you can almost envision what it must have been like in those smoky old New York jazz clubs of the 1940s and '50s. Don't get too caught up in the moment, though—like everywhere else, there's no smoking allowed.
KANE: And the winner is . . . Chain Reaction!
[Applause. A large screen rises.]
SWAIM [from off-camera]: We go now to Rebecca Schoenkopf, live on location. Rebecca, how's it hanging?
REBECCA: To the left, Will! I'm here on location at the legendary roadhouse Linda's Doll Hut in Anaheim. Here with me is Linda Jemison herself, who single-handedly kept Orange County's music scene alive after the demise of places like the Golden Bear and, um, what was that other one? Okay, well, it doesn't matter. Linda, how does it feel to have won the award—yet again—for Orange County's Best Music Club?
JEMISON: Well, Rebecca, it's really an honor. I just have always loved music, and I like to see the bands get a fair . . .
SWAIM: Rebecca, we seem to have a problem. Could you step to the side for a minute?
REBECCA: Sure, Will. What's wrong?
[Schoenkopf leans forward toward the camera, presses one hand tightly to her ear as if listening intently.]
SWAIM [whispering]: Linda's didn't win this year.
REBECCA: What are you talking about? Everybody knows Linda's is . . .
SWAIM: No, really. Chain Reaction won. And I would really appreciate it if you would pay a little more attention at meetings, since we're on the subject. This isn't the first Time this has happened, you know.
REBECCA: Chain Reaction? Really?
SWAIM: Yes. Really. And now it's your job to go get that trophy out of Linda Jemison's hands.
REBECCA: Aw, crap. I just assumed . . . Hey, Linda?
LINDA Jemison: Yes?
REBECCA: Will says you didn't win. I need the trophy back.
LINDA: Oh, really? Well, guess what, you little fink? You're not getting it back.
REBECCA: C'mon. There's no need for that. I'm really sorry about this . . .
LINDA: You can't just jerk people around like that! Somebody needs to teach you some manners, jerking people around like that.
REBECCA: I'm serious! GIVE ME BACK THE DAMN TROPHY, LINDA!
LINDA: COME ON WITH IT, THEN! LET'S SEE WHAT YOU'VE GOT, YOU LITTLE BITCH!
SWAIM [intrigued]: Everybody! Cat fight!
REBECCA: I can take her, Will. Don't worry! She's pretty tough, but I'm fast! Back to you! Ow!
[Fade out. Applause. The screen goes away.]
KANE: Our next category is Best Record Store. Automatically disqualified were the big-ass chain stores like Tower, The Wherehouse and The Virgin Megastore, as well as smaller chains you may not have known about such as Moby Disc (too LA-based). They're big. They're mostly wonderful. And you're already familiar with them. Again, sorry to our Long Beach friends, but we had to cut out shops like 45 Revolution and Fingerprints. Zed Records saved us the trauma of excluding them by going out of business a couple of months ago.
So, onward: the nominees, in their respective slots because there are so damn many categories we could've put them in, are . . . Bionic Records, which fills the alternative/ punk slot. It's a home-grown three-store mini-chain, made semi-famous the world over when Dexter Holland wore Bionic T-shirts in mid-'90s Offspring videos. This is an aspiring young punk's paradise, the place to pick up that crusty band's arm patch or that sticker or T-shirt from a band that broke up before you were even born. We'd like to give a shout out to runners-up Black Hole in Fullerton; Vinyl Solution in Huntington Beach, which should get some sorta special award because they have tons of real, honest-to-god vinyl record albums in stock, Greene Records in Tustin; and Noise Noise Noise in Costa Mesa.
[Applause. Drunken shouts of "I love you, man. No, really, man. I'm serious. Don't be that way, dude."]
KANE: Next is CD Warehouse in Orange—our "used" store nominee. You know, I once took a bucketful of CDs there to sell, and they actually bought all of them. Every single one. Even the one by Paul Schaffer, which, I must emphasize, I did not buy myself but got for free through the record store I worked in at the Time. That brave, selfless act alone deserves recognition, perhaps a medal. Runner up is Second Spin in Costa Mesa, which, although part of a smallish, non-OC-based chain, still does a decent job of keeping relatively new, cheap CDs in their bins.
KANE: Next is Costa Mesa's Dr. Freecloud's Mixing Lab—the "electronic" nominee. The oldest electronic/ techno specialty store in OC. This is the spot to pick up new mixes, test out new sampling techniques, and gobble up piles of rave fliers—some you might actually want to go to—and chat up co-owners Ron D Core or Simply Jeff, expert spinners in their own right. Runners up? Higher Source in Huntington Beach and Pitch Control in Fullerton.
[Applause. A drunk shouts, "You don't know me, man."]
KANE: Next is Pepperland, the "store whose name is a Beatles reference" slot. Convienently located next to Bookman in Orange, Pepperland has moved locations about 200 Times, but I discovered them back in the '80s when they were housed in a cubbyhole in a delapidated strip mall on Katella in Anaheim. The coolest thing then was that they sold album flats (album covers, essentially), so you could find a bunch from a band you liked and wallpaper your bedroom cheaply. They also have Beatles everything here—so awash in Fab Fourmania are they that you'll be convinced that Paul McCartney not only isn't dead, but he's also working behind the counter!
[Applause. Shot of confused Paul McCartney looking around.]
KANE: Last, we have the Orange County Record Swap, the "none of the above" nominee. It's undoubtedly OC's biggest, best record store; too bad it's open only one day a month. Every fourth Sunday, this mammoth record swap takes over a huge conference room at the Sequoia Athletic Club in Buena Park, attracting dealers and reps from record stores all over SoCal, and someTIMes from as far away as Europe and Japan. This is where to find cheap CDs, really cheap box sets, posters, collector's items, old back issues of Rolling Stone, imports and assorted other pieces of strangeness—I once saw a ticket stub from a Tiffany concert going for a buck at this show. What's scarier is that somebody actually bought it. Runner-up is The Trunk of Johnny Horsehead's Cadillac, seen cruising south Harbor Boulevard weekend nights, usually between 1 and 3 a.m. He swears it's all legit, and that Radiohead and U2 meant to stamp their new albums with a big "CD-R" on them.
KANE: And the winner is . . . Bionic Records. Because three stores are better than one, and they're not only secure enough in their punk rock manliness to openly carry Celine Dion CDs, but also the clerks won't even laugh at you if you actually buy one of them. They'll wait till after you've left the store, and then they'll laugh at you.
[Applause as Kane walks offstage. Swaim appears onstage again as the screen rises again.]
SWAIM: And we're going back to Rebecca Schoenkopf, who's out on location at Chain Reaction, right, Rebecca?
REBECCA: Hi, Will. Yeah, I'm here at Chain Reaction. We're looking for Tim Hill, the owner, but there seem to be a whole bunch of teenagers here. They're so young, and, and . . . teenlike. And they all have really good skin, which is bizarre because they're teenagers. It's somewhat disconcerting, Will, and I'm not ashamed to tell you: I'm fearing for my safety.
SWAIM: You mean more than when you got into a fistfight with Linda Jemison?
REBECCA: Yeah, I want to talk to you about that when you've got a minute. She pulled my hair, Will! It really hurt!
SWAIM: We'll talk about this another Time.
REBECCA: Am I gonna get some sort of bonus considering I sort of got beat up?
REBECCA [mumbling]: Figures.
SWAIM: What was that?
SWAIM: Don't you have a job to do?
REBECCA: But I'm scared! I swear to God, Will, it's like Children of the Corn in here! And the music's really loud! And I think it might be emo, but I'm not sure because I still don't know what emo is! And there aren't any drinks here. You can only get, like, coffee and apple juice. Rich thinks that's cool because Rich doesn't drink because he's extremely boring, but I don't know what the rest of us are supposed to do. Oh! There's TIM! TIM! TIM! Hey, congratulations! You've been selected as the Best Music Club in Orange County!
TIM Hill: Oh. Okay.
REBECCA: So how does it feel?
TIM: Good. Thanks. That's nice.
REBECCA: Any thoughts?
TIM: No, not really. Thanks.
REBECCA: How about the competition?
TIM: They're all really great. Thanks for the award.
REBECCA: You heard it here first, folks. Back to you, Will.
[Fade out. Applause.]
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome OC Weekly associate music editor Alison M. Rosen.
ALISON: It's my great pleasure to introduce the following presenters to help me present this next award. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Ginger L. Gladness and Stanky Edwards of The Pocket Clowns!
[Crowd goes wild, cheering and stomping their feet. The funky, nutty, groovy, soul-stirring, island emodelic skalypso hard rock strains of the Pocket Clowns' superhit "Thanks for the Rubber Shoes" are heard. Big smoke machines blow smoke onto the stage. Alison begins coughing. Ginger and Stanky walk onstage but no one can see them due to the smoke. Alison is nervous and unable to locate the presenters.]
ALISON: Hello? Hello?
[Ginger steps on Alison's foot.]
GINGER: Sorry, sorry! Oh, shit!
[Ginger, unable to see, waves hands in front of her and accidentally slaps ALISON in the face.]
GINGER: I can't see shit out here!
STANKY: Dude! Dudes?
[A crash is heard. Shot of audience looking confused and uncomfortable. The curtain abruptly falls. The curtain opens. Alison stands onstage, flanked by Ginger and Stanky. The three of them stand very still and rigid with terse smiles and doe-in-the-headlights expressions. Alison looks as if she's been crying. Also, she has a black eye. She squints to read the Teleprompter and speaks in a monotone.]
ALISON: Well, hello, Ginger. Hello, Stanky. Welcome. You look great.
GINGER AND STANKY: [in unison, dazed and staring at the Teleprompter]: Thank you.
GINGER: Yes, thank you.
STANKY: Yeah, thanks.
GINGER: A lot.
STANKY: Yeah, lots of thanks.
ALISON: Oh, you are for sure welcome. You are. Thank you.
STANKY: You're welcome.
[A voice is heard offstage barking orders to Alison. Alison looks to the left—at the voice heard offstage—and nods.]
[The Voice continues barking orders.]
ALISON: Right. Okay. Gotcha.
[The voice continues. Alison gets increasingly frustrated.]
ALISON [yelling]: I said, okay, goddammit!
[Alison smiles and looks back toward the audience, embarrassed.]
ALISON: Right, okay, so we have some awards to present.
STANKY: First up is the award for Best Band.
ALISON: This is awarded to a local band who's brightened the musical landscape with their mellifluous tones. A band who's spoken to us in the universal language of music. A band who's given us reason to get up in the morning and go to bed at night, knowing our ears are being looked after and even caressed lovingly.
[Shot of audience looking confused.]
ALISON: Now, if I'm not mistaken, you guys won this award last year, did you not?
GINGER: Yes, we did.
ALISON: And you won it the year before as well?
GINGER: Yes, that's right.
ALISON: And it looks like you won it for three consecutive years before that.
ALISON: You know I'm curious to know—and I'm sure our audience here and our viewers watching at home are as well—how your life has changed in the past year since winning the award.
GINGER: Well, Alison, I don't even know where to begin, to be honest. There's the endorsements, and the commercials.
STANKY: All the money.
GINGER: Yeah, and the sex, too.
STANKY: Can't argue with the sex.
GINGER: But the thing that really gets me is knowing that you people like me—you really like me!
STANKY: The Pocket Clowns is such a personal thing, and just knowing that people connect with our music, that's the best part.
GINGER: Guess we're not such freaks after all.
ALISON: Well, I'll be the judge of that.
[Stanky and Ginger collapse in laughter. The audience collapses in laughter. The crew collapses in laughter. The house band's drummer can barely hit a rimshot because he's laughing so hard. Arrissia and Rebecca collapse in laughter. Swaim wipes a tear from his eye and cracks up again.]
ALISON: And the nominees for best band are . . .
GINGER: Lo-Fi Champion.
[Shot of Lo-Fi Champion sitting in the audience, smiling. Rebacca and Arrissia are sitting with them. Rebecca is sitting in the singer's lap. The bass player's arm is draped around Arrissia. Arrissia points to the screen and whispers something to him. Rebecca looks up at the camera and waves.]
GINGER: Lo-Fi Champion are a fun band from Long Beach who write masterfully elegant pop songs.
STANKY: Dude, we write pop songs.
GINGER: Dude, shut up. Our next nominee is The Killingtons.
[Shot of The Killingtons sitting in the audience, smiling. Rebecca and Arrissia are sitting with them. Rebecca is sitting in the singer's lap. The bass player's arm is draped around Arrissia. Arrissia points to the screen and whispers something to him. Rebecca looks up at the camera and waves.]
GINGER: The Killingtons are also from Long Beach.
STANKY: Dude, we're from Long Beach.
GINGER: Would you shut the fuck up, bitch? We're from Stanton.
STANKY [scratching head]: Oh, yeah.
ALISON: The Killingtons were featured on the cover of our most recent music issue. They're a fun band from Long Beach who write masterfully quietly intense songs.
GINGER: Our next nominee is Throw Rag.
[Shot of Throw Rag sitting in the audience, smiling. Rebecca and Arrissia are sitting with them. Rebecca is sitting in the singer's lap. The bass player's arm is draped around Arrissia. Arrissia points to the screen and whispers something to him. Rebecca looks up at the camera and waves.]
STANKY: Throw Rag are a fun band from Costa Mesa, kind of. They write masterful songs that are intense and fun. Kind of.
ALISON: And finally, our last nominee is a band called Smile.
[Shot of Smile sitting in the audience, smiling. Rebecca and Arrissia are sitting with them. Rebecca is sitting in the singer's lap. The bass player's arm is draped around Arrissia. Arrissia points to the screen and whispers something to him. Rebecca looks up at the camera and waves.]
GINGER: Smile is a fun band from Costa Mesa who write masterful pop songs.
ALISON: And the winner is?
Stanky: The Pocket Clowns!
[Crowd looks confused and then laughs. Shots of everyone collapsing in giggles again.]
STANKY: Just kidding, I wouldn't dog you, dudes. The winner is Smile!
[Smile take the stage. Singer/ guitarist Mike Rosas moves forward to the microphone.]
MIKE ROSAS: Wow. I don't know what to say. Last year if someone had told me that one day I'd be standing up here accepting this award—
[Rosas looks lovingly at award.]
ROSAS: Well, shucks, I never would have believed it. I hope you don't think it presumptious of me, but I prepared just a few short remarks. . . .
[Rosas pulls out a sheaf of paper.]
ROSAS: You know, I know that these awards shows are usually pretty shallow fare. A tit joke here, a boob joke there. A joke about jugs, a joke about ta-tas, this one pokes fun at another's melons, that one has something to say about someone's bodacious rack. But tonight, I'd like to get a little serious. You see, over the past few months, the fellas and I have realized what's really important. I mean, really important. Like life-changing, life-affirming, wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night, call-your-old-girlfriends important. And that thing, that one, important, life-changing thing is . . . [ACCEPTANCE SPEECH EDITED DUE TO TIME CONSTRAINTS.]
ROSAS [sobbing]: . . . and I never ate cream of mushroom again. Peace.
[Applause as Rosas walks offstage. There are shots of hysterical audience members in tears.]
ALISON: Wow, I don't know what to say. That took guts, and I hope everyone in the audience and out in TV Land listened to every word he said because each one of those words—especially the information about the ointment—is absolutely essential.
The next award we're going to present is the award for best musician.
GINGER: Now, Alison, why don't you tell us a little bit about how this award is chosen.
[Alison shoots Ginger a look that says, "You're going to die."]
ALISON: Cut, cut, cut!
[Alison lights a cigarette and storms to the side of the stage.]
ALISON: Look, baby, I don't mean to be a bitch here, but I thought we were cutting that line.
ALISON: We are cutting it?
ALISON: I don't know why the fuck she said it!
ALISON: I don't give a damn if she's in the goddamn Pocket Clowns!
[Alison storms back onstage.]
ALISON: The next award we're going to present is the award for Best Musician.
ALISON: Now, Stanky, if I'm not mistaken, didn't you win this award last year for your phenomenal human beat-box stylings?
STANKY: Yes, I did. It was my honor to represent the OC Weekly. In my tenure as OC Weekly Best Musician, I traveled to 35 different countries, bringing the gift of human beat-box stylings to the people who needed it most.
GINGER: We call him the Ambassador of Human Beat-box Stylings.
ALISON: That's beautiful.
GINGER: And the nominees for best musician are . . .
STANKY: Chris Gaffney.
[Shot of Gaffney sitting in the audience. Arrissia puts her arm around him. Rebecca forcibly removes Arrissia's arm and puts her own arm around him. Arrissia flicks Rebecca in the cheek. Rebecca pulls Arrissia's hair. Gaffney smiles uncomfortably.]
GINGER: Gaffney is a singer/ songwriter/guitar player of virtuosic talent.
STANKY: And where might someone see Gaffney?
ALISON: I don't know. Let's get that information and insert it here before this thing runs.
STANKY: Steve would probably appreciate that.
ALISON: Yes, but he only cares about Emiliana.
EMILIANA: What? Did someone say my name?
ALISON: No, egomaniac. Anyway, our next nominee is Billy Zoom.
GINGER: Zoom is an icon. He was the phenomenally still guitarist for seminal punk band X . . . and he's also [breaks down and begins sobbing uncontrollably] my father!
ALISON: Our next nominee is Paul McAdams.
STANKY: Paul McAdams is a brilliant musician who plays with his sister Lara in a local band called Paul and Lara.
GINGER [who looks as though nothing just happened]: He's more than just a musician, though—he's also an arranger and a composer.
[Shot of Arrissia and Rebecca fighting in the aisle. Rebecca has Arrissia in a headlock.]
REBECCA: I saw him first!
ARRISSIA: No, you didn't—I did!
REBECCA: I did!
ARRISSIA: I did! Let go of me!
REBECCA: You just like Paul because I like him!
ARRISSIA: You just like him; I love him.
GINGER: I love him! I'm the one who loves him!
STANKY: What dude?
GINGER: Just kiddin', dude.
ALISON: And our final nominee is Lee Rocker, former bass player of Stray Cats and all-around bass extraordinaire.
[Shot of Rebecca and Arrissia being forcibly removed from the auditorium.]
GINGER: And the winner is . . .
STANKY: Billy Zoom.
GINGER: Although he's in the audience, Billy Zoom regrets that he could not be here to accept his award.
STANKY: Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the monitors.
[Hula music plays in the background. Footage is of Billy Zoom reclining on a chaise longue in Maui. He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt and has a lei around his neck. He's strumming a ukulele and sipping a mai tai from a coconut. Rebecca and Arrissia are on either side of him, reaching over him to slap each other and pull each other's hair. This goes on for about two minutes. The entire TIMe Zoom just stares at the camera with that creepy smile.]
[Alison, Ginger and Stanky exit the stage. Swaim reappears.]
SWAIM: You know, honestly, ladies and gentlemen, Rebecca Schoenkopf is really a bad interviewer. And I don't mean, "She bad"; I mean she's not good at it—not at all. Now let's go live to the secret location where Rebecca Schoenkopf will award the trophy for Best Dance Club!
[Remote feed of Rebecca Schoenkopf in front of the clearly identifiable Boogie.]
REBECCA: Hi, Will! I'm here at a secret location, where in just a few moments I will be awarding the trophy for Best Dance Club! Um, Will? I had to pay to park. Are you sure the paper can't take care of that?
SWAIM: REBECCA, just give out the damn award.
REBECCA: Okey dokey! The nominees for Best Dance Club are . . . Club Rubber in Santa Ana . . .
[Remote camera 2 shows the jammed throng inside the Galaxy Theater. Two girls are sucking face while 14 frat boys watch. Porn stars in vinyl totter about on very high platform boots. A boy waves a glow stick in the cameraman's face until a hand comes out from behind the lens and slaps the boy. He stops.]
REBECCA: . . . The Boom Boom Room in Laguna Beach!
[Remote camera 3 shows shirtless men grinding together to hi-NRG beats in a dark room. It travels across the club to the bar, where go-go boys grind above a dirty old man's face. It looks as if the go-go boys might be stuffing.]
REBECCA: . . . Kokomo's in Irvine.
[Remote camera 4 shows teens packed together like it's spring break at Daytona. Girls are wearing slutty outfits they must have changed into after leaving the house. Boys are pressing on them. They slide up and down one another's sweaty bodies like worms in a compost pile.]
REBECCA: And the winner is . . .
SWAIM: Rebecca, you haven't told us the last nominee.
REBECCA: Oh—the last nominee is the Boogie in Anaheim!
[Remote camera 1 stays on her for a moment and then zooms back to show pretty girls dancing on a shelf around the DJ booth while two other girls fake oral sex on each other on the dance floor. Someone is wearing a swan princess outfit; someone else is wearing a chicken suit. Girls who look like Playboy bunnies sit around lethargically while men walk by and try to grab their asses.]
REBECCA: And the winner is:
[Suddenly, Rebecca falls, taking the cameraman down with her. The screen goes black.]The festivities continue...