American Pie Presents: Band Camp Page #3

Left flank hut.

Turn and hut.

What the f***!

Band 10 hut!

Holy sh*t.

When I yell "band 10 hut,"

you snap firmly at attention.

- You want to see me firmly at attention?

- I already have. I wasn't impressed.

Look...

we've never beaten Beechwood, okay?

For some of us, it's our last shot.

Just stop screwing up, okay?

Yeah, a**hole.

Okay, people, back to work, let's go.

Whatever.

I don't need this sh*t.

Reset the block. Front ranks, right here.

Housekeeping.

Oscar, brought me something to drink?

- Come on.

- Good looking out, baby.

Hey, it's Ernie Crapowitz.

So you finally came out of the closet.

Good for you.

Look, I want to know

what goes on at night, all right?

All the crazy sh*t.

Naked pillow fights, whatever.

Do I look like the guy that's in charge of

the naked pillow fights, huh?

It's my first time here.

Notice the beanie?

Yes.

Yes, I do.

Yes, speaking of beanies,

where's yours, Stifler?

You still not following the rules, huh?

- Let's see.

- Look. He's getting in trouble again.

No standard-issue Tall Oaks T-shirt

and no beanie.

I believe that's two points from Great Falls,

Mr. Nelson.

Tell you what, Vande-cramp...

what if I took his beanie...

and put it on my weenie?

How do you like that Vande-cramp?

It's on my head, right?

Make it five points from Great Falls.

Five points.

Man, this place sucks donkey ass.

Put your beanie on, Son.

Five points.

Stay still. Stop moving.

He ain't going nowhere now.

This isn't your world. This is our

world, and we don't want you in it.

You already cost us

five points in the standings.

We can't have that.

Set the man up with his beanie.

Now you're representing, fool.

And this toothpaste...

this will make up

for the pepper spray, a**hole.

Oh, sh*t.

I'll get the paint thinner

from maintenance.

Animals.

Matt, you were sent here...

to make a change.

And, so far, you've only had

your sinuses sanitized. So...

I think it's time to try a new approach.

Make some friends.

Earn their trust.

Why would I want to earn their trust?

Good.

Welcome to Stifler-vision.

I think there's

a cymbal class at 1:00.

I hate that.

Yeah, but it's better than

the bass drum relay.

Yeah, that's true.

Yours look totally fantastic.

Two for the price of one.

My left one's bigger, see?

Yeah, mine, too, baby.

They can totally fix that.

No!

Want to see?

I used to be...

Lens fog. No!

What is that thing, butt weasel?

Yeah, it's the KR3, baby.

The Kaplowitz Remote Robotic Rover.

And you are so busted.

- Hey, Oscar, somebody call the Macro.

- Dude, please, shut up.

Pull your panties out of your ass.

I can help you with that chick.

What chick?

Dude, the one with all the tattoos.

The Tubanator.

Her name is Chloe.

Come on, man. I can help.

I'm the Stiffmeister.

- Master of love and romance.

- Bullshit.

I nailed three cheerleaders in one week

on spring break. College cheerleaders.

And I know why your camera spritzed out.

Dude, this thing is awesome.

- You ever use this to look up chicks' skirts?

- No.

But I did use it to win

the State Science Fair last year.

And I'm hoping it gets me into MIT next fall.

I really want to work for NASA.

National Anal Sex Association?

No it's Space...

- There's an Anal Sex Association?

- Oh, yeah, but you've got to be a pro.

Wait, there's a Space Association?

You were supposed to use this.

- See, it's got an anti-fog lens. Duh.

- Yeah, good.

- Can the robot record?

- All right, so, what are your intentions?

With the video, I mean. What are you doing?

Oh, it's just for fun.

I mean, who doesn't like to look

at hot naked chicks, right?

Keep it between us, and I'll let you watch.

Plus, I'll have you giving Chloe

the pelvic noogie inside a week.

Hey, Stifler. Phone.

We're in Detroit!

Locked into sweet Brazilian rum.

I'm f***ing fubar, man!

I sent you rum today.

Could come in handy in Dorksville.

This place blows.

Hey, my roommate, Dr. Robot...

busted me taping some college chicks

in the shower.

So now I have to be all nice to him and sh*t.

And I'm not getting any good footage

'cause these f***ing bandees hate me.

Think of it

like trying to hook up with a virgin.

Act like you give a sh*t about them

until they bring you into the good stuff.

Earn their trust?

Dude, that could work.

I'll be an undercover bandee f***er.

Hello, everyone.

Isn't it a peachy day here at Band Camp?

Band buds. How's it going? Yo.

Hey, I just want to say thanks

for the little wakeup call. You kidders.

Hey, I can finally hear

the music calling me, okay?

There. Hear it? Yeah. Me, too.

So I'm a totally new man, and... By the way,

you both look great in pantyhose.

- What are you doing?

- Awaiting my marching lesson, ma'am.

Look, Matt, I really don't have time for this

right now.

No, look, I figure I'm here,

I might as well make the best of it.

Matt, marching's hard, okay?

It's not like throwing some football.

- Oh, you ever thrown into double coverage?

- You ever high-stepped in double time?

Yes, ma'am, the time the cops chased us

across Koreno's Creek.

And you got so scared, you cried.

- I had allergies.

- It was winter, Mattie.

Well, if you don't teach me to march,

I might just cry again.

Fine.

Left foot on one and three,

right foot on two and four.

You have to do math?

One, two, three, middle.

One, two, three, line.

Right foot on four.

- Keep your step size even.

- My what?

All right, there we go, little buddy.

I'm gonna fix you up good.

Any girl that knows how to play a tuba,

she can do things. That's what Stifler says.

I don't know what it means,

but it's got to be good.

You're good to go.

Let's go find Chloe.

Holy sh*t.

What the hell? Who's doing this?

Take it.

It's okay.

- Thanks, little creepy machine.

- You're welcome...

beautiful lady.

With my right, with my right,

but I can also do it with my left, with my left.

Bootie.

Good game.

You just touched my bootie.

- What's that?

- Your instrument.

That's f***ing gay.

- I mean lame.

- Good.

Now, there are two positions.

Carrying position, like this,

and playing position, like this.

Now when I call, "horns up"...

you're gonna move your instrument out,

and then...

Hello, losers.

Matt. Oh, my God. Matt, I am so sorry.

- I think I bit a hole in my tongue.

- Oh, let me see.

No, no hole.

On today's...

episode wasting time on lost causes.

Speaking of which, I understand you

composed the music to your show, Elyse...

if you call that music.

Yeah. That's right. I did.

And who'd your daddy hire

to compose yours?

I'm just giving you fair warning, cupcake.

Robards Scholarship is mine.

Like you need it.

It's not a matter of need.

It's a matter of want.

- Yeah, I get what I want.

- Why don't you shut the f*** up?

Matt, don't.

- What are you going to do?

- Kick your ass.

- Are you challenging me?

- No.

- Yeah, what if I am?

- No, Brandon, that is not what he's doing.

I accept. Amphitheatre, 5:00.

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