American Pie Presents: Band Camp Page #5

around here.

Hello, oboe.

This is so cool.

I hope I didn't scare you

with the Rover and the soda.

No, man, it was cute.

Nobody's ever been that sweet to me

in my whole life.

Plus, to be honest...

metal really turns me on.

Man, the sh*t's stuck.

- Turn off the lights.

- Damn, gangsta.

- I was just f***ing with you, dawg!

- You... It's stuck.

- Sh*t, you want help?

- Don't touch me.

Come on.

Maybe you should blow on it.

Maybe you should blow on it

and I'll pull.

Hell, no. Jimmy ain't putting his lips

on that thing.

Jimmy should be a team player.

Try and relax, dawg.

Not so hard.

Oh, my God!

- I was just trying to help him get it off, yo.

- Dude, shut up.

Whatever.

He had an allergic reaction to the valve oil.

The swelling should go down

in a few minutes.

These kinds of things would never happen

with our old Macro.

We didn't have MTV when I was growing up.

So maybe it's the over-stimulated times...

that we live in

that causes young men to stick their...

instruments in such odd places.

I knew a certain young man once...

who actually engaged in sexual congress

with an apple pie.

And he turned out just fine.

So, you're perfectly normal...

as these things go.

- Are you okay?

- Oh, yeah.

I'm so drunk right now.

I'm probably going to forget about you...

porking an oboe.

I have six piercings.

That doesn't include the ones on my face.

Two right here...

and four down here.

Haven't seen that in a while.

Yeah, well, no time for dance.

It's all about band, band, band.

No, I was talking about you having fun.

- I have fun. I have fun all the time.

- Yeah.

I just get stressed out, you know. I mean...

we graduate next year, and I don't know.

I mean, I don't really talk about it

all that much...

because the cup is, like,

a team thing, and...

But winning the Robards Scholarship,

I mean, that is like...

my future, you know? And...

Dr. Choi is coming. I mean...

you don't understand. She's like famous...

like holy-sh*t famous.

And, sometimes, I just...

I get really stressed out...

and I calm myself down

by going off and playing on my Picardo.

Wait, you have... Picardo?

It's just a cheapie, but I lost it.

- Wait, if I somehow found this Picard thing...

- You found it?

- Maybe.

- Give it back.

If you let me watch.

Okay, but it takes me a while to warm up.

I have all the time in the world.

Figures.

But I'm going to have to be really drunk.

I mean really drunk. Really drunk.

Yes.

Beat it, jerk off.

Okay, people, let's take a break.

We're all a little sluggish today.

Man, we suck.

Man, one night of fun was not worth

losing a whole day of practice.

Give me this thing.

All right, listen up,

you lazy bunch of lip shits.

Those Beechwood plebes

aren't taking breaks.

We want to win this thing,

we've gotta bust our asses.

Come on, b*tches. Back to work.

- Matt, that's my job.

- Grab your c*cks and move your socks.

We're at war here, people, war!

Show some tits. Grow some balls.

Hey, keep that thing warm for me.

All right, now. What, you want to let

Beechwood tittie-f*** us? I didn't think so.

All right, Tall Oakers...

we're in our final week.

Time to put on our game faces.

And time to strap yourselves in

for a bumpy ride.

I want the oboe, clarinet, black thingies...

and we've got the rhythm section

in a full-on blitz.

- Are you with me, bandees?

- Yeah!

Competition for the Tall Oaks Cup

is really heating up.

Beechwood wins.

Whatever.

I told you, you should let me steer.

Take that b*tch home, man.

Drive it in. Hey, you, f*** face,

I don't even know where to start with you.

Beechwood leads.

Great Falls and Lloyd are tied for second.

Beechwood licks nuts. Hut!

Victory, East Great Falls.

Right foot on line.

Jimmy, you f***ing lotion lover.

East Great Falls by four points.

Hey, butt pirates ahoy.

Your little band

may be leading in the competition, Stifler...

but make sure to let us know

if you get thirsty.

Yeah, 'cause there's plenty of this.

That's funny for you dorks.

Yeah, it is, isn't it? Yeah.

Man, screw that challenge.

I'm just gonna kick his ass.

No, wait. I've got a better idea...

if you think you're man enough.

Yes.

- Hey, you sure you can do this?

- Hey, born to be a porn star, baby.

Delivery on demand.

When I get back,

I'll be a million Stiflers lighter.

Brandon, I think you're

a really good drummer, so...

Excuse me.

Hey, guys...

don't forget your sunscreen.

Your bodies are your instruments.

Yeah, you don't want to be

chapped for your solos.

No, we don't. Bye now.

What is that, 30? It's really thick.

How's that taste, Vande-cock?

Good, huh? Warm and salty? Yeah.

It's a cum-pletely new formula.

S.P.F. 69.

Suck on that.

- Yeah.

- Stop, man.

- Yeah.

- Ernie.

- Yeah.

- Ernie.

What you had before

was way better than this.

This sounds like

your overactive honor-society brain.

Instead of your nasty, wet...

dirty-girl panties.

It should be more spontaneous.

Stop.

Maybe you should hang out

with your friend Matt a little bit more.

Yeah, right.

I know he's a dick and everything,

but he's also got one.

Make some love music, you know?

And then your notes will just cum to you.

- Oh, Matt!

- Stop.

Matt. Matt.

Go long, you a**hole. Go.

Hey, Elyse.

Throw it back. Come on.

What you got?

Missed. Sorry.

Hey, if I have to ring the triangle...

- you have to throw the football, all right?

- Okay.

Draw your arm back. There you go.

Shoulder to your target. Right.

Okay, now step forward.

Come on we're not marching. One foot.

- Okay.

- You're fine. Ready? There you go.

Draw the ball over your ear...

and when you throw it, let it roll

right off your fingers, all right?

Okay.

Come on, throw it.

See? I taught you something. What?

So every time I throw it,

you're gonna run and go get it?

That's generally how it works.

Like playing fetch with my dog.

- Yeah, except I don't lick my own balls.

- You would if you could.

Oh, yeah.

Okay, again.

Right here.

Look, that one looks like a bunny.

No, it doesn't.

Maybe a bunny with one nut.

- No, that's its tail.

- Whatever you say.

- You think we'll win this thing?

- Hell, yeah, we will.

- Lf you write in a bagpipe part.

- Oh, God, I'll never make that mistake again.

- What?

- The eighth grade recital.

You made me write in a part for you.

You wore your kilt.

Yeah, Steve showed up with his friends.

They gave me so much sh*t for that.

I didn't come out of my room for days.

You made it up to him

by stealing all my underwear...

so you could run them up the flagpole.

Including my training bras.

Okay, since we're having

some big f***ing Oprah moment here...

I'm sorry about your underwear.

And the diary.

And all that other sh*t, too.

That's it.

- You started it.

- This is gonna get me that scholarship.

What?

I've got to go write this down

before I forget.

Hey. Hey. Hey.

Could we do this again tomorrow night?

Yeah, sure. I'll see you here at sunset.

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