warm for me. 
All right, now. What, you want to let
Beechwood tittie-fuck 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 bitch home, man.
Drive it in. Hey, you, fuck 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 fucking 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.
100% Stiffy juice...
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 asshole. 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 shit 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 fucking Oprah moment here...
I'm sorry about your underwear.
And the diary.
And all that other shit, too.
That's it.
- You started it.
- This is gonna get me that scholarship.
What?
I've got to go write this down