“It’s 10 p.m., and you know what that means: lights out,” wise young Arty (alias: the Beekeeper) says at the top of the episode. “Time for every camper to be in their bunk while the staff party’s just heating up.” It’s the soiree we’ve all been waiting for.
Ben: Did you know he was also DJ Ski Mask, the DJ who spins records wearing a ski mask? We didn’t either. Why does he wear the ski mask? Is it so that a Bradley Cooper body double can shoot the scenes that the real Bradley Cooper didn’t have time for in his hectic schedule? Who knows!
Neil: His high school girlfriend Sherri shows up, ready to party. Everything goes well until it doesn’t — she gets caught on the wrong side of the nose game (also know as “nose goes”), and the results are disastrous. Will Neil be able to salvage his relationship? And also, what?
Gary: A.D. Miles’ character Gary is at the party! Where’s he been anyway? I feel like we’ve barely seen him. Could Jimmy Fallon not give his head writer a little extra time off?
Victor: Have you heard the one about the summer-camp virgin and the big-city choreographer? No? That’s because it never happens. After a short seduction period, Victor runs to the store to buy condoms, lube, and (here’s the sick part) a keychain. But it’s all for naught: The first-timer just can’t get it done with Rhonda, though she’s okay if he tells his friends otherwise.
Coop and Donna and Yaron: Coop’s wardrobe has now fully transformed him into a rock douchebag, courtesy of Donna and Yaron. He also transforms into something else entirely: The third player in a steamy manage-a-trois. This isn’t what he wants, though; it never was. So he storms out, douchey hat in hand, and says goodbye to Donna once and for all.
Kevin-Amy-Drew: Like the Coop-Donna-Yaron scenario, this one doesn’t go so hot for the nice guy. Kevin “loses” a game of Seven Minute in Heaven (initiated, I might add, by Abby Bernstein) to Drew. It gets worse: When Kevin confesses his feelings to Amy in a grand, romantic proposal: He asks her to be his girlfriend. It’s what the whole season’s been leading up to.
She says no.
Lindsay: Our favorite Rock & Roll World reporter files one heck of a story — real gonzo stuff — which is bad news for Eric and for Camp Firewood in general. When Nancy gets a fax from her old friend who’s now a typesetter at that very magazine, Lindsay’s ruse is up: Everyone, including her “best friend” J.J., knows the truth about her. She’s a Benedict Arnold! Hurt by her deceit and betrayal, they cast her out of the camp (which she actually was doing anyway.)
But at least she can go back to doing, um, interesting things with Steven Tyler, the Oak Ridge Boys, and every member of the Little River Band.
Andy and Katie: They finally realize that they really do like each other. Wait, why didn’t they already know that? And why are they yelling? Pfft, whatever, let’s just make out.
Little do they know, their kiss just launched a thousand ships (and schooners and sloops and whatever other nautical vessels they have over at Camp Tigerclaw).
Best Lines (You Know, From Before):
Neil: Vic, you really are the man. It’s just terrific stuff. Spot-on stuff.
Andy: Why don’t you try some moo shu pork for once in your life, Katie? You never know — you just might like the way it tastes.
Donna: I think it looks rad.
Coop: Aw, thanks.
Yaron: Actually it’s not red, it looks more maroon.
Gary: You can’t do much better [than Neil]. You could do worse! But you, specifically, can’t do better.
Victor: It’s not even for me, I swear — I don’t even have keys! I don’t want the keychain, the keychain is for a friend!
Old Lady at the Store: Keychain! What a pervert.
Lindsay: Weird Al Yankovic.
Yaron: Why the discomfort, Coop? We are living so we should be alive. These are our stories. Tongue in the mouth, it can mean so many things. It can mean hello. It can mean… peace.
Yaron: Donna, are you coming? I cannot stay hard for much longer, though I am happy to try.
Rhonda: You can tell people you made it with me if you want. I like to appear unstable.
Nancy: I trusted you with my diaphragm!
Lindsay: I can’t stay, because I’m a 24-year-old reporter.
Camp Tigerclaw mob: Camp Tigerclaw! Camp Tigerclaw! Camp Tragerlclow!