One of the few videos of the event available on the Internet begins with the broadcast appearing to return from a commercial break and no one, including Jamie Kennedy, the goddamned host of the show, was told they were live. Kennedy stands on stage alone and lost, like a kid separated from his mother in a Walmart. And the kid is drunk.
The live microphones pick up random people dropping F-bombs in the midst of their titanic confusion as to what in the holy hell is going on. The camera wanders on a crane, as if searching for some purpose to be on. There are cameras in that same city filming incredible movies and shows, but these cameras are stuck filming this catastrophe and they can't muster the enthusiasm to give a shit.
After that, a simple cut-away from Jamie to his co-host, Stu (who looks and sounds like he could be Damon Lindelof's little brother, the one whose calls Damon always screens), for an interview with Shannon Elizabeth proves to be the most difficult task the director of the broadcast has ever performed since the time he had to put on pants earlier that day. The shot lingers uncomfortably long on the disheveled, confused face of Jamie Kennedy as he tries to make eye contact with anyone who might know what's going on. (Spoiler: He never finds those eyes).