Russell Brand was sweating like a whore in church from the first moment he took the VMA stage and was greeted with crickets. Unlike previous years where the front rows are stars and the rest of the crowd is comprised of rabid, screaming, boisterous fans, 2008 was Bring-Your-Dad-to-the-VMAs-Day. Every time the camera panned the audience it was like a trip to an LL Bean outlet in the suburbs. They treated the show like a trip to Nordstrom with their trophy wives; half-asleep, holding the bags by the guy tickling “Unforgettable” on the piano. What gives?