In Ohio: Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, Dreamboat Blaine, and Bloaty The Gravy Clown have succeeded in getting The Dalton Academy Swallows disqualified from any future show choir competitions this year, so the children of The New New Directions are headed for Regionals in Indianapolis after all. Of course, this means they must somehow manage to scrounge up $400 for a bus, and I was going to list all of the different ways one or another of them could just fork over the rental fee on their own -- starting with Frankenteen soliciting a donation from his congressman stepfather and ending with Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel selling her goddamned $25,000 watch -- but maybe I'll save that for an extra-long rant in the recap proper. Single-T Tina proposes they produce a special "Men Of McKinley High" calendar to raise the necessary funds, which everyone of course decides is an excellent idea, with the notable exception of Artie, who's none too keen on stripping down to his scanties. Coach Sylvester voices certain reservations of her own, naturally, but after a series of plot twists and heartfelt conversations, the salacious project moves forward, and The Glee Clubbers easily make the cash they need.
In New York: The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway lands a part in a sure-to-be-wretched student film that requires her to go topless for a supposedly crucial scene, and this of course leads to round after round of agita and angst for everyone associated with her -- most especially St. Gay Of Lima, who summons Old Quinn and Santana Lopez to Manhattan to talk Rachel out of it. They fail at this task, more or less, but The Horrible Hooker bails on the project at the last minute, anyway, so...good for her? Bad for her? I don't particularly care.
In Other News: Our dear little Brit-Brit is a certified SAT-taking genius, Andrea Carmichael flips the fuck out, and I still don't give a shit about Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel's love life.
Featuring Natalie Imbruglia's "Torn," as performed by The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway and the innocent yet aggravating Rachel Berry we all used to know and love; a medley of Nelly's "Hot In Herre" and The J. Geils Band's "Centerfold," as performed by The Glee Guys with New Quinn and a bunch of random Cheerios offering them backup; Christina Perri's "A Thousand Yearzzzzzzzzzzz," as performed by Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel and New Puck; Ne-Yo's "Let Me Love YouZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ," as performed by New Puck; "Love Song" by Sara Bareilles, as performed by Old Idiot Rachel, Old Quinn, and Santana Lopez; and A Great Big World's "This Is The New Year," as performed by the children of The New New Directions.
Your regularly-scheduled programming has been interrupted for this bit of BREAKING NEWS from our friends at WOHN Channel 8: A studiously blasé Ernst Blofeld, flanked by his lawyers, is just now emerging onto the front steps of Lima's Hall Of Justice Building, where he's immediately swarmed by a buzzing throng of reporters, one of whom yells, "Mr. Clarington! What do you have to say about the steroid allegations?" "I look forward to my day in court," Ernst superciliously replies, adding, "Until then, I have no comment." "But what about the report that you look waaaaay too old to still be in high school?" another reporter demands. Ernst instantly loses his cool and lunges at the catty bitch to start beating the guy with his own microphone as Channel 8's live shot switches back to...
...the WOHN studios, where Rod Remington, northwestern Ohio's most-trusted name in news, solemnly notes that "a blood test administered by the show choir governing board tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs." Rod's co-anchor Andrea Carmichael gives the camera a deeply pained look as Rod confirms that Dalton Academy has been stripped of its Sectionals title, "sending Lima's own McKinley High School show choir to Regionals and a chance to repeat as national champions!" Rod fixes that famously unctuous smile of his on his face, only to have it falter the instant poor, long-suffering Andrea finally and at long last loses her shit. "I can't believe it!" she cries out. "This is what they think news is now?" she hoots, jabbing a pair of angrily incredulous fingers at all those idiot morons out there in the dark. "I can't take this anymore!" she shouts, struggling to strip off her body mike before repeating, "I cannot. Take this. ANYMORE!" "I have had it!" she continues, rising to rage off the set. "I went to school for this!" she screams, kicking over a garbage can that had the great misfortune of blocking her magnificent exit, and as her hysterical peals of laughter give way to sobbing somewhere off-screen, Rod turns back to the camera and bubbles, "Well, it looks like someone's gonna get a younger, hotter co-anchor!" Title card.
McKinley High's music room, already fully reclaimed by The New New Directions, all of whom whoop and holler up there in the cheap seats as Bloaty The Gravy Clown scrawls a triumphant "Regionals!!" on the whiteboard. "We are back!" Frankenteen enthuses above the children's cheers, taking a moment to congratulate Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen and Dreamboat Blaine on their mad investigatory skillz before reminding the kiddies that they've got precious little time to prepare for their big competition. Unmentioned throughout is how McKinley managed to leapfrog past The Rosedale Mennonites because: Who?
And besides, it's time to kick-start tonight's primary storyline: "We still have to raise four hundred dollars," Frankenteen notes, "to pay for the bus to get to the competition in Indianapolis." "It's the Paris of Indiana!" Artie swoons. Indeed. Though I hear Mishawaka is stunning this time of year. Old Finn suggests they hold a bake sale, given how successful their last one proved to be. "That's because Puck spiked the cupcakes with Mary Jane," Artie reminds him.
Guy With Gross Hair Whose Name I Still Can't Be Bothered To Look Up volunteers to trade in his luscious locks for some extra cash, an idea New Quinn immediately shoots down like so: "To who -- Jamaican kids with Rastafarian cancer, or as rigging on a haunted pirate ship?" Point to New Quinn. And just as Lady Lips offers to sell "more" of his semen, Single-T Tina rises to cut through the crap with a brilliant idea of her own: They'll print a modestly-priced "Men of McKinley" calendar starring all six of The Glee Guys! Hooray! "Wait!" a suddenly squirmy Artie interjects, wondering, "Why does it have to be just the men? Why can't we objectify the girls, too?" "'Cause girls are the ones that buy stuff," New Quinn duhs, adding, "We're responsible for the consumer-driven economy." "Those Twilight books were poop on paper," she correctly points out, "and we've turned them into a billion-dollar industry." Yet another point to New Quinn, depressing as that point may be. At this rate, I might have to start referring to her by her character's actual name. In any event, Bloaty The Gravy Clown congratulates Single-T Tina on her absolutely spectacular idea, and as Artie continues to fret and frown due to his obvious Issues with this evening's primary storyline, Brit-Brit leans over to wonder what Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel's doing after school.
Cut to the opening credits of Fondue For Two, after which Brittany welcomes us back to the latest installment of her much-missed chat show. "You may know tonight's guest only as the girl with the fat mom who ruined Sectionals for everybody," Brit-Brit begins before asking us all to give it up for Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. Lord Tubbington seems as unimpressed with his mistress's guest as I am. Sly Brit-Brit opens the interview by tossing out a breezy reference to Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel's supposed bulimia, which Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel calmly deflects by claiming to be a "pet psychic." "Can you tell me what Lord Tubbington's thinking right now?" Brittany asks. Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel takes one look at the cat -- who's currently logging into a web-based casino named "Lucky Kitty" -- and replies, "I think he wants to lose some weight, and he has an online gambling addiction." "Wrong!" Brit-Brit calls out, adding, "If you would have told me that Lord Tubbington was secretly a slumlord, I would have believed you." Brittany then casts a baleful eye on her favorite feline and chides, "None of your high-rises are up to code -- those families are living in squalor, and they deserve better." Heh. And as Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel gags on a boiling bit of cheese, Brit-Brit switches gears again to encourage her guest to admit that she's in love with New Puck. Nobody cares, Brittany. Brit-Brit ignores me and continues to press the issue, urging Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel to tell New Puck exactly how she feels. Nobody cares, Brittany. Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel gapes.
Lair Of The Maharishi. "Sexy teen imbeciles," The Maharishi opens, addressing Sexy Teen Imbeciles Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen and Brittany S. Pierce, "the SAT scores are in, and you have managed to receive the highest and lowest scores ever recorded at McKinley!" Turns out Brittany got herself a "near-perfect 2340," so The Maharishi quite naturally accuses her of cheating. Brit-Brit defends herself like so: "All I did was fill in 'A' for a while, and then 'C' for a little bit, and then 'D,' and then I did 'A' again, and then I used the dots to draw a clown and then a penis." Makes sense to me. After all, the SAT is a frigging mess nowadays -- I mean, calculators? Really?
In any event, this of course means Lady Lips landed at the opposite end of the scale, and his results are even worse than you might imagine: He somehow managed to crash below the 600-point floor you get just for writing your name correctly and wound up with a mere 340 -- "a score routinely bested by monkeys," as The Maharishi notes. Lady Lips pushes his vast trouty mouth out into a pout of truly epic proportions at this depressing news, so sweet-hearted Brittany quickly takes steps to reassure him by pointing out, "You don't need to go to college like the rest of us -- you've got a really great body! You could be a personal trainer, you could be a greeter at Abercrombie, you could be a greeter at Abercrombie's world headquarters, whatever you want to do!" I'll just leave this piece of grossness right here and keep moving, okay?
Lady Lips seems even more depressed than ever, but Brittany's already excitedly moved on, realizing, "My future looks bright -- I'm gonna graduate and go to Harvard, or Princetown, or Mitt, or Stanford And Son, or The University Of California At Charles Barkley's House, 'cause evidently, I'm one of the smartest people in America!" The Maharishi slowly buries his mortified face in his hands as Brit-Brit gives herself two enthusiastic thumbs up.
Fake Drama School In New York, Agonizingly Pretentious Student Film Division. The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway's just aced an audition for something called Come Back To Me, Grandmother: A Journey Into Alzheimer's, and she's now meeting with the film's absolutely unbearable director, a be-cloched senior who desperately wants us to believe her parents actually named her "Electra." The Horrible Hooker gushingly assures this Electra person that she'd be "honored" to embark upon "this adventure" with her, then clams up when this Electra person unexpectedly notes, "There is one thing -- you will have to be topless in the ballroom scene with Titus. It's not going to be a problem, is it?" Old Idiot Rachel blinks. Repeatedly.
A few moments later, the still-thrown Horrible Hooker Of Broadway shoves the film's script into her bag out in the hall while indulging in a little ego-boosting pep-talk. "I'm a strong and confident woman," she nods to herself, adding, "I'm the one who asked Brody to move in, I'm the one who almost made it out of Agent Provocateur without giggling, and let's face it: My breasts are my prizewinners." "You almost made it out," a voice behind her taunts, "but you didn't!" The Horrible Hooker whips around to find a primly-attired Season One version of herself smirking at her from the opposite end of the hallway, because that's how we're gonna roll these couple of minutes, with The Horrible Hooker's conscience taking physical form for the All-Rachel, All-The-Time back-and-forth bickering that follows, and I gotta say: It really is a joy to have Season One Rachel back on the screen, as the present version of the character's been so loathsome so often as of late, I find it extremely difficult to sit through her scenes.
In any event, Season One Rachel quickly notes that The Horrible Hooker's "also the girl who makes Brody turn the lights off when you're cuddling" -- which I can totally believe -- before pointedly wondering, "Are you really ready to expose yourself to the world?" "That's what all great artists do," The Horrible Hooker snits, spinning on her precarious heel to flee her yappy better self, but Season One Rachel will not be left behind, thank you very much, and she materializes in one of the dance studio's mirrors to counter, "Expose their souls, not their flesh!" The Horrible Hooker babbles that "it's all part of the same package" and demands, "Am I really expected to bare my soul if I'm ashamed of the body that holds it?" "I think a little shame is a good thing," Season One Rachel sniffs, popping out of the mirror to add, "You're not a porn star, even though your hair and your makeup makes you look like one." "That's mean!" squeaks The Horrible Hooker, deeply offended. "I'm sorry," Season One Rachel apologizes, "but your hair has gotten a little out of hand." "Point taken," The Horrible Hooker concedes, and I'll believe that when you hack off those goddamned fried extensions of yours, missy.
"Well, I guess there's only one way to resolve this," The Horrible Hooker begins. "Sing about it!" Season One Rachel agrees, and with that, she turns to yell, "Hit it!" at a magically-appearing quintet in the corner of the dance studio, the latter of whom obligingly starts in on the opening notes of "Natalie Imbruglia's version" of Ednaswap's "Torn," a song whose lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with the situation Rachel finds herself in at the moment, but hey! We've got dueling Rachels! Harmonizing with each other! Isn't that awesome?
Okay, yeah, it actually is kind of awesome, now that I'm rewatching the whole thing. The two Rachels start out just standing in place, wailing at each other in the dance studio, and that bit is kind of dull. But then they kick it over to The Improbably Bohemian Loft, where The Horrible Hooker's haunted at every turn by visions of her nerdy former self as Season One Rachel sings longingly into a hairbrush while adorning herself in crass reindeer sweaters and childish knee-high socks, and then it's back to the studio, where they pull a couple of cool effects stunts that flip back and forth between The Dueling Rachels as the character vacillates between who she was in Ohio and who she thinks she ought to be in New York, and then we're pushing in and out of mirrors until we're not sure anymore whether we're in the actual dance studio or some addled reflection of it, and when it's all over, Moaning Becomes Electra stops by to see if Rachel's made up her mind about the topless scene yet. "I'll do it," The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway nods with a smile on her face, and at that, we finally head into this evening's first commercial break.
Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High. Single-T Tina -- obviously still nursing that titanic and spectacularly ill-advised crush of hers -- is in the middle of inviting Dreamboat Blaine on a little shopping excursion later that afternoon when the doors at the far end of the hall swing wide to reveal a mostly-naked Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen. "Oh, sweet merciful Lord," Blaine groans as Yello's "Oh Yeah" kicks in on the soundtrack, because of course. "What are you doing?" Dreamboat Blaine bleats, perhaps allowing his gaze to linger a little too long on the extremely low-slung waistband of Sam's board shorts. Lady Lips offers a far-too-nonchalant reply, so Dreamboat Blaine ventures to inquire, "Are you sure you're not...overcompensating a little?" "Overcompensating for what?" Lady Lips immediately shoots back, and long story short, everyone's heard about Sam's abysmal SAT scores because none of these fools has anything better to talk about, apparently. "You know what, dude?" Lady Lips frantically jabbers. "Like, if you choose to be jealous of my hardcore rockin' bod, that's on you!" "For the record," Single-T Tina interjects, her normally companionable tone quickly taking on the sort of vicious edge most commonly displayed by the most batshit of Internet fangirls, "Blaine has an awesome body and a perky and delicious behind that looks like it got baked to perfection by some sort of master chef!" Sam's eyes widen in fear. Hee. Blaine insists he's simply got Sam's best interests at heart, but Lady Lips will hear none of this, and he instead orders Dreamboat Blaine to "put down the Haterade and come to [his] seminar" that afternoon in the boys' locker room. "It's a one-hour course," Lady Lips exposits, "entitled Modern Centerfold: Techniques At Work For Today's Hot Young Posers." "Three-thirty," he instructs, adding, "No chicks!"
Locker Room. Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen leads The Glee Guys -- minus Artie, of course, who remains in his wheelchair -- through a series of exercises he calls "bro-ga" (i.e., "yoga for bros") that are designed to get the lads in the best possible shape for their impending calendar shoot. New Finn looks like he's already ruptured something. Dreamboat Blaine, on the other hand, displays perfect form and poise. Bitch. Blatantly insecure Artie complains again that he doesn't understand why they all have to go shirtless, but Lady Lips chooses to ignore him in favor of passing along some crucial quick-cut "White Chocolate Strip Tips." Rule Number One: Manscape! "Nobody wants to see those rando nipple pubes," Lady Lips lectures while slathered from navel to neck in Barbasol, "or even worse, a back that looks like Chewbacca's ass. Shave it off!" Rule Number Two: Pack a little extra! "I like baby socks," Lady Lips confesses as he slides a pair of the same into the business area of his shorts. "Just make sure the sock is clean," he warns, "so you don't get any athlete's foot on your junk." Rule Number Three: There is no Rule Number Three because it's time to get this party started!
Cue the opening bars of Nelly's "Hot In Herre" as the action hops over to the showers, and herre we go: The Glee Guys -- minus Artie, who refuses to have anything to do with the delirious idiocy that follows -- strip to shorts and sandals so a random assortment of Cheerios might hose down each and every one them with spray tan. Yes, even New Puck, who to his credit is all, "Really?" when New Quinn comes at him with the nozzle. Hee. By the way, New Finn is awfully bouncy. Just so you know. From there, we shoot back over to the music room, where the remaining Glee Gals plus Artie and Frankenteen watch, mouths agape, as the boys proceed to shit all over The J. Geils Band's "Centerfold" by pointlessly mashing sliced-up bits of it into the other song. Or maybe the remaining Glee Gals plus Artie and Frankenteen watch, mouths agape, as the boys proceed to perform scantily-clad feats of great strength by manfully tossing those random Cheerios around in the air. Your choice. The remainder of this shamefully entertaining performance is intercut with shots of the increasingly grueling physical regimen Lady Lips imposes upon himself and the others in advance of the calendar shoot, and when it's over, Bloaty The Gravy Clown shouts, "We are gonna make so much money!" The assembled children shriek and cheer, save for a conspicuously silent Artie, who leaves Frankenteen's high five hanging.
Teachers' Lounge. "Well, well, well!" Sue opens in that inimitable manner of hers. "If it isn't the underaged smut-peddling non-teacher Finn Hudson!" This is promising. "Not satisfied with making a mockery of the American education system by your mere presence at this school," Sue continues as Frankenteen gives her a wary eye, "you have besmirched the dignity of such everyday heroes as this woman with Crohn's disease whose name I do not know by bringing the dark specter of pornography to these hallowed halls." Clapping a hand on the shoulder of the utterly indifferent Crohn's sufferer in question, Sue concludes, "Well, Crohnsy and I are here to tell you this will not stand." "Sue Sylvester?" Old Finn eyebrows by way of reply. "You can suck a hot one because you are a hypocrite." "I beg your pardon!" a mightily affronted Sue snaps. "I seem to recall a rumor," Frankenteen blithely notes with a devious glint in his eye, "about a certain cheerleading coach at this school who once took horse estrogen and posed for Penthouse back in the day, so maybe I can just track that down, make a few copies, and sell those to make the money for Regionals." "That's nothing but a rumor," Sue claims, "but if that rumor were true, my Penthouse centerfold -- so groundbreaking that it completely redefined the word 'hirsute' and gave birth unto these United States Of America a pose so limber they named it 'The Regal Not-So-Bald Spread Eagle'? I promise you, my friend: You would never find it." "I guess we'll see about that," Finn smiles, eagerly rising to the challenge Sue's so foolishly presented him, and there are two things I have to say about all this: One, Cory Monteith hasn't been this entertaining in years, and two, I'm willing to bet this scene had a lot to do with the episode losing a million viewers between its first and second half-hours when it originally aired. Not that I'm complaining, of course, because we'd all be well rid of those too-precious twelve-year-olds who never should have started watching this show in the first place -- not to mention all the shit music they apparently crave -- but you know. Just saying.
My Ancestral Homeland. Dean Geyer plants his gloriously naked derriere at St. Gay Of Lima's breakfast table, and when The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway joins them, an aghast St. Gay shrieks, "Your boyfriend's bare ass is on one of my vintage flea market chairs!" Honey, I hate to break this to you, but if you picked up those precious chairs of yours at a flea market in Brooklyn, I can guarantee they've had far worse than Dean Geyer's naked ass on them many, many times in the past. Trust me on this one.
In any event, Dean Geyer claims it's just his way of supporting The Horrible Hooker's decision to appear topless in that sure-to-be-wretched student film of hers, and needless to say, St. Gay is sickened and repulsed. "I don't get it!" he whines. "A year ago, you were all plaid skirts and 'Do you think Finn likes me?' and now you're Slutty Barbie, asking Misogynist Ken to move in with you and doing pornos. What's happening to you?" Okay, now listen up, you pissy little slur: You were the one who turned Rachel into Slutty Barbie in the first place, so SHUT THE FUCK UP. And as I can no longer bear St. Gay's presence on my television screen, I'll be hopping back over to...
...The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion, where we find New Puck answering an urgent summons from Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, and because I still have no fucks to give as far as their tiresome relationship issues are concerned, I'll blow through the preliminary flirting noises they make at each other to note they then proceed to drone this boring piece of tuneless Twilight crap at each other for what seems like the three thousand years, and when it's over, they kiss. Yawn. Also: Commercials.
McKinley High Library. Artie meets up with Bloaty The Gravy Clown so the latter might task him with tracking down Coach Sylvester's issue of Penthouse. "You want me to spend the few days carefully paging through decades and decades of vintage pornography?" Artie breathes. Finn nods. "You've come to the right place!" Artie confidently assures him. Atta boy. Once that's settled, Artie takes advantage of this relatively quiet moment to inform Frankenteen of his reservations regarding the calendar shoot. As you've probably guessed, he's none too eager to strip down for the cameras for various reasons, and I'll leave it at that, as the dialogue in this scene definitely takes a nasty turn for the After School Special about two lines in. Bloaty The Gravy Clown thanks Artie for his honesty, and assures him he doesn't have to participate if he doesn't want to.
Meanwhile, down in the locker room, New Finn and New Puck go all homoerotic on the audience's collective behind for a bit until Single-T Tina and New Quinn barge in with their calendar assignments. New Finn's been given February and July, so he'll of course be wearing heart boxers for one photo and posing as "Sexy Uncle Sam" for the other, while New Puck got June and October, so it's strategically-placed surfboards and pumpkins for him. With all that taken care of, Single-T Tina and New Quinn make their exit, leaving the boys alone to discuss New Puck's boring relationship issues, so we'll be skipping ahead to...
...CRAP! The scene consists of nothing more than New Puck crooning this boring piece of tuneless trite crap at Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel over in the music room, so it's back to...
...Brooklyn for us. We arrive at The Improbably Bohemian Loft just as The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway does the same, and all of us are as surprised as she is, I'm sure, to find Santana Lopez and Old Quinn waiting there for her. "OHMIGOD!!!" Rachel squeals. "WHATREYOUDOINGHERE?!?!?!!" "Lady Homo called, begging us to perform an emergency intervention," Santana smiles. "On who?" Rachel dims. "On you," Old Quinn duhs. DUN! Also: Another commercial break!
"So let me get this straight," The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway begins once we've returned. "You guys came all the way to New York just to talk to me?" "We're also here to shop," Santana Lopez shrugs. "And we're here to apologize to Quinn for slapping her across the face," Old Quinn passively-aggressively adds. "In theory," Santana shoots back before refocusing the conversation on Rachel like so: "You cannot do a nude scene!" The Horrible Hooker protests that she's only going topless, but even that's too much for Santana. "Topless," she notes, "is as nude as anyone is ever gonna want to see you." Heh.
Old Quinn proposes a three-part thought experiment based upon what she calls "The 2-2-2 Rule." Part One: How will Old Idiot Rachel feel about her decision in two weeks? "You'll probably feel pretty great," Santana supposes, adding, "You'll get to feel the nice, cool breeze on them skeeter bites -- you'll feel refreshed even!" Old Idiot Rachel agrees with this assessment, so Old Quinn moves on to Part Two: How will Old Idiot Rachel feel about her decision in two months? "Nervous?" a suddenly flustered Rachel ventures. "Worried it may not even be good?" she guesses. "It's a student film," Santana stresses. "It's not gonna be good." And with Part Two thus so efficiently handled, Old Quinn moves on to Part Three: How will Old Idiot Rachel feel about her decision in two years? "Guilty," Rachel admits, "just hoping my kids will never see it online." "Oh, they'll see it," Santana darkly assures her, "and they will never be the same!" Hee! "But some women find it empowering to be naked on film!" Rachel argues. Perhaps, Santana concedes, "but not in a student film that is probably about someone's grandma with Alzheimer's." "For once, we actually have your best interests in mind," Santana insists. "Please don't do it," Old Quinn implores. The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway pouts, for she knows not what to do.
Meanwhile, back at McKinley, the Tina-directed calendar photo shoot's progressing quite nicely, indeed, until Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen loses what's left of his goddamned mind over losing his pump, or whatever, and he stomps off towards the locker room weight rack to work on his biceps again, some more, with Dreamboat Blaine racing after him to wonder why he's turned into such a complete and utter douchebag all of a sudden, and here we go again with the After School Special crap, so: Long story short, Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen thinks he's a big, dumb loser. Dreamboat Blaine attempts to convince him otherwise, but it's pretty clear Blaine's sweet words are having no effect.
Teachers' Lounge. Bloaty The Gravy Clown ambles over to Sue's table and slaps down a manila envelope. "And what, may I ask, is this?" Sue prompts. "Turns out it wasn't too hard to track down, after all," Frankenteen replies. "Well, I'm impressed, I'm not gonna lie," Sue admits. "I thought I purchased every last issue from eBay." I just checked that site, and a search on "Regal Not-So-Bald Spread Eagle" is giving me no results, so I am left with no choice but to accept her word as truth. "I'm not ashamed of this centerfold," Sue assures him. "In fact," she adds, "I feel like taking a gander at that glorious taco right now!" With that, she rips open the envelope, only to find an extra-thick issue of Highlights magazine therein. D'OH! "You idiot!" Sue grumbles. "You had me skewered -- why would you let me open that?" Because he's been recording this entire conversation, of course, which means he doesn't need an actual copy of the issue because he got her "confession" on tape. Pretty sneaky, Finn.
Guidance Office. Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen enters to find both Miss Pillsbury and Dreamboat Blaine waiting for him with a stack of brochures from colleges that supposedly don't ask applicants for standardized test scores, among them Pitzer, Beavercreek and The Doyle College Of Judaic Studies. One or more of those might be fake. Just a hunch. Miss Pillsbury also passes him a sheaf of scholarship applications and, after he whinges some more about the whole thing, she sends him into this evening's commercial break to think it over.
Fake Drama School In New York, Agonizingly Pretentious Student Film Division. It's time for The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway to whip 'em out and spin 'em around, but Old Idiot Rachel of course balks at the very last minute. "It's okay for actresses to be naked," she babbles, lest we all think she's some horrible prude like her shrill hag of a roommate, "and maybe someday I'll be ready, but I just realized that I'm not ready to be naked now." Moaning Becomes Electra promptly boots Rachel's too-demure ass off the set, and as she packs up to go, Rachel allows herself a small, private smile right before she launches herself into the opening lines of Sara Bareilles's "Love Song -- which is yet another tune whose lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with the situation Rachel finds herself in at the moment, but hey! We've got shiny, happy Rachel! Harmonizing with Santana and Old Quinn for some bizarre reason! Isn't that awesome?
And once again, it actually is kind of awesome, even though I can't figure out if this entire performance is happening in Rachel's head, or if it's some sort of strange fantasy sequence she's sharing telepathically with her guests, or if it's part reality for the three old Glee Gals and part something they've made up, but whatever. I mean, really, it's so nice to have these three performing together on a song I don't totally hate that I'm not going to overthink it.
So: Basically, Rachel bops along a Fake Drama School In New York hallway for a couple dozen bars or so until she ends up in last week's hipster rehearsal space, where she joins Santana and Quinn for the remainder of the number, and the camera goes all spinny, and a topless male backup band magically appears behind them at randomly selected intervals, and when it's over, Rachel warmly expresses her gratitude for Santana and Quinn's intervention. "No regrets?" Quinn asks. "None!" Rachel effervescently insists. And at that, she offers to treat her two guests to dinner. The visiting ladies waste little time accepting this kind invitation, with Santana pointedly noting, "I'm in no rush to get back to Kentucky." "In fact," she continues, all but winking directly at the audience as she does so, "I think I could get used to New York -- it's more my speed." So, she'll be moving into The Improbably Bohemian Loft week, then? Good to know.
Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Subplot. Dreamboat Blaine enters some random McKinley classroom to find a dispirited Lady Lips slumped over one of his still-blank essays. "Ready to write?" Dreamboat Blaine asks. "No!" Lady Lips mopes. "I hate the college application process! It's for tools!" "The college application process is awesome and for winners," Dreamboat Blaine patiently counters, "like you!" To prove this, Dreamboat Blaine whips out his trusty laptop, upon which he plays a video of various Glee Clubbers extoling the many virtues of Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, including Single-T Tina, Artie, Santana Lopez, Brit-Brit, Bloaty The Gravy Clown, Mercedes, and the strange otherworldly cocoon that's taken up residence on Mercedes's head. A single manly tear trickles down Lady Lips's cheek, and he rises from his slouch to wrap Dreamboat Blaine in a grateful embrace. For his part, Dreamboat Blaine carefully angles his pelvis outwards so as not to alarm his emotionally fragile but otherwise remarkably sturdy young friend. Commercials.
Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High. Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen approaches Artie and asks him to reconsider participating in the calendar shoot. "But I don't want to be the only one wearing clothes!" Artie protests. "You won't be!" Lady Lips replies.
Cut to a montage of the final calendar photographs, and I suppose I should give you the full rundown: January features a shirtless Dreamboat Blaine holding an obscenely large bottle of champagne against his crotch while standing in front of an oddly-chosen pre-Trade Center collapse New York City skyline; February, as previously revealed, goes to New Finn in his little heart boxers and little else; March gives us Artie in full leprechaun regalia, complete with an overflowing pot of gold balanced on one knee; June has New Puck in full Psycho Beach Party mode; July, as promised, is Sexy Uncle New Finn; August means Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen offers us his best David Hasselhoff impression, though in keeping with his deal with Artie, he's sporting a zipped-up red windbreaker over his swim trunks; September also features Lady Lips, this time fully clothed as a salacious schoolboy; October appropriately sends many screaming in horror with its vision of New Puck as a lascivious pumpkin; November goes to Pilgrim Artie, complete with fake roast turkey; and we finally swing back around to Dreamboat Blaine for December, with a festive Yuletide image that was released a month and a half ago.
April and May are months that will never happen again. Ever.
Over in the music room, The Glee Guys busily autograph calendars for a seemingly neverending line of admiring young ladies. "You have such broad shoulders!" Dottie Kazatori sighs as New Finn inks his name all over February. "If you ever want to tap this," she giggles, "just say the word." Atta girl. Wait, what am I saying? Scratch that, and replace it with this: BACK OFF BITCH HE'S MINE.
On the other end of the room, Sweet Sue slinks up to Frankenteen long enough to confirm that The Glee Club has met its fundraising goal for the evening, then leaves after promising to have Old Finn's bloated ass "slowly roasting on a spit" by Valentine's Day. Tasty!
Somewhere else, New Puck and Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel profess their undying lzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Back at the table, Becky Jackson makes a playful pass at Artie, Brit-Brit says something exceptionally endearing to Lady Lips, and Artie grins that he's "really excited about this new year." "Me, too," Lady Lips agrees. "It's a new year," he declares, "and a new me!"
Smash to this evening's final performance, a suspiciously professional-looking video featuring the children of The New New Directions offering us their version of A Great Big World's "This Is The New Year," and this was also leaked long before the episode actually aired, just so you know. It's another great, big, anthemic blowout of a piece, much like last season's "We Are Young," but it feels far less organic than the others they've done in the past, what with the absurdly high level of polish on display. Of note: New Quinn will henceforth be known as "Kitty," mainly because of the exquisite amounts of shade she's hurling in Guy With Gross Hair's direction during this number; Sugar Motta must be rotting away in that unmarked mass grave with The Rosedale Mennonites because she sure as hell hasn't been anywhere near my television screen tonight; and New Finn and Not-So-Unique would make an adorable couple. No, don't laugh at that -- I'm serious. Sigh! Other than that -- and other than me wondering why they didn't hang onto this song for Regionals -- there's not a lot to say before we finally fade to black.
week: The Dee-VUHZ! Dee-vuhz dee-vuhz! DEE-VUZZZZZZZ!
Demian has no idea what his SAT scores were. You may share yours with him at demian_twop@yahoo.com.