In Ohio: This week's improbable and soon-to-be-forgotten drama erupts when Mr. Schue announces they'll be competing at Nationals against a group of deeply committed aggravations collectively known as "Throat Explosion," who model themselves of course upon the most annoying human being on the entire planet. Chaos and lousy performance art ensue as the kiddies must decide how far they're willing to go in pursuit of their dreams, or some such bullshit, until Principal Sylvester suspends them all for dressing like idiots, because Sue's suddenly become the only sane person in that entire damn high school.
In New York: St. Gay Of Lima finally starts getting a subplot of his very own this season as he gathers together vocalists for his long-promised Madonna cover band that actually turns out to be not a Madonna cover band at all, because...I don't know. Nor do I care, really. In any event, after easily recruiting Old Idiot Rachel, Santana Lopez, and Demi Lovato as backup singers, St. Gay Of Lima goes off in search of additional musicians via a personals ad in The Village Voice, because St. Gay Of Lima has never heard of Craigslist, apparently, and everyone is very sad, indeed, when only one person signs up because no one reads the goddamned personals ads in the goddamned Village Voice anymore. Fortunately, that one person is Adam Lambert, who proves to be immensely entertaining despite the dreadful musical selections forced upon him this evening, and it looks like St. Gay's made a new friend. Who will likely disappear after a couple of episodes with no explanation whatsoever because Adam Lambert's just a guest star this season, but whatever.
Featuring "Marry The Night" and "Applause" by Little Steffi Germanotta, the former performed by Glamberace, and the latter performed by Artie, Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, Dreamboat Blaine, Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, and The Only Finn Left Standing; and "Wide Awake" and "Roar" from Little Kathy Hudson, the former performed by New Puck, Single-T Tina, Urethra Franklin, and Pretty Kitty, and the latter performed by just about everybody in the cast.
McKinley High Music Room. The various children futz about with xylophones and scooters and whatnot until Mr. Schue enters from elsewhere with a "secret list" of show choirs the kiddies will be facing this year at Nationals, and I'm just going to just go ahead and ignore that whole "secret list" bullshit because we are literally a mere thirteen seconds into the episode proper, and that is just far too early for my brain to be exploding, thank you very much. Included on said list are "The Rust Belters" from Pittsburgh, "The ThunderShowCats" from Gainesville and "Throat Explosion" from Fort Wayne. Mention of this last group immediately hurls Single-T Tina into the howling pits of despair, and she spends several long seconds shrieking, "NOOOOOOOOOOO! GOD, WHYYYYYYYYYYY?" until New Puck helpfully steps forward to wonder, "'Throat Explosion'? That's a joke, right?" "Anything but!" Dreamboat Blaine pisses from his perch at the piano, going on to exposit -- at length, of course, and in the rapid-fire style that makes these opening information dumps so difficult to transcribe -- as follows: "They're the new supergroup the show choir underground's been buzzing about! Their budgets for costume, makeup -- hair alone -- are astronomical!" And in this they would differ from McKinley High...how, exactly?
Dreamboat Blaine doesn't answer me, because Dreamboat Blaine never answers me. Instead he lectures his fellows like so: "You guys read that Malcolm Gladwell book, Outliers, right? So, Gladwell says you can't possibly master anything unless you've spent ten thousand hours practicing it!" Your point, honey? "Students can't even join Throat Explosion without proving they've logged in ten thousand hours of show choir rehearsal!"
Cut to a montage of shots supposedly illustrating the members of Throat Explosion in the middle of a rehearsal or whatever, and long story short, they appear to be little more than a bunch of aggravating, self-aggrandizing assholes in clown makeup and black body stockings. Dreamboat Blaine's breathless description of the group, however, seems far more flattering than mine: "They perform every minute of every day -- they live their art! They know no boundaries, they're constantly pushing the envelope, living and performing on the edge! They're like mini-Lady Gagas!" So...aggravating, self-aggrandizing assholes in clown makeup and black body stockings? Got it.
"We're so screwed!" Single-T Tina moans the instant we return to Dear Old McKinley High. She then proceeds to speed-babble some stream of crap both Pretty Kitty and I proceed to ignore until the very end, when she says this: "Look around! We're a roomful of, like, Katy Perrys now!" This is important because it gives Mr. Schue an idea, and after some more speed-babbling from several of the other children that I'm also going to ignore, he marches over to his trusty whiteboard, upon which he scrawls "Katy vs. Gaga." That will be this week's lesson, because the children of The New New Directions need to master both styles of performance if they are to win at this year's Nationals, and I'm already so bored with tonight's episode that I nearly fall asleep during the four-second pan of the children's resolutely determined faces that immediately precedes this evening's title card. This is going to suck.
Café Contrivance. St. Gay of Lima flits into the place a full five minutes late for his shift because he was down in Cooper Square, purchasing an ad in The Village Voice for that Madonna cover band of his he mentioned a few episodes ago. Only it's not going to be a Madonna cover band anymore because St. Gay decided the entire enterprise "should be more organic than that," and as that one phrase now makes me want to punch him in his pretentious little face until he's dead, I'll cut to the chase: Since he's abandoning his original concept, females are now welcome to become members, and would Santana Lopez, Demi Lovato and Old Idiot Rachel like to join? Santana Lopez and Demi Lovato are in, of course, but Old Idiot Rachel begs off, as she's still officially in mourning for her dead ex-boyfriend from high school. Oh, there's also that whole tiny matter of the enormous Broadway-bound revival she's headlining, too -- like, why did she not quit the damn diner five weeks ago the instant she got cast? -- but her primary reason for declining St. Gay's generous offer is Dead Finn. St. Gay looks very sad for a moment, then excitedly gets to planning the band auditions with Santana and Demi.
Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High. Nurse Penny approaches Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen at the latter's locker, and long story short, Lady Lips suggests they get together sometime that weekend for their first proper date as an honest-to-God couple. Unfortunately, Nurse Penny finds she must demur, because her ex-boyfriend is taking her to a Nine Inch Nails concert in Columbus. And as Nurse Penny bumbles off down the hallway, Lady Lips bangs his fugly coif against his locker's never-before-seen, hastily-assembled shrine to True Jackson, VP, which is a series I thought Glee made up until I just now Googled the title, and I seriously don't care about any of this at all, so...
...I'll be ignoring most of the subsequent scene between Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen and Dreamboat Blaine, too, in which Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen bemoans the fact that Nurse Penny is obviously A Gaga which means she'll never be attracted to A Katy like him, because BORING! For what it's worth (which is NOTHING), the two boys agree to blow Nurse Penny's tiny, Skrillex-loving mind with the most amazing Gaga-inspired performance ever and with that, we retire to...
...another section of the hallway, where we find Artie bitching, "This Katy-Gaga lesson is killing me -- it's like Mr. Schue did it on purpose to keep us apart!" "I don't think he plans that much ahead," Pretty Kitty smirks by way of reply. "I'm pretty sure," she continues, "that he makes up these rando lessons the split second before he writes them on the board." Truth. And speaking of this week's rando lesson, I just now realized I've neglected to mention which children have been assigned which so-called "artist" for this evening's festivities, so here goes: The Gagas who must prove they can be Katys include New Puck, Single-T Tina, Pretty Kitty and Urethra Franklin, and The Katys who must prove they can be Gagas consist of Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, Dreamboat Blaine, Artie, Live Finn and Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. Got all that? Good. Now, where the hell was I?
Oh, yes: For whatever ridiculous reason, Artie asks Pretty Kitty if she's still okay "dating someone so different" from herself -- this even though these two have been seeing each other for nearly two entire goddamned months at this point -- and Pretty Kitty responds by staring deeply into his eyes for a moment before leaning in for a smooch. "PBBBBLLLLZZZT!" Becky Jackson razzes from off to one side, mainly so those of us in this series' rapidly-dwindling audience remember she's still a character on this show, and after Becky bellows something about Pretty Kitty getting her "sloppy seconds," we head over to...
...Fake Drama School In New York, Probably-Still-Blotto Dance Division, Even Though God Knows We're Never Going To See Kate Hudson On This Crap Ever Again. A tired-looking Demi Lovato slumps dejectedly on the studio's temporary stage with three entirely anonymous musicians while St. Gay of Lima and Santana Lopez slouch in chairs on the opposite side of the room. "So, how long do we have to wait?" Demi asks. "This is humiliating!" St. Gay sighs martyrliciously before wailing, "I spent all my tip money renting out this room because I thought we'd have a turnout!" "What did you expect?" Santana snarks. "No one reads the goddamned classifieds in the fucking Village Voice anymore -- have you seriously never heard of Craigslist?" Except she says none of that, and instead blames the nonexistent turnout on the fact that St. Gay's band "doesn't even have a name," although she herself "came up with an amazing one" mere minutes ago. "We are not naming the band 'The Apocalypsticks'!" St. Gay shouts, adding, "I am manifesting the perfect name, all right? It takes time!" And as I now want to kick his pretentious little face until he's dead, I'll skip ahead to the belated arrival of their sole auditioner, "Starchild," a.k.a. "Elliot Gilbert," a.k.a. Glamberace. Yes, gentle reader, Adam Lambert has finally made his long-anticipated debut on Glee, and even though his outfit is ridiculous -- it looks like Tinkerbell shit all over Bob Mackie's fever dream of a steampunk undertaker -- he brings a shocking amount of charisma and charm to this initial appearance of his.
Needless to say, St. Gay of Lima immediately picks up on all that charisma and charm and just as quickly turns into a pissy and obviously threatened bitch about it all, so I'll skip past all of his deeply unentertaining sniping to jump right into Glamberace's performance of Little Steffi Germanotta's "Marry The Night," and even though I loathe the song, I've got to admit that Madame Lambert wails the hell out of it. The staging and camerawork are dull in the extreme, despite the fact that they have him literally swinging from one of the room's chandeliers at one point, but it's by far the first point of interest in what has been up until now an incredibly tedious episode, so good for you, Glamberace. I'm still not gonna buy any of your silly, derivative albums, but nevertheless: Bravo.
And when it's over, both Santana Lopez and Demi Lovato lavish Adam Lambert with effuse amounts of praise, but pissy buzzkill St. Gay of Lima simply sniffs, "Thank you for your time, Starchild, but it's not a fit." "Are you insane?" Santana hisses at him before kindly asking Adam Lambert to step out into the hall for a moment so she can "bitchslap some sense" into her supposed friend. "I've made my decision!" St. Gay shrills back at her. While Adam Lambert's "aesthetic" is "striking," St. Gay finds it "a little outré" for "the team [he's] assembling." "If you're willing to tone down your look," St. Gay patronizingly adds in closing, "maybe I'd reconsider." And as I now want to slam his pretentious little face against a fire hydrant until he's dead, I'll skip ahead to this evening's first commercial break, okay? Excellent.
Principal Sylvester's Office. As promised, Becky Jackson has taken the long-suffering Donna's place at the secretary's desk in the antechamber, but that's not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that New Santana's just strut-strut-strutted in from the hall wearing little more than a few artfully applied strips of police tape. "You wanted to see me?" New Santana too-casually inquires as Becky gapes in the background. "Would you care to explain why you're dressed like Lady Gaga?" Principal Sylvester's voice answers while the camera remains carefully trained on New Santana's overexposed -- yet unbelievably taut -- flesh. "Would you care to explain why you're dressed like Lady Gaga?" New Santana shoots back. The camera finally reverses to reveal the golden cage Principal Sylvester's fastened around her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," Principal Sylvester replies with preternatural amounts of calm. "If you're referring to my face cage," she patiently continues, "I'll have you know that tomorrow, I'm scheduled for a routine colonoscopy, and this apparatus helps me avoid solid foods." "Ooo-kay," New Santana breathes, before explaining herself like so: "The Glee Club you specifically asked me to try to mess with? Is doing some Katy Perry-Lady Gaga Week? In an attempt to get a hundred percent of America to not like them? Anyway, Jake Puckerman is 'A Gaga'? And he's all up in that girl, Marley? With the fat mom? Who's 'A Katy'? Probably because her mom's boobs also shoot out whipped cream? So, I thought I'd throw a little Gaga his way? And see what happens?" New Santana's air-headed inflections? Are sending me? Into a rage? That's totally blinding? And of absolutely epic? Proportions? SHUT IT, BINT. NOW.
ANY-way, Principal Sylvester takes a moment to absorb all of this new information, then delicately wonders, "This practice of referring to oneself as 'A Katy' or 'A Gaga' -- The Glee Club will be doing this the entire week?" "Super-annoying, right?" New Santana eyebrows. "It is the most annoying thing they have ever done," Principal Sylvester confirms, and because I'm so glad someone on this hateful show agrees with me, I'll not be slapping her down for the otherwise unnecessary and insulting metacommentary. Unfortunately, the heretofore mildly entertaining scene quickly devolves from there, as Principal Sylvester shouts something about society forcing us to choose among "female pop archetypes" rather than allowing us to "be them all," right before she admits she's probably high on saline solution at the moment, and from there, we retreat back into...
...The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, where Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. She wants to take New Puck to a Julie Andrews triple-play of Mary Poppins, The Sound Of Music and The Princess Diaries that Friday evening at "The Lima Limelight," but he'd rather chew glass, and there's this whole back-and-forth about what A Katy Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel is, and then I pass out from all the DULL, and sometime later...
...Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel has joined Artie, Dreamboat Blaine, The Only Finn Left Standing and Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen on the stage of The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion to strategize over this week's performance, which an overexcited Lady Lips promises will be "scary, and weird, and controversial." "Hence… the catwalk?" Dreamboat Blaine inquires, as tactfully as he can. Lady Lips, you see, has enlisted the aid of a half-dozen professional set builders to transform the stage of The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion in order to impress his Skrillex-loving would-be girlfriend, and those half-dozen professional set builders have extended the lip of the stage out to… you know what? Fuck this ridiculous bullshit. I have never cared about Sam's brutally stupid crush on the school's brutally stupid nurse, and I'm not about to start now, thanks very much, so let's skip to the end: Lady Lips promises to fill the auditorium with hundreds of their fellow students -- plus Nurse Penny, of course -- to witness the group's triumphant performance of "Applause," and to that end, he vows to recruit "some little monsters," starting with...
...Becky Jackson? Dude, she's totally a Minaj. Have you not been paying attention? Becky herself is as unimpressed with Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen's overtures as I am, for she responds to his plea for help with a quick, cutting, "Bug off! I don't do handies." Lady Lips will not be deterred, however, and poor Becky eventually agrees to do his bidding, if only to get him to SHUT UP ALREADY.
My Ancestral Homeland. Old Idiot Rachel and St. Gay of Lima chit-chat -- seemingly endlessly, mind you -- about Adam Lambert's audition and St. Gay of Lima's frightfully rude dismissal of same. Long story short, St. Gay wants to appeal to "a mass audience," obviously not understanding that such an audience no longer exists, and that's why he balked at Adam Lambert's "outré" appearance and flamboyant mannerisms. He's suddenly decided he no longer wants to "offend or challenge anyone," you see, and this is certainly coming from out of nowhere, isn't it? I think I'd be a little more sympathetic to him in this scene had there been some sort of build-up to this shift in his attitude, rather than this abrupt and entirely unexplained break from who this character has been and what this character has wanted for himself in the past. As it is, though, he's just sounding like an insufferably snotty, overprivileged, petulant, temperamental, capricious brat and as that just makes me want to ram his pretentious little face through the blades of an industrial meat grinder until he's dead, I'll skip to the end: Old Idiot Rachel encourages St. Gay of Lima to trust in his own amazing abilities and talent, or some such bullshit, and give Adam Lambert a call. "I don't even have his phone number," St. Gay mopes. Poor you.
Cut back over to The Hallowed Halls of Dear McKinley High, supposedly on the same day, even though it was deepest, darkest, inky nighttime when we left My Ancestral Homeland, and it's now apparently sometime in the midafternoon in Ohio, and where the hell was I? Oh, yes: Cut back over to The Hallowed Halls of Dear McKinley High, where Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I seriously cannot with this tiresome romantic subplot, so: Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel makes schmoopy noises at New Puck, and New Puck makes schmoopy noises at Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, and this goes on for a very long period of time until New Santana Lopez pops up to ask for New Puck's help with some complicated Cheerios choreography, if you know what she means, and I think you do. Unfortunately for Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, however, Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel has no idea what New Santana Lopez means, and so Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel all but propels New Puck directly into New Santana Lopez's arms. Moron.
Mr. Schue's History Class. Did you remember Mr. Schue switched academic disciplines two years ago? Neither did I. In any event, Mr. Schue's feeble attempts at maintaining his utterly uncaring students' interest find themselves curtly interrupted by the following announcement from Principal Sylvester via the school's public address system: "Attention, McKinley Idiots! Here are your morning announcements that I didn't do earlier because I was busy publicly breastfeeding my baby at Starbucks: Once again, it's flea and tick season, so please be sure to inspect your overly-hormonal, acne-ridden bodies." We've switched over to Principal Sylvester's office during that last bit, the better to watch as Becky -- now clad in a close approximation of this undergrad art-school disaster -- wrests control of the microphone from Principal Sylvester to order her fellow students to open their laptops immediately. For whatever reason, all of her fellow students comply (foremost amongst them Stoner Brett), and what follows is a direct rip-off of the shock ads Froghammer created for The New Burbage Festival, from the off-putting visuals of a shirtless Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen screaming directly into the camera right down to the captions that read things like "If you don't like show choirs, turn this off" and "Glee Club is no longer relevant." It's meant to advertise The Gagas' performance that afternoon in The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion at 3:30 sharp, but I totally don't care, because now I just want to give up on this pathetic episode entirely in favor of rewatching Slings And Arrows from beginning to end again, some more, so instead I'll jump ahead to the bit where...
...CRAP! God, this scene sucks, too. Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen arrives at Nurse Penny's office just as she finishes watching the rip-off video mentioned above, and Nurse Penny LIES that she won't be able to attend because she's getting another piercing in her ear that afternoon, but Lady Lips obliviously persists in his pursuit of her dumb ass, and she eventually agrees to watch his performance right before we head, mercifully, into this evening's commercial break.
McKinley High Music Room. The Katys brainstorm ideas for their sure-to-be-scintillating production number until New Puck bails to go help New Santana Lopez with her "complicated Cheerios choreography," which immediately sets off all kinds of alarms for both Pretty Kitty and Urethra Franklin, the latter of whom promptly rings up Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel on her phone. DUN!
Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High. We catch up with Urethra Franklin and Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel in mid-pedeconference, with Unique rather entertainingly babbling the following: "I'm not saying that Jake's on the verge of cheating, but I'm not not saying it, either -- like my Ohnt Felicia always says, a tiger can't change his stripes, especially when that tiger's a man-slut!" "Wibble!" wibbles Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. "I know he loooooves you and you looooove him," Unique sasses back, "but that was pre-Bree! That girl is poison! She is wack like crack -- a penis flytrap! Marley, she will chew. Him. Up! Hashtag-preach!" By now, they've arrived at The McKinley High Dance Studio, last seen a thousand years ago, and Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel gapes as New Santana Lopez, like, paws at New Puck's tantalizing ass or something. "Bleat!" bleats Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. "You need to show them both you can be hardcore, too!" Urethra sagely advises. "Squawk!" squawks Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. Unique bats her false eyelashes a couple of times.
The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion. After a few shrieking preliminaries courtesy of the still-disastrously-dressed Becky, the lights along Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen's specially-built catwalk flash on, and we finally arrive at the second of this evening's musical presentations. Unfortunately, as I mentioned above, that musical presentation is Little Steffi Germanotta's "Applause," which sucks, and no creative costuming choices will ever change that fact, no matter how much male skin those costuming choices reveal. By the way, I should probably point out that Lady Lips's guerilla advertising campaign attracted exactly no one to the auditorium this afternoon, though his simpleton would-be girlfriend did keep her word and cancel that piercing appointment of hers, so I guess that's nice. Lady Lips himself is looking positively ripped, which makes me wonder how long poor Chord Overstreet had to starve himself in advance of this sequence's filming, and his absolutely fugly tangle of greasily uneven hair has been concealed beneath a black swim cap, so no complaints there. For his part, The Only Finn Left Standing looks dangerously alluring in his role as Corseted Go-Go Boy Cage Dancer, and once again, I have to remind myself that Blake Jenner only just reached the legal drinking age three months ago. Dreamboat Blaine, alas, is not very dreamy at all, as his fried-ass two-toned wig's making him look like a less-attractive latter-day Brigitte Bardot, and the less said about Artie, the better.
Of course, it falls to Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel to really fuck things up, when she romps onto the stage in an assignment-defying Katy Perry knockoff, complete with oversized lollipop and cotton-candy wig. Though if you went by the exaggerated disgust evident in Mr. Schue's reaction shots alone, you'd think Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel chopped off his sainted mother's head and shat down the neck stump rather than wear a somewhat more-concealing outfit than the ones on the boys. And once the dreadful number itself is over, those overexposed boys all light into Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel as one for not wearing "the seashell bikini" as promised. "Yelp!" yelps Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel in her defense, but Mr. Schue has had enough of her overly-modest ways -- or something -- and suspends her from all club activities for the rest of the week.
Now, I seriously do not care AT ALL about Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, so I'm more than inclined not to offer any words in her defense, but she did tell the boys that she wasn't comfortable wearing her assigned costume, so this situation is all kinds of fucked up. Then again, she told them this after the performance was already over, rather than beforehand when they all could easily have arranged to cover her boring ass up, so to hell with her. I'm so conflicted!
No, I'm not. Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel blows. !
McKinley High Music Room. Bickering erupts amongst The Katys, who have yet to reach an agreement on their performance's concept and execution. Single-T Tina eventually shouts the others down with an aggressive, "It is now the day of, and we still don't have a strong plan for this Katy song, and I think it's pretty obvious what the problem is!" "We did have a plan," Pretty Kitty pointedly snits by way of response, "but King Latifah dropped the ball!" "Let me autocorrect that for you," Urethra instantly snots back. "I tried breaking into the zoo to get us live tigers," she continues, "but plot twist! Lima doesn't have a zoo! Why'd we think it did? But I did get us a lion costume to make up for it, didn't I?!" Slow pan over to New Puck, who's currently dressed up like Mungojerrie in Cats. "I'm really not okay with this," New Puck growls. Hee!
Eventually, Single-T Tina cuts through all of the hilarity to propose they "strip it down -- no costumes, no special effects, no gimmicks," because God knows if there's one thing Katy Perry's known for, it's her honest, humble, down-to-earth authenticity as a performer.
Okay, you got me: It's her tits. Katy Perry is known for her tits. Glee would have us believe otherwise, apparently, but we all know better, right? Right.
Café Contrivance. St. Gay of Lima walks up to one of the tables in his section, and wouldn't you know it? It's Adam Lambert! There to plead his case! Again! Some more! Go figure. Long story short, Adam Lambert is completely charming despite the rank stench of desperation now emanating from his character's body, so St. Gay invites him to join the band. Hooray!
McKinley High Nurse's Office. Lady Lips barges in and asks Nurse Dipshit what she thought of his performance. "I really liked the part where the girl got suspended," Nurse Dipshit shoots back, and maybe she's not as stupid as I thought she was. They banter and it's BORING, and she eventually admits that the whole Nine Inch Nails thing was just a front -- she grew tired of her "vanilla" image, so she pretended to like edgier musical groups. Now, however, she's tired of pretending, and she proudly admits that her favorite artists are "mainstream singer-songwriters like Carrie Underwood, Bruno Mars and Katy Perry." Okay, yeah: She's exactly as stupid as I thought she was. Maybe more, if that's even possible. Lady Lips joyfully admits he was just pretending, too, and Nurse Dipshit bubbles, "I still like The Jonas Brothers!" "I still like the Biebs!" Lady Lips enthusiastically replies. "No," Nurse Dipshit frowns, the smile instantly wiped from her face, but everything's good again when he hikes his tongue down her throat. And everything's even better once we finally slide away from all the saliva smeared across the television screen to plummet, at long last, into this evening's commercial break.
The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion. The Katys appear on an almost-bare stage, arranged on a set of stools, and proceed to perform "Wide Awake" accompanied only by Tinkles on the piano behind them. And it's very pretty, I suppose, but oh, my GOD, it's dull.
Meanwhile, out in the hall, Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. At some point, New Puck approaches. "Snivel!" snivels Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. New Puck invites Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel back to his place after school. "And be sure to bring your cotton-candy Katy Perry wig, too!" he more-or-less adds. "Gulp!" gulps Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel.
Lair Of The New Puck. The gentleman of the lair and his lady-friend -- she still clad in her Katy Perry costume from earlier, of course -- recline upon the bed. Mackage ensues. Eventually, New Puck tries to slide a hand up her skirt. "Yawp!" yawps Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. New Puck impatiently rolls off of her and launches himself into a tidy little speech about how horny he is. "Whimper!" whimpers Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. "But I've been so patient!" New Puck protests. "Wail!" wails Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. "Yammer!" yammers Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. "Growl!" growls Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. "Blubber!" blubbers Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel. New Puck eventually bails on her boring ass and hoofs it back over to...
...The Hallowed Halls of Dear McKinley High, where he hunts down New Santana Lopez in the dance studio and basically says, "You, me: Naked, now." New Santana Lopez is more than happy to oblige. Dun-dun-DUZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Oh, and another commercial break. Just so you know.
The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft. St. Gay of Lima, Santana Lopez, Demi Lovato, and Adam Lambert lounge around on various sofas and chairs, shouting out ideas for their new band's name. Demi Lovato is partial to "The Nip Slips, for what I assume are obvious reasons, but St. Gay protests that they might as well call themselves "The Areolas" and be done with it. "Nope," Santana pipes up. "'Areola 51,'" she corrects him. "That way we get the sci-fi geeks." Point to Santana Lopez. Things are about to get testy when The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway trundles through the door, fresh from her latest rehearsal, and after she mentions the fact that she had to sing "My Man" over and over and over again, she wonders what the others have been up to all day. Santana fills her in on the current debate, and Old Idiot Rachel shrugs her shoulders around, tosses a flippant hand into the air and sarcastically suggests they call themselves "Pamela Lansbury." "You're a genius!" St. Gay gay-gasps. "A band with the raw sex appeal of Pamela Anderson," he reasons, "and the quiet dignity of Angela Lansbury? It's perfect!" No, Kurt, it sucks ass. That band name sucks ass, and you wanna know why? You'll have to keep explaining what it means over and over and over again, and even then, none of the jackholes you'll be trying to score gigs off of will know who either of those ladies are. Moron.
St. Gay and the others of course disagree with me, but fuck them sideways, anyway, and wouldn't you know it? Old Idiot Rachel agrees to join the band! In spite of the fact that she's already maintaining a full class schedule while working part-time at a tourist trap while rehearsing the leading role in a major Broadway revival! So, I guess it's fuck me sideways, right? Whatever. Great is the rejoicing in The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft until it's time to head back to...
...The McKinley High Music Room, where every single member of The New New Directions is now wearing something deeply inappropriate that was inspired by one of this evening's titular songstresses. Single-T Tina screams in with yet another massive freakout involving Throat Explosion's plans for Nationals, thereby offering Mr. Schue a chance to deliver yet another of his boring pep talks that nobody cares about anymore, and then Principal Sylvester glides in from points elsewhere to inform them all that they've been suspended for a week. "WHAT!?" the children bellow as one. "WHY?!" I'll let Principal Sylvester explain this one herself.
"Hi William!" Principal Sylvester brightly begins. "You know, I was sitting in my office," she continues, "organizing my collection of custom-made bobbleheads of my sworn enemies, and just to the right of Henry Kissinger and Drake? Well, I saw your hair helmet just bobblin' up and down, and I realized: I haven't marched in here and brought down the hammer in way too long!" At this point, she formally announces the suspension, and when Mr. Schue splutters some words of protest, she cuts him off quick with a sharp-toned, "There are rules about what kids can wear to school, and these rejects from the cutting-room floor of a Tod Browning movie are in violation of each and every one of them!" "The Glee Club has been walking around in costumes for years!" Mr. Schue points out. "That was," Principal Sylvester ices, "before Sue." "We have four weeks to prepare for Nationals," Mr. Schue pleads, desperate. "We can't afford to lose one of them -- you said yourself you wanted us to win!" "No," Principal Sylvester corrects him, "I said you have to win to remain a club." No, Sue, you actually said he'd have to win to remain on the school's payroll, but why am I quibbling now, when there are only three minutes left in this wretched excuse for an episode? Suspensions for everyone! Including the usually-mute members of The McKinley Jazz Ensemble! Hooray!
Cue this evening's final musical number, a defiant "Roar" courtesy of the inappropriately-attired children of The New New Directions that takes the kiddies through The Hallowed Halls of Dear McKinley High onto the stage in The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion, which has been magically transformed into a video-aping jungle paradise at some point when nobody was looking. And then I sort of lose my focus, because all of the boys -- excepting Artie, of course -- come jiggling out in loincloths and absolutely nothing else, and it's good that I'm thus so distracted, because I've a sneaking feeling the song itself sucks as much as every other musical offering they've thrown at us tonight. And as they all start swinging on vines, or some such shit, we cut over to...
...The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft, where St. Gay of Lima's brand-new band has quite coincidentally decided to perform the exact same song! What are the odds? No, seriously -- somebody give me the actual odds on something like this actually happening in actual life, because I don't think this episode's pissed me off enough already. Interestingly enough, even though it's his band, and even though he is, indeed, equipped with a microphone of his very own, St. Gay of Lima sings not a word throughout, leaving the vocal duties to Santana, Old Idiot Rachel and this evening's two guest stars. You just know he's gonna bitch about them hogging all the lyrics later, though. Martyr.
From there on out, it's nothing more than a bunch of cuts between Ohio and New York as the song plays itself out. I mean, sure, I could give you an update on Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel like the one the show itself so kindly provides amid the numerous shots of The Only Finn Left Standing's remarkably broad shoulders, but come on: You don't give a shit about Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel either at this point. Admit it. And when it's all over, Mr. Schue and Nurse Dipshit offer the Ohio kiddies a wild round of applause until we finally fade to black.
week: I see you, baby. It promises to be gruesome. Have fun!
Demian still doesn't know what fucking month it's supposed to be on this show. You may forward your best guess to him at demian_twop@yahoo.com.
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