The Spanish Teacher

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Livin' La Vida Lima

And when it's over, the clueless Mr. Schue inquires as to the nature of the children's unusual footwear. Frankenteen explains that they got the idea to wear "Mexican hipster boots" from Ricky Martin, which allows Santana to stab at Mr. Schue's fragile sense of professional self-esteem like so: "The teeth, the duende, the bizarre Mexican fads -- Señor Martinez is, like, the best Spanish teacher ever!" "I can't wait to see your performance, Mr. Schue," Santana adds with a sweet, sweet smile on her face. "To defend your Spanish-teacher honor?" she prompts. "I'm sure you have something muy amazing planned!" She's such a bitch. And I love her so much for it. Needless to say, Mr. Schue doesn't quite know how to respond to all that, so while he's trying to figure it out, let's head over to the...

...teachers' lounge, where Emma arrives to present Sue with a pamphlet entitled "Please Don't Hog My Fiancé's Nog," which is Emma's subtle way of informing Sue that Will told her all about that sperm-donation nonsense from the top of the hour. And while Sue gets in a couple of good lines during the heartfelt conversation that follows -- among them the fact that she "spend[s] a large portion of every day vibrating with a palpable sense of wild, irrational rage" when she's not trying to stop Will from "his crusade to ruin pop culture by rubbing his wooly behind with The American Songbook" -- I still can't take this Knocked-Up Sue storyline seriously, so let's just say that, while Emma ends up with an understanding of Sue's motivations, she will not allow her intended to act as Sue's donor, okay? Excellent.

Locker Room. St. Gay Of Lima enters to find Frankenteen pumping irozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Ooops. Sorry, they started talking about that asinine proposal and how Finn shouldn't abandon his dreams for the future in favor of an extremely ill-advised marriage and how Finn is really this super-talented star-in-the-making despite all evidence thus far to the contrary, and I just sort of zoned out. Good thing, then, that we're heading into another commercial break, because I think I need a hell of a lot more caffeine to make it through the rest of this hideously boring episode.

Hall. Santana's about to turn away from her locker when Coach Sylvester materializes from points unknown to snarl, "Hold it right there, Sandbags -- you and I need to have a serious chat!" Santana puts on her game face and waits for Coach Sylvester to make her next move, which is not long in coming. "Now," Coach Sylvester begins, "I realize when I chose Becky as co-captain for The Cheerios, it might have rubbed you the wrong way." "Wanky!" Santana coos, a slight smirk twisting her lips. Coach Sylvester chooses to ignore that little gem in favor of continuing, "And I've often admired the craven heartlessness of your pointless, vindictive backstabbing -- kinda takes me back to the old salad days -- but you crossed The Maginot Line when you started messing with Sue Sylvester's family!" Santana, who'd graciously accepted that compliment regarding her craven heartlessness with a smile, now frowns and wonders, "What are you talking about -- what 'family?'" Coach Sylvester accuses Santana of being the source of the complaint that has now jeopardized her chance to win Mrs. Hagberg's magically transferable tenure -- and just when she was trying to have a baby, too! "A baby?" Santana hoots, echoing Mz. Roz. "With whose vagina?" Coach Sylvester unhinges her lower jaw to devour Santana whole just as the nosy Mr. Schue stops by to wonder what gives. "Coach Sylvester is accusing me of something I didn't do," Santana insists, eliciting this bit of loveliness from Coach Sylvester herself: "Stop with the lies, Sweater Meat, or you will be hawking nude glossies of yourself behind the Dumpster at Hooters by the weekend! I know you did this!" Mr. Schue orders Coach Sylvester to cool it, now, so she insults his manhood by assuring him she's found a much better donor, thank you very much, and with that, she storms off down the hall. "¿Quien es mas macho de Will Schuester?" Mr. Schue ungrammatically bleats, much to Santana's open loathing and disgust, and when we're done with all that, it's time to head on over to...

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