In Ohio: Regionals have finally arrived, but of course, there's one final snag: New Finn refuses to rehearse until His Mysterious Internet Correspondent announces him -- or herself to the kiddies at large, and while Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel initially claims responsibility for the seemingly neverending subplot, Not-So-Unique eventually steps forward to confirm that everyone on the Internet called this thing two whole goddamned months ago.
With all that out of the way, the children of The New New Directions face off against The Hoosier Daddies from North Central High School in Indianapolis and The Waffle Toots from Cincinnati's prestigious Ziegler Prep -- Our Lady Of Perpetual Loneliness's NunTouchables having been excommunicated by Pope Francis in the aftermath of an embarrassing sexting scandal up in Battle Creek, naturally -- and to absolutely no one's surprise, McKinley wins, probably because they were the only group to bother performing a full program of three songs.
In New York: The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway makes it to final callbacks for Funny Girl in the opening moments of this evening's presentation, then completely disappears from the screen for the remainder of the episode, likely because Frankendrunk's in rehab, and God knows Old Idiot Rachel can't have a fully realized storyline of her own without his increasingly aged ass staggering around in the background somewhere.
In Other News: Brittany gains extra-early admittance to The Massachusetts Institute Of Technology, Sugar Motta and Guy With Gross Hair Whose Name I Will Never Have To Look Up Because I'm Pretty Sure He's Gonna Get Fired Over The Summer return from points unknown to sway in the background for a scene or two, Coach Sylvester confirms that Michael Bolton is the father of her suspiciously absent child, Dreamboat Blaine buys an engagement ring for St. Gay Of Lima, Neely O'Hara proposes to Elyse Keaton, and Will and Emma finally get married.
Featuring Celine Dion's "To Love You More," as performed by Old Idiot Rachel; Kermit The Frog's "Rainbow Connection," as performed by the golden-throated gentlemen of Ziegler Prep; two obscure Eurotrash dance tracks, as performed by The Hoosier Daddies; and two more equally obscure Eurotrash dance tracks -- plus some utterly forgettable piece-of-crap original that nobody cares about -- as performed by various configurations of The New New Directions.
"Thanks for waiting, Miss Pierce," a professorial gent begins as he enters a clubby, wood-paneled room with an important-looking binder in his hand. He's trailed by a colleague played by the easily recognizable character actor (and occasional drag queen) Jack Plotnick, whom the initial gentleman politely introduces as "Doctor Leonard Hauptman" before identifying himself as "Doctor Donald Langdon, Dean of the Mathematics Department here at MIT." Our charming little Brit-Brit beams brightly at the distinguished professors by way of reply, and assures them both that plain old "Brittany" will suffice for the remainder of their conversation, as opposed to the far more formal and stuffy-sounding manner of address to which they are apparently accustomed.
Wasting very little time, the good Doctor Hauptman admits to Brittany that when The Massachusetts Institute Of Technology got wind of her near-perfect SAT scores, they were more than a little skeptical, seeing as how Brit-Brit's grade-point average currently stands at 0.2, which means she's "never gotten higher than a D-minus." "Is that why I had to take that math test this morning?" Brittany wonders. Indeed it is, as the good Doctor Langdon confirms. "And how did I do?" Brit-Brit quite reasonably asks. "You scored a zero," the good Doctor Langdon blinks. D'OH!
The good Doctor Hauptman agrees that Brittany lacks "a basic understanding of even the simplest arithmetic," and he bemoans the fact that Brit-Brit chose to fill in her answer ovals with crayon -- which led to complete breakdown of the department's Scantron machine, of course -- before the two clearly befuddled academics ask Brittany to explain the cramped and complex series of numbers she doodled in a variety of vibrant colors on the back of the test sheet itself. "Yeah, I don't know," Brit-Brit shrugs. "I didn't know any of the answers on the test, so I had all these numbers swirling around in my head, so I just decided to write them all down so my brain would stop feeling so tickly." As the good Doctor Langdon projects the numbers in question onto a nearby screen, the good Doctor Hauptman rises to his feet to express his unvarnished astonishment at what our dear little Brit-Brit has wrought, and here's where the scene completely falls apart because the dolts on this show's writing staff are clearly as innumerate as dizzy Brittany over there. She hasn't somehow offered up an elegant and simple proof for something like Beal's conjecture, or anything like that -- she's simply scribbled down a series of integers that, when read in a variety of ways, form either an incredibly lengthy prime, the beginning of Avogadro's number, or the start of Planck's constant. Yawn.