Mr. Schue blows past the wheelchair kid's melancholy plaint to pass out a set of sheet music while babbling about how he understands that the Glee kids are "under a lot of pressure with Regionals coming up," and how he knows that "winning Sectionals hasn't had the positive effect" on their popularity that many of the more delusional club members thought it would, Rachel, but, he adds, "Becoming what you despise is not the answer." And just what is the answer, I hear you all ask? Why, the kids are holding it right there in their hot little hands: "A terrific song on a long list of top hits," as Mr. Schue puts it, "that because of time or some bad press has become a joke." Oh, Christ. It's Milli Vanilli, isn't it? I mean, given Mr. Schue's horrible taste in music, what else could it be? (Yeah, yeah, I know: "Rico Suave." Or Starship. Expect all three by November Sweeps next season.) "And," Mr. Schue continues, ignoring me, "like you guys, it's time to start rehabilitating its bad reputation." The kids' assignment of the week is to find other tunes like the underappreciated gem they have in their hands, mine those songs for what works, and make them great again, with the ultimate goal of applying the attendant musical lesson to their own lives. "This song is whack!" Mercedes complains, finally getting to the point. "This song should be arrested for the crime of sucking," Jesse St. James agrees, all but daring Mr. Schue to show them how it's done. "You wanna bet?" Mr. Schue eyebrows, rising to the implied challenge, and he crosses to the conveniently pre-assembled McKinley Jazz Ensemble over on the far side of the room to tell them to hit it, and...the song is even worse than I feared: "Ice, Ice Baby." By, you know. That guy. That guy who's apparently making a comeback thanks to this abomination. And while I must admit certain aspects of the choreography are fantastically fun to watch, especially Brittany, Gaylord Weiner, and Jesse St. James nailing various superfly early-'90s spins and kicks, I gotta tell you, every time I hear this horrible song's opening riff, all I want to do is listen to said riff's far-superior source and try to forget that a person named Bobby Van Winkle ever sullied the Billboard Hot 100 with his unspeakable presence, and look at that! It's over. "This song is officially paroled!" Mr. Schue crows. I'll be the judge of that, moron.