...the front of the gym, where The Maharishi introduces tonight's final Britney cover with the following: "Quiet please, children -- quiet, now. First, students who ate the ravioli today, and are not up to date with their tetanus shots, should see the nurse immediately. Welcome to our Homecoming Pep Assembly. Because of last week's grisly train derailment, the Dulcimer Club is on hiatus until further notice, but do we ever have a treat for you: Fresh off their last-place finish at the regionals, please give it up for the New Directions." This episode's plot might be a mess, but Ryan Murphy's bringing it with the laugh lines.
And with that, New Directions launches into their Fosse-inflected version of "Toxic." Unfortunately, whatever momentum the number might build for itself it destroyed by the constant cutaways to the student body, who are of course going nuts just as Sue predicted. Worst among the offenders in the bleachers is, naturally, Jewfro, who after tonight needs to take a very long leave of absence from this show. Coming in a close second, however, is The A.V. Club's Lauren Tuna, who keeps shrieking wanton, lustful catcalls in Mr. Schue's general direction. At one point, Jewfro bends forward to fondle the ass of the long-haired blonde in front of him, but of course the long-haired blonde is actually a long-haired blond, and Jewfro quite rightly ends up with the glasses punched clear off his face. All hell proceeds to break loose, to the point where Sue has little choice but to bellow, "It's a Britney Spears sex riot!" and pull the fire alarm. In the ensuing melee, Jewfro is trampled, Emma is vigorously mussed, and Sue finds herself pinned against the gym's wall much like the unfortunate Betty Buckley did at the end of Carrie. New Directions remains on the stage, riveted in place by shock, or something like that, until everyone vanishes into the next commercial break.
Teacher's lounge, the following morning of this interminable week. As Will pours himself a cup of coffee, someone pointedly clears her throat behind his back. "How you doing, Sue?" Will sighs. We see Sue's neckbrace before we hear her explanation, and this should be excellent. "Not sure if you heard, William, but my spinal column was ruptured in a sex riot." And I was right. "You pulled the alarm!" Will protests. "Everything was going fine!" "You know, William," Sue counters, "that's what one Hubert Humphrey said back in 1968 at the start of the Democratic National Convention, but then hippies put acid in everyone's bourbon, and when an updraft revealed Lady Bird Johnson's tramp stamp and tattoos above her ovaries, Mayor Richard J. Daley became so incensed with sexual rage that he punched his own wife in the face and spent the next hour screaming, "Sex party!" into the microphones of all three major networks." Brilliance. Inspired, lunatic brilliance. Partly because that really is how Republicans view the 1968 Democratic National Convention, and partly because that's pretty much what actually happened. Or so I heard. And I'm guessing Jane Lynch is hereby shortlisted for next year's Emmys, yes? And you know what? It keeps getting better: "You can expect a call very soon," Sue smirks, "from my lawyer, Gloria Allred. I'm gonna sue the pants off you, Will. I'm gonna take your house, your car, your extensive collection of vests -- I mean, seriously, you wear more vests than the cast of Blossom -- and I'll see you in court." And with that, Sue carefully paces out a right-angles-only exit around him.