Episode Report Card
Demian: B- | 1 USERS: A+
You Ain't Got No Kind of Feeling Inside

Later that day, perhaps, Will's meeting beneath the football field bleachers with the fastidiously attired Sandy Ryerson to purchase a bit of the Chronic Lady for his own personal use. "I'm just really depressed," Will explains. "I don't sell to the clinically depressed," Sandy replies, neatly tucking the Chronic Lady envelope into his perfectly pressed shirt pocket. "You'll throw yourself off a parking garage, and I can't have that on my conscience." No comment. Except for the part where...yeah, you get it. Anyway, Will whines about his thankless job and the impending Regionals disaster for a bit until Sandy snatches Will up by the latter's lapels to reveal, "Vocal Adrenaline has a weakness!" DUN!

Well, not really, but whatever, for we've shot back into the music room, where Mr. Schue's just now scrawled this week's secret word in gigantic capital letters on the whiteboard. "Funk!" Mr. Schue reads aloud for the especially dimwitted in the audience. "Use it in a sentence!" he commands, only to be met by the listless stares of his thoroughly demoralized students, so he calls upon Rachel to give it a try. "This cheese smells funky," Rachel apathetically replies. "That's 'cause it's fromunda cheese," Puck needles her, deploying what I was going to call "appropriate hand gestures" until I realized exactly how grossly inappropriate those hand gestures actually are. "SHUT IT, PUCKERMAN!" Rachel amusingly snaps back, and it falls upon the apparently clueless Mr. Schue to wrangle the topic back to where he wants it to be by offering them an example I'll not be bothering to transcribe, after which he finally -- finally -- gets to the point: Vocal Adrenaline's weakness just so happens to be the musical genre from which this episode receives its title, and to that end, this week's assignment involves "turn[ing] McKinley High into Funkytown." Mercedes assures the group that she's got this one covered, but Quinn speaks up to protest that she'd like a chance to get funky, too. Derisive snorts of laughter of course abound until Quinn howls something princessy about possessing the necessary levels of soul and anger to make a funk cover work, and I'll be leaving the retort to Mercedes on this one: "Let's be honest -- when white people try to be funky, you end up with KC and the Sunshine Band." You speak the truth, my brassy hag. Quinn haughtily elevates herself above the generalized tittering to announce, "Mercedes's racism aside, I will have something prepared tomorrow." Mr. Schue's all, "All-righty, then!" and dismisses the class, but not before requesting that Rachel speak with him in his office, and...

...long story short, as the a cappella fairies on the soundtrack tease us with a couple of bars of En Vogue's "My Lovin'," Rachel devolves into a blubbering clump of damp tissue and smeared mascara while ranting about Vocal Adrenaline's pernicious plot to have Jesse St. James seduce and dump her right before Regionals, the better to force her to choke under the competition's pressure, all of which gives Mr. Schue an ugly, terrible idea. A foul, hideous, reprehensible, vile, and utterly disgusting idea.

A foul, hideous, reprehensible, vile, and utterly disgusting idea that's about to play out in the soft pink lighting of The Music Room After Dark. Sue storms in to order Will on out of there, pronto, as she's got a nefarious Flamin' Hot Cheetos ring to bust up, or something, and Will's about to meekly comply with her request when he pulls himself up short to breathe, "The way the light hit you just now? You look...stunning!" "You're radiant!" he continues, and oh, for Christ's sake. Sue squints at him as if she knows something ridiculous is afoot in The Music Room After Dark and dismissively attributes her appearance to the placenta mask and microdermabrasion sessions in which she indulges herself every year before Nationals, but Will won't let it go, flattering her again before obsequiously begging for her advice on a funk number New Directions intends to perform at Regionals. For whatever reason, Sue agrees to have a listen, so Will hits the Play button on his mini-boombox, and... this is just asinine. Will launches himself into a supposedly down-and-dirty version of Rufus's deeply funkalicious classic "Tell Me Something Good," and how Sue manages not to erupt into peals of contemptuous laughter during what follows, I'll never, ever know. Will shakes his scrawny-looking derriere around at the piano for a bit before accidentally-on-purpose knocking a few papers to the floor, and after he's slowly bent over to retrieve them -- the better to present his ass to her like he's a baboon -- he strips off his black leather jacket to roll his hair-product graveyard of a mop around on her shoulder before pushing her into a chair and, like, humping her leg, or something. And when it's over, Will too-innocently wonders, "Was I too dirty?" Her voice entirely devoid of emotion, Sue immediately replies, "I didn't notice -- I was bored." However, she's clearly -- and rightfully, if you ask me -- unsettled by the experience, and flees The Music Room After Dark as fast as she can, leaving Will alone to pant and heave from all of his recent exertions, wondering if his foul, hideous, reprehensible, vile, and utterly disgusting plan to seduce her is working. Hint: It is. Against all that is right and good, his foul, hideous, reprehensible, vile, and utterly disgusting plan to seduce her is working. Commercials.

Back from the break, we find ourselves loitering within the color-coordinated depths of that big-box Hell known as Sheets 'N' Things, where Terri's trying and failing to school Puck and Finn on the finer arts of sham folding. "Can I go shirtless under this apron?" Puck interrupts. Yes, please. Oh, I'm sorry -- were you asking Terri? In that case, the answer's no, because Terri's feeling just a wee bit stressed out over her recent divorce and the accompanying dramatic decline in her cash flow, and besides, she only hired Puck and Finn because she's "desperate to increase [her] quarterly sales," and the boys "will work for less than immigrants." And before this all turns into an incredibly tedious lecture on creative retail management strategies during The Great Recession, the perpetually put-upon Howard Bamboo shuffles over from points unknown to gloom, "The guy who gave me Bell's palsy is back again today." "So?" Terry hisses back. "Help him! He's our best customer!" Terri flounces off in a frazzled huff, leaving Howard Bamboo to mope his way over to Finn with a tremulous, "You need to go help him." "But...she just told you to do it," Finn hesitantly counters. "I have seniority over you two losers," Howard Bamboo sulks, "which means you have to do what I say." "Then I need to kick your ass," Puck eyebrows, mellowly enough, but it's enough of a threat to send Howard scurrying when Bell's Palsy yodels "Bam-booo-ooo!" from elsewhere in the store.

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