Meanwhile, Artie wheels his way through the back of the church until he spots some blonde from The Glee Project. Because this blonde is also in a wheelchair, Artie automatically assumes she's Miss Pillsbury's niece for reasons I will never quite comprehend, and he rolls on over to make with the polite introductions. Unfortunately for Artie, Big-Boobed Betty's one hell of a frosty sow, and she immediately tells him to do them both a favor by wheeling himself away. "I don't date losers in chairs," she sneers. "But you're in a wheelchair," Artie replies, stating the ridiculously obvious mainly to set Big-Boobed Betty up for the following witty riposte: "I'm also blonde, captain of the cheerleaders at my high school, and I've got this going on." "This," of course, being those supposedly gigantic knockers of hers. And you'll pardon me for pointing this out, I'm sure, but Big-Boobed Betty looks every single one of Ali Stroker's twenty-five years, so she can cram it sideways with that high school crap. Captain of the cheerleading squad, my ass.
Elsewhere, New Puck, New Finn, and Stupid Boring New Idiozzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Cut to St. Gay Of Lima and Dreamboat Blaine getting frisky in the back of Blaine's Prius. Actually, "getting frisky" is far too coy a phrase for what's going on right now, because St. Gay Of Lima and Dreamboat Blaine are quite literally pawing the pants off each other. Atta boys. Mention is made of Meth Head Grandpa back in New York -- St. Gay's "not exclusive" with that shriveled bag of no, so the current hump session is A-OK, in case you care -- but their insubstantial chatter really is very far beside the point, here, and shirts are about to start flying when Mercedes flings open the door to shout, "Can you two wrap it up? The wedding's about to start, and I need my arm gays." And as St. Gay and Dreamboat Blaine frantically rearrange themselves into some semblance of dignified order, Mercedes smiles, "You do realize how trashy and blasphemous this is, right?" "Everybody hooks up at weddings," St. Gay hisses by way of reply, and with that, the three head into the church.
Bridal Locker Room. Emma hyperventilates at a mirror as the door opens ominously behind her, and it's Sue, wearing an exact replica of Emma's wedding gown. Just go with it. "Why would you do that?" Emma cries. "To get back at Will Schuester for handing a teaching position to a flabby nineteen-year-old," Sue replies, and that's as good a reason as any, I suppose, so let's keep this moving. As Sue settles into a nearby chair to snack on cucumber sandwiches and champagne, Emma flies into yet another panic attack, eventually admitting, "I'm just really, really worried this isn't gonna work." "Well, of course it isn't going to work," Sue duhs. "You're a weird bird-lady with a hollow pelvis and OCD, and Will Schuester is a weepy man-child whose greatest joy in life is singing with children, and his best friend? Nineteen." Emma wheezes that her last marriage ended in disaster, and she adds that she's not certain she'll be able to cope if this one winds up in the toilet, too. "Don't say that to Will Schuester," Sue warns. "He'll have you singing a stripped-down acoustic version of 'I Will Survive' in front of a choir room full of teenagers with meaningful looks on their faces." It's funny because it's true. And as Emma spins around to heave a few more times at her reflection, some decidedly old-fashioned flashbulbs fire off one by one to kick us into...