Teachers' Lounge. Bloaty The Gravy Clown ambles over to Sue's table and slaps down a manila envelope. "And what, may I ask, is this?" Sue prompts. "Turns out it wasn't too hard to track down, after all," Frankenteen replies. "Well, I'm impressed, I'm not gonna lie," Sue admits. "I thought I purchased every last issue from eBay." I just checked that site, and a search on "Regal Not-So-Bald Spread Eagle" is giving me no results, so I am left with no choice but to accept her word as truth. "I'm not ashamed of this centerfold," Sue assures him. "In fact," she adds, "I feel like taking a gander at that glorious taco right now!" With that, she rips open the envelope, only to find an extra-thick issue of Highlights magazine therein. D'OH! "You idiot!" Sue grumbles. "You had me skewered -- why would you let me open that?" Because he's been recording this entire conversation, of course, which means he doesn't need an actual copy of the issue because he got her "confession" on tape. Pretty sneaky, Finn.
Guidance Office. Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen enters to find both Miss Pillsbury and Dreamboat Blaine waiting for him with a stack of brochures from colleges that supposedly don't ask applicants for standardized test scores, among them Pitzer, Beavercreek and The Doyle College Of Judaic Studies. One or more of those might be fake. Just a hunch. Miss Pillsbury also passes him a sheaf of scholarship applications and, after he whinges some more about the whole thing, she sends him into this evening's next commercial break to think it over.
Fake Drama School In New York, Agonizingly Pretentious Student Film Division. It's time for The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway to whip 'em out and spin 'em around, but Old Idiot Rachel of course balks at the very last minute. "It's okay for actresses to be naked," she babbles, lest we all think she's some horrible prude like her shrill hag of a roommate, "and maybe someday I'll be ready, but I just realized that I'm not ready to be naked now." Moaning Becomes Electra promptly boots Rachel's too-demure ass off the set, and as she packs up to go, Rachel allows herself a small, private smile right before she launches herself into the opening lines of Sara Bareilles's "Love Song -- which is yet another tune whose lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with the situation Rachel finds herself in at the moment, but hey! We've got shiny, happy Rachel! Harmonizing with Santana and Old Quinn for some bizarre reason! Isn't that awesome?