Teachers' Lounge. "Well, well, well!" Sue opens in that inimitable manner of hers. "If it isn't the underaged smut-peddling non-teacher Finn Hudson!" This is promising. "Not satisfied with making a mockery of the American education system by your mere presence at this school," Sue continues as Frankenteen gives her a wary eye, "you have besmirched the dignity of such everyday heroes as this woman with Crohn's disease whose name I do not know by bringing the dark specter of pornography to these hallowed halls." Clapping a hand on the shoulder of the utterly indifferent Crohn's sufferer in question, Sue concludes, "Well, Crohnsy and I are here to tell you this will not stand." "Sue Sylvester?" Old Finn eyebrows by way of reply. "You can suck a hot one because you are a hypocrite." "I beg your pardon!" a mightily affronted Sue snaps. "I seem to recall a rumor," Frankenteen blithely notes with a devious glint in his eye, "about a certain cheerleading coach at this school who once took horse estrogen and posed for Penthouse back in the day, so maybe I can just track that down, make a few copies, and sell those to make the money for Regionals." "That's nothing but a rumor," Sue claims, "but if that rumor were true, my Penthouse centerfold -- so groundbreaking that it completely redefined the word 'hirsute' and gave birth unto these United States Of America a pose so limber they named it 'The Regal Not-So-Bald Spread Eagle'? I promise you, my friend: You would never find it." "I guess we'll see about that," Finn smiles, eagerly rising to the challenge Sue's so foolishly presented him, and there are two things I have to say about all this: One, Cory Monteith hasn't been this entertaining in years, and two, I'm willing to bet this scene had a lot to do with the episode losing a million viewers between its first and second half-hours when it originally aired. Not that I'm complaining, of course, because we'd all be well rid of those too-precious twelve-year-olds who never should have started watching this show in the first place -- not to mention all the shit music they apparently crave -- but you know. Just saying.
My Ancestral Homeland. Dean Geyer plants his gloriously naked derriere at St. Gay Of Lima's breakfast table, and when The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway joins them, an aghast St. Gay shrieks, "Your boyfriend's bare ass is on one of my vintage flea market chairs!" Honey, I hate to break this to you, but if you picked up those precious chairs of yours at a flea market in Brooklyn, I can guarantee they've had far worse than Dean Geyer's naked ass on them many, many times in the past. Trust me on this one.