Episode Report Card
Demian: C- | Grade It Now!
Never Been Kissed

In any event, Blaine claims he knows a shortcut to the commons, and he grabs Kurt by the hand, and there's this completely ridiculous and totally over-the-top shot of the two of them running -- hand-in-hand, and in slow motion -- through an exquisitely appointed side hallway until they arrive at the commons, where they burst through the paneled doors to find the room already aswarm with Blaine's thoroughly manly classmates, several of whom are moving the backgammon tables to one side so The Warblers might have more space in which to sing, and I'm sorry, but this is all really, really gay. Like, Brideshead Revisited gay. And not the wretched 2008 movie adaptation of Brideshead Revisited, either, despite the similarity in costuming with all of these navy prep-school jackets and their contrasting piping. No, I'm talking the original delirious 1981 Brideshead Revisited miniseries kind of gay. Like, if that version of Sebastian Flyte started singing Katy Perry songs with all of his bestest Oxonian buddies gay. Only, you know, without all of the overbearing Catholicism and the dissolute drunkenness and such. That kind of gay.

Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: "I stick out like a sore thumb," Kurt frets, for he's wearing short pants over riding boots beneath a shiny and expensive-looking black blazer. "Next time, don't forget your jacket, new kid!" Blaine teases, helpfully adjusting Kurt's lapels, and poor little Kurt looks like he's going to swoon himself into a dead faint at that especially intimate gesture. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Blaine politely adds, slinging his manpurse to the floor to join the other Warblers on the far side of the room, for yes, Blaine is The Warblers' lead chanteur, and he and his fellows immediately launch themselves into a disappointingly overproduced a cappella version of Katy Perry's disappointingly horrid "Teenage Dream." Actually, all of Katy Perry's songs are disappointingly horrid. Hell, Katy Perry is disappointingly horrid, period. You'd think the modern gaylets would have better taste in songstresses. And you'd be wrong.

But I digress. Blaine and his merry band of thirtysomething troubadours bop their way through that atrocious song, and Kurt is in L.U.V. lurrrrrve.

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