Meanwhile, over in the McKinley library, Puck and Lauren have fired up Kim Kardashian's sex tape on Lauren's laptop so they might glean a few style pointers from an acknowledged master of the craft. And as they enthuse over Kim's luxurious Egyptian cotton linens, Gwyneth Paltrow wanders on over from points unknown to wonder what gives. Puck and Lauren give her the short version of the story, and while Gwyneth is most impressed indeed by their ambition, it is her sad duty to inform them that, should they carry through with their plan, they'd be guilty of producing child pornography. You know, because they're under eighteen. Stop laughing. No, seriously: Stop laughing -- Lauren and Puck are, like, totally fifteen years old, you guys!
In any event, Gwyneth counsels them not to fret. "These things never work out well," she assures them. "My sex tape with J. D. Salinger was a disaster." With that, Gwyneth turns to exit, only to run right into Santana and Brittany, the former of whom reluctantly admits, "We need your help."
Cut to the music room, where the three ladies sit cross-legged on the floor in what Gwyneth calls her "Sacred Sexy Sharing Circle" and, after thanking them for confiding in her, Gwyneth asks if either of the others thinks she's a lesbian. Brittany doesn't know -- go figure -- but Santana swears she's bisexual. Well, in so many words, at least. "We've all been there," Gwyneth shrugs, explaining that she went to "an all-girls college where the only industry in the town was the manufacturing of softball equipment." "I still feel a little tingle when I hear Ani DiFranco," she sighs, getting all wistful and such. Anyway, understanding the two have found it difficult to define their emotions for one another in the past, Gwyneth suggests -- of course -- that they select a song to "help [them] start a dialogue." Santana already has the perfect one in mind, natch, but there's one problem: "Brit and I may need your help to sing it." "I thought you'd never ask," Gwyneth purrs, and I kind of want to tell her to shut up for that, but I'll let it slide, because I still secretly harbor absolutely revolting amounts of goodwill towards her for her utterly engaging performance thus far this evening.
Das Hummelhaus. Dreamboat Blaine and Kurt have placed themselves in front of a mirror, and Blaine is patiently coaching Kurt through a series of Sex Faces. Of course, Kurt looks like a simpering dolt in each because, as it turns out, Kurt is absolutely terrified of his own sexuality. "I've tried watching those movies," he exasperates, "but I just get horribly depressed, and I think about how they were all kids once and how they all have mothers and God, what would their mothers think, and why would you get that tattoo there?" Hee. That's the first honestly funny line Kurt's had in months. Blaine casually suggests they talk it through, but Kurt gets all fluttery and mortified and embarrassed, and he rather rudely kicks Blaine out of his house. Remind me again why I'm supposed to be rooting for these two as a couple? They should bring back Jonathan Groff and have Dreamboat Blaine make out with him.