No, that wasn't a makeout-induced fever dream at the end of last week's episode: Frankenteen really has returned from a brief and abortive stint in the army, having been discharged after accidentally shooting himself in the leg, and his unexpected arrival in New York City sets in motion a series of events that eventually leads both him and Idiot Rachel back to Ohio, where Rachel finally grows herself a spine and tells him to get lost, for good. Unfortunately, Finn now seems positioned -- however implausibly -- to step into Mr. Schue's position as Glee Club advisor while Mr. Schue does whatever he's about to do down in Washington, so we in the audience will still be shackled to the ungainly character for the foreseeable future, but it was oddly satisfying to see Rachel rip him a new one after all these years of that endless on-again, off-again aggravation they were calling a relationship.
Meanwhile, Dreamboat Blaine's been feeling lost and alone ever since St. Gay Of Lima flitted off to Manhattan to become Sarah Jessica Parker's fabulous editorial assistant, so he totally does it with some random he pulled on Facebook. Because this is a television show, Blaine immediately feels so guilty about the whole thing that he flies to Brooklyn to confess, and after a lot of shrieking and tears and High Gay Drama, Kurt tells Blaine to go to hell. I think. To be honest, those two were never right for each other, so I wasn't really paying much attention to their scenes.
Elsewhere, Santana Lopez decides to be an actual adult about her long-distance relationship issues with Brit-Brit, and she preemptively calls it off after gently explaining the reasoning behind her decision. Both gals are terribly sad, of course, but leave it to the teen lesbians to take the mature way out of things.
In other news, Will and Emma engage in a little spat over some ultimately unimportant bit of miscommunication while the boring new additions to the cast try and fail to insert themselves into this evening's action.
Featuring a variety of thoroughly depressing songs, including Duncan Sheik's "Barely Breathing," as performed by Dreamboat Blaine and Frankenteen; Demi Lovato's "Give Your Heart A Break," as performed by Idiot Rachel and Dean Geyer's Forearms; a stripped-down and emotionally raw rendition of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream," as performed by Dreamboat Blaine; an excellent version of No Doubt's mid-'90s angst-athon "Don't Speak," as performed by Frankenteen, Idiot Rachel, Dreamboat Blaine, and St. Gay Of Lima; Taylor Swift-Kennedy's "Mine," as performed by Santana Lopez; and Coldplay's suicide-inducing "The Scientist," as performed by nearly everyone mentioned above plus Brit-Brit, Mr. Schue, and Miss Pillsbury.
The camera snaps open in the middle of the McKinley High cafeteria, where it dodges through a throng of horny, ass-slapping teenagers until it lands on Boring New Rachel, who takes just a second too long to hide her reduced-price lunch tickets from the prying eyes of the just-arriving New Puck. Oops! No worries, though, because he's been on the same meal plan ever since his single mom had to abandon her real estate career thanks to the ongoing Bush recession, and they chit-chat about Mama New Puck's struggles for a bit, but I find it incredibly difficult to pay attention to the words spilling from their mouths because she's boring as hell and he's absolutely adorable. Swoon! He's also younger than nearly all of my nieces and nephews, so I'll be skipping ahead to the bit where the camera...
...whips around to scuttle on over to a distant table, where it finds Brit-Brit and Dreamboat Blaine staring wistfully at the flirty little indigents across the room. "Young love!" Brit-Brit sighs. "Do you remember," Dreamboat Blaine responds, waxing nostalgic, "when you first started dating Santana, and I started dating Kurt, back before everyone was so busy and far away, and things were so much simpler?" "We had so much more hope and innocence," he continues, sounding more than a little bit sad, "and every day was just like Valentine's Day." "We're still young," Brit-Brit points out by way of reply. "Shouldn't we still be experiencing those things?" Short answer: Yes. Long answer: The rest of this episode, which will begin immediately after we pass through this evening's title card.
Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft. St. Gay Of Lima stands in the kitchen, frying up some eggs while sporting several hundred dollars' worth of clothing that should never, ever be worn in such close proximity to spitting grease. Soon enough, Idiot Rachel and her ugly new hairstyle -- accompanied by approximately sixteen pounds of eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss -- enter from their bedroom for an early-morning mopefest, and long story short, she reveals that she and the freshly-arrived Frankenteen spoke barely three words to each other the entire evening. Which is a terribly convenient excuse for the exposition dump said Frankenteen proceeds to take all over their nice hardwood floors the minute he, too, arrives from the bedroom, but I think I'm getting ahead of myself. So, Frankenteen lumbers into the kitchen and, after St. Gay discreetly excuses himself, Idiot Rachel gets down to business like so: "I don't understand what's going on. Why are you here, and why aren't you in your uniform?" "Because I'm not in the army," Frankenteen unhesitatingly replies, and we quickly smear sideways to...