Gym. Brit-Brit and The Cheerios, under the guidance of Mz. Roz, add some kronk to the badonkadonk in a routine set to "Dang Diggy Dang" by The Beatards, much to Sweet Sue's annoyance. And when it's over, Mz. Roz instructs her temporary charges to "go run and find a swimming hole to dunk those behinds in, 'cause those donky booties need to cool off." She's a joy, isn't she? Meanwhile, Sweet Sue's sneaked up from behind to shoot daggers at the back of Mz. Roz's head with her eyes and, when Mz. Roz finally turns to acknowledge Sue's presence, the verbal catfighting begins. "Now, I ain't no mind-reader, Sue Sylvester," Mz. Roz admits, "and I come from a very superstitious household where such things are not allowed, but I got a feelin' that those Cheerios like my modern dance moves a little bit better than those stale, white-bread routines you been makin' them do!" "The English language lacks the requisite words to express just how much I dislike you," Sweet Sue calmly replies, "and I'm on to you -- yeah, I've seen All About Eve, and I know what you're planning: You're waiting for me to take maternity leave, and then you're gonna swoop in and try to steal my job." "Ohmigod, hold up!" Mz. Roz interrupts, her eyes widening in disbelief. "'Maternity leave'?" she repeats, incredulous. "Are you pulling my leg?" "I am not," Sweet Sue patiently insists before going on to explain, "I am getting pregnant, and then, I am having a baby." "With whose vagina?" Mz. Roz hoots. "You can't have no baby!" Mz. Roz astutely argues. "You are old as a hill!" "You gonna get in those stirrups," Mz. Roz warns, "and you gonna push and push, and a full-grown adult gonna pop out with a briefcase and a job, talkin' on a cell phone!" "And by the way," Roz adds, "I don't need to steal your job, Sue Sylvester, because Principal Figgins is gonna give it to me!" "He wouldn't!" Sue weakly protests. "He would!" Roz counters. She's an Olympian, goddammit, and not only did she win her bronze medal "in Beijing, China," she also had "a threesome with Michael Phelps," so, you know: Her credentials are both obvious and impeccable. "What you need to do," Roz forcefully concludes, "is wake up and smell the menopause -- you are done as a coach, and all the hormones in Thailand can't change the fact that you are done as a woman!" Roz stares the uncharacteristically dumbstruck Sue down for a moment, then offers her the following as one last, brutal parting shot before moving on: "What you need to do is start praying that you give birth to a child that likes to eat sand, 'cause that's all that's comin' out those old, wrinkly boobs!" With that, Roz stalks off, leaving a shattered Sue to mutter a series of half-hearted affirmations to herself.