Now. After securing an approving nod from Mercedes, Rachel rises from her seat in the peanut gallery to plant herself in front of the piano and announce, "We want to join the team." "'We' who?" Artie eyebrows. "All of us Glee Girls," Mercedes confirms, as she and Single-T Tina rise to join Rachel. "Stop screwing around," Gaylord mopes. "It's not cool." "What's not cool," Lauren speaks up to correct, "is you guys not respecting women enough to realize we're perfectly capable of playing football." "And," she adds with no small amount of sass as she steps down from the risers to stand with the other ladies, "don't forget who the state champ in Greco-Roman wrestling is -- I've got offers from three different professional wrestling organizations for after I graduate, so...." In light of Tuesday evening's events, it would be remiss of me not to note that Puck at this juncture is eyeing Lauren Tuna as if she were a particularly delectable morsel of sweet and sour pork. In any event, Rachel argues that, as Coach Beiste needs only to field nine players, there shouldn't be a problem with the girls not knowing how to play the game -- when the ball's snapped, the ladies will simply lie down on the ground to avoid injury, thereby allowing the four remaining actual football players (plus Artie) to execute the actual plays. No, do not bring up the fact that this means the Titans will in effect have absolutely no defensive line, because you're just going to make your brain bleed. Coach Beiste and Mr. Schue raise some initial objections -- as they goddamn well should -- but these crumble once the Glee Gals present Coach Beiste with permission slips signed by their parents. Idiots. They are all idiots.
And speaking of idiots, the camera next lands on dear, sweet Brit-Brit after it's flown over to Sue's office for the scene that follows. "I just don't wanna die," Brittany pouts. "You don't climb in that cannon," Sue promises, "and that routine'll be all boom-boom and no pow, and that, Brittany, is so two thousand and late." That line is funny, you see, because The Black Eyed Peas sucked so much during the sporting event that preceded this evening's presentation. Yeah, you go ahead and argue that Ian Brennan couldn't possibly have known that was going to happen back when he wrote this script, but admit it: Wasn't it at the very least by far the most likely outcome? Anyway, Sue next slides an imposing-looking consent form across her desk for Brittany to sign. "As you ponder your decision," Sue states, crossing to perch on the desk at Brittany's side, "I ask that you remember that that cannon has two little baby twin cannons at home, and one more on the way." Brittany's looking guiltier than ever. "And if you refuse to sign this," Sue continues, digging it in deeper, "well, those little baby cannons might just go hungry." "Baby cannons?" Brit-Brit bleats. "Well," Sue explains, "the mama cannon has fibromyalgia, so she can't work." Hee. "Do you want us to win," Sue concludes, "or don't you?" Brittany accepts Sue's proffered pen, and leans forward to inscribe her signature. At the last moment, though, she sits back up and asks, "How many Ms are there in the letter R?" Sue: "Make an X." Commercial.