After the needless Previously sequence, the camera fades up on the interior of the McKinley High gym, where Sue Sylvester's leading The Cheerios through a new, impossible-looking routine heavy on the athleticism and the jump ropes. Yes, jump ropes. It looks appropriately awesome, but every joint in my legs is now throbbing in sympathetic pain. J-Fro's sitting on the sidelines watching the entire thing because he'll become important to this evening's plot in a couple of minutes, but we'll ignore him for the moment in favor of following along as Finn enters and climbs midway up the bleachers to join Quinn, who's been sitting there this entire time, apparently, clad in a cute set of civvies, watching the action below with a disconsolate expression on her face. "You shouldn't do this to yourself," Finn opens, once he's sat down beside her. Quinn's all tensely, "Do what?" so Finn elaborates, "I know how much it hurts to be off the team -- you're just torturing yourself watching." Quinn frowns and shakes her head around while rolling her shoulders and claiming that she needs a "distraction." Finn, because he is generally clueless, wonders what she needs a distraction from, so she roots around in her purse for a moment before passing him an envelope. The envelope contains the $685 bill for that sonogram she received a couple of episodes ago -- which, as you'll recall, Terri refused to cover, along with all of Quinn's other pregnancy-related expenses -- and Quinn wastes little time making it clear she expects Finn to start coughing up major cash, pronto. Of course, in this economy, Finn can't find a job, though he almost got in at an Olive Garden, but unfortunately, they told Frankenteen he's too tall to be a busboy, which sounds like a load of crap, but we'll be letting that slide in favor of focusing on the load of crap now spewing from Quinn's mouth: "Somewhere in that pea brain of yours is a man. Access him, and tell him to prove to me that I chose the right guy to have a baby with!" And as Quinn's being so bitchily harsh at the moment regarding a pregnancy Finn is not, in fact, responsible for, I have no problem reminding her at this juncture that she can drive two hours down to Columbus in that Chastity-Ball sedan her father bought her and get an abortion for half the price of that goddamned sonogram. Oh, and you can save the e-mails. Unless, of course, they're addressed to Quinn Fabray and read, "GO OUT AND GET A FRIGGING JOB YOURSELF, PRINCESS."