...an upbeat acoustic rendition of Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself," and I don't quite get how a 1980s British New Wave paean to the joys of masturbation relates to his current predicament, but I suppose that's why I'm not writing television shows. The number quickly morphs into a fantasy sequence, in which Artie pops wheelies down the hall before the visuals ramp down into slow motion as he cruises through the cafeteria to serenade an oblivious T-T-T-Tina for a moment until he returns to the auditorium stage. As Will sneaks into the wings to spy on him, the underlying instrumentation gradually fades out until we're left with Artie spinning around all by his lonesome, singing the last lines a cappella before wheeling off the stage. Will gets An Idea.
First, however, a do-ragged Kurt has something he'd like to share with the club: "I want to audition for the Wicked solo." The other kids -- with the obvious exception of Rachel -- are all, "WOOOOOOO!" but Mr. Schue attempts to shut it all down by noting the song contains a rather prominent high F. Which Idina Menzel did not hit during her Tony performance. Just pointing that out. Kurt confidently assures Mr. Schue that a high F is well within his range, but Mr. Schue flatly states that Rachel's got the female lead in the song covered, and promptly moves on to other pending business, namely the club's disappointing reaction to the news that Artie would have to be chauffeured by his father to Sectionals. "Artie doesn't care," Mercedes rudely insists. "His dad drives him everywhere." "I do care," Artie surprisingly interjects. "It kinda hurt my feelings." "We didn't think you'd take it personally," Rachel counters in a manner most tone deaf. "Well, you're irritating most of the time," Artie shoots back, "but don't take that personally." Artie Abrams for the win, ladies and gentlemen!
Building on Artie's win, Mr. Schue announces in tones that will brook no dissent that they are riding the handicapable bus to Sectionals together, as a team, or they're not going to Sectionals at all. And not only will they pay for that handicapable bus via his earlier-proposed bake sale, but for the next week, each of the other eleven members of the club will be required to spend at least three hours a day in a wheelchair. The McKinley AV Club enters on cue with a set of cheaply purchased second-hand chairs for the group. "Oh!" Mr. Schue adds, as if the thought had temporarily slipped his mind. "We're doing a wheelchair number!" Artie delightedly offers Mr. Schue a round of applause while the other kids slump in their seats, stunned.