Episode Report Card
Demian: D+ | Grade It Now!
This Episode's Real Title Is Too Stupid For Words
In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Snap open on Matthew Morrison, looking deeply depressed over the fact that this show's decided to shitcan his character for the foreseeable future, the better to pander to the idiot teenagers that now make up a majority of its rapidly dwindling audience. Oh, sorry -- my bad. It's actually Mr. Schue, looking deeply depressed about the news he must now deliver to the assembled children of The New New Directions. He heaves a tremendous sigh and begins, "I have an announcement to make." "Adele is dead!" Brit-Brit immediately guesses, which is funny because Glee has this amusing habit of killing the musicians it features. "No," Mr. Schue patiently corrects before confessing he's decided to take a sabbatical to join that much-vaunted (and ultimately useless, I'm sure) blue-ribbon panel of his down in Washington, effective immediately. The children, of course, are shocked and appalled, especially after Mr. Schue admits he'll be gone through Sectionals. Single-T Tina is particularly vexed by this bit of news, and her mood doesn't improve at all when Mr. Schue reveals that Frankenteen will be assuming control of the group as advisor. "Finn cannot take over Glee Club!" Single-T Tina screams, leaping to her feet. "He doesn't know what he's doing at all!" And...point to Tina. A painfully obvious point, but a point nonetheless.

Frankenteen, who'd been precariously perched on a nearby stool, lurches to his ungainly feet to assure them, "I know I can do this, and I've got some really great ideas for Sectionals." "We'll all be DEAD by then!" Single-T Tina howls, igniting an explosion of truly satisfying Finn-bashing from the music room's cheap seats until Coach Sylvester materializes to summon both Frankenteen and Mr. Schue to The Lair Of The Maharishi, pronto.

"I-I-I don't even understand how you found out," Will flusters once we've leapt over to Figgins's office for the fun that's sure to follow. "I have the choir room bugged," Sue duhs, adding, "That plaque with the dead fat lady on it? Her eyes are cameras." Excellent. Will allows that particularly outrageous claim to pass unremarked upon, and after reminding Sue that none of this is really her business in the first place, he notes that he already cleared the whole Frankenteen thing with The Maharishi weeks ago. "I don't see what the problem is," he shrugs. "Of course you don't," Sue deliciously condescends, "because this is just another one of your ill-conceived, bizarrely sentimental schemes that displays absolutely no forethought and appears immediately ridiculous to everyone in America except you." I'm with her so far.

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