Glee: "Buddha, Allah, Satan...help me!"

I'm about done with Kurt, whose constant state of dissatisfaction has been the show's central theme for going on a month now: "Oh, I'm afraid for my life" has become, "Oh, I don't like the way the way they do things at Dalton Academy." How quickly we forget when our lives are no longer threatened by self-loathing football players.

I don't mean to diminish Kurt's plight, except that it's a TV show and realistically his chances of meeting with any...unpleasantness are decidedly slim. And just like his lack of appreciation for his unusually tolerant blue collar father, the favorable change of scenery brings out his inner bitch. For once, we're thankful for the plot returning to the more mundane themes of teenage treachery and competition karaoke.

In case you needed reminding, it's time for Sectionals. New Directions apparently forgot, because they haven't really done anything about it since the season began. It's funny, because I remember from my own high school competition days that we spent, oh, frigging months preparing for competitions. Must have been busy with their standardized tests.

Rather than stick with the usual boring formula, Mr. Schue decides to give Sam and Quinn the lead duet, with feature dancing by Brittany and Mike. I'm not sure exactly how the dance part fits in with a choir competition, especially when your two competitors are a bunch of elderly people and an all-male academy lacking a choreographer, but there you have it.

One of the more amusing interludes this week involving Puck attempting to recruit a new member in the wake of Kurt's departure. His subsequent imprisonment in a Port-A-John (leading to the aforementioned plea to Buddha, et. al.) results in the arrival of Lauren Zises, who declares her hatred for show choir, but presumaly lip syncs adequately enough to fit in.

Mr. Schue's strategy predictably pisses off Rachel, who predictably pisses and moans about the injustice at every opportunity. Santana chooses this time to drop the bomb that she and Finn did the deed last year, sending Rachel (temporarily) into the arms of Puck, which naturally angers Finn, who...oh fuck it. Every moment Finn and Rachel interact on this show is as unpleasant as having my scrotum buried in a fire ant mound. They're the worst couple on TV since Ross and Rachel, and almost any storyline is more interesting to watch.

Except Kurt's.

His beef is that the Dalton Warblers aren't open to his input, because most organizations accept direction from the guy who joined yesterday, apparently. He auditions for a solo, with Rachel's help, using "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" from Evita, which we're supposed to believe is somehow a "more personal" choice than Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." Not limiting your ballad choice to late '90s cinema might have helped too, buddy.

Then again, when you see what the Warblers ended up with, Celine doesn't seem so bad after all:

Has any song ever gotten more obnoxious in less time? Maybe "My Humps," but it's close.

I won't go into the ham-handed "bird in a gilded cage" metaphor for Kurt's situation that we were hammered with for an hour. Just remember, the imminent threat of death is evidently preferable to not being able to express yourself adequately.

New Directions (which I've taken to pronouncing "Nude Erections" because I have the emotional depth of a six-year old) ties with the Warblers, so both are heading to Regionals (leading to...slightly elevated tension between Kurt and his old club, I suspect). Rachel and Finn break up...or do they? And Emma goes to Vegas and marries her dentist, though ONCE AGAIN she wonders if she's made the right choice.

Hey, I hear Finn's available.

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