“Glee” Episode 216 Recap: Gay Romance and Rockin’ Regionals

Meanwhile, back at Dalton…
the Warblers’ council is sounding like a fangirl convention on steroids.
“You know, I think Blaine’s
version of the song is better than the original,” opines one Warbler. (I’m
sure some kind person will identify all the minor Warblers for us, but I don’t
know any of their names. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that.)

“But it’s not in his natural key,” says another, to
loud objections from the rest: “How dare you?”

“Enough,” Blaine
says, an eloquent hand gesture conveying his dismay – although it can’t come
close to capturing the massive ennui on Kurt’s face. “I’m tired of

“I agree,” says one of the fanboys, I mean,
Warblers. “I think you should just pick the song you want to sing.”

“No,” Blaine
says. “I’m tired of the Warblers being all about me.” This is
hysterical. Who says the writers don’t read what fans say?

As Kurt looks on in dawning amazement, Blaine adds, “Make sure everything I’m
about to say goes down in the official minutes.” He looks at the council
leaders. “We are going to lose at Regionals.”

The room erupts, and Kurt just stares.

“I am incredibly grateful for the belief you’ve all
given me as a junior member to lead you in all in these wonderful songs this
year,” he goes on. “But from what Kurt has told me about New
Directions, I just know I can’t beat them on my own. Which is why I propose
that we re-arrange our 11 o’clock number, and turn it into a duet.”

Kurt’s face throughout this speech is priceless, and the
look he gives Blaine
at the end of that statement is the absolute quintessence of Kurt Hummel.

“Why don’t we just play it on kazoo?” exlodes the
Head Warbler as the crowd goes wild, and not in a good way.

But Blaine’s
not done. “Now, we all lost one of own this week; Pavarotti’s voice was silenced
by death, and I don’t want to silence any other voices in this group.” He
pauses expressively, and I seriously want to give Darren Criss an Emmy nomination just for getting through this
without totally cracking up. Cuz the meta-ness, it amuses.

“I think Pavarotti would roll over in his tiny, tiny little
grave,” Blaine
intones somberly.

“The placement of which has yet to be determined,”
interjects Kurt, looking grief-stricken.

The King of the Warblers calls for a vote on Blaine’s proposal to make
his solo a duet, which passes. Kurt says he’d like to be on the audition list,
but Blaine’s
not done: He wants to sing the duet with Kurt, and undoubtedly impressed by his
moving rendition of “Blackbird,” the council once again raises its
hands and says “aye.”

Kurt’s overwhelmed and happy, but Blaine? He’s beaming. Oh, Blaine. I’m liking you tonight.

Back in the choir room, Will has handed out rhyming
dictionaries to help the kids with their original songs, but Santana interrupts
and says she and Tina have already
written a song, and they’d like to perform it.

And this explains the other trending topic on Twitter last
night: “Trouty Mouth.”

“This is a sing I wrote for Sam,” she purrs,
shrugging off her jacket and revealing a spaghetti-strapped tank. Then she
wails away on a soulful song, the lyrics of which I at first didn’t understand
because I don’t think I had much blood going to my brain at that point.
Fortunately, teh Googles had them:

Guppy faced, trouty

Is that how people’s
lips look where you come from in the south?

Grouper mouth, froggy

I love sucking on
those salamander lips

Wanna put a fishhook
in those lips so cherry red

If you try hard enough
you can suck a baby’s head

Sam objects, voicing the pain of a thousand Chord Overstreet fans, but Santana
refuses to stop, only to be cut off by Will, his face creased with agony,
whether at the sheer badness of Santana’s lyrics or the pain she’s caused her
bf, I don’t know.

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