R: Hey, girlfriend!
Q: Cut the crap, Rachel, I can tell you're up to something. I can smell the stench of your insincerity from a mile away.
R: Perceptive as always, Quinn. I am up to something, but I think you'll like what I'm up to. I want you to quit the Celibacy Club.
Q: Why? What's your angle?
R: Come on, Quinn. Surely, you can guess. You're an honor student, after all. Yes, I beat you in every class, but I have advantages over you in both nature and nurture. It's not your fault, and by dint of extraordinary effort you have managed to become the smartest blond fundamentalist Christian girl in the school. Brava.
Q: What gives you the right to put a label on me, you conceited, condescending, little bitch?
R: Flattery will get you nowhere with me, dearest Quinn. As to the label, you put it on yourself. You chose to dye your hair, you organized the Celibacy Club and the Chastity Ball, you chose to believe in the literal interpretation of the Bible. If the shoe fits, wear it. By the way, are you aware that the Old Testament requires adulterous wives to be stoned to death, and that a fourth century Christian theologian's exegesis proved that "wives" included all unfaithful females?
Q: I never heard of that. What theologian?
R: It was either Onanismus or Inanius, or maybe both. In any case, it was confirmed by the 12th century Polish rabbi, Brismitzvahcohenlevi.
Q: Listen, you flightless screech owl, you got me on Tay-Sachs, but you're not going to get me again.
R: Hey, it's your eternity of hellfire and brimstone, not mine. And I'll ignore your crude attempt at slandering my talent to focus on my pursuit of a higher humanitarian goal. I have come to you as a supplicant, so please, quit the Celibacy Club and do the honorable thing that needs to be done for all concerned. Prom's coming up, and I know you know what you have to do.
Q: I don't believe this. You want me to have sex with Finn! You are implying he won't like it any more than he did with Santana and will come crawling back to you.
R: Kudos, Quinn, kudos. I knew you could figure it out. But revealing his true heart is not all it would do for him. It will restore his pride after our infidelities with Puck, and the Finn who comes striding proudly back to me will be a man. He's useless the way he is now after all the pain we both inflicted on him. Do your Christian duty as a Good Samaritan, Quinn, so we can all move on.
Q: Don't lecture me on morals and ethics, you heathen slut wannabe. But okay, I'll do it, in spite of you and to spite you. I'll show you, and I'll show Finn how great sex can really be. I was planning to do it anyway. I'm hotter and a lot prettier than you and have the experience that counts after giving it up to Puck. When he's had a taste of some Fabray sugar pie, he'll forget you even exist.
R: That's a chance I'm willing to take, Quinn, even if you serve it up à la mode. And anything would be better than seeing his pathetic, vacuous expression when he wanders the halls with you. And, Quinn, when you begin to do the deed, cold sober with mutual consent, remember to think of your Bible and your parents and your future, born-again Christian husband. No pressure.
Q: It's on, Berry. I'll do it for the glory of Our Lord, to disgrace and hurt my father, to be better able to please my future husband as a true wife must, and to torture you in the only life your pagan soul will ever know.
R: Do it, Fabray, and do it hard. The sooner the better. And this time, do use a condom to make sure it doesn't Drizzle. In fact, use two or three simultaneously. As you may or may not know, Finn's an easily excitable guy, at least he has been with me every single time we made out. And from what Puck intimated to me, you'll need him to last a half hour, minimum, for a happy ending. See you at choir, sugar pie. Ciao.
The End