I am not Ryan Murphy; I own nothing but the clothes on my back and a couple of sharpies.
"The Warblers have got to get what?"
All at once there was uproar. The vast majority of the boys had leapt to their feet and were shouting, some in outrage, more in raucous approval. Several were gesturing so violently that their neighbours had to leap back to dodge the flailing limbs. Two were in fits of hysterical laughter on the couch, while between them another boy had begun to sob quietly into a cushion.
Over by the piano, Jeff's mouth still hung comically open, as Kurt buried his face in his hands beside him. Up at the head table, Thad's voice could be heard over the commotion calling, "You mock us, sir!" while David choked on his own tongue next to Wes who, caught up in the confusion, was pounding him on the back with his gavel while slamming his fist onto the table and calling desperately for order.
Meanwhile the couch had somehow been upended; the hysterical boys were now rolling on the floor, howling and hiccoughing and clutching at each other for support. The boy who had sat between them had vanished, although an occasional sniffing could be heard from behind a nearby curtain.
Kurt was slumping in his chair, sinking gradually lower and lower as if trying to disappear. Thad seemed to be building up to another of his impassioned speeches- he had leapt onto the head table and was resisting Wes and David's attempts to tug him down. Nick leaned over to Jeff muttering, "This is worse than that time Trent suggested we wear charcoal trousers instead of slate-grey." Watching the action unfold, Jeff could only nod weakly in agreement.
Caught up in the moment, Thad now gestured so extravagantly that he managed to punch David squarely in the face. With a furious roar, David tackled him off the table and the pair went crashing over Wes' hastily ducked head. They barrelled directly into the sniffling curtain, which was yanked from its railing and crumpled to the ground, effectively trapping the three boys inside in a tangle of limbs. Those nearby had to move hastily aside as the struggling bundle began to writhe and jerk spasmodically. The muffled snarling and bellowing coming from the pile drowned out the soft thud as Kurt slipped off his chair entirely and fell to the floor without anyone noticing.
In the midst of the chaos, Junior Warbler Blaine Anderson stood frozen to the spot, blinking in shock at the uproar he had provoked.
"Sexified," he repeated softly, but his answer was lost in the chaos.