Lunch was a bleak affair for Finn Hudson.
Though the circumstances of his break up with Rachel were messy (so what if he couldn't recite the entire alphabet?) and, honestly, quite shallow (evidently, Rachel wanted a man who was able to resist peeing uncontrollably during Superbowl commercials), Finn still loved her. Mostly, he respected her ability to count higher than 34. Brains were a real turn-on for Finn, which completely explained his prolonged and obsessive attraction to zombies.
He knew he wasn't perfect; he often missed the newspaper whenever he went potty and he was about as emotionally mature as his mother's third nipple, but he never thought Rachel would make him feel this way.
Finn sighed pitifully and pulled the plastic juice straw out of his nose. He liked when they were lubricated.
"I never thought you'd make me feel this way," he whined, shooting a dopey glance across the lunch table.
"Get fucked," Rachel replied.
At the other end of the cafeteria, Quinn waddled by a crew of freshmen, casually gripped the end of their table in her mighty fists and ripped it in two with a bloodcurdling roar. Then she ordered a chicken nugget surprise pack and a Fruitopia.
Rachel sighed. Quinn Fabray was all woman, and what a woman she was.
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Artie sat with the Cheerios, uncomfortably squeezed between Bertha Q. and Maureen J., who collectively had the biggest ass he had ever seen. Brittany and Santana sat opposite him, no doubt holding hands under the table.
It infuriated him.
There he sat, stuffed between Dumbo and Horton, while his girlfriend made Bambi eyes at her…whatever Santana was. He wasn't sure. But he wasn't happy about it.
"So," he began slowly, warily eyeing the other Cheerios. "How's that green card coming along, Santana?"
Santana promptly burst into tears.
Brittany smiled blankly.
"Hey Artie, in about five seconds, this fork will either be sliding smoothly into the chicken wing for which it was originally procured, or penetrating your jugular in what I'm sure would be the greatest contribution to the galaxy since the defeat of the Death Star."
Right. He returned to his dinner, trying to ignore the still sobbing Latina.
Getting up to leave, Quinn grabbed the sides of his face with both hands and shoved his head into Maureen J.'s mashed potatoes with a grunt.
"What the fuck, Quinn? You've been like completely insane ever since the pregnancy," he yelled.
Quinn cracked her knuckles and stared at him incredulously.
"Who's pregnant?"
"What do you mean-"
Maureen's thunderous thighs were wound tightly around his neck before he could close his mouth.
"These are right where those potatoes would have gone, you greasy butterfuck!"
Artie really fucking hated every single one of them.
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Next time: Brittany threatens the life of another Gleek, Rachel designs a new yarmulke and finally begins plotting her way to Quinn's heart, and Artie researches romantic gestures.
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