Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.
Another year gone by.
What a corny ass way to start, huh? But it's true. Another year's gone by and not a whole lot has changed. I mean, sure, we lost another competition because the judges rightfully hate it when Frankenteen and Mayor Munchkin sing together—seriously, they sound like a flock of seagulls (and not the band, because that would be too cool for them) fighting over a bread crumb, and it always looks like Finnocence is going to pull a giant from 'Jack and the Beanstalk' and eat her. And me, Britt, and Q are off the Cheerios now, and you know, that one lady died. I may possibly have had like three huge revelations about myself at once, too. But overall, we're pretty much the same ragtag bunch of losers who hate each other.
We can't even hide it in the damn yearbook picture. Look at this. This was from half a year ago and you can still see it. There I am in all my smoking hotness, burning laser holes into Wheels' head. Maybe I'll draw that in. Excellent, flames bursting out his head. And then Britts is totally checking me out even though she's on Dickless' lap. Puckerwhipped is flexing his guns, but he is so drooling at Zizes. I'm totes adding a little slobber to his mouth. Ha!
Zizes couldn't stop stuffing her face full of Hostess long enough for them to take the damn picture, so of course Wheezy is staring at her with mock disgust while secretly hoping she'll drop a crumb. Maybe she needs some slobber, too. Then you've got Dwarf giving Finnessa the doe eyes—she needs antlers—while he's all about glaring back at Trouty Mouth—let's give them boobs and Lady Lips can have a fish hook hanging from his mouth. And of course, then there's Q with that evil, bitchtastic smirk on her face. We may have made up and all, but sorry, Q, you're getting a mustache.
The only ones who don't look evil or like they want to kill/hump something are the Asians. That won't do, I'm making them look like evil ninjas.
If you're surprised, I really don't know why. You think just because glee club is the best part of my day and I've learned that bullying is mean and shit means I'm going to stop doodling in the yearbook? Come on, it's practically tradition. Besides, I was way worse to the football team's page. I gave them all lady makeovers.
I also may happen to be skipping class because my history teacher is an asswipe who is making us watch a documentary on plumbing. Seriously, I don't care how the prairie people took care of business. In fact, I don't care how anyone takes care of business. It's actually kind of sick to think about. So sue me if I find this more interesting—and want to look busy so the crackpot librarian doesn't catch me.
I try to flip to the next page so I can demolish the golf team's page next (they may be my kindred spirits or some shit, but I can't let them get away and arouse suspicion with anyone who happens to recognize my artwork). Except the pages are stuck together. Annoying. I wiggle my blue pen into the crack between the pages and pull, and with a crack they come apart. I smirk with triumph and swiftly move to get on the golf team's dude makeovers—they all really look like they could use mustaches like Q, and maybe a few sombr—
Hold the fucking phone. Rachel Berry is on the golf team? I squint a few times just to make sure it's not like after image from seeing her on every freaking page so far, but she's still there, big annoying-as-fuck grin plastered on her face, golf club slung over her shoulder and—oh, Christ. She has on a plaid kilt.
These golf girls really need to be more careful with their leering, too, because the one behind the dwarf is totes looking at her ass and…wait a second. Okay, this could've totally been passed off as the midget's need to be as irritating as possible and maybe like to honor her dads like in those PFLAG meets Hummel set up, but not now. Not when she is leering at a couple of B-cups.
My jaw could not be closer to the floor.
Holy. Sweet. Hell. Berry's a fucking lesbo!