"Splergen ell aver yeh, en ert ferlin reel narce!" Rory said, as he rolled off of Sugar. They had just had passable sex and Rory was ready to sleep.

"You are like so awesome, Roars," Sugar said, as she stood to clean Rory off of her naked body.

"Ar kner," he said. "Ar jerst nerda gert berk up en der sern!"

It had taken a lot to bag Sugar. She thought his voice was "kinda hot" and she had a weird thing about his pinky toe, but he had dropped a lot of the cash he was stealing from Brittany's mom. And, if Rory was being honest, Sugar wasn't all that good in bed. She'd mostly just lay there like a dead fish, occasionally saying phrases like, "Oh you are like so big in me right now," and, "Like, harder".

But Rory had gotten his nut, and that's what counted. "Gard narght har," he said, before turning over and falling into a deep sleep.

He dreamt of Santana. Ever since she'd been forced out of the closet, his lust for her had grown even stronger. In his dream, Santana was lying on the choir room floor. She was wearing nothing but a pink pair of panties and a pirate hat.

"Come here, big boy," she said to him. "Let's get that Irish sausage out and see how juicy it is." He'd approached her, but he woke up before he'd gotten a chance to taste her tacos.

"GARDDARMIT!" he exclaimed as he awoke. Sugar was sitting in the corner filing her nails.

"What's up Rary?" she asked. Rory flew from the bed and slapped Sugar across the face.

"MAr narme ers RARY!" he said.

Sugar pulled a knife from her vagina and cut him across the face. Rory cried out in pain.

"That's what I said, asshole."

Rory didn't care about Sugar anymore now. He was going to bag Santana if it was the last thing he ever did.

It was time for the Glee club meeting. Rory had patched his face and had donned his sexiest 50s style clothing. He knew today was the day he'd get all up in Santana.

He saw here there, looking fine in that Cheerios outfit. She was seated in the back, next to Brittany. That impish Rachel was on her other side. Rory knew he needed to get rid of her; she was the ultimate cockblock.

"Oi, Rarchel!" Rory called out. Everyone looked his way. He did his best American accent, determined for Rachel to hear him clearly. "Yar voose sarks!"

Rachel's eyes filled with tears. Finn stood, with clenched fists. He towered over Rory.

"What did you just say?" Finn demanded.

"I sard that har voose SARKS FAGGOT!"

Finn punched him. Rory was sleeping again, dreaming of Santana, the pink panties and the Irish sausage which would remain forever trapped within the confines of his pants.