I can't be the only person who suddenly becomes really, really uncomfortable when Mr. Shue starts singing on Glee.
It's like a really awkward cross between titillated and embarrassed. Sort of like the first time I read that VC Andrews novel I found in Grandma D's house. Yeah, pretty much just like that, except now I can't look away and the image and soundtrack is forever seared into my mind.
Turning off those Flowers in the Attic kids and their weirdo triple-deep incest was, comparatively, quite easy.
I just replaced them with years and years of Highland-themed Harlequin novels and teenage vampire smut.
But Mr. Shue? Nope. The dark, tingly, icky feeling in my stomach will probably never go away.
Thanks, TV. Maybe next week I'll just watch Sister Wives instead.
1 day ago