So, Artie wheels himself over to Brittany’s locker and asks, “What’s going on with you and Santana?” “Nothing,” Brittany shrugs, the clueless casualness of which leads Artie to start babbling, “That doesn’t sound like nothing — it sounds like something, which is almost always more than nothing!” “Are you cheating on me with her?” he demands. “Ican’t,” Brit-Brit claims, explaining, “She’s a girl — fooling around with her isn’t cheating, it’s just friends talking with their tongues super-close.” “Who told you that?” Artie snaps. “Santana,” Brit-Brit duhs, leading Artie to exasperate, “Don’t you see that she’s manipulating you?” “That’s not cheating, either,” Brittany confidently replies. Dirty! Artie, of course, fails to see the humor in Brittany’s last statement, and he pretty much loses it right there in the middle of the hall, moaning, “Don’t you see what’s going on? You’re the hottest girl in this school, and I wear saddle shoes on legs that don’t work!” “This shouldn’t be happening,” he insists, of course referring to their so-called romance, “not because I’m in a wheelchair, but because I’m obsessed with Angry Birds, and my mom cuts my hair!” “It’s hard enough for me to believe that this is real,” he continues, by now openly moping before getting all weirdly possessive and shit by stating, “If I know that you spend even a little time sharing yourself with someone else — that there’s one other person in your life that can provide for you things that I’m supposed to provide — it’s just too much for me to take!” Christ, teenagers are idiots. Slap a restraining order on his dumb ass, Brit-Brit, and go let your freak flag fly with Miss Lopez, already. Of course, Brittany doesn’t listen to me, instead choosing to plead Santana’s case, which only makes Artie blurt, “Why are you so stupid?” Poor little Brit-Brit’s eyes instantly fill with tears, and she weeps, “You were the only person at this school who never called me that!” before fleeing off down the hallway.