Once upon a time, Princess Annie lived in a scary neighborhood forest.
Like Rapunzel she found herself locked away in a tower. Unlike Rapunzel, this tower stood above a forbidden realm called Dildopolis. The darkest of magic kept Annie in this tower — namely, the lack of coin. And she was subjected to the depredations of the incontinent Count Spaghetti. Then, one shining day, woodsman Troy and his emotionally unavailable unicorn, B-bed, asked the Princess, “Girl, how you livin’?” They rescued her from her captivity and brought her back to their blanket fort. And they all lived happily ever after, drenched in their own awesomeness.
This story has been brought to you by the yogurt Jamie Lee Curtis uses to poop.
Pierce would call that story “gay code,” but that’s exactly how Troy and Abed saw themselves when they invited Annie to come live with them in their newly christened Casa Trobed. Shadow puppet fairy tales are all well and good but, like Annie’s wheelchair-bound neighbor who polices her building’s disabled parking spots, the would-be knights in tin-foil armor had an agenda. They needed a woman to show them how to iron and remove their Kool-Aid stains from their clothes, since they’d already discovered that applying the opposite color Kool-Aid doesn’t work. Annie quickly discerned her saviors’ Seven Dwarves-like incapability of taking care of themselves and general man-childism — Troy hanging from her bedroom door in a veritable Shelob’s web of packing tape was a bad sign.
Actually, “Studies in Modern Movement” was pretty much all about the bizarre little worlds in which each of Greendale’s disturbingly co-dependent study groupers (and Dean) find themselves. Example A: Jeff, who shirked his moving duties at Annie’s old apartment to spend his afternoon buying clothes at the Gap. He feigned deathly illness, even getting a salesgirl besotted by his hipster snark and high forehead to simulate a hospital environment for his concerned friends to hear over the phone. (Glad he still has fake insurance, even though he’s unemployed!)
Like that Lake House movie, Jeff crossed paths with a certain extortion-prone academic. Yes, none other than Dean Pelton. Actually, call him Craig. The Gap is no place for the usual formalities. Craig seductively slurped on the straw of his slushy and casually threatened to expose Jeff’s treachery to his friends unless they had lunch together. Before you could shout “Olé!” Jeff was treating Craig to a plate of top nach-o’s and a watermelon margarita, then belting out Seal’s “Kiss From a Rose” on a karaoke machine. Honestly I’m surprised Craig didn’t go with a selection from the Eat Pray Love soundtrack.
And they weren’t the only ones touched by the Muse Calliope. Pierce inhaled some paint fumes and imagined himself an over-the-hill Roger Williams tickling the ivories for a cool island song with two hula girls. (I’m kind of sad Magnum didn’t make another appearance.) And when Britta was driving Shirley home, she pulled over and picked up a hitchhiker to prove the existence of secular morality. (“Judge not, Shirley. Judge not!”) Turns out it was none other than Shirley’s Lord and Savior himself, one Mr. Jesus Christ. And no, he wasn’t Latino.
NEXT: Is “Jesus Loves Marijuana” better than “Big Yellow Joint”? Is the Dreamatorium better than the holodeck?