We’ve Moved!

Noses vs Women Who Have Babies Without Realizing They’re Pregnant

A God-given compass or unwanted surprise?

RYAN: Do you smell that? Yeah, go ahead. Take a whiff. Maybe it smells delicious, like a freshly baked pie taunting you from a nearby windowsill as it cools. Maybe it smells like someone went a little heavy on the Axe body spray in lieu of showering this morning. Whatever that smell may be, you can thank your wonderful—in my case perfectly symmetrical—nose for making it possible. Noses are our own God-given compass, guiding us through this smell-crazy world every single day. Telling us who had a few too many margaritas at lunch (Shawn), which bathroom stalls to avoid (the second), and when Rosie O’Donnell is menstruating (every 19 hours). Through thick and thin, good and bad, lingering and smothering, you can always count on your nose to give a quick, unbiased diagnosis of the situation. It won’t let emotions get in the way, no matter how much your wife may try to blame it on the dog.

SHAWN: When you say “thick and thin” I beseech you not to elaborate on which one refers to Rosie’s menstruation. And you may need a God-given compass to guide you through life, but some people are more impulsive, more intuitive, more willing to see the wind and, rather than smell it, throw caution to it. I am referring, of course, to women who have babies without realizing they’re pregnant. Yes, women who have babies without realizing they’re pregnant are actually the greatest gift God has given us. Why else have water coolers to talk around? Why else have Wal-Mart bathrooms? Why else have the South? They’re all for women who have babies without realizing they’re pregnant. News articles about an “unexpected Christmas gift” or any piece with the quote, “I went into the bathroom and out she came!”—why, that’s a journalist’s dream! You have fun with your nose, smelling the things you feel so inclined to list including poop, Rosie’s uterine lining, and farts.

Every 19 hours.

RYAN: You know what I do to women who have babies without realizing they’re pregnant? Besides pay for them to live on welfare? I thumb my nose at them. They’re the unwanted anchors of society. We could be soaring at fantastic heights in a wonderful utopia if it weren’t for those women holding us down, dumping their unexpected gifts in our Wal-Mart bathrooms (that’s why the second stall smells so bad). I don’t need my nose to tell me something doesn’t smell right with these women. I’m no gynecologist—I do like to dabble—but it can’t be that hard to figure out if you’re pregnant or not. The morning sickness, missed periods, oh, and the fact there’s a damn baby kicking around inside you. It’s not complicated. Hell, about.com even has a surefire 25 signs of pregnancy, which include “just ‘feeling’ pregnant” and “a positive pregnancy test”.

SHAWN: I can’t help but notice how you mentioned the positives of noses all of never in that argument. Thanks for making my point: even you can’t get enough of talking about women who have babies without realizing they’re pregnant. What can you say about noses? Fine, you have them. Whatever. You smell things like poop and menstruation, we get it. Bor-ing. And don’t pretend you know what it’s like to be pregnant just because you were a woman for 19 years. Sure, there are signs, but in many cases these are the same women who can’t recognize the signs that one more hamburger means they can’t leave the house without tearing down a wall. Either way, The Learning Channel wouldn’t exist without these people. What have noses given me besides an extra vacation day for Purim?

See? It's all about image.

RYAN: What have noses given you? Oh, I don’t know, how about a perfect place for your bedazzled glasses to rest? See, noses not only give the gift of smell, but in your case, sight. Really, the importance of noses can not be understated. Not just for smelling and seeing, but also for building a successful career. We all know it’s not just talent and ability. It’s image, and for the right amount of money, that image can be had. Just look at Freddie Prinze Jr., Courtney Love, Ashlee Simpson, Tom Cruise, or even Ashley Tisdale (who?). Without those fan-freaking-tastic noses, no one would give them the time of day (still true for Freddie Prinze Jr., but you’ve got to admire the effort). But if you like relishing in other people’s misfortunes, as you clearly do with women who have babies without realizing their pregnant, then relish in Michael Jackson’s ill-advised nineteen noses. Go ahead. Relish. Relish!

SHAWN: Let’s do a little retrospective science, shall we? Which came first: the nose, or glasses designed to sit on your nose? Tough one. Yeah, there are other ways to see and, without noses, we’d simply work around that (two monocles perhaps?). And I don’t know this Ashley Tisdale you speak of, which makes me think she’s a giant talentless nose. Maybe without noses, we could see Tom Cruise for what he really is—the reincarnated bodily host of Axx9lo Glzzyz, Lord Over the Yyyy Galaxy. And you may relish in misfortune, but I simply appreciate it. It takes a gift—no, a harnessed talent—to miss out on the fact that you’re pregnant. And then it takes a certain level of courage to provide quotes to the local newspaper so your story of ignorant strength can be shared with the masses. What does it take to get a nose? Good genes? Pshaw. You couldn’t smell good genes if they were seeping out of that hideous bump on the front of your face.

Next On Danger Queue: Aretha Franklin’s Inaugural Hat vs Dick Cheney’s Inaugural Wheelchair—Who Deserves Our R-E-S-P-E-C-T?

ShamWow! vs Gillette Fusion Power

A magical, all-absorbent towel, or a technological shaving wonder?

SHAWN: Sigh. I’m bored and just made a mess. If only I had something to wipe all this white wine off the floor AND excite the hell out of me…wait! I’ll just break out my ShamWow! It just wipes up everything. Wow! I mean, SHAMWow! Pet stains? Water stains? Water? Liquids? Iced tea? Water? The ShamWow soaks up it all. With its patented cleaning stuff, this TV-offer product may epitomize all TV-offer products. Sure, you might still be able to pick it up at that end cap in Walgreen’s, but you won’t be able to cash in on the deal to buy one, get FOUR free (that’s real)! Plus, it holds up to 20 times its weight in liquid, which totally pwns me, especially if you knew how many times I pissed during my bachelor party alone.

RYAN: Before you even worry about that mess you made on the floor (white wine, right?), maybe you should tend to that mess on your face you call a beard. With the Gillette Fusion Power. Five blades—count them, they’re all there—ensure you get a shave so close you risk deeply cutting your face with each and every stroke. But believe me, it’s worth the risk. Oh, it’s soooooooo worth the risk. And all those hard-to-reach areas on your face? Worry no more, my poorly cheekboned friend cause this razor’s also got a precision trimmer. But don’t listen to me. Listen to star athletes Tiger Woods, Roger Nadal, and some soccer player. Oh, big deal, some soccer player, right? The guy’s got a shaved head. What razor do you think he uses? If it’s good enough for his head, it’s good enough for your face.

No, friend. There's an easier way.

SHAWN: Wasn’t Gillette Fusion Power a ragtag group of trouble-making superheroes in the early ’40s? Or a drink at Jamba Juice? No way does one of those have the zazz and cleaning power of ShamWow! Every sentence with ShamWow in it HAS to end with an exclamation point! You may be able to clean up your face with that razor, but try soaking up a small pond. Fun fact: 500 ShamWows laid back-to-back could single-handedly remove Lake Michigan. Plus, you don’t even know what that soccer guy has on his head—lice, dandruff, a hump, could be anything. And you want to use his razor? Oh, and by the way, if I buy the Gillette Fusion Power now, how many do I get? Wait—just one, you say? But I’m calling NOW! No? Still just one? Good thing I have four ShamWows to dry my tears!

RYAN: Did I mention the Gillette Fusion Power has a microchip in it? Yeah, a freakin’ microchip. For all the cleaning power the Shamwow allegedly has—I’ve never actually seen it in action, for the record—it’s clearly not ready for the digital age we live in. If it doesn’t have a microchip, then I for one won’t use it, wear it, or eat it. Sorry ShamWow, but them’s the rules. Maybe the ShamWow should take a hint from the good people at Gillette who saw a simple, outdated, three-bladed, non-microchip razor and had the balls to say “No more”. No more settling on shaves that don’t feel electric close. No more puny three-bladed cuts that don’t leave badass scars all over the face. Sorry if you can only buy one razor at a time, but go ahead and pay the shipping and handling on four separate ShamWows with your order. Wow. Looks like you just got shammed.

Actually, not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

SHAWN: First of all, the shipping and handling is a flat fee, kinda like when you order your leggings because what kind of man needs a razor with a fucking microchip? You’re just shaving about six square inches and if it’s too good you either (a) lose all rugged appeal—which is how I scored my hot wife, (B) look twelve years old, or (3) get mistaken for Sarah Silverman like you do all the time. Congratulations, Gillette, keep working on improving something nobody complains about anymore. But you know what people do complain about? Spilling a whole gallon of milk and using an entire roll of paper towels to clean it up. Story time: so when I was in Hawaii a couple weeks ago (and you were freezing your ass off), I took a little boat ride and we hit — get this — a squall. Several. So we’re trying to drive back and it’s soaked outside and the captain can’t see through the front window to steer and it’s pretty clear we’re all going to die…until the captain turns to his first mate. “ShamWow!” he screams and — I kid you not — that first mate grabs the ShamWow forthwith and leaps into action and wipes off the ENTIRE window with one stroke of the ShamWow. Your microchip may make your razor’s battery die faster, but ShamWow saved my life. Wow!

RYAN: Sorry, I didn’t realize you were a three-year old boy who can’t handle lifting that big, heavy gallon of milk all by himself. Maybe next time you can get your mommy to fill up your Winnie the Pooh sippy cup for you. And nobody complains about razors? Really? This coming from the guy who has a beard specifically so he won’t have to deal with the cuts, nicks, and razor burn that comes from shaving. Okay, that’s an assumption, but still, technology is a wonderful, glorious, splenderific thing. Thanks to microchips and batteries, razors have improved a great deal since that time you first tried out your mom’s Gillette Venus. Despite your wonderful piece of fiction on how the ShamWow saved your life (could have used some robots), I’m still not buying it; I don’t care how many they throw in for free. It boils down to the spokespeople. Gillette got recognizable, accomplished athletes whose opinions I know I can trust (Tiger Woods hasn’t steered me wrong yet). ShamWow got some a failed comedian who wears a headset for no reason and looks like he needs to be punched in the face. Oh, and he used to be a Scientologist. Yeah, apparently the Scientologists thought he was a bit much.

Danny Glover vs Lunchables

Acclaimed movie star or delicious lunch concoction?

RYAN: When one thinks of movie stars, and I mean REAL movie stars, few names warrant actual consideration. Tom Hanks. Lindsay Lohan. Julia Roberts. That guy who just died recently. But one man, and I can’t emphasize ‘man’ enough, makes all others look like hacks. Talentless hacks. I talk, of course, of Danny Glover. What Michael Jordan was to basketball, Danny Glover is to movies. An incredible talent that changed people’s lives on a regular basis. But while Michael Jordan would prefer we all forgot about his Washington Wizard days, you’d be hardpressed to find a misstep in the much-accomplished career of Danny Glover. From Angels in the Outfield to the Lethal Weapon series to Operation Dumbo Drop, each film is an unquestionable masterpiece punctuated by acting so riveting, so engrossing that James Lipton may or may not have just came in his pants.

SHAWN: Danny Glover did nothing for movies compared to what Lunchables did for lunch. Danny Glover might as well be Kathy Najimy when compared to the magic Lunchables bring to the table. Cheese, bologna, crackers, a snack?! Everything I need for a heaping helping of homemade lunch sandwiches right at my fingertips (and under my fingernails if the cheese is spreadable). Talk about changing people’s lives on a regular basis—I think we all remember our first discoveries of Lunchables. We used to have to drag huge burlap sacks and bento boxes bursting with meats and cheese and juice boxes and beer and individually wrapped potato chips because parents think it’s cheaper to buy one $3.00 bag and ration it out than buy the 25-cent bags when in reality it’s not; and then, suddenly, you can bring EVERYTHING in one air-contained box of delicious. And don’t even get me started on the advent of Lunchables pizzas. Danny Glover made Gone Fishin’.

Taco Filling? In a packet? What a world we live in!

RYAN: Let’s not get carried away here. While quite nice, Lunchables are in no way comparable to Danny Glover. The man headlined Predator 2 for Christ’s sake! Predator 2! Not only that, but he killed the fucking Predator! Lunchables, on the other hand, starred in little Billy’s lunch last Tuesday. Even that was a stretch, since he traded the yogurt and a future snack consideration for Timmy’s Fruit By The Foot. Face the facts; Lunchables don’t cut it anymore. Its days of lunchroom dominance are long gone, having been unmercifully brought down by our nation’s ill-advised, illogical obsession with “being healthy” and “preventing child obesity”. While Danny Glover continues to completely own the box office, Lunchables have become an empty plastic shell of what they once were. Kraft knows it too. Why else would they sink so low as to offer versions with hot dogs, nachos, chicken nuggets, or even, yes, disgusting, room temperature pizzas.

SHAWN: Yeah, way to take down Predator, Danny Glover. You killed him so good, a whole race of him took on Alien in not a-one, not a-two, but a-TWO recent hit films. Next time you try to do something, Glover, maybe you should finish the job and not leave it up to Alien. We’re all still waiting for Operation Dumbo Drop 2 to tie up loose ends. And way to own the box office too, Glover. Nice job shooting Blindness straight up to number 12 at the box office for the 120th worst opening weekend of all time. And nice job plummeting it to number 21 a week later. You know what plummets about six hours after you eat it—Lunchables. But then you just want to eat it again. And just because you were raised with school lunches of bacon-wrapped cupcakes doesn’t make Lunchables unhealthy. The turkey and cheddar-able is a tight 340 calories…for a whole meal! The pizzas may be a lesser form, but it sounds like you also grew up in a time before microwaves in school cafeterias. How ever did you warm up your pork fat-wrapped hot dog donuts?

Unless it's for Predators.

RYAN: Exactly what loose ends were there in Operation Dumbo Drop? The part where the village needed an elephant, or the part where Danny Glover delivered the elephant as promised? Wow, those ends look pretty tightly wrapped up, if you ask me. Maybe you just missed those key parts of the movie (the beginning and the end) cause you were in the bathroom waiting for those Lunchables to plummet. Need I remind you, the original, and only, appeal of Lunchables was they were ready to go straight out of that sealed plastic case. Stack turkey, cheese, and crackers so high Dagwood would be jealous and I was ready to go. If I had access to a microwave at school, let alone a cafeteria, why the hell would I waste my time with freakin’ Lunchables when I could have made countless other delicious things, like hot dogs, nachos, chicken nuggets, or even, yes, delicious piping hot pizzas? And also, Danny Glover only killed that one caused it killed his friend. Lesson learned, Predators: don’t fuck with Danny Glover.

SHAWN: Sure, the INITIAL intent of Lunchables was to go straight from plastic-sealed curiosity to your belly (which it did fabulously), but Lunchables knows how to grow with the times. Kids like pizza, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, baked beans, and, of course, cracker crunchers. Plus, Lunchables recently upgraded its health with beverages like refreshing spring water. Mmmmm, that sounds nice. And you may always pick the nachos, but the sandwich Lunchables are just as hot as ever! Why? Because kids (and youthful adults from 19 to 90) love a product that literally makes them able to have lunch, and in a delicious fashion. As for Glover, let’s not fight about who still watches Operation Dumbo Drop daily despite Glover most likely completely eradicating it from his resume, but let’s point out that Glover is not what he used to be. There might’ve been a time when you wouldn’t want to fight with Glover (The Color Purple), but now he plays blind guys, video store owners, and does the voice of turtles. Thank God 2006’s The Shaggy Dog can still round out his repertoire. Meanwhile, delicious Lunchables can round out his stomach.

Next on Danger Queue: ShamWow vs. Gillette Fusion Power—Order Now and We’ll Throw in Hilarity!

2008 A.D. vs 8 A.D.

Which year will go down as the best, or at least not the worst?

SHAWN:  Let’s flashback shall we. To a simpler time. A time when war was “happening” and the economy was “unstable” and the Presidential election was still “up in the air” due to “racism”. And, most importantly, a time before Hotel for Dogs. Yes, friends, I am talking about 2008. The year gave us so many great things—Joe the Plumber, the deadliest natural disaster since 2004 (Sarah Palin), abounding bankruptcies, and a school collapsing in Haiti. However, through it all, and through our President’s wisely quivering lower lip, we consistently remembered, “Hey, at least it’s we’re not dying of leprosy.” Which, simply, is why it was way better than 8.

RYAN: I disrespectfully disagree. 8 A.D. may have had its problems with leprosy, but let’s not pretend that 2008 was some walk in the park. Fifty years from now, historians will look back on 2008 and wonder “what the hell happened?” Too many problems, too many pirates, too many lives ruined. I admit, there may have been a few sprinkles of good (most notably Not Another Disaster Movie), but those sprinkles aren’t enough to cover up the shitty taste 2008 left in my mouth. Now you’re probably asking, “Okay, well, what happened in 8 that makes it so much better?” That’s precisely my point. No one knows about the year 8 because nothing memorable happened, good or bad. That automatically makes it better than 2008, right?

SHAWN: Someone (you) needs to realize (I’m talking about you) that (listen, you) our intern Stewart can be good for more than missing errors while fact-checking, but we can make him do a little googling here and there (not that our information usually comes from a random third-party source like Encyclopedia Brittanica). So don’t go around saying nobody knows about the horrors of year 8. We may have banished 7% of jobs in 2008, but year 8 saw Ovid banished from Rome! I guess you don’t care much for classic poetry. And in 8, the Roman general Tiberius defeated the Dalmations! We may have killed innocent Iraqis in 2008, but you would never see us waterboarding puppies. Yeah, and let’s not forget how fabulous 2008 saw Barack Obama elected President of the United States. Year 8 welcomed Vonones I as King of Parthia! And they HATED him! Yeah, the same Parthians who petitioned to bring Rosie Live back.

The Statue of Liberty wearing a snorkel? Hilarious! You can't write that kind of stuff.

 

RYAN: Yeah, I can look up things on Wikipedia just fine, thank you very much. I guess the difference between me and you (besides that 1/8″ in height) is I didn’t want to come across like an arrogant douche listing off people and places that no one has even heard of, let alone cared about. Ovid? Tiberius? Vonones I, King of Parthia? Please. Maybe if Vonones I had been a little more like Phrates IV, Parthia would still be around today. In all your copying and pasting from the Wikipedia entry for 8 A.D., did you bother to notice how there was nothing mentioned of natural disasters, suicide bombers, economic turmoil or Heath Ledger dying? Call me crazy, but I propose a year Heath Ledger didn’t die is exponentially better than a year he did die. Disagreeing with that is akin to spitting in the face of all those who are still in mourning. You wouldn’t want to spit in Mary Kate’s face, would you? …okay, bad example.

SHAWN: First of all, you assume Mary Kate has some kind of aversion to bodily fluids on her face, which I can assure you is not true. And, secondly, how dare you accuse me of spelunking Wikipedia for ubiquitous facts about 8 A.D. like that it was the start of the Chinese Han Dynasty (aka The Lame-Ass Dynasty)? Granted, sad things happened in 2008, especially the death of screen legend Michael Pate, but democracy prevailed. Unlike year 8, when Caesar Augustus canceled the senatorial election and appointed all new positions himself in his empire. Oh, and then threw the Christians to lions and called them “gladiators” while everyone paid money to WATCH PEOPLE DIE. Yeah, things were way better then. Now when we pay to watch people die, it’s just a horror movie where the blood is mostly fake. So we fucked up a little in 2008, but we still weren’t exiling people for shits and giggles…unless we could falsely accuse them of terrorism.

Not in the face?

 

RYAN: Ok, fine. You’re clearly not just copying and pasting from the Wikipedia entry. If you were, you’d at least be getting the facts right. The Chinese Han Dynasty didn’t start in 8 A.D., as you wrongly suggested. 8 A.D. was merely the beginning of the Chushi era of the long-lived, prosperous Han Dynasty. A dynasty that people look back on with admiration and respect. In 50 years, will anybody say the same about anything in 2008? Sure, maybe Obama will fix the country and right everything that’s wrong, but last I checked, he doesn’t step into office until 2009. Don’t forget (as much as we’d all like to) who was in office for the entire calendar year of 2008 and everything he did, regardless of popular opinion and the Constitution.

Next on Danger Queue: Danny Glover vs. Lunchables—The Epitome of Temporal Greatness

Milton Bradley vs Milton Bradley

Hate the player or hate the game?

RYAN: The oft-traveled, anger-filled baseball player unfortunately known as Milton Bradley is perhaps the second greatest thing to come out of Harbor City, California. Right after Reggie the alligator, who last I checked inspired not a-one, not a-two, but a-TWO books. Still, with Milton’s free agent signing with the Chicago Cubs, he is automatically transformed to lovable, great, and most importantly, the final piece of the puzzle (combined with the trading of the Jason Marquis puzzle piece). This is the Chicago Cubs we’re talking about here. Sure, history suggests this signing will be a disaster on the same scale as the t-shirt-killing sweat machine known as Todd Hundley. There’s the fact he’s never played a full season, let alone anything even remotely close to that. Or that he’s got more anger issues than that kid in middle school who tried to stab someone with his gym shorts. Or how a National League team just signed someone who played DH all of last season. No, cause when it comes to the Cubs, we all know that history doesn’t matter. It’s not like they haven’t won the World Series in 100 years or anything like that. Ahhhhhhhh, fuck.

SHAWN: Go ahead, Cubs, spin the wheel and see what happens with Milton Bradley. I’ll go ahead and spin my own wheel in the game of life…oh, look, now I’m a plumber who makes $100,000/yr. and, yes, I have a boat now. Looks like me, my sexy stick-thin wife and our two quadriplegic children will be living the good life having mai-tais fed to us at Millionaire Acres. Your Milton Bradley will inevitably blow his shot when he breaks a bat over his knee and tries to cut Junction Jack after a pop fly. You want advice from a Milton Bradley who knows his way around a game? Try game pioneer and inventor of the paper cutter, Milton Bradley. MB’s company dominates the American game market, in the same way as winning teams might dominate baseball. With Candyland, Operation, Battleship, Life and 13 Dead End Drive, you can steal your way out of a Molasses Swamp WHILE REMOVING A BREAD BASKET FROM A HUMAN BODY. How’d that bread basket get in there? Good thing you’re here, doctor. If only your Milton Bradley can remove the bread basket hurting the Cubs’ insides for a century. When I need unnecessary surgery, I’ll turn to someone else. Guess who? MB.

Really? Operation Hulk? Really??

RYAN: Let’s not get carried away here. Yes, back in the glory days of board games, MB was once considered the bee’s knees. But now, after some time has passed and we have the benefit of hindsight, it’s painfully obvious that MB has become a lifeless entitiy that’s gone 15 years without an original idea. Leaving Charlie Americans like you and me stuck with bastardized re-re-releases of classic games with shameless marketing tie-ins. A Star Wars Game of Life? Not one, but two versions for the Pirates of the Caribbean? Bratz Twister? Lord of the Rings Stratego? In all honesty, I’m surprised there’s not a Nutty Professor II: The Klumps version of Operation. Or Hungry, Hungry Hippos. Both would work. At least Milton Bradley the baseball player brings some variety to the game of baseball, which is exactly what the Cubs needed. They were too passive, lying down at the first sign of trouble. But now they’ve got a wildcard. Someone that could do anything at any time. Empty a bags of baseballs on the field in protest. Throw water bottles at fans. Tear up his knee arguing with an umpire. Lead the league in OBS. Call a teammate a racist. Anything!

SHAWN: If you find marketing tie-ins shameless, clearly you’ve never played the phenomenal Sailor Moon edition of Life. And have also never been to Wrigley Field. I haven’t seen so much shameless advertising space since you tattooed that Nike swoosh on your ass. But I digress. MB is still at the top of its games, despite you turning your back on the company that made your childhood what it is (you didn’t even know what hunger meant until you saw four hippos fighting for a pancake you threw in the middle of the board—admit it). Clearly you’ve missed out on innovations like Jenga Truth-or-Dare and Heroscape. Sure, those are pretty much just variations, but why mess with a good thing? I guess that’s something the Cubs aren’t ever going to understand. Why not throw some wild cards in there? I mean, it can’t get any worse, right? MB knows how to milk the advantages and stay on top. They even had trouble in the past like the Mr. T game and What Did Grandma Petersen Do to the Cat? (yeah, those are both real), but they’ve stayed strong, avoiding bankruptcy in this economy. What have the Cubs done besides get their field sold?

We were just talking, Coach. Honest.

RYAN: Your “why mess with a good thing” is the exact argument against everything that MB has done in the past 15 years. If all their games are as great as you say they are, why mess with them and make variations based off them in the first place? At least Parker Brothers does it right with all its Monopoly spinoffs. What Star Wars nerd hasn’t wanted to own a glorious triumvirate of Endor, Bespin, and Hoth? But really, everyone knows the only reason MB has avoided bankruptcy is because in the 1980s it sold out. Literally. It sold itself. So yeah, it’s pretty easy to stay out of financial trouble when all you have to do is suckle off the massive financial tit of Hasbro. Some people don’t have it so easy. Some people, like, oh, I don’t know, star outfielder for the Chicago Cubs, Milton Bradley, have to go out there and earn their keep. While all the suits at MB are sitting in their plush corner offices brainstorming how to make a High School Musical version of Candyland, Milton Bradley is busting his butt almost every day for almost 8 months out of the year, hitting a little white ball with a big wooden stick, and on occassion, catching and throwing it. You tell me who deserves a 30 million dollar contract.

SHAWN: Yeah, Milton Bradley sure has earned his keeps in the world of baseball. I mean, not everyone can get signed by the Padres without passing a physical exam. Not everyone can do about fourteen minutes of work every few days (swing that bat) for three months and get paid millions. Not everyone can try to assault a newscaster after a game and watch the world turn the other cheek. No, sir. Some people just fly by on their innovation, brilliance, and work. Some people just half-heartedly open, say, the first color lithography shop in Massachutses before working their ass off to invent a game that, despite your criticisms of its constant variations, has a Spongebob Squarepants version of it nearly 150 years after its advent. Last I checked there wasn’t a Spongebob version of the Civil War. What I’m trying to say here is MB’s games and the company that followed are more important with greater impact than the Civil War and, therefore, far better than some baseball player nobody’s going to remember in a century and a half. By then, the Cubs will be fully grown Bears and, like Bears, growl their way to…more defeat. MB will never be a designated game distributor; he’s the real thing.

Next on Danger Queue: 2008 A.D. vs. 8 A.D.—A Year In Review

Cake vs Pi

Genre-bending music or ground-breaking constant?

RYAN: In the clique-filled world of numbers, there stands one maverick who refuses to conform to the rules. It’s not odd. It’s not even. Hell, it’s not even rational. I talk, of course, of pi. Pi’s so great (way greater than one, two, or even my personal favorite three) it’s got its own fucking symbol. Does 12 have its own symbol? 7? 36? 2359? Yeah, thought not. See, those are all just drops in the metaphorical bucket of numbers. Where’s pi, you ask? Pi’s doing fucking circles around the bucket. For centuries, maybe even decades, people have long tried to figure out the secret of pi. How far does it go? Is there any pattern? Any repetition in its numbers? But long after these friendless losers gave up, pi is still going strong. It’s like the Energizer bunny of numbers, except after the bunny is dead (or the company ends the marketing campaign), pi will still be going.

SHAWN: You think pi is maverick? How about a funk/rockabilly version of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive”? Or an album recorded entirely using solar energy? Maverick enough for you? Yeah, that’s why Cake is way better than pi. Do you think some number you multiply by to find out the circumference of your penis (that math compass hurts) is far more rational than covering “War Pigs”? And if you want something that goes on and on, look no further than “Italian Leather Sofa”. But at least “Italian Leather Sofa” knows about twelve minutes into it that it’s time to end the perfection and let the art just be. Pi, on the other hand, just becomes a tedious, neverending quest that not even Frodo would dare attempt. Everyone knows pi gets boring by the 37th digit. Is it a 7? Who the fuck cares? Last I checked, nobody was dropping $100 to see pi live.

This bunny's got nothing on pi.

RYAN: Being a maverick requires more than being a bunch of song-stealing hippies. But keep at it Cake, stick to those covers with the occasional original song thrown in-between for good measure. To be honest, I’m impressed that Cake can play a song that even lasts 12 minutes. Based on The Distance and Never There, I thought they could only play in three-minute intervals before needing to stop. Then again, the band is really just a bunch of quitters. Are they on their fourth or fifth drummer right now? I can never keep that straight. Maybe the members of Cake could learn a little something about social harmony from pi. With pi, it’s not about each individual number; it’s about what they can do when they join together. Check your ego at the decimal (especially you, #8), and then bask in the glory of knowing you’re involved in something that can never be recreated with mere fractions or integers.

SHAWN: Is there something wrong with three-minute songs? Apparently, there is with three-digit numbers. C’mon, pi, you indecisive pric—just choose a real number for yourself and be on with it. You can’t even finish spelling your own delicious name! And don’t equate quitting with something being wrong. Quitting means perfection. Cake has just realized their band has nothing to do with the drummer (or bass guitarist) because they are perfect with or without. Anyone can pound out those beats—Cake’s about heart and soul and funkality. Pi will never be perfect and knows it. And I can’t help but notice you referring to it as “pi” rather than using the actual symbol that represents it. What? Can’t find it on the keyboard? It’s not there, you say? You have to Insert: Symbol? Well, I hope it has fun in typographical purgatory up there with the umlaut.

Does John McCrea have to drum himself?

RYAN: I guess I don’t consider anything to be great when it only lasts three minutes. At least that’s what my wife is constantly telling me, and I don’t think you want to argue with her. Believe me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. But explain to me how quitting means perfection. Doesn’t really make sense. Maybe I’m crazy, but last I checked, something can’t be perfect when it’s not even finished. Pi, on the other hand, will never quit. Sure, it won’t finish. But it sure won’t quit. It will go as long as you want it to, and then some. But God bless Cake. They’ve been around for 17 years now, and it sounds like you think they’re going to be around for a lot longer, so long as they don’t give up. Oh. Wait…

SHAWN: Are you familiar with Cake? Sure, John McCrea sometimes likes to talk about becoming a farmer or an astronaut or a dinosaur, but they’re still going strong. And, hell, are you in Milwaukee on New Year’s Eve? Well, check ’em out, rocking the Milwaukee-renowned Riverside Theater with all the funk of a storm cloud. And the kind of “quitting” I’m talking about is more like “stopping because you are perfect” – like when your wife tells you to stop talking before you say something stupid, which you inevitably don’t do. Let’s allow songs to exist for what they are, rather than causing grief, pain and exhaustion to mathematicians for centuries by continuing long past its welcome. Keep going, pi, and maybe one day you can have the kind of relevance and popularity today as that Energizer Bunny everybody’s still talking about.

Sears Tower vs A Deck of Nudie Male Cards

108 floors of glory or 52 cards of manliness?

SHAWN: When you’re done looking at your deck of nudie male cards, let me show you something eight times as awesome and 108 times more phallic. Yes, the Sears Tower. Bursting through the Chicago sky with equal parts moxie, sway, lust and zeal, it casts a shadow of both recognition and joy upon the Midwest. Thanks for being just about the tallest building in the world that we aren’t going to waterboard (sorry, Middle East)! You look like Jenga with antennas, and who hasn’t played Jenga without wishing two antennas came with the pack? Sure others have come along to fight you, like the Trump Tower, but they could not, and instead only get to shine their merciless light into my fucking eyes while I type this.

RYAN: When I’m done? More like if I’m done. The beautiful thing about this deck of nudie male cards (besides the musclebound men) is that there’s 52 of them, meaning I can look through them for hours and hours and hours. One look at the Sears Tower and I think “I’ve seen bigger” and immediately move on. After all, the Sears Tower is just another instance of a guy with a Napoleon complex trying to overcompensate for his tiny penis, right alongside the Washington Monument, the Dallas Cowboys, and that giant statue of the Jolly Green Giant. Rest assured, there’s no overcompensating with the 52 men adorning these cards. Well, actually 53 if you include the strapping firemen twins on the king of hearts. Phallic symbols are nice and all, except that anyone can make up anything when it comes to symbology. Oh, yeah, the candelabra really symbolizes the lost innocence of your youth. Sure it does, Grisham.

I want my money back, Grisham!

SHAWN: Good point: nothing says “I have a huge penis” like staring at 52 naked men. The men on those cards might not be compensating, but a musclebound freak in an assless fireman’s costume, rescuing a kitten from a burning forest? Yeah, that’s not some overcompensating fantasy; everyone knows firemen just let forests burn themselves out. Just stare at those cards and dream away. But you know what else you could stare at? The beautiful Chicago landscape from the top floor of the Sears Tower. Sure, it gets uncomfortable rubbing one out with 8-year-old tourists surrounding you, but not more uncomfortable than the multiple times your wife caught you doing the same with the four of diamonds. You were “admiring the artwork”. She totally believes that.

RYAN: Unlike you and the creator of the Sears Tower, some of us don’t need to convince the world that we’re well-endowed. I know I’m perfectly comfortable with the size of my penis, which, for the record, is huge. So I don’t need a deck of cards to say “I have a huge penis” when the giant bulge in my pants does the trick quite nicely. The cards aren’t about that anyways. They’re more about spicing up the otherwise monotonous world of card games with a well-placed wang and some glitter here and there. Imagine your grandma busting these cards out at her weekly gin rummy game with her girlfriends. She might be a little more reluctant to give up that 7 of clubs since she likes the way the light bounces off that doctor’s thunder.

SHAWN: Did you just ask me to imagine my grandmother staring at porn? I think that might be an open-and-shut case against the people who are for these male nudie cards you love so much. Plus, everyone knows that bulge in your pants is a pear, since the stem is clearly sticking out. That’s the thing about the Sears Tower—nobody’s going to look at it and be all, “Wow, I bet it’s really small.” Because it is huge. Forget the creator; we’re talking about the building and the building makes Ron Jeremy look like he has a mole down there. And you know what else would spice up grandma’s card game? Playing it at the top of the tallest building in the United States. The Sears Tower is so big, it had to have sway built into its foundation to accommodate wind and airplanes. Your deck of nudie male cards, however, are so unpopular, you can only buy them at specialty shops or on eBay from user Ryan69, who for some reason has an unlimited supply.

Shawn's grandma doesn't like losing gin rummy.

RYAN: Not only did I ask you to imagine your grandma looking at porn, but I’m pretty sure you just did. Regardless, we all know people aren’t impressed by tall buildings anymore, no matter how big, phallic, wind-resistant, or phallic they may be. Even if they were, which I just clearly proved they aren’t, they wouldn’t bother wasting their time with something as lame as the Sears Tower. Not only is it no longer the tallest building in the world anymore, but it only was because of the added antennas on the top. How the hell antennas count is beyond me. That’s like you claiming you’re 5’9″ just because you’re wearing a giant top hat and platform shoes. Nobody’s buying it, so you shouldn’t be selling it, unlike Ryan69’s seemingly endless supply of nudie male cards, which are selling like the hot cakes shown on each and every card (Buy It Now for $4.99 plus shipping!). At least with with said deck of cards, there’s no debating they’re as pure as they are erotic. No camera tricks. No prosthetics ala Marky Mark in Boogey Nights. Just real, unbridled man dong. Just the way we like it.

Next on Danger Queue: Cake vs. Pi—Which is More Deliciously Educational?

This vs That

This and that. Mortal enemies. And best of friends.

RYAN: Have you seen this? This is awesome. This is amazing. People are going to be talking about this for a long, long time. Seriously, no one cares about that. That is all the way over there, in a whole ‘nother room. This is right here. This is right now. This is everything that hopes to be one day. Don’t believe me? Then believe in the wonderful lyrics of Woody Guthrie’s hit song from the 40s. He sang about this land. This land being our land. This land being your land. This land being made for you and me. He sure as hell didn’t sing about “that” land. That would have been communist and gotten him blacklisted faster than you can say “Joe McCarthy”.

How about "I'd like that, please"?

SHAWN: What’s that, you say? Oh, I’ll tell you what that is. That is awesome. That is great. Sure, you may not know exactly what that is, but that’s what makes that so fabulous. That could be anywhere from inches from your nose to far beyond the horizon. Part-mystery, part-semantics, part-lioness, that is what this wishes it could be if it ever freed itself from your horrible grasp. Yeah, I bet the Pilgrims said this land is my land, this land is your land before raping the Native Americans and changing their tune. People kill over this; people think about that and want it so bad. How about you look at the stunningly beautiful lyrics of Chris Brown? Gimme that.

RYAN: The only thing stunning about Chris Brown’s lyrics is just how lazy and greedy he really is. Maybe if he put in some hard work and effort, that would become this and he couldn’t have to write songs asking people to give that to him, whatever the hell that really is. That’s really the problem here. No one knows what that is. That is a generic description that could refer to everything and anything. What’s that? Did you see that? She’s All That? Be specific people. If you like mystery and lioness, fine, but some of us around here don’t like leaving things up to chance. When Budweiser says “This Bud’s for you”, I know exactly what I’m getting—the cold, delicious Budweiser being poured in the commercial. If it was “That Bud’s for you”, well, now I’m wondering what’s wrong with it. Already opened? Filled with pee? Tell me!

There's no question which Bud is for us.

SHAWN: Already opened? Filled with pee? That’s what she said…about your mouth! Ohhhhhhh! And, yes, that is what she said because she would never waste her time ambiguously talking about this. Everybody knows what this is; I mean, it’s right there! But that…oh, everybody wants to know what that is, even you. But, still, if you fear mystery or drinking a beer that you’ve never seen before (see second sentence), there’s always the opportunity to turn that into this. See that bacon over there? Let me just go ahead and grab it and OH GOD THIS ISN’T BACON! But, hey, you got the mystery and the solution all in one. Once you have this, it could only dream of being that again. Meanwhile, that remains a nonthreatening, fun enigma. That’s what I’m talking about.

RYAN: I think you’ve got it backwards (that’s what she said). This doesn’t want to be that. This has been that, and it’s never going back to that. This is up in the big leagues now while that keeps toiling away in the minors. The only time when that is good is when it becomes this. Think about it. That bacon isn’t all that great until it gets on your plate and becomes this bacon. That bacon could be anything, if it’s even bacon at all, which you just pointed out it isn’t. That’s why it’s that. That is lying and deceitful, never to be trusted. But this, this would never do that to you. This would never betray you. This is here for you. No surprises. No tricks. Just real, honest this.

SHAWN: I think you’re confusing the big leagues with a straight jacket. Do you remember the college days (or, in your case, the days of hoping to pass the GED on your fifteenth try)—the opportunity, the hope? Now that life has become this life and, well, you’re stuck. This is it. Don’t you long to go back to that? That sense of possibility? Rather than this life with this stupid job and this bottle of Target hand sanitizer on your desk that you could possibly drink and get out of work all day. Meanwhile, that guy’s a freakin’ billionaire playboy with four cars. Or maybe that guy’s a happy-go-lucky fisherman catching crustaceal gold and his weight in shrimp. Either way, how does that guy do it, and how is that so awesome? Take your pick: THAT fire is out of control or THIS fire is out of control? Yeah, only one of those is going to burn you. That’s the way – uh-huh, uh-huh – I like it.

Next on Danger Queue: The Sears Tower vs. A Deck of Nudie Male Cards—Someone’s Fixated at the Phallic Stage…

Harlem Globetrotters vs Bruce Vilanch

Both were born and raised on the streets.

SHAWN: What could possibly be sweeter than Georgia Brown? Well, take a look at this line: “What makes me laugh? Richard Nixon always made me laugh”. Ho ho! And that brilliant line right there was 100% pure Vilanch. Bruce Vilanch is pretty much the most clever and sassy writer in history, and the man whose hand was up Billy Crystal’s ass every time the Oscars were good. EVERY time. Starting off lowly, being both a Jew and a writer for the Star Wars Christmas Special, his fluffy hair, miscolored beard, and masculine nature helped him soar to prominence at awards ceremonies and, yes, Hollywood Squares. Stay off my dribble, Globetrotters; I’ll take Vilanch for the steal.

RYAN: I don’t care how many Christmas specials, Oscars, or low-rated game shows Bruce Vilanch has had his fat, stubby hands in. Has he ever played basketball against a group of robots in a special edition of Gilligan’s Island? Has he ever had his own Saturday morning cartoon show? Thought not. Those are the things that impress me, and that’s why the Harlem Globetrotters will always have a special place in my heart. With silky smooth dribbling and the occassional use of ladders, the Globetrotters defied the odds and racked up more than 20,000 wins on their way to worldwide fame. Bruce Vilanch’s claim to fame is being enormously fat and, on occassion, saying something funny. Whoopity do.

Teaching kids valuable lessons about low post moves.

SHAWN: I think it’s time someone finally called out the Harlem Globetrotters for what they really are—dirty cheaters. Comedy? Showboating? Above-the-top exhibitionist displays? That’s not what basketball’s about! And if there’s one rule about true basketball it’s DON’T be animated. Do you think there’s any other good reason Michael Jordan is live action in Space Jam? Plus, the Globetrotters aren’t even committed to the sport. Last time they were on their way to a basketball game, they found a green van that broke down and, rather than playing the Wizards, they helped some talking dog and his hippie friends solve a mystery! Sure, they made it to the game with a minute left and still won, but that kind of crap shouldn’t fly. And don’t even get me started on how roided out they all are. But you know who’s definitely not roided out? Bruce Vilanch. He may not fight robots, but if you have something against fat, occasionally funny guys, you might as well take down that Horatio Sanz poster and disconnect CBS because they’re the bread and butter and bacon and pork and burgers of this world.

RYAN: Everyone knows the golden age of fat people died with the stapling of Al Roker’s stomach. Bruce Vilanch is just too stubborn to acknowledge it. Call out the Globetrotters for their commitment to the game all you want, but don’t think for a second they’ll apologize for caring about something just a little more important. Something called making the world a better place. So what if they showed up to a game just a little late, those hippies and their talking dog needed their help. Mysteries don’t solve themselves, Shawn. It’s called being a good Samaritan. No matter how famous the Globetrotters are, they never forget where they came from—incidentally not Harlem—and the people who helped get them there. Bruce Vilanch doesn’t do anything to help anyone unless he thinks there’s the potential reward of a sandwich. Maybe he should think about doing steroids, or anything to get into something that could remotely be considered “in shape”. Seriously. That guy needs to stop eating. And, please, grow the beard back. Or wear a scarf, a turtleneck, anything to cover up that second and third chin.

The original script had far less profanity.

SHAWN: First of all, how dare you play the fat card, Joe McGriddles, you don’t know if that’s glandular. And, secondly, you’ve clearly never heard of a little TV show called Celebrity Fit Club on VH1, in which Mr. Vilanch roared his way to a weight loss of 21 lbs in Season 3! If you lost that, you’d be back to birthweight, so consider him a champ. So not only HAS Vilanch done things to get back into shape, but what have the Harlem Globetrotters done recently to become, I don’t know, FAMOUS again? It’s been a long time since they helped Scooby-Doo and I haven’t seen any Pokemon screaming for their help from the side of the road. So they can help people for a few years and then vanish? Sure, you may not have physically seen Vilanch’s good works lately, but that’s because he’s not a dirty glory hog. He works behind the scenes to make the world a better place. Who came to the rescue of scripts like Die Hard 2 and Raiders of the Lost Ark? VILANCH! Who opened up doors for gays in comedy? VILANCH! He may prefer Nixon, but who makes America laugh? I think we all know the answer.

RYAN: Are you seriously questioning what the Harlem Globetrotters have done lately while defending Bruce Vilanch? Bruce Vilanch? He whose claim to fame is having helped write Raiders of the Lost Ark and Die Hard 2, both of which are so old that not only have the trilogies already been wrapped up, but there’s been enough time for a bastardized fourth film to be added to their respective series. I do pride myself on not knowing about Celebrity Fit Club on VH1. It kind of goes along with my rule to not watch shitty television shows, which is also the reason why I’m going to have to trust you on on the Globetrotters not being on Pokemon. You’re the Pokemon expert round here, not me. But if this is really a contest of who appeared on the crappier thing, then Harlem Globetrotters, Little Nicky. All’s forgiven, though, once you see the proverbial dream team of honorary members of the Globetrotters. While Vilanch is nothing more than an E-list celebrity—even Kathy Griffin doesn’t return his calls—famous figures from all around the world are literally killing each other for the chance to don the red, white, and blue jerseys of the Globetrotters: Henry Kissinger. Nelson Mandela. Whoopi Goldberg. Bill Cosby. And Pope John Paul II. Yeah. The Pope. Even God’s BFF loved the sweet whistling of Georgia Brown.

Next On Danger Queue: This vs. That—We’re Nothing If Not Proper