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.

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

Wright Brothers vs Tia and Tamera Mowry

Two invented flight. The other two look alike.

RYAN: Kitty Hawk. 1903. In an act of unprecedented defiance for their time or ours, Orville and Wilbur Wright instantly became household names by extending a giant middle finger to gravity and flying with the birds. Until that day, gravity had been a cruel dictator that ruled that entire world with an iron fist, forcing people back down to the ground no matter how high they jumped or how many balloons they held. While lesser men cowered and obeyed gravity’s every demand, the Wright Brothers dared to dream. To dream of differential drag and the coefficient of air pressure. And with their historical 59-second flight that surely felt like at least two or three minutes, they broke free from the shackles of physics and weight distribution and said “Hey gravity, how ’bout you sit this next one out?”

SHAWN: If you think The Wright Brothers were ahead of their time, just take a look at a progressive (and hilarious) WB comedy from the mid-90s. Tia, Tamera, Roger and the whole Sister, Sister gang taught us about extending a middle finger to the gravity of sadness by laughing our asses off. Twins have always been funny (see Olsens or Apollo/Artemis), but the Mowrys made twins cute, sassy, and fashionable. Not since Blossom have overalls and fishermen caps been so mischievous and fun. Hell, even their crappier jokes provided laughs that lasted longer than 59 seconds, Wright Brothers. And those brothers were one-hit wonders, whereas the Mowrys’ career extended to hit films like Twitches. The Mowrys are the real heroes. The Wright Brothers are America’s Roger.

They'll always have their Doublemint gum.

RYAN: How exactly was Tia and Tamera’s “comedy” ahead of its time? I like mistaken identity jokes and twins pretending to be one another as much as the next guy, but I liked them more the first time around with “The Parent Trap”. The 1961 version with Hayley Mills, not the career-launching Lohan-ized version. I guess the suits at ABC realized the same thing when they cancelled Sister, Sister almost immediately. Good thing the WB is around to pick up other networks’ scraps. But don’t sell their careers short. There was also Twitches, Too, and, here comes the big one, The Hot Chick starring one Rob Schneider. At least the Wright Brothers had enough class to know when to stop and never sunk down to Rob Schneider territory. For shame, Tia and Tamera. For shame.

SHAWN: How was Sister, Sister ahead of its time, you ask? Fine, if I have to spell it out for you: it’s a black show that only white people talk about fondly. There you go—a thrilling precursor to That’s So Raven, My Brother and Me, The Boondocks, and The OC. Sister, Sister may have been ABC’s scraps, but The WB baked those scraps into a five-season mincemeat pie juggernaut. I mean, why would the same network that cancelled Pushing Daisies and My So-Called Life cancel something people like? Granted, The Hot Chick was a mistake, but that didn’t stop these perseverant sisters from launching singing careers that breached Billboard Top 100. That’s a true champion. Not flash-in-the-pan “inventors” who lucked into creating something that was pretty much already invented. Yeah, they weren’t the first to build and fly an experimental aircraft; they just added controls. I can Wiki your side, too.

Real men only need 59 seconds to get it done.

RYAN: Just added controls? Just added controls?!? That’s like saying Michelangelo just painted the Sistine Chapel or Einstein just discovered the theory of relativity. Downplaying something so monumental is just plain insulting. Sure, not everyone can better the world by paving the way for shows like That’s So Raven. But the Wright Brothers laid the groundwork for all the things we take for granted today: Blue Angels, airports, Top Gun, the Mile High Club, the Travelocity Gnome, and oh so much more. How about this: When you fly to Hawaii in your lavish coach seat, you take a second to thank the Wright Brothers for making your trip possible. And next time I’m ordering a Happy Meal at McDonald’s, I’ll be sure to thank Tia and Tamara for remembering to make my cheeseburger ketchup only.

SHAWN: I suppose controls are important to an airplane but, think about it, how long do you think the airplane would’ve lasted without them? Hours? Years? Well, some are clearly running for United, so I guess it’s still a problem. But here’s the thing: SOMEONE would’ve invented those controls. There’s nothing special about the Wright Brothers besides being born years after the bubonic plague when brothers would’ve been considered disease-ridden evil and left to die in a farm cart. Tia and Tamera, on the other hand, were irreplaceable, as we’ve seen from every twin-related sitcom that’s come since, including Apartment 2F and the recently googled Twins—a poor attempt by the WB to recreate something beautiful and sacred (mostly beautiful). And I’m not sure what McDonald’s you go to, fatty, but the only thing the Mowrys will be doing there is discussing Tia’s 2008 NAACP Image Award nomination over coffee before she gets back to work on the CW’s hit series The Game. Meanwhile, Mr. Wright, my bicycle tire is flat. You better get on that.

Crime vs Punishment

Dostoevsky's going to feel so stupid after reading this.

Ever since the two were joined together in holy literature (Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret?), there’s been a consistent battle over who claims the more badass territory. Finally, Dostoevsky can truly rest in peace.

SHAWN: There are two things in this world that you can really count on: taxes and vehicular manslaughter. Crime is the ultimate in interesting. Sure, sometimes it results in injury or your pants suddenly disappearing, but it’s more interesting than Rosie Live and only half as violent. What would Law & Order be without the first half of the episode? Order? Lame. It’s the destruction of order that keeps us interested. We wouldn’t even have cereal, as mascots teach us the only way to get it is by stealing it. As unfortunate an evil as it is, we need crime or we’d be bored to death—which also should be a crime.

RYAN: If you weren’t so busy trying to track down your missing pants, you’d have realized crime’s nothing without the punishment. What makes crime so much more interesting than Rosie Live (which is saying a lot) is the risk of jail time, court-mandated community service, or at the very least a hefty fine. Take away the punishment and every law turns into an empty threat, like when parents say they’re going to turn the car around or when my wife says she’s going to leave me. Neither of those carry any weight. If you want people to follow the rules, they need to know there will be repercussions for their actions. Otherwise it’d be anarchy. Anarchy, Shawn. Anarchy.

Sometimes empty threats do work.

SHAWN: Are we heading to chicken/egg territory now? Because nobody would’ve even invented punishment without a little crime thrown in. It wasn’t until somebody realized, “Hey, my shit got stolen and I’m not happy,” that we decided to lock people in a cell where they could become angrier and angrier until they kill the other guy in that cell. Which would you rather watch: a half-hour of a guy paying a judge, or a half-hour of The Joker breaking into a bank using every trick in the exciting book of crime? Criminals are the delicious butter in our white bread world. Plus, with crime, you have the added bonus of fighting back. Watching someone get tied down to be electrocuted to death doesn’t have the thrill of the hunt, the fear of getting caught, the ability to lay the smack down before it’s first laid down upon you.

RYAN: Well, thank you very much crime for forcing our hand and making us create punishment to deter people from stealing, killing, and littering. If it weren’t for you…well, frankly, I don’t want to imagine a world without crime. What a horrible place that would be. People walking the streets at night without knowing the thrill and excitement of thinking they could be raped at any minute. Old people living without fear of being snuffed out by their greedy, money-grubbing children. If you can even call that living. Which I don’t. Really, what’s the point of living when you’re not even worried about being held hostage in your own home by a gun-wielding madman who’s down on his luck? Thank God crime is as prevalent as it is so we don’t even have to consider such wild hypotheticals.

Is there a note? Did they leave a note??

SHAWN: Well, thank goodness punishment came along to solve all crime and create utopia. Nobody ever shatters car windows anymore: how could they possibly live with themselves after a “good talking to” and a slap on the wrist? If there’s one thing that deters and solves crime, it’s punishment—just ask O.J. And, admit it, your world without crime would be as eventful as Season 3 of Boohbah. Plus, I don’t think you have to worry about being raped, and don’t even bring up that time you were strutting around in those assless chaps. You were asking for it and that guy at the gas station just wanted a taste. These crimes you refer to don’t happen often and surely don’t destroy the fabric of this great country. Forcing every movie and newspaper to only talk about lilies and skipping in your little crimeless world, however; that’s just cruel and unusual.

RYAN: I’m going to give all the readers a minute to google “Boohbah” so they’ll pick up on your joke. Maybe next time don’t go with an obscure reference to a crappy children’s television show. Just remember, kids aren’t reading this unless they think it has something to do with the Jonas Brothers. Even then, they’re probably only looking at the pictures and then commenting on how sexy they all are. But I digress. Your argument against punishment is as flawed as your “he was asking for it” rape defense. Just because there’s still crime doesn’t mean punishment isn’t working as a deterrent. Sure, there are still a few bad apples and O.J.’s out there, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve ignored my strongest desires to get my stab on (most notably right now) because of the surefire murder charges. Punishment may not stop all crime and create your “Boohbah” utopia, but at least it’s doing something. Crime’s not doing anything to stop crime. If anything, crime’s helping crime.

Next on Danger Queue: The Wright Brothers vs. Tia and Tamera Mowry—Brother Brother or Sister, Sister?

Happy Trees vs Happy Meals

The key to happiness: cheap food or amateur painting?

RYAN: Fact: Happy Meals are illogically awesome. For the bargain price of whatever they currently cost, you literally have unlimited options on what you can order. Cheeseburger, hamburger, chicken nuggets, cheeseburger. Anything. Throw in a side of fries (Don’t you dare get the Apple Dipper!) and a drink, and you can see why they’re called “Happy” meals. Oh, and also a toy. A FUCKING TOY!!! What’s that you say? What could possibly be better than that? Oh, I don’t know, how about a sweet cardboard box for said Happy Meal covered with games, puzzles, and pictures of all your favorite McDonald’s characters? Hungry yet? I know I am. And that’s the best part: Ronald is such a freakin’ smart clown he doesn’t bother putting an age limit on who can order off the kids’ menu (take a hint, Steak & Shake!). I ordered Happy Meals ’til I was 18. I only stopped after one cashier asked if I wanted the boy or the girl toy. I took the girl toy, but only out of spite.

SHAWN: Fiction: Trees have no feelings. As living creatures, God’s favorite creations (besides Fraggles) grow and live like you and I. And it took one brilliant man to identify how they feel about this state of being, and that was Bob Ross. Trees are happy, and walking by a happy tree, seeing its beauty and breathing in its fresh oxygen (thanks again, God)—well, there’s just no better feeling—unless, of course, you’re painting it in four seconds flat. Not even the feeling children get having their arteries clogged by a $2 meal that single-handedly injects 700 calories (sans apple dippers, as you suggest) straight into them can compete. And I believe there’s approximately 20 combinations of Happy Meals, not the unlimited options as you suggest. And, sure, some days you can choose to go home with your favorite Bratz toy, but in most cases you don’t even get an option with your toys: whatever big movie dishes out the most cash is what you get, so you may be spending the night with your new Misery Pez dispenser. You can hear the ankles shatter with every bite!

Another satisfied customer.

RYAN: Question: Why should I believe these trees are so happy? They don’t look very happy to me. They look like they’re all just standing there, bored out of their minds listening to that hippie Bob Ross drone on and on about the joy of whatever it was he did for a living. Happy Meals, though, there’s no doubting how happy they are. The smile on the box (and the smile in my stomach) tells me so. So what if McDonald’s likes to incorporate whatever hit film or fad is sweeping the nation into its Happy Meals? It’s called corporate synergy, and I don’t remember you complaining during the Teenie Beanie Baby promotion (I’m still looking for a McNuggets the Bear). Whatever the toy may be, it’s just part of the overall experience of the Happy Meal. Twenty options. Unlimited options. Let’s not get bogged down in numbers that prove me wrong. The point is, there’s a Happy Meal for everyone, no matter their tastes. And no, Shawn, vegetarians don’t count, so don’t even go there.

SHAWN: Answer: Because the trees don’t get winded walking from the kitchen to the dining room. Which isn’t the case with Fatty McDonald and his Happy Meals of disgust. And that Beanie Baby promotion (yeah, there’s a reason McNuggets wasn’t a chicken) doesn’t show corporate synergy, but sell-out-yness. McDonald’s knows its gross-ass food can’t stand on its own, but, hey, maybe if we slap a smile on the box and toss in a decoder ring, mildly retarded children and Ryan will still find them endlessly entertaining. It takes an intelligent, cool-as-a-cucumber hippie like Bob Ross to appreciate the subtle joy of trees. Sure, him and Ronald share the same hair-cut, but it works on a delightful hippie. Ronald just looks like that creepy guy who lives next door to you and keeps offering up candy if you “rub his feet”. And, fun fact, on one episode of The Joy of Painting, someone asked Ross why everything was so happy and he said, “If you want bad stuff, watch the news.” He couldn’t due to copyright law, but he totally meant to add “or eat a Happy Meal”.

RYAN: Theory: You grew up in a traveling circus since apparently you lived next door to a clown. A sexual predator clown, at that (Show me on McNuggets the Bear where he touched you!). And I’m guessing since you grew up as a carnie, your mom couldn’t afford the deliciousness that is a McDonald’s Happy Meal. Maybe you were stuck with the ill-fated Burger King Kids Club; I don’t know. But I do know that you’ve watched Super Size Me way too many times if you truly believe McDonald’s is “gross-ass food” that induces death. Surely we can’t be talking about the same place. McChickens? Double cheeseburgers? Not the McRib. Don’t you dare say that about the McRib! Maybe you should stop letting a bunch of small time never-will-bes like Bob Ross and Morgan Spurlock tell you what to think. And instead of looking for happiness in the bottom of the bottle, head to the nearest set of Golden Arches and give McDonald’s a chance. You’ll find a world of wonder and joy unlike anything you ever experienced growing up in that traveling circus of yours.

Those trees look more content than happy.

SHAWN: Truth: Take your fast food and shove it up your gelatinous ass. Wasn’t your whole argument founded on the idea that you get a lot in a Happy Meal for a “bargain price” (scroll up, it was) and now all of a sudden it’s too ritzy for a carnie? If Happy Meals aren’t for carnies, who are they for? Whether or not Happy Meals are having an identity crisis, I’m pretty sure the Burger King Kids Club meals were more expensive. Just because McDonald’s spends two billion dollars a year to make itself look good, doesn’t mean you need to fall for it and forget that the McRib is neither a rib nor Irish. Have you considered that perhaps the huge multinational conglomerate is the one telling you how to think? You know, rather than placing the blame on a guy whose TV ratings were a two. And not a Nielsen two: just me and whichever wife Mr. Ross was currently married to. Sure, you may think no one can beat McDonald’s, with its money and influence, but Bob Ross and his happy trees spread joy and calmness across the globe. Feel free to waste your life away, hopping off walls in the PlayPlace, even though parents keep giving you that face, stuffing fat and sugars into your body. The rest of us are gonna get baked and personify this here cupcake.

Next On Danger Queue: Crime vs Punishment—We’ll Take It From Here, Dostoevsky

Fight vs Flight

Fight like a man or fly away like some kind of super man?

RYAN: I’ve seen my fair share of fights, and every time I think to myself “you’re doing it wrong”. See, despite no formal training or experience whatsoever, I’m kind of a self-proclaimed expert in fighting. Every now and again I’ll tune into UFC and well, let’s just say I’ve picked up a few moves. Now, combine that with all my natural, God-given talent and oh, man, you don’t want any of this. Now all you tough guys out there are probably asking how much I can bench and all that other garbage you like to brag about. Well guess what, suckers, I don’t waste my time and money on some gym when I’ve got everything I need right in my home. My workout routine consists of lifting chairs over my head, opening and closing doors really fast, and curling cans of soup before I eat them for dinner. And not those dainty Campbell’s condensed soup. I’m talking the real deal. The Campbell’s Fully Loaded. Those things probably weigh like 20 pounds each. Minimum. It sounds tough, and you’re right, it is. But it’s all worth it to keep my body in peak fighting condition. And just so I won’t even be tempted to run when things start going down, I don’t even bother doing any cardio workouts.

SHAWN: Maybe if you threw a couple minutes of cardio in there every day or two, you wouldn’t be a beer-bellied big-armed freak who can still wear his skinny pants. But I digress from an argument I haven’t started yet. Fighting may be all well and good, as my personal foray into the WWE has taught me, but you know what’s better? Flying. Fucking flying. Humans took years, even months, to develop a flying machine, after millennia of staring into the sky, wishing, praying they could be like the birds. And you know what? We still do that. With airline prices these days, who hasn’t stood on the top of their office building, arms outstretched, wishing, hoping they’ll take off into the clouds rather than getting tangled in the awning again? Although there is one human who mastered flight and we call him Superman. Yeah. Super. Without flight, he’d just be Batman, which is a bit of a misnomer it itself, as the man can only fight on the ground. Hell, when you run out of Campbell’s, don’t you just wish you could fly to the store? Yeah. You do.

Someone wants to fly, but he's scared of heights.

RYAN:The only people standing on top of their office buildings with arms outstretched are bankers and stock brokers, and I don’t think they’re trying to fly when they jump. See, even though it hasn’t been around that long, flying is already overrated. Security checks. Layovers. Aisle seats. Turbulence. Little tiny cans of Coke and Sprite. It’s just plain ridiculous. Thankfully, fighting is as timeless as it is awesome. Monkey knife fights. Pillow fights. Cripple fights. It doesn’t matter. They’re all cool as hell and amazingly fun to watch. That’s why the Romans built the Colosseum, and that’s why UFC, boxing, and even wrestling (for the record, trying out to be a WWE diva doesn’t count as a “foray”) are so popular. In high school, we’d randomly start chanting “Fight!” in the hallways to see all the people who would come running. The best part wasn’t laughing as they walked away; it was seeing the disappointment in their eyes as they realized there really wasn’t a fight. Even the mere hint of a fight gets people all riled up. When was the last time you got pumped up for flying? When you realized the in-flight movie was Last Holiday?

SHAWN: Thanks for not actually reading my argument, by the way; I really appreciate that. I agree that airplane flying is pricey and overrated, which is why Superman and I support ACTUAL FLIGHT—soaring through the sky like a strong eagle, swooping down to snatch up fish or babies, and then suddenly landing squarely in Hawaii fourteen minutes later. There’s a reason we invented skydiving; we crave flight and understand that, yeah, it’s pretty much the most awesome thing ever. And if you thought kids came running in high school when you chanted “fight”, imagine who would come running if suddenly a kid started flying? Like the mute kid in that movie you probably aren’t familiar with because it doesn’t involve people slapping the hell out of each other. Plus, flight would take fight to a new level. Imagine punching and cutting…in mid-air! How cool would that be? Yeah, flight is so superior a concept that those Romans long ago couldn’t even fathom how to make it happen. That’s why they built an arena and sat back and watched people kill each other. Even we realized that’s a little sick and rejigged the rules, calling it football.

Yes, we are entertained.

RYAN: Just to summarize, your argument for flight centers around skydiving, where people jump out of a plane and plummet straight to the ground—never actually flying—and how cool it’d be if people could actually fly? Unless you think we all live in the Matrix, I don’t think people flying will be happening anytime soon. And even if we did, I highly doubt you’re The One (Keanu’s way more man than you). But yeah, it would be cool if we could all fly. Oh, you know what else would be sweet? If we all had the ability to teleport anywhere we wanted. Or, what if we could all crap out gold bars? That’s be kickass. Oh, and know what else rocks? Unicorns and leprechauns and a mutant turkey-duck-chicken (what would we call it???). Flight may be a cool concept, but damn, here we are stuck in stupid reality, where none of those things exist. You go ahead and keep dreaming. I prefer to keep myself grounded in reality. A reality where I don’t have to imagine what’d it be like if people could fight. All I have to do is watch TV, see a movie, search online, or go to any public place and start shoving people (preferrably children) to the ground.

SHAWN: Fine. You know what? DON’T read my argument; I don’t even want you to. It’s easier this way. I’m not pro-skydiving; I’m just saying it’s one of the many ways us poor humans attempt to simulate, even for a second, the one hope and dream we all share: flight. And funny that the one man who once cherished his entire childhood because he was enamored with a Looney Tunes-ridden dream world would so openly reject fantasy. OHHHH, DID I JUST REFERENCE A PREVIOUS DANGER? Well, readers, I bet you thought that would never happen, but there you go. Besides, every time you get in one of those fights with children you either (a) lose, or (b) end up in prison again. Fantasizing about flying certainly doesn’t hurt other people and, when humans eventually evolve wings, your petty fighting will be deemed useless as escape would be simple for those poor, poor kids (even you, Little Tommy, whether or not Ryan apologizes). Besides, some of us have been out of high school for more than two months and don’t see fighting as a viable solution for all of life’s problems. Oh, but flight. No one’s too old for flight.

Next On Danger Queue: Unicorns vs. Fisting—What Do Women Really Want?

Full House vs Straight

Does a Full House beat a Straight if there's Three of a Kind?

SHAWN: Some people, when they look around, see a hopeless world of poverty and war. Others see a hand to hold on to. Everywhere they look. And that’s why the zany, lovable, utopian dilemmas of the Tanner family make Full House quite possibly the greatest invention since the four-slot toaster. What silly miswording will Michelle come up with today? How insecure will Stephanie feel? What will Danny clean? What STD will Uncle Jesse come down with? GIBBLER!!! We loved and knew these characters for eight seasons of joy. Some may call the Tanners’ resolve impossible, but I think they gave us hope and laughter like none other. Remember when Danny proposed to Vicky at DisneyWorld or when the girls illegally won on the Vegas slots? They may not be a “typical” family, but they’re part of all of ours. I like a world where any problem can be solved with a Bullwinkle impression. Carry me home, light; carry me home

RYAN: I think enough time has passed that we can throw back the curtain on Full House and expose it for what it really is: a gay rights vehicle to push the homosexual agenda down our throats along with who knows what else. Come on, a house full of three grown men? One who is an obsessive compulsive neat freak, another who’s alter-ego puppet loves “wood”, and the other with that fabulous head of hair. And, to top it off, they live in freakin’ San Fransisco. I don’t care how many children happened to live there or whose wife “died”, Danny, Joey, and Jesse were the Will & Grace of the late 80s/early 90s only without all the Emmy nominations. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. I prefer my leading men unambiguously straight. Thankfully, the good, God-fearing people of California got their act together and passed Proposition 8. Now, Danny, Joey, and Jesse and the rest of those scofflaws will have to take their sinful ways inland.

Damn that's one fine mane.

SHAWN: Clearly when all of us were watching Full House during the ’90s, you were watching The Full Monty. Rebecca Donaldson much? Ever heard of her? The token hottie? The one the guys all wanted to bone? How dare you use Full House to relay your discrimination and hate! There were three happy heterosexual men (two were step-brothers, for God’s sake) caring for three future lesbians in the city by the bay and there’s nothing wrong with that. Lest we forget San Fran also gave us Bruce Lee and Clint Eastwood. And I’m on the phone with Clint right now, telling him how you called him gay and, don’t worry, he has your address. You straight people are all the same: projecting your homophobia onto a perfectly family friendly show. But you know what? What if it WAS pro-gay rights? Maybe we all enjoyed eight years of the smartest, most progressive show ever to air on network television without even realizing it. Of course, that wasn’t the case; you’ve seen how Joey dresses.

RYAN: Danny, Joey, and Jesse may have been happy, but that’s most certainly because they were having so much fun being gay together. I can’t say I blame them. Their gay group dynamic is unparalleled. Between the three of them—Rebecca’s favorite spot—you’ve got all your bases covered. Looks (Jesse), laughs (Joey), length (Danny). But don’t you dare call that show family friendly. Family friendly shows don’t corrupt the morals of our youth by teaching them it’s okay to wear pants as tight as Uncle Jesse’s. Family friendly shows repsect the institution of marriage. If I want to watch a bunch of grown men hugging and touching each other, I’ll watch football. At least then I won’t have to explain anything to my non-existent kids. Oh, and I’m going to go ahead and take your “you straight people” comment out of context and lump you together with the rest of those San Franscisco treats. That includes you, Eastwood. What’s he going to do about it? Make Paint Your Wagon 2?

SHAWN: I’m not shocked that you obviously never made it to the end of Paint Your Wagon, what with you only needing about three minutes with it before you finished. But it ends with a bull and bear fight and a town collapsing (thanks, Wiki)—not nearly as homoerotic as your ass-smacking Monday Night Football. And which one of us was the first to mention Jesse’s tight pants and an “unparalleled gay group dymanic”? Uh… last I checked, you can’t call a potato an unparalleled vegetable unless you were pretty damn familiar with vegetables. And don’t dismiss your latent homosexuality because you’re married, as two of the men in what you consider a pornographic triumvirate were also married by the end of the show. Some of us watched Full House without staring at Jesse’s hair and ass, and understood the actual plot and laughed at the Tanner family’s antics. So have fun keeping your non-existent kids (someone seems to be having trouble procreating) away from every TV show imaginable because daddy can’t stop harboring feelings for John Stamos.

Football. A sport for the manliest of men.

RYAN: Sorry, I got a little confused with your last paragraph. There’s a lot of insults and innuendos that inaccurately paint me as a masturbating, sterile gay man—at least more than usual—but you never dispute that Full House is a show about three gay men. Looks like the last ditch attempt of someone who knows he’s about to lose. Attacking character instead addressing the issue at hand. Are you going to make an appearance on SNL too? It’s a nice try, but it won’t work. Americans are (finally) too smart for that. But if you’re one of the people who can watch Full House and enjoy the humor and plot, I applaud you for your ability to ignore the facts no matter how obvious they may be. The rest of us can’t just sit and watch Danny, Joey, and Jesse and their sinful ways. But hey, when the three of them go to hell for all eternity, maybe Jesse can convince the devil to “have mercy”.

Next On Danger Queue: Fight vs Flight—There’s A Reason They Invented Cock Fighting

Pinot Noir vs Film Noir

Which noir is the one true noir?

Screw it. We picked this one because their names are alike. That’s all.

SHAWN: In the wine community, there are peasants and kings, a wide range of tastes and locations. But there is only one wine God and His name is Pinot Noir. With a crisp complexity and thrilling taste that is nearly daunting, pinot noir is a rich, smoky orgy attended by a myriad of fickle young flavorful courtesans. The leaf even provides the backbone for the finest champagnes in the world, making pinot noir a popular selection no matter the wine country in which you find yourself naturalized. Bridging subtlety and accessibility, pinot noir doesn’t come right out and tell you what’s happening inside your head—as some movie styles might—but it simultaneously seduces and pacifies even the wildest of taste buds.

RYAN: I got news for you: the only thing you’re going to find at the bottom of the $4 bottle of pinot noir is a raging headache and an urge to vomit; not complexity and thrills. If complex and thrilling is what you really want, then you should go grab yourself a good film noir from your local videotorium. What you’ll find is a style of moviemaking that invigorated a stale film industry when it needed it most. Unlike your hoity toity wine, film noir has substance. Sex. Murder. Flawed, relatable heroes. Engaging plots filled with twists and turns. Sex. It’s got it all. That’s why it’s still prevalent today, decades after it was first defined. How long has pinot noir been around? Five, 10 years tops?

SHAWN: Film noir still prevalent today? Oh, excuse me, I must’ve missed the bevy of recent film noir releases: Eagle Eye, Tropic Thunder, Kung Fu Panda, High School Musical 3: Senior Year. Admit it: film noir died with American intelligence (somewhere around the mid-40s), while pinot noir is as popular as ever. Luxurious whilst affordable. Sexy whilst accessible. Classy whilst vomit-inducing (it’s like I’m back in college!). It’s the dichotomy of the world, all bottled up. You take your black and white German expressionism, but I’ll be busy sipping a beaming red glass of fine wine. And it doesn’t take an introspective detective with an eye for dames to realize there are other delectable forms of pinor noir beyond the $4 bottle you buy with your wretched peasant money.

Gabriella Montez is the femme fatale.

RYAN: You probably missed the bevy of film noir releases cause you were too busy seeing all those crappy movies you just listed. Maybe you’ve heard of L.A. Confidential. Insomnia. Memento. Big Lebowski. Gone Baby Gone. You Don’t Mess With The Zohan. Should I keep going? All of those movies have their roots in the film noir genre and all are critically acclaimed for being crazy awesome. I know none of them will ever been shown on the Disney Channel, but I figured you might have seen one or two of them before. You go ahead and drink your bottle of pinot noir that cost you $7, $8, or whatever crazy amount you spend to feel and act better than everyone else. And after you’re done puking it all back up and you feel all empty inside, you’ll wish you had gone with a classic film noir. They leave you satisfied without making you feel miserable the next day.

SHAWN: I didn’t realize we were using the loosest term of noir, including contemporary neo-noir classics. Very well. But like an unnatural blonde, you can clearly see the roots of those films and wonder what was wrong with brunette. Why must we take a classic genre and update it with mere noir acknowledgments that try for such high stylistic and mind-game standards that we have to date rape the esoteric character studies and simplicity of true film noir? It’s because we’re stupid. Which is why we need wine. Clearly, pinot noir is a finely crafted gem, but lest we forget it gets you WASTED. And, admit it, last time you truly enjoyed film noir, you had to be completely smashed. In a sense, you need pinot noir to enjoy film noir. And you can still enjoy pinot noir with, say, beef. Without pinot noir, film noir might as well be C-SPAN.

Somehow Shawn doesn't bring up Sideways.

RYAN: Pinot Noir gets you smashed; I’ll give you that. It’s not like there are literally a million other things that can do that. Beer. Whisky. Vokda. Other wines. Rubbing alcohol. Scented markers. Just get creative (Disclaimer: don’t get creative). Film noir’s intrigue comes from the fact it’s a genre unlike any other. There aren’t any set rules for what it has to be. Film makers can take any direction they want. If it’s cookie cutter films that you want, maybe you should stick with The Adventures Of Mary Kate And Ashley (spoiler alert: they solve the case). But the rest of us appreciate how film noirs provide a much-needed break from the expected. Sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes things end poorly. That’s the way the world is. Forget it, Shawn. It’s Chinatown.

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