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.

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

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

Looney Tunes vs Surfak

Both Are Known For Fast-Paced Action.

RYAN: Growing up as an bright-eyed, undersized boy on the mean streets of suburban Chicago, I could always count on two things: myself and my Saturday morning Looney Tunes. Each and every week, you’d find me hunkered down in front of the television in my Candyland onesies, watching the hilarious antics of some of the most memorable cartoon characters the world will ever know. But in life, things change. I’m now a bright-eyed, undersized man. My television is high definition. And my onesies have duckies on them. But God bless them, those Looney Tunes are exactly the same. If only for 30 minutes, they provide an escape from the harsh realities of adulthood, where even the most remedial task of pooping can’t be taken for granted. I hope Surfak blesses you with the regularity you so desperately need. I’ll take the nonstop laughing and smiling courtesy of Bugs Bunny and friends.

SHAWN: Growing up as an anger-filled giant on the rough curbs of downtown Cleveland, I had a similar experience. Each and every week, I would get hunkered down on the toilet, ready for a mean poop. Some weeks, I’d do that every day. But the worst feeling in the world? Being all hunkered down with nothing to show. It’s like in 1993, when you sat down for Looney Tunes to find it cancelled and replaced with My Little Pony. Granted, a year later, you owned every edition of Glitter pony including Pinkie Pie, but the disappointment was there. Now imagine if there were a cure for pain like that? Sure as fact there is, and it’s called Surfak. Softening stool everywhere, Surfak turns the worst feeling in the world into the best. Farewell, blockage; hello, the rest of your life. For you, Looney Tunes may have been the cure for your crippling depression after a long week of being teased at school, you stupidhead; but for the rest of the world, there’s Surfak.

Shawn's toilet was mad at him for a long, long time.

RYAN: I’m not going to argue with Surfak’s results, mostly because I don’t want you going into that kind of detail. It’s the fact that Surfak even exists that gets me all worked up. Pooping is a sacred act that unites us all, from the highest thrones all the way down to the Clevelands of the world. Everybody poops. The satisfaction and relief that comes from a poop should never be compromised with performance enhancers of any sort. I don’t care what excuse you come up with. Just go eat some Taco Bell or Pizza Hut. Problem solved. You’re welcome. Maybe I’m a purist, but I know when Looney Tunes was off the air, I didn’t go huffing glue to get some cheap, drug-fueled laughs. No, I did what any other 9-year-old boy would do. I immersed myself in the dream world of My Little Pony. When Bugs, Daffy, Porky, Elmer, and the rest of the gang came back, I welcomed them with arms wide open. You know why? Because the laughs didn’t come from a box bought at the pharmacy. They came from good, clean, wholesome fun. Except, of course, for all those racist cartoons they made during WWII.

SHAWN: I do agree that everybody poops, as long as you don’t include Angelina Jolie, whose feces osmote through her skin in the form of flowers. But that’s exactly why we don’t want the whole population stuck (literally) with a crippling poop-related problem. Scenario: the whole Cabinet gets stopped up, stuck on the toilet, pounding tacos as you suggest, and TERRORIST ATTACK! Why? Because you didn’t want to solve their pesky predicament and they missed the intelligence that came in. You’re welcome, America; signed, Ryan. It’s not “performance enhancer” when it CREATES the performance. That’s like calling an appendectomy a performance-enhancing surgery. Sure there are other solutions—like death—but we have the technology to solve what ails you without consuming a 1200-calorie burrito or letting your appendix burst. Your solution of dream world immersion to deal with loss is the same problem that desensitizes children to the world, keeps us from making eye contact with strangers, and causing teens to drop bowling balls on passing highway cars because they saw Beavis & Butthead do it.

RYAN: Maybe the Cabinet should have been eating those delicious tacos at the first sign of blockage, like I suggested. Then, maybe they wouldn’t have been caught with their pants down when the terrorists came knocking on the door. Believe me, I want to solve that problem as much as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean we can flush our morals down the drain and do whatever we want to. Just because the technology exists doesn’t mean we should use it (that applies to you and your fake holograms too, Wolf). If you want to bulk up, do you go to the gym or do you go straight to the steroids and HGH? If you want to lose weight, do you diet or do you go straight for the liposuction? I know I for one prefer doing things the natural way. The way God intended it. That’s why I’ll always prefer Looney Tunes. They did things the right way. They didn’t need any fancy computers or technology to get the laughs. All they needed was a bunch of cartoon characters with various speech impediments and a cross-dressing bunny willing to do anything for a carrot. Any. Thing.

Sounds like he's got a lateral lisp.

SHAWN: I wish you had an opportunity to respond to this tight-knit argument, because I’m curious what you consider to be the first sign of blockage. Blockage perhaps? You’re either blocked or you’re not, and there’s a sure way to fix it and it’s not prayer. So feel free to sit there while your Million Dollar Baby remains a vegetable, but some of us believe in medical science and solving problems that we can. Sure, the same science gave us steroids and liposuction, but one of those is illegal and the other makes you look damn fine. Maybe I’m an optimistic shmuck but, for the most part, medical science has given us relief and life and hope and firm, perky breasts. And God gave us the know-how to do it. Besides, maybe if Chuck Jones would’ve been a stauncher proponent of stem cell research, he would’ve been able to cure those speech impediments. Looney Tunes was fun and cute at the time, but we’ve moved on. It’s time for change and, when we live in the age of Simpsons and Wall.e and intravenous catheter shields, Looney Tunes just doesn’t cut it. Especially with the price of anvils nowadays.

Next On Danger Queue: Full House vs Straight—When A Hug Just Won’t Cut It

The Jolly Green Giant vs Brad Garrett

Our hearts are only big enough for one giant half-man.

RYAN: The Jolly Green Giant is one of the most recognizable figures in the world, and even I’m not convinced his appeal is limited to just this planet. With a delightful smile and a cheery “ho ho ho”, this friendly giant has encouraged generations of children to be healthy and eat their vegetables, whether it be peas, carrots, corn, or a flavorful orgy of all of them mixed together. He’s become a cultural icon. In blatant defiance to the first commandment, the town of Blue Earth, Minnesota erected a 55-foot-tall statue of the Jolly Green Giant that can be seen from I-90, causing countless car accidents and deaths as gawking motorists try to get a glimpse of the lovable character. How many car accidents has Brad Garrett caused? Only one. And that’s because he failed to check his blind spot while changing lanes.

Admittedly not the best angle.

SHAWN: You want a 55-foot tall friendly giant with a delightful smile? Then look no further than one Brad Garrett. Blessed with a voice deeper than the Marianas, Brad Garrett is a living example of what happens when children eat their vegetables (stuffed with growth hormones, of course). Who needs a very fake character to tell kids how to grow up when they have a mentor who can physically tell them and then have the words “The More You Know” pop up behind him (I’m not talking about the commercials here—he really has that power)? Plus, Garrett has the added bonus of hilarious self-deprication. When was the last time the Jolly Green Giant sighed and said, “Everybody loves Little Green Sprout”? That’s comedy gold as only Garrett, the Surly White Giant, can provide.

RYAN: The Jolly Green Giant never said “Everybody loves Little Green Sprout” because it’s obviously not true. The Jolly Green Giant is the lovable main character of Green Giant products. He’s got name recognition and people absolutely adore him. The Little Green Sprout is the unknown, annoying loser sidekick, much as Brad Garrett was to Ray Romano in Everybody Loves Raymond. That’s the problem with Brad Garrett, he’s great as a number two but he’ll never make it as a number one. Just look at his show on Fox. Actually, you don’t even need to (not that you even would have). Just look at the fact he has a show on Fox. Fox! I hope at least he’s got the prime time slot right after Hole in the Wall.

SHAWN: Fox may have Hole in the Wall, but it’s also the host of long-running shows like The Simpsons and, well, Brad Garrett’s Til Death, which—oh, look at that—has millions of viewers every week. How many people watch the Jolly Green Giant’s program? Oh, wait, he doesn’t have his own show, just a can of peas. Kudos? Besides, the Emmy-winning Everybody Loves Raymond ran nine seasons and dominated the ratings. Better number two in one of the “most critically acclaimed TV shows in history” than number one in “tunic-wearing giants who love shitty vegetables”. And, speaking of Emmys…well, lookie here, Garrett’s won not a-one, not a-two, not a-three, but a-THREE. And, as we discussed in our Oscar debate regarding The Godfather and TSOTTP, awards like that don’t just go to anyone.

Garrett was supposed to play 'Wilson' on Home Improvement until they realized he was too tall for the fence.

RYAN: I didn’t realize a season and half was enough to dub Brad Garrett’s show “long running”. So what is it called when something has been around since 1928, like the Jolly Green Giant? Longer running? Culturally significant? Memorable? Everything Brad Garrett hopes to be? But congrats to him for winning all those Emmys. He must have faced some tough competition with all those other amazing sitcoms out there—According to Jim, The George Lopez Show, King of Queens, and all those other great ones that I can’t name cause at the end of the day they’re all still shitty sitcoms. Plus, it’s not like they hand those out each and every year, or anything like that. No, people will always remember those Emmy winners. And for the record, despite what you think, putting quotes around something doesn’t make it true or more convincing. It just makes you look like a jackass that still somehow thinks The Godfather is better than The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

SHAWN: I’m not sure what culture you live in where a puppet who frightens children is “significant”, but all I know is those quotes work just fine (source: Wikipedia). And you can’t say he speaks to you personally, since last I checked you were neither jolly, green, nor a giant. Either way, at least Brad Garrett doesn’t march through the hills screaming “Ho ho ho!” like he has no goddamn idea that it’s not Christmas. And ‘Til Death is in it’s THIRD season, attracting millions of viewers a week, compared to the Green Giant statue’s pathetic 10,000 per year. Plus, if you knew anything about the Emmys besides thinking George Lopez is consistently snubbed, you’d know Garrett was actually often placed against good actors like David Hyde Pierce and Jeffrey Tambor. Yeah, he outdeveloped Arrested Development, a year it pretty much dominated every other category. So, please, go around mooching off of Santa—I’ll be busy rooting for the voice of Wizard Whitebeard on Where’s Waldo? Yeah, you can concede now.

Next on Danger Queue: Shawn’s Halloween Costume vs Ryan’s Halloween Costume—Whose Sexy Sarah Palin Is Best?

GOP vs OPP

When either one comes, damn skippy we're with it.

SHAWN: You down with GOP? No? Yeah, that’s right, nobody is. You guys are at your lowest approval rating in history, your spokespeople are douche bags, and you’re threatening my homies in Ohio (big holla!) with things like, oh, DEATH because you’re scared they’re smarter than the peons you think they are. On the other hand, you down with OPP? Hells yeah, you know me. How can I explain it? Well, I’d frame-by-frame it but I’d rather keep it short. O is for the Other and P is for the People and, well, the other P—that’s up to you. Except that it means Property. Unless you a lady, then it mean something quite different (five letters). But who doesn’t love other people’s property? We all desire it, we all like it, we’ve all been at parties where we got a number and then got a little mellow and—bam—she’s got a man. But you persevere. What’s your man got to do with me? That’s true spirt. Bust it.

RYAN: Hey, do you like to party? Meeting people, having some fun, maybe a few drinks, that whole deal. You like that, right? Well then do I have the party for you. It’s not your typical crap where someone strings some Christmas lights up in their condo in the middle of July and calls it a party. No, I’m talking huge house, multiple kegs, and maybe an anti-abortion rally just for hell of it. That’s right. I’m talking about the craziest party you can imagine. I’m talking about the Grand Old Party, or the GOP for all you acronym addicts out there. To put it frankly, when those rich, old bastards get involved, anything goes. ANYTHING. Constitution or no Constitution, they’re going to do whatever they damn well please. No worrying about the big mess they’ll have to clean up later (someone else will get to it) or any of the consequences of their actions. No, they’re only worried about the here and the now. Really, isn’t that what a party should be?

Let's get this party STARTED!

SHAWN: Don’t think your GOP is better than my OPP just because your argument is comprehensible. And I hope you have yourself a “Grand Old Party”, what with all the hard-core country music and 90-year-old white men dancing it up (they just learned that “Charleston” all the kids are doing) and sipping their aged gin and metamucils. Sure, they remember how wild that drink used to be, during prohibition, but we live in a time where that kinda party ain’t the party we need. We need a party that’s not naughty because you can afford strippers to kill; we need one that’s naughty by nature. Pot and abortions everywhere, drugs as far as the eye can see, and, of course, sex with whoever whenever. With the institutional standard of OPP, it doesn’t matter—swing, don’t swing, anything goes. Have fun partying with John McCain, Mike Duncan, Bill O’Reilly, Clifford Hansen, and Catherine Hicks. Yeah, sounds like a good time.

RYAN: Actually, I bet it would be awesome to party with O’Reilly. The man acts like an angry drunk when he’s stone sober and on national television. I can’t imagine what will happen when he actually is drunk and off camera. Angrier? Louder? The exact opposite? Who knows! That’s the fun of the GOP. You don’t know what’s going to happen next. What? That ultra-conservative Senator who adamantly opposes gays actually is gay? Only at the GOP! Just send him to a three-day seminar to fix that problem and let’s keep the party going. Making OPP an institutional standard like you foolishly suggest would destroy everything that’s good and pure in our nation. Don’t you see that the open-minded attitude of OPP is really just a thinly veiled socialist ideal? Sharing? Spreading the love? Please. The GOP knows that what’s yours is yours and you shouldn’t be forced to share. Not unless you can write it off later.

You're damn straight he did it live.

SHAWN: Okay, fine—I’ll give you that O’Reilly could be a crazy mofo, but have you noticed that whenever the GOP is spontaneous, it backfires? Sarah Palin. O’Reilly’s off-camera freak out. Privatizing banks. Voting with Bush 92% of the time. The time John McCain’s chest finally swallowed his head. It never ends well. With your luck, the party will end with a house on fire and a pile of shit to put it out. Granted, you might get $80 billion to rebuild the house, but then you don’t realize the fire has already set every other house in the country on fire and all the shit in the world won’t put it out. Plus, OPP is the least socialist idea around. Spreading herpes isn’t exactly spreading the wealth. OPP is all about you—if it were socialist, the owner of the property would be able to join in. In the writ of OPP, there’s no time for relationships, just time to hit it. In and out, like Iraq. That’s America. And I’m not sure if you noticed, GOP, but with most of you being 412 years old, you may have reaped the benefits of a little program called Social Security. Yeah, that’s what Lenin would do.

RYAN: Okay, you really want to know the truth? Do you? Here it is: The GOP is ALL about OPP. Seriously. They can’t get enough of it. Messing with other people’s property is all they can think about nowadays. It’s how they get off. But while you lowly small timers, with all your herpes and STDs, focus on just the same sinful act of screwing, the GOP has moved onto bigger and better ways of screwing people. I’m talking retirement funds, life savings, homes, jobs. If you’ve got something, then the GOP has spent the past eight years trying to get it. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s safe for them to bust out that “Mission Accomplished” banner again. Hang it with pride, GOP. Hang it with pride.

Next on Danger Queue: The Jolly Green Giant vs Brad Garrett—Which Genetic Mishaps Brings The Most Joy?

Nessie vs Lassie

Mythological beast or fictional dog?

Big shout-out to loyal Danger Queue reader Christine D. for suggesting this dogfight for the ages. If you, dear reader, would like to submit a pairing for an upcoming Danger Queue, please follow the link to the right to submit your own danger!

RYAN: The Loch Ness Monster, or “Nessie” to friends and family like myself, is a timeless part of our culture. Arguably around since as early as the sixth century, Nessie continues to win over people’s hearts with its unusual story of adversity and bravery, despite its understandable reluctance of the spotlight. To this day, Nessie remains relevant, the focus of countless films, studies, and investigations, not to mention its own booming tourism industry. The only relevant thing Lassie has done in recent years is serve as the inspiration for All Dogs Go To Heaven. And if the rumors of Lassie’s sinful ways are true, then that title is a blatant lie.

SHAWN: Oh no! Timmy’s fallen down a well! Whoever will save him? No worries; Lassie will! Wait, wait. OH GOD! TOO LATE! Not only did Timmy fall down the well, but he traveled along the well water to the sea where he was immediately devoured by a crazy monster named Nessie. Reluctant to the spotlight? Around since the sixth century? Are we talking about Nessie or Danielle Steel? Lassie embraces the spotlight, and with good reason—he’s a dog, yet a NATIONAL HERO! And let’s not forget that he rehabilitated troubled children, led the original team of Rescue Rangers to save the world, has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and ended the Cold War. Nessie is a complete myth, whereas Lassie is entirely real, despite being portrayed by 17 different dogs.

RYAN: Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Timmy shouldn’t be saved? How many times does he need to fall down a well before he learns to stay away large holes in the ground? Lassie needs to stop being a showboating whore and let Darwinism run its course with Timmy. And really, let’s not fool ourselves here. Lassie doesn’t have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The 17 dogs who played the fictional character Lassie have that star. That’s right. Fictional. Lassie isn’t real while no one has proven that Nessie doesn’t exist. But congrats to those dogs. It’s not like they hand out those stars to everybody in show business. No, you’ve got to have talent to be immortalized with the likes of Ryan Seacreast, Snow White, Ricky Martin, and Erik Estrada.

SHAWN: Granted, not everyone on the Hollywood Walk of Fame has earned his or her spot—some just bedded the right people at the right time. But not Lassie. He earned that star. First of all, Timmy didn’t keep falling down wells. That happened once, and it was more of a mine shaft. Don’t pull a John McCain and start focusing on the mildly retarded bowl-cut imbecile Timmy when Lassie’s the real issue. Just look what Lassie, a freaking DOG, has been able to save Timmy from: dynamite, an escaped circus elephant, a rabid mutt, appendicitis, quicksand, an earthquake, a bull, toxic radiation, nightshade berries, fire, an armed robber, the Grand Canyon, and a bear. A bear, Ryan. And that’s just to name a few. Sure, Darwin wouldn’t call Timmy the “fittest”, but what about the doggone dog who rescues him EVERY SINGLE TIME? Meanwhile, Nessie, a big fat monster too lazy to come out of the water, just seems to sleep.

RYAN: Okay, Lassie did not save Timmy from any of those. The dogs playing Lassie acted out those scripted scenarios for a lame ass television show. Even that’s debatable, as everyone knows that show went through stunt dogs faster than they did Timmys. Regardless, the only real talent Lassie showcased was the uncanny—or should I say “uncanine”—ability to speak, run, and jump on command. What’s that you say? What talents does Nessie have? Oh, I don’t know, just super stealth ability and the brains to outsmart all who try to find it. Yeah. I guess that’s pretty impressive. Pretty REAL impressive. And really, can we stop with the fear mongering and wild accusations? First you call Nessie a crazed monster with the taste for human flesh. Now you call it big, fat, lazy, and possibly suffering from mononucleosis. Those are all blatant lies and you know it. Have some class. You don’t see me mentioning Lassie’s secret Communist ties during the Cold War. And I won’t. Because that wouldn’t be fair to Lassie, no matter how true that may be.

Despite the mono, Nessie still gets plenty of action.

SHAWN: Are you still working the “Lassie isn’t real” defense? Really? Nessie. NESSIE! The only supposed “photo” of this creature was proven to be a hoax, there has been no legitimate physical evidence of him, most scientists find him a waste of time, his name is Nessie, and at most he has been referred to as a “vague disturbance”. So let’s work past the fiction vs. reality aspect and look at the true spirit of each character. Lassie taught the world to believe and has entertained generations. Nessie taught the world to try to Photoshop itself into fame and fortune to no avail. And Nessie’s not stealthy, but shy, like a little chump. Kids today stand up to bullies, help their friends, and love thy neighbors thanks to Lassie. If Nessie were the cultural icon, kids would sit in the phone booth across the street, crying throughout lunch. Like you did.

Next on Danger Queue: Apples vs. Oranges—It’s About Time
Someone Compared Them