Time for me to fly to the Apple store?

SHAWN: Nothing beats getting something new. And, here at the Queue, we love new shit. But some things just aren’t as good as others, and the best of the best is obviously Ryan’s new iPhone. Not only does it have like a gazillion apps, look sexier than Megan Fox with Photoshopped boobs, and allow Ryan to surf the Internet and check his fantasy baseball league’s standings all day, every day, but it lets Ryan avoid conversations. Why talk to friends, family, your wife, when you can download pornography on your phone?! Could you imagine if Alexander Graham Bell was alive to see this thing? Have you ever seen an inventor cry and shit his pants simultaneously, besides Eli Whitney? Because you would.

RYAN: Please. This iPhone is a total joke. Dropped calls whenever I go within 2 miles of a building over four stories tall. The battery life is worse than my Fleshlight, and I have to change batteries halfway through with that. Also, everyone has one these days. Seriously, at the store, an 8-year-old kid had one. The iPhone is a dime a dozen nowadays, but Shawn’s NEW REO Speedwagon guitar pick is a unique piece of awesome. It not only serves as a great conversation piece, but it’s also completely functional. With just that simple piece of plastic, you can strum out some of REO Speedwagon’s biggest hits. Keep On Loving You. Take It on the Run. Can’t Fight This Feeling. Hell, you could even play non-REO Speedwagon songs, if any of those really exist.

Keep fighting that feeling, guys.

SHAWN: Dropped calls are a small price to pay for all the awesomeness an iPhone can provide. Plus, it’s 2010—who calls anymore? We live in a day of texts and emails and no actual upfront communications, so what’s more important is that you have a “phone” with a kick-ass GPS, a delightful knockoff of Scrabble, and all the Plants vs. Zombies you could pit against each other. Changing batteries is a small price to pay for all the awesomeness they provide. And there’s a reason they’re a dime a dozen: because iPhones are so cool, who wouldn’t get one? As for Shawn’s stupid pick, does he even play guitar? Hell, even if he doesn’t, it’s a pick. It’s a thin, tiny piece of plastic that most people just would throw away. But, noooo, it has some stupid REO Speedwagon logo on it and was played by Kevin Cronin, so it’s automatically more than trash. Pshaw. Maybe 20 years ago it would’ve been cool, but we live in a world of iPhones. Come back here with Taylor Swift’s pick and we’ll talk.

RYAN: No, iPhones used to be cool, until people like me got them. Now’s they’re so commonplace it’s actually cooler if you don’t have one. Plus, iPhones are just trying too hard to come across as more important than they really are. GPS? Scrabble? Zombie games? Nobody needs that crap. All they need is a phone that can actually keep a call connected the entire time. Maybe they should call it iEverythingButAPhone. That would be slightly more accurate. Your REO Speedwagaon guitar pick, on the other hand, is wonderful for its very simplicity. It combines the successful history of the band’s past with the wide open possibilities of their future into one slightly tapered piece of plastic that fits perfectly between your thumb and fingers. REO Speedwagon rocked out 20 years ago, and they’re still rocking out to this day. They’re timeless and so is that guitar pick. In 20 years, that guitar pick will still be just as functional as the date is was created. In 20 years, my iPhone will be nothing more than a relic, a symbol of how a once proud society got lost in its own desire to always be connected.

Next stop for the iPhone: her pants.

SHAWN: It’s not actually cool when you don’t have an iPhone, no matter what the confused hipsters say. It’s like people who don’t have a TV just so they can tell people they don’t have a TV. If you’re watching motherfucking Battlestar Galactica online anyway, it means you’re watching TV! Everyone who doesn’t have one just overcompensates because of how much they do want one. And all the best new technologies came with things people didn’t think they needed, until they all got them, and then they realized just how vital to the human fabric they were. “Why would I need to talk to someone in China?” people used to ask, before airplanes, phones and the Internet—and, now, 100 years of General Tso’s chicken later, we wonder how we used to live without it, if you could call that living. It’ll be the same with Scrabble, Plants vs. Zombies, and whatever a GPS is, you can count on that. With all that shit, you can communicate with other people without actually calling them. If anything, the iPhone is the future: welcome to it. An REO Speedwagon pick, on the other hand, is raw and simple past. Not only is REO Speedwagon not “rocking out” anywhere near as intensely as they used to, that mullet you’re sporting isn’t “hip” in the least. Sure, in 20 years, the guitar pick will still be practical—for picking guitars—while the iPhone won’t, but the iPhone will be a vital stepping stone to something even more awesome. Without the iPhone, we’d never get the new iFriend and iFriendSex of 2038. Also, the iPhone has a guitar app, so maybe that pick won’t be as useful as you think.

RYAN: If iPhones are really all that great, then why don’t you go and buy one? Hmmmmmm? Seems to me if something is really half as cool as you make it out to be, then you should most assuredly own one by now. Maybe you’re put off by the price. They cost an arm and a leg to buy one, and then the other arm and leg in monthly fees. Your own reluctance to buy one just proves how unnecessary the iPhone really is. True, I don’t own an REO Speedwagaon guitar pick like you, but that’s only because I don’t know the first thing about playing a guitar other than you are legally obligated to smash it after each song. Owning a guitar pick would just make me a fraud, and I try to minimize just how much of a fraud I am. But I am insanely jealous of your guitar pick because not only is it a stunning piece of music history, but it also immediately grants you an aura of talent and self-confidence. Walk down the street with a guitar pick tucked behind your ear, or wherever you’re supposed to put it, and chicks immediately dig you. They think you’re some kind of struggling artist with complicated feelings that can only truly be expressed through song. Nothing like that happens if I walk down the street with my iPhone. Everyone would just label me as some arrogant prick who thinks he’s better than everyone else. Even though that’s not the case (I don’t think I’m better than anyone), it’s a stigma that can’t be avoided. Maybe the iPhone is a stepping stone to something great in the future, but I’d much rather have a guitar pick that delivers results, not empty promises of anonymous, virtual sex.

Next On Danger Queue: NYSE vs NASDAQ—If You Can’t Trust These Guys, Who Can You Trust?

Is anyone safe?

RYAN: Man, with all this racquetball, BASE jumping, and scrapbooking, I’ve really worked up a thirst for life. Thankfully, one drink quenches that thirst like none other: Dr. Pepper. Other drinks are content with mediocrity, combining at most two or three flavors like a bunch of pussies. Not Dr. Pepper. It boldly combines 23 unique flavors into one inspirational beverage. Every sip of Dr. Pepper sends your taste buds on a heavenly roller coaster ride of flavor. I don’t know about you, but I always try to pick out the flavors as I go. Cherry. Licorice. Juniper. Sarsaparilla. Nutmeg. Oh, sweet nutmeg. You’re my most favorite of all. I haven’t been able to pick up on all 23 just yet, but the mystery is part of the fun of Dr. Pepper. You don’t know where it’s going to take you, but you know it will be delicious.

SHAWN: For the record, I don’t think you do any of the things you mentioned having a thirst for, especially not scrapbooking as it’s too extreme for you. On top of that, no matter what the commercials say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody in real life quenching their thirst with Dr. Pepper ever. People climb mountains with this other beverage that actually quenches thirst called water, rather than ingesting a refreshing bottle of caramel color, aspartame, and phenylalanine (which tastes like shit at high altitudes anyway, if you’ve ever had it on a plane). And combining 23 flavors isn’t bold, but indecisive. If you want bold, if you want unique, if you want delicious, then look no further than one Dr. Kevorkian. First of all, he’s an actual doctor and, secondly, he gives people what they want—and that is to stop living. You may have a thirst for life, but not everyone does, and one person needs to stand up and say, “Give the people what they want!” He taught people to take control of their own lives for the first time, even if it meant it was also the last. Isn’t that better than living as a robot, drinking your Dr. Pepper because a commercial convinced you that phosphoric acid counts as a flavor?

Aww, yeah, talk about EXTREME, motherfuckers!

RYAN: I scrapbook with the best of them! Or do you not remember the one I made for your bachelor party? Anyone can just take pictures and send them to you. I glued them on pages and then stamped words like “Friends” and “Hope” in glitter. You’re welcome, dick. I don’t care what the scienticians say about quenching of thirst because I know when I’m thirsty, nothing hits the spot better than Dr. Pepper. Each one of those 23 amazing flavors serves a distinct purpose. The licorice adds the unmistakable sweet while the cardamom adds the refreshing cool to each sip. Using 23 flavors isn’t indecisive. It’s called going above and beyond. Something you’ve never done once in your life. You’re always looking for the easiest path possible, which is probably why you like Dr. Kevorkian so much. That’s all he did. Help people take the easy way out. He’s no real doctor. Real doctors take care of the sick and/or create popular carbonated beverages. Kevorkian disgraced himself and the entire medical field by killing people left and right. Lazy people, at that. It’s not like suicide is a hard thing to do. A tall building or poorly ventilated garage are never more than a stone’s throw away. Dr. Kevorkian is a criminal, convicted of murder. If you support him, then you must support all murderers. Do you support rapists too? There you have it, folks. Shawn supports rape in all forms.

SHAWN: Oh, so what’s this? We’re going to play the “make up libelous details” game? Well, good thing there’s room for two at that table. Ryan not only supports rape, too, but only to children. He also lived as a woman until he was 16, and most doctors still call his gender “questionable.” Ryan also apparently has no taste, thinking that this carbonated amalgam of God-knows-what is actually a “beverage” that should be consumed by “humans.” Not only have studies proven that soda pop causes obesity, tooth decay, caffeine dependence, weakened bones, and idiocy, but it leads to a sedentary, osteoporosis-ridden life of uselessness. Hell, after enough Dr. Pepper, you’re going to wish for sweet death. Too bad there’s no one who can help you out…OR IS THERE?!?! If anything, Dr. Kevorkian is actually the cure for Dr. Pepper. Kevorkian may not be considered a “doctor” in your silly, ideological sense, but he sure as hell went to medical school and knows exactly what he’s doing. And who are you to say he was “killing people” when they wanted it, and that he wasn’t “helping people” who had no other way out? A tall building may be a stone’s throw away, but not if you’re immobile, lying in a hospital bed hooked up to machines that are keeping you alive for no good reason. Did you know most of the taxes you pay for healthcare go to keeping elderly people alive for years in vegetative states, while children in poor neighborhoods die because they can’t afford a doctor? Oh, I’m all about statistics, including the statistic that supporting one person who was “convicted of murder” in a complete miscarriage of justice doesn’t mean I support all murderers, just like me being friends with Ryan doesn’t mean I support all pedophiles.

And, from that day forward, cardigans became the prime symbol of the hipster.

RYAN: Please, oh, please tell me how Kevorkian’s murder conviction was a “miscarriage of justice.” The “doctor” gave a lethal injection to another man and killed him. The only way that case could have been any easier is if Kevorkian made a video of himself murdering that man and then, oh, I don’t know, aired it on national television or something so everyone could see it. Oh. Wait. Yeah. That’s exactly what happened. For someone who professes his own love of statistics, you sure seem like you have a problem with facts and logic. Then again, you are the same person who said Dr. Pepper causes idiocy. So what’s your excuse? Maybe Dr. Pepper causes some of those other health problems when consumed in mass quantities, but that’s the case for just about everything else in life. It’s called moderation, Shawn. It’s not real hard. If Dr. Pepper gives you obesity, tooth decay, caffeine dependence, or weakened bones, fine, yeah, that’s not great, but it’s a helluva a lot better than the healthy dose of murder Dr. Kevorkian serves up. Oh, but these people have such sad existences tied to machines that keep them alive…oh, wait, why don’t they just unplug the machines themselves? At the very least, you’d think they’d be able to get a friend or loved one to help them out. Unless, of course, nobody wants to actually do that kind of thing because it constitutes murder and will get you imprisoned. You make Kevorkian out to be some sort of savior, brave enough to do the dirty work others won’t. But there’s a fine line between being brave and being too stupid to know what you’re doing is wrong. I don’t want to say Kevorkian is an idiot, but he did broadcast a video of himself murdering a person while daring the government to stop him. How’d that pan out for him? Pretty good, right? He only got convicted of murder and spent the next 8 years in prison.

SHAWN: That man wanted to die, and Kevorkian helped him out. There: Is that what you wanted to hear? I thought that point was pretty well-theorized and beaten to death (excuse the pun) throughout 1987 to 1999. But, then again, you spent most of those years undergoing gender reassignment surgery, so you might have missed it. There are still people that would argue today that assisted suicide being labeled as second-degree murder is a bigger miscarriage of justice than The Life of David Gale (also a miscarriage of filmmaking). And, Jesus, stop putting doctor in quotes: Kevorkian didn’t go to the University of Michigan Medical School to be stuck with quotes around his title. Just like you didn’t go to obedience school not to be referred to as a good boy. Your complete ineptitude regarding the pulse of America only shows that Dr. Pepper may actually cause idiocy and also ugliness. Plus, if you have to market something as only being healthy “in moderation” then maybe you shouldn’t be marketing it at all. I mean, a pinch or two of rat poison wouldn’t take down a whole human, so why not bottle it up and recommend it “in moderation”? At least Dr. Kevorkian was up front with what he did: you don’t have to be warned about assisted suicide in moderation, as it’s all or nothing. That’s how things should be sold, without using Dr. Pepper’s horrible trickery. Clearly, Mr. Pepper is the “doctor” that should be on trial here. What has Dr. Pepper ever done that is beneficial, besides get four-year-olds addicted to caffeine? Hell, when you have Axl Rose suing you—AXL FUCKING ROSE—then maybe you shouldn’t be acting all high and mighty. At least Dr. Kevorkian never hid what he did, and told you upfront. Dr. Pepper, however, does things like promise to give every American a free 20-ounce bottle and then never follow through. Talk about malpractice!

Next On Danger Queue: Ryan’s New iPhone vs Shawn’s New REO Speedwagon Guitar Pick—Those $199 Weren’t Going To Spend Themselves

If any of them were actually stars, they'd be the ones to dance with.

RYAN: It’s not easy being a single mother in today’s world. There’s barely enough time in the day to keep the juggling act going. Thankfully, there’s one woman who can inspire us all with her heroics: Kate Gosselin. She is the stereotypical single mom who struggles to provide the very best for her children. Like every other single mom, Kate Gosselin knows how physically and emotionally draining the practice sessions for a reality dancing TV show can be. She knows, as a single mom, how hard it can be to have to deal with the instrusiveness of a small gaggle of cameramen documenting your every move for a completely different faux-reality show. She knows all about the stresses of writing a book and then traveling around the country for a three-month-long book tour. Despite all those obstacles, Kate Gosselin still keeps her eight unnaturally born children close to the top of her priorities, always ensuring they have the very best nanny to raise and care for them.

SHAWN: Kate Gosselin is nothing like your standard single mother: having the money to hire nannies, having the cameramen watch her children while she tries on swimsuits, having the time to exercise, being on a reality show, traveling the country—oh, and getting to go to Disney World for free because she said the hotel’s name 16 times in the course of a half hour. That’s nothing close to reality! Single moms truly struggle, caring for children, working 40 hours a week at an actual job, and just praying that the kids don’t set themselves on fire again. And that is why the Plus 8 are far superior. Not only are they way more adorable, but they make the show. Sure, plenty of viewers tune in to see the train wreck that is Kate devolve into an entirely unaware media whore, but without little Aaden, Cara, Mady, Collin, Joel, Prancer, Dopey and Moe, there would be absolutely no redeeming (or entertaining) value to the show, and no proof that their parents are actually illiterate hippies. Plus, they all have their own endearing personalities: Mady, the little bitch; Joel, the future gay; and even Leah, the other one. Personally, I say we drop the Kate. I’d watch Plus 8 any day. Their confessionals are more intellectually stimulating anyway.

Just another typical American family.

RYAN: You’re right: Kate Gosselin is nothing like your standard single mother. She’s way better. Possibly even the best. Name another single mother smart enough to find a way to take her children to Disney World without spending any of her own money. Oh, but you want your single mothers to struggle through life, huh? Like it’s some sort of rite of passage? Well, believe me, Kate Gosselin struggles just as much as any single mother out there. She just struggles with different things, like success. It’s not her fault she knows how to work the system and get what she wants for her kids, who for the record are nowhere near superior to Kate Gosselin. They clearly can’t be all that great if you don’t even know all of their names. All those kids do is whine and cry all day long. That’s why Kate Gosselin is such a vital part of that show. Without her, you’re essentially watching 30 minutes of a children’s day care. I’m not surprised at all that you’d be down with a show like that. Your infatuation with kids has always been more than a little creepy, especially considering that folder you have on your desktop titled “Not Child Porn”.

SHAWN: First of all, to clear up the comment about that folder on my desktop: yes, Ryan, it’s labeled “Not Child Porn” because it’s not filled with child porn. I know you judge me for that, being such a big fan of child porn yourself, but some of us don’t feel that it’s ever appropriate and want to ensure that others who stumble upon our desktops by accident can rest assured that they won’t find any child pornography here. Also, we’re about one mention away from coming up first in a Google search for “child pornography,” so stop it. And how dare you raise Kate Gosselin anywhere near the same level—let alone a higher one—as that of this country’s hard-working, liberated single mothers, tirelessly raising their children without the aid of fame and fortune? They’re heroes, Ryan, no matter what you think. Disney World was only free because medical science shoved eight little opportunities in Kate’s uterus and they all took, and then TLC pounced on her like she was some kind of midget. She’s clearly an idiot—she once said society is obligated to help her since they permit fertility treatment—so don’t attribute her success to anything of her own doing. And the only reason the names of all the Gosselin kids escape me is because the Plus 8 is a wonderfully cohesive group. They interact beautifully, love each other, and raise themselves while mommy learns to dance and fucks the bodyguard. They’re the heroes in the Kate Plus 8 story, somehow treating each other with respect, avoiding therapy, and not stabbing one another, despite the fact that everything Kate does (scratch that: everything she doesn’t do) to raise them properly is horrifying.

Most of the kids are in there somewhere.

RYAN: I don’t know what’s more ridiculous: your feeble attempt to convince everyone you don’t have a massive collection of child porn on your computer, or your unwarranted hatred for arguably the best single mom on the planet. The goal for every single mom out there is to provide for their children, no matter how much science and drugs were needed to bring them into the world. It makes no difference what the single mother does to make that happen: stripping, dancing, doctoring, or even being on a reality TV show. I guarantee Kate Gosselin’s eight no-name children couldn’t care less about how she got them all to Disney World. All they care about is that they’re there having the time of their lives at Epcot. Maybe you should stop judging people like you’re some kind of professional judge-man, if that even exists. You’re far from perfect, as evidenced by that not-so-secret folder on your desktop, and would be lucky to even be half the single mom Kate Gosselin is. Calling those kids heroes? Please, Shawn. I haven’t seen you stretch like that since that Jazzercise class we took together last fall. Just like then, you’re going to make me puke. Calling those kids heroes for treating each other with respect and not stabbing one another is a disgrace to all the real heroes out there who earned the title through hard work and sacrifice. Let’s stop lowering the bar on everything in life and leave the title of “hero” to those who deserve it: people in the military, police officers, firefighters, you, me.

SHAWN: So far, the only person who’s bringing up child porn on my computer is you, so either you’re pulling it out of your ass or you’ve been prying around for it. Either way, it doesn’t bode well for your criminal record that’s already stained with so much date rape it makes Kobe Bryant look like Mother Teresa. That little boy said he didn’t want it, Ryan, and no means no. And you’re not gaining much ground with single moms either, daring to cast Kate Gosselin—who stands out as the out-of-touch one when she’s on THE VIEW for God’s sake—as your prototypical example. Also, how dare you narrowly think a single mom’s only goal is to provide for their children? If that were the case, locking them in a cellar with a bowl of water would be noteworthy parenting instead of a felony. The single mom has to do much more: raise a bunch of adorable brats to be successful, capable human beings who can contribute to society in ways other than reality television. Even the single moms out there who strip come home to their kids and love them, and encourage them, and teach them how to care about other people. Kate does none of that, other than the part where she encourages them to do commercial spots or to get out of the way of mommy’s spotlight. The second they ask a question while the camera’s on her, she’s all, “Go away! Mommy’s busy.” Jesus, Kate, Aaden only wanted your attention because Joel’s caught in a bear trap again! Lassie would be a better mom. And it is heroic for those kids to press on with a mom like that. Lacking all the standard things a good single mom provides, besides food, they continue to thrive and learn and love. Maybe it’s more a testament to the cameramen who are apparently amazing parents—I don’t know. All I know is those kids are fucking adorable and have somehow weathered the Kate storm for six years without praying for lightning to strike them. If that’s not heroism, then what is? Hell, grown men have bailed from that train wreck, but those kids hang on, and none have even considered wearing Ed Hardy. Maybe the Plus 8 will never get their own show, but that’s because they’re smart and interesting like all the other people who don’t have their own show, people like most of the men and women in the military, police officers, you, me, people who exhibit some degree of talent.

Next On Danger Queue: Dr. Pepper vs Dr. Kevorkian—How To Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Don't worry, guttural moans; we'll get you next time.

SHAWN: Hehe. That’s hilarious. But, you know, not laugh-out-loud hilarious, nothing so obnoxious you have to draw everybody else in a three-block radius into it. Thank God for the chuckle. Sometimes a little laugh will do, maybe even mouth-closed under your breath. And you know what? I find it even more charming than a full-out laugh. It says, “You’re funny, but I’m respectable.” Plus, it’s sustainable. I’d chuckle all day if something was funny enough and never tucker out! Hehehehehehe. It doesn’t even spread germs. It’s a self-contained noise that says so much while doing so little—the Paul Bettany of bodily noises.

RYAN: Your friends must not be very funny if the most they can get out of you is a chuckle. A chuckle is nothing more than a lazy man’s laugh. I never chuckle. If something’s funny, I laugh. I hate all these vague gray areas, which is why when I do something, I do it all the way. Same goes for when I sneeze. Though, it’s not even fair to compare anything to a sneeze. A sneeze is easily the greatest of all the bodily functions. Or, at least, the greatest of all the ones that won’t get you a severe case of tennis elbow. I look forward to every sneeze of my day, and sometimes I go out of my way to instigate a sneeze. Sneezes are not only fun and exhilarating, but they also serve a very distinct purpose: to rid the germs from your body in the loudest, coolest way possible.

Damn, this guy is about to become so cool!

SHAWN: Maybe you wouldn’t know, growing up in a junkyard and now working full-time as an ass-wiper at Royal Fox Country Club, but some situations make full-out laughter completely inappropriate. Let’s say you’re at a big business meeting and someone next to you mumbles a hilarious joke about how your boss is a furry, and you burst out laughing. Uh-oh, Ryan—it’s back to the yards for you. Sometimes a chuckle is the best way to go, and it shows that you have restraint when you need to. Speaking of restraint, you clearly show none, sneezing all over the place, spreading your herpes germs like they’re celebrity death news. Sure, they rid germs from your body, but at what a cost! Suddenly, everyone around you has a cold, or worse. You know tuberculosis? You can blame sneezing for that. It’s pretty gross—expelling mucus from your body uncontrollably with such a force that your eyes would pop out if they were open. The chuckle, however, is classy and endearing, and also a great way to survive Ryan’s terrible jokes while appearing polite.

RYAN: You only chuckle because you’re too scared to laugh without the reassurance someone is going to laugh with you. If they think the joke was funny, you can pretend you laughed with them. If they thought the joke was disgusting and rude, you can say you were only being polite. Stop swinging both ways for once in your life and pick a damn side. If someone makes a comment about the boss being a furry, you bet your ass I’m going to laugh. Not because it’s funny but because that’s the only way to put that person on the spot and get him fired. That kind of negative attitude doesn’t belong in the workplace. By boistrously laughing, I save the day and eliminate waste. If I chuckle, that douche of an employee gets to keep suckling off the teat of my company. Fire me for laughing? More like promote me for caring. Caring is one of my best traits, right behind modesty, which is why whenever I sneeze, I use all proper precautions to expel my germs. My sneezes may be loud and may rock your world and mine, but something as simple as a Kleenex, handkerchief, or shirt sleeve ensure they are as clean and safe as they are amazing. Truly, a sneeze is a beautiful thing. It’s a rush of pleasure so intense and fulfilling, you literally have to close your eyes to even experience it. Chuckles don’t even come close to being that great, unless you’re talking about the sweet, delicious jelly candy.

They're really more "hehe" funny than "haha" funny.

SHAWN: If you knew how frequently I burst out laughing at my own jokes (can you believe I went there?!), you’d know I have no fear of a boisterous laugh. As discussed, sometimes a chuckle is far more appropriate. But, hey, you just pointed out another brilliant argument in favor of the chuckle—it toes the line so you can adjust to make up for those around you. What side are you arguing anyway? As you pointed out, imagine how much easier it is to suck up to your boss when you don’t know if he told a joke! Start slow, and then go for it if need be. Meanwhile, you have Ryan bursting out laughing in his boss’s face when he thought his boss was joking—but, no, Ryan, he wasn’t joking when he said you’re fired and ugly. You’ll have to wipe asses at another country club. And just because you use precautions when sneezing doesn’t mean others do. I kid you not, I am about to actually present a true fact, a first time for Danger Queue: In a study conducted by Otago University, fewer than five percent of sneezes and coughs were covered. Fewer than five percent! Think of the orgies germs are having all over the place because of that, and it’s all thanks to your stupid sneezes. And if you get such pleasure from sneezing, maybe you should try sex some time—plus, it’ll allow you to see some chuckles firsthand as well.

RYAN: Presenting a true fact in Danger Queue is quite the respectable feat, but before showering yourself with praise and pleasuring yourself with extra vigor tonight, you might want to make sure it’s actually true. Fewer than five percent of sneezes and coughs were covered? I’ll just ignore for now that it’s a study from Otago University, whose school slogan is “You oughta go somewhere else”, because, your claim, if true, is hardly even relevant. The cough has nothing to do with the sneeze and is only brought up to skew the results. But again, that would be the case if your claim was true. And it’s not. Five percent? Where the hell did you pull that number from? With the way you get always get things wrong, I’d say you’re either delusional like Glenn Beck or illiterate like…well, Glenn Beck. I’ll let you choose. But I read that study. And it says that 75 percent of coughs and sneezes were covered. There’s a big difference between 5 and 75, being that the actual number runs counter to your entire argument about the sneeze. Oh, shucks! Well, at least you can laugh at yourself. Or does this call for a chuckle? Here, I’ll help you decide by laughing in your face for a little bit. It’s like when you asked that girl to prom in high school, except this time you probably won’t angrily masturbate to it later on. Or at least I hope not.

Next On Danger Queue: Kate vs Plus Eight—The Spotlight’s Not Big Enough for the Nine of ‘Em

Two tickets for the dreamboat, please!

We apologize, dear readers, for forcing you to wait one more week for the promised Chuckles vs. Sneezes debate previewed in our most recent post. However, we felt it our civic responsibility to cash in on tackle the top argument that has been sweeping the globe. Also, we’re continually committed to SEO giving the people what they want.

SHAWN: Goooooo team! And I’m not talking about any team. I’m talking about the greatest team of all time, better than the Cubs, Orioles, Pirates, and Akron Aeros combined! I’m talking about Team Edward from the famed Twilight or whatever series by poet laureate Stephanie Meyers. First of all, Edward is way dreamier than Jacob, especially when doing all the stuff they do in Twilight. He’s smart, debonair, suave, sexually ambiguous—everything you could want in a guy. And check out those abs! Or leather jacket. Whatever he wears, or doesn’t wear, he’s smoking! His team knows what’s up, and could beat Team Jacob in any kind of race, or sporting event, or vampire thing. If you haven’t picked sides, it’s time to come aboard Team Edward. There’s always room for new recruits—there’s plenty of Edward to go around.

RYAN: Team Edward and Team Jacob? I don’t really know why they’re making teams in the first place. If these guys are starting a softball league or something, they’ll need more than two teams. It takes at least six to make it worthwhile. Do they have any friends they could ask? Are they even friends? God, I have no idea what the hell this Twilight thing is all about. Jacob’s the one who always misplaces his shirt, right? Yeah, I think that’s him. He looks like he works out, but not so much that he’s totally full of himself. And with a name like Jacob, he’s probably Jewish. If the stereotypes are true, then he’s either funny or rich. Maybe both, fingers crossed. The other, weird-looking one, that must be Edward. He seems way too pretentious and well-coifed to be any fun. If he went by Eddie, it might be a different story. But Edward? No, thank you.

Look at them, being all team-like.

SHAWN: We should probably assume Edward and Jacob aren’t friends if they have two different teams. Why even have a team if not to engage in heated battle with the other team? But we know damn well in any cock fight—or whatever they do—Edward will come out on top. As you pointed out, Jacob’s just a funny, rich Jew: not necessarily good at kicking ass. Hell, he’ll probably be all diplomatic, seeing if he and Edward can talk about their differences. But not Edward—that debonair son of a bitch can outsmart, outwit, and beat the shit out of any Jew. That’s why he has such a kingly name and, again, abs of fucking steel. Wait, Jacob’s the naked one? Jesus, what’s Edward then? Oh, God, he’s the skinny one with the brooding, isn’t he? Fuck. Um, that does make him a vampire, right? Hold on, let me check Wikipedia…HA! Yeah, he’s a vampire. He’ll suck your blood, bitches! Beat that.

RYAN: Wait. What do you mean Edward’s the vampire? I thought they all were vampires. Isn’t that the whole point of this stupid Twilight series? I guess not. So Twilight is about one emo vampire named Edward who doesn’t get along with a Jewish kid? That sounds kinda anti-Semitic. I hope Team Edward hasn’t tried to round up and eliminate Jacob and all his friends like a certain someone did in Germany. That would be horribly offensive, but also make me root for Jacob even more. I love a good underdog fight, and there’s nothing more underdog than a Jewish teen taking on a vampire. Jacob might be overmatched, but he can kick ass with the best of them. Have you even seen Jacob without his shirt on? Of course you have. You don’t lose your shirt all the time like Jacob unless you got a rockin’ bod to show off. And Jacob’s bod is most definitely rockin’. He’s got muscles on top of muscles fused with even more muscles. All Edward’s got are those dark bags under his eyes, which are made even worse by his pale, ivory skin. I’m not saying he needs to go out and get a tan, but a solid base would help him not look so damn sickly. What? He can’t? Oh, yeah, the vampire thing.

Jesus, does anyone wear shirts in these movies? And why don't the ladies join them?

SHAWN: Don’t blame Edward for the author’s decision to make Twilight a modern-day retelling of Schindler’s List. All that matters is Edward’s one hell of a kick-ass vampire (”German”) and if Jacob’s abs were of any use other than walking around shirtless, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about being eliminated via vampire bite and/or hate crimes. And have I ever seen Jacob shirtless? Hell, I didn’t know he came with a shirt on. Clearly his body’s just for showing off and nothing more. Meanwhile, Edward’s a thinker, with his dark turtlenecks, penetrating gaze, two-foot-tall hair and murderous fangs. The Giant Octopus of Twilight, he’s calculating, and no six-pack can beat that. Why do you hate Goths so much, anyway? You were one from the age of six to 26, for God’s sake. And, anyway, this all still comes down to the fact that one’s a vampire and one’s a…let me confirm on Wikipedia…one’s a fucking werewolf? What kind of book is this? I bet the girl’s like a centaur or something, and they have all kinds of crazy horse sex. Anyway, even if Jacob is a werewolf, Edward will suck the blood right out of him. But let’s say Jacob does fight back with something other than boyish charm, then what? Well, it doesn’t matter, since Edward’s a vampire and vampires are immortal. When those abs inevitably become a beer belly, Edward will still be the pasty, svelte, emo son of a bitch he’s always been—the one the ladies can’t resist.

RYAN: Awww, really? Jacob’s a werewolf? That’s so damn lame. And now you’re telling me there’s a girl involved in this whole series too? Wait. Lemme guess: there’s some kind of love triangle where she can’t decide if she wants to be with a racist vampire or a shirtless werewolf. Hey, I got an idea. Try and find a guy who isn’t some sort of supernatural creature. That might be smart. But if Edward and Jacob are really going to fight over this girl, who honestly sounds like a two-timing whore, Jacob would easily kick Edward’s ass any day of the week, except on Saturdays for obvious religious reasons. Edward may be a vampire, but that doesn’t make him immortal. Everyone knows vampires’ weaknesses are the sun and a wooden stake to the heart. That’s not really all that complicated. And vampires are loveless, heartless creatures that are only concerned with their own unholy need for sucking blood. That doesn’t sound to me like someone who’s ready to commit to a long-term relationship. But if movies have taught us anything, it’s that werewolves are misunderstood creatures that are superfun to hang out with and awesome basketball players. Even better, you know Jacob is going to be an animal in the sack. Edward though, he probably just lies there while wallowing away in his own self-pity. Just ask Shawn’s wife how much fun that is.

Mah bukee, keel-ee caleya ku kah. Wanta dah moole-rah?

RYAN: Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! No, friends, that’s not Santa Claus riding in on his sleigh. That’s the deep-bellied laughter of everyone’s favorite space gangster: Jabba the Hutt. Jabba was a lovable character whose infectious, slow laugh brought a smile to everyone’s face, from crazed bounty hunters to wannabe Jedi Knights. Jabba lived a life of luxury in his castle-like fortress on Tatooine, and his tastes were impeccable. He had his own pet Rancor, a fleet of impressive skiffs, and his own personal servant waiting on his every need. But more importantly, he was quick to share his riches with those around him. Jabba was known throughout the Outer Rim not for the ruthless way he operated his business, which he did, but because of his unmatched generosity. He always made it a point to surround himself with good friends, and he always picked up the check at the end of the night. A night out with Jabba the Hutt was a night you’d never forget.

SHAWN: I won’t deny that a night out with Jabba is unforgettable, but only because it will be your last night out ever. The hideous slug is either going to dress you in sexy slave outfits and chain you up forever, or freeze you in carbonite before devouring you. Hell, that slimy Rosie O’Donnell doppelganger has just about every negative attribute you could ask for: sloth, gluttony, morbid obesity, greed, gambling, lust, torture, and a love of monkey-lions. It took the monster 25 years and digital re-mastering to even figure out how to move! And is it just me, or are both his eyes lazy? For something that’s unforgettable in a good way, you have to try Jamba Juice. It’s healthy and in an array of fruit flavors and treat styles. Want something for breakfast? Try a blueberry smoothie with oatmeal in it! Lunch? Try a banana breeze. Dinner? One cheddar tomato twist, please. And it’s all good for you. Maybe if Jabba had some more Jamba, he’d stop being asked to sign autographs for people who think he’s Mo’Nique.

Aww, shit, Jabba broke out the weed! Party's on!

RYAN: Most of your nights end in a sexy slave outfit anyways. Instead of being all alone in front of a mirror, you might as well wear it out with the fabulous Jabba the Hutt. He’s not nearly as bad as all the haters make him out to be. What you call morbid obesity I call a healthy appetite for livin’ large. What you call sloth I call being well-established and grounded. It’s those very qualities that allow Jabba to find so much enjoyment in all the little things in life. Oh, look, Luke Skywalker just tried his Jedi mind trick on Jabba. Hahahahaha! What a delightful little scamp! And look, a bounty hunter just brought him Han Solo frozen in carbonite. Know what would be extra hilarious? Hanging that shit up on the wall! Jabba’s healthy outlook on life is just the thing we need nowadays, not some expensive shake packed with vitamin, fiber, calcium, or semen boosts. Call me old fashioned, but if I need calcium, I’m going to get it the natural way. Not through some freak chemistry experiment performed by some pimply faced teen in an apron. Clearly I’m not the only one who thinks that way, as Jamba Juice’s juice business is apparently so terrible it resorted to including breakfast foods, sandwiches, and even oatmeal on its menu. Way to stick to the business model, fellas.

SHAWN: I’d happily head out for a night on the town with Jabba the Hut if he were (a) mobile, and (b) allowed in public places without having things hurled at him or people screaming, “The Blob!” and running like in some kind of horror flick. And just because you recast horrible things with adorable language doesn’t make it better. Remember that time that guy hugged you in the alley and played darts with your ass? Yeah, that doesn’t make it okay, does it? As for the health benefits of Jamba Juice, I’m not even sure we can listen to your opinions as you’re a proud supporter of a guy who makes Kevin Smith look like Kate Moss. And, Jesus, we live in America—every nutrient you’re getting is from some kind of experimental unnatural source. Are you saying you get your calcium naturally from milk? Because last I checked milk these days comes mostly from cattle infused with more steroids than MLB. If it’s already unnatural, why not infuse it with some fruits and vitamins to make it even better for you and (hopefully) cancel out some of the effects of eating anything in this country? And you are clearly not a businessman, thinking adding items to one’s menu is an act of desperation. All the most successful companies do these things called “create new products”—give any company a call on your rotary phone to confirm. Juice is still the number one menu item at Jamba Juice, and their additions only make things better. The only new product Jabba the Hut ever launched was that string of farts that thawed Hoth.

The semen boost remains the top-selling boost.

RYAN: Juice being the number one menu item at Jamba Juice is like Mo Williams being the number one player on the Cavs. Yeah, they’re both number one, but only because they’re surrounded by complete shit. And yes, Jamba Juice’s growing menu does prove just how shitty their business model is. Most businesses that serve a niche market at least try to find a niche that people want. It only took a few years for the geniuses running Jamba Juice to realize nobody ever goes out to buy juice. No, wait. I take that back. Some people do want juice. They’re called toddlers. Too bad they don’t have any disposable income to actually buy any. Maybe Jamba Juice should try operating its business like Jabba the Hutt runs his empire. He’s always ready to have a good time, but he’s unquestionably successful. And don’t think for a second that because he’s so fun-loving you can take advantage of him. The last time some guy didn’t deliver his cargo, Jabba sent out every bounty hunter in the galaxy after him. And that poor bastard ended up frozen in a chunk of carbonite. Which is exactly what he deserved. Since then, every single guy has made his delivery on time. That’s called respect. It makes no difference if Jabba’s a little on the big scale. First off, everyone knows the Hutt species is naturally large. Secondly, he’s just as mobile as the next guy. Didn’t you even see the second edition of the first movie, better known as episode four? Jabba moved around the grace of a young Marlon Brando. Yeah, by the last movie he was a little slower, but he was over 600 years old by that time. The only way you’re living 10% as long as Jabba is if you keep drinking those unholy Jamba Juice creations. Go ahead and drink your juice, Shawn. Want me to put it in a sippy cup for you so you don’t spill on that cute little outfit you got at Gap Kids?

SHAWN: Your Cavs metaphor is the dumbest thing I’ve heard this week, and I just heard Megan Fox try to explain molecules. Everyone knows the juice at Jamba Juice is awesome and delicious. Even if the supporting cast isn’t great, the juice is still Lebron James quality, even though things didn’t work out as well for the Cavs. Plus, the whole business model is centered on juice, so it’s fine if the supporting cast isn’t terrific. There are upwards of five million types of awesome juice at Jamba Juice (fact check pending), and each one as delicious as the last. I’m not sure if you noticed, but there are new Jamba Juice franchises opening everywhere, and it’s a huge success. The fact that there’s even a franchise that exists built on juice shows how extremely wrong you are that only toddlers drink it. Sure, Ryan may only drink juices that are in the forms of strained peas or made with breast milk, but there are fine adult juices offered at Jamba Juice. Might I recommend the Berry Workout with strawberries, bananas, soy and whey protein? Or is there not enough Gerber’s formula in it for you? If Jamba Juice operated like Jabba the Hutt, they’d be kidnapping all their potential customers and stuck running some kind of underground mob ring—call me crazy, but I imagine Jamba Juice would quickly run out of cash and/or be shut down by every governmental agency that exists including the USGBC. And, yes, I totally pointed out that Jabba does move in the second edition of episode four, but it took decades and millions of dollars in special effects to do that—not exactly natural. But, then again, a giant hideous toad alien wouldn’t know much about natural, unlike the sweet organic tastes of Jamba Juice. Oh, and what’s that? Jabba the Hutt is—what now—dead??? He was killed? By a girl? Yeah, Jamba Juice is alive and well, while Jabba the Hutt got defeated by a 40-pound Carrie Fisher. You probably only side with Jabba because you know she could do the same to you.

Next On Danger Queue: Chuckles vs Sneezes—The Two Finest Bodily Noises/Clown Names

The funnies pages aren't big enough for the both of 'em.

SHAWN: Oh, goodie, it’s Monday. I hate Mondays. If only someone could make a joke out of this horrible situation for over 30 straight years. What’s that? Someone has? Ah, yes, Garfield, the funniest, fattest feline around, making hilarious quips about Mondays and more, bringing joy to every one of his intellectual readers. Plus, not only does that calorie-loving cat hate Mondays, but he looooooves lasagna. Who doesn’t love lasagna? It’s amazing! And he’s a damn cat! A cat that loves pasta? Hilarious! It’s almost as funny as his war with his common law canine pal Odie, and his innate ability to know exactly when his cousin Nermal’s coming to visit. Nermal’s so adorable! Yet none of that brilliance can compare to his relationship with Jon Arbuckle, his tragically single owner. Together, the swinging bachelors teach us the meaning of friendship and make us laugh our asses off. Hell, I completely forgot it’s Monday already!

RYAN: Wait. Those things Garfield says/thinks/whatever-it’s-called about Mondays: those are jokes? Really? I didn’t realize the bar for comedy had been lowered enough for an overweight, lethargic cat to get over it. That’s a sad reflection on today’s society. But I know what will cheer me up: a classic Mary Worth strip. Sure, she’s not funny. But she makes up for it with sex appeal and good ole’ common sense. Really, it’s not hard to find a reason to love Mary Worth. She is a gentle soul who helped the misguided find their way through troubled times for nearly 70 years. And she unselfishly does so without ever asking for anything in return. But you know what Mary Worth’s best quality is? She’s not a fat, piece of shit cat named Garfield. Garfield is a disgusting creature whose continued success is as aggravating as it is inexplicable. Seriously. He’s a cat who likes lasagna and talks through thought bubbles. None of that makes sense. What kind of responsible pet owner would feed their cat lasagna in the first place?? More importantly, why would a single guy even own a cat? No wonder that’s been the only pussy Jon Arbuckle’s seen in the strip’s 32 years.

It's funny because he should've died from that.

SHAWN: For the record, Mary Worth is about as sexy as a brown paper bag filled with marbles. Her strip makes Mark Trail look like Sliver. And Mary Worth is no “gentle soul” and she’s certainly not “helpful”—she’s a maniacal, self-absorbed meddler who forces her way into other people’s lives as frequently as possible, hoping to become their puppeteer from anywhere from two to six weeks (about two hours in comic strip time). Of course, once she’s emptied the soul of one victim, she just moves onto the next, like the vampire she is. By now, the fine folks of Charterstone have to know to never attend the community pool parties lest Mary Worth leech onto them until she can smugly “fix” every problem they have, whether or not they realize they even have problems. Plus, she’s a 140-year-old woman living in a Florida “condominium complex” (code for a place to wait out death). I’ve seen virus scans that were more thrilling. Just because you aren’t entertained by Garfield’s shenanigans doesn’t mean he’s doing anything wrong. He’s hilarious enough to spin off two hit films and is always up to something crazy funny. And, I’m sorry, but you think it doesn’t make sense for a cat to speak through word bubbles? Do you have a talking cat, or are you just delusional? Also, Garfield’s not subjected to Jon Arbuckle’s whim, so don’t even assume he’s the one feeding lasagna to Garfield—Garfield steals it himself. Sure, you might be all, “Well, why does Jon keep cooking lasagna?” to which I say, “Why does Mary Worth keep being a self-righteous bitch?”

RYAN: Garfield’s not doing anything wrong? By your own admission, he doesn’t do anything at all. He literally just lies there on his big fat pussy ass complaining about things that he really has no business complaining about. Like Mondays. How can he hate Mondays? He’s a fucking cat. He has no job. No family depending on him. No responsibilities of any kind. A Monday for him is no different than any other day of the week. He sleeps. He eats. He sleeps more. Oh, wow, what a stressful day! As for Garfield’s thought bubbles, my problem isn’t with the fact he talks through them. It’s that somehow his pathetic owner Jon Arbuckle can even understand them. That makes no fucking sense. If he’s talking, then why even have the thought bubble in the first place? And where the hell did all that angst against Mary Worth come from? Seems to me you’ve had that built up inside you for a long time now. What’s the matter? Did you have a problem with the way Mary called you out for your alcoholism? The truth hurts, Shawn. Don’t expect Mary Worth to sugarcoat it for you just so that you don’t get your feelings hurt. Instead of whining like a little bitch, maybe you should appreciate that Mary Worth is even trying to help in the first place. It’s a lot easier to turn your back on a person in need. It takes a strong person to offer them the help they so obviously need. Whether you like it or not, we need people like Mary Worth. Without her, this world would be a horrible place that I don’t even want to imagine. Without Garfield, well, I don’t have to imagine that. Someone was brilliant enough to make that happen. It’s called Garfield Minus Garfield. It’s unquestionably funny, as it removes Garfield from every strip to prove two things: that Jon Arbuckle is a hopelessly pathetic mess and that Garfield is completely unnecessary. In fact, it proves that things are infinitely better without him.

WHOA! Things are getting all sorts of fucked up over at Charterstone.

SHAWN: What’s so wrong with lying around the house like a fat-ass, eating and kicking dogs? Not only do I have insider information that all of those things are your favorite hobbies, but I sure wouldn’t mind that being my life. Hell, that’s probably why Garfield complains about Mondays: since they mean nothing to him, he’s hilariously rubbing in our human faces that we have to live this cyclical existence, working our way to the grave week-in and week-out. Sure he may be moving in on Funky Winkerbean’s territory with that depressing concept, but Garfield does it way funnier and with zazz. Don’t tell me the way he tortures pathetic Jon isn’t sometimes hilarious. Remember when Garfield was bored and Jon started reciting state capitals and Garfield was all, “I’m drowning in boredom and he’s handing me anchors”? GOLD! And clearly Garfield’s thought bubbles and Jon’s semi-accurate responses just show the adorable human-pet relationship that forms from being around someone for so long. Once your dog stops peeing in your bed and on your face (or do you ask for that one?), you’ll know what it’s like. As for that bitch Worth, it’s not angst I have toward her, but pure animosity, anger and disdain. She’s not even the kind to just point out your alcoholism; she’ll passive-aggressively indicate how much you’re harming yourself until you either give up the booze or kill yourself. If this were real life, at least 80 percent of Mary Worth’s victims—excuse me, her “friends”—would be six feet under after months of being nagged about how their lives are useless. And it would be different if Mary Worth actually cared about the people she helped: she gets off on meddling like you get off on Japanese body pillows. Why else would she actively seek out more meddling, even when everything seems fine? Sometimes it’s better not to be helped than watch as Mary passive-aggressively hints at the dangers of Internet dating. Way to murder the opportunity for true love, Worth. As hilarious as Garfield Minus Garfield is, how many newspapers syndicate it? Oh, yes, none. The original is still far more successful and far more hilarious. Sure, there’s insight to Garfield without Garfield, but it’s a different strip. Of course, running Mary Worth without Mary Worth would also make it a different strip entirely, one where the residents of Charterstone live happy, fulfilling lives.

RYAN: You’d rather swim the murky waters of Internet dating than have someone like Mary Worth save you with her life preserver of knowledge? Well, I hope you like being raped because that’s what’s going to happen to you. Just because you’re so delusional you can’t see all the problems in your sad, little life doesn’t mean we should all just pretend they don’t exist. They do exist, and you should be thankful someone like Mary Worth exists. Without Mary Worth, all of life’s problems—depression, broken hearts, suicide, severe rashes—would go unsolved. Thankfully she’s there to help us out. Yeah. Help. Not meddle. Help. Maybe it’s too passive-aggressive for your sensitive feelings, but I personally don’t care how she does it. All I care about, and all anyone should care about, is the end results. Lives have been saved. Families have been brought closer together. Treatment has been sought. So what if she makes you cry during the process? You cry all the freakin’ time. You regularly cried during Rugrats for Christ’s sake. I love Phil and Lil as much as the next guy, but not to the point of tears. Keep it together, man. They’ll find their way out of trouble. They always do. Maybe you’d like Mary Worth more if she spat out some horrible joke at the end of each strip? Sorry, Shawn, but Mary Worth doesn’t need to sink that low for a false sense of popularity. She’s more than content being the comic strip that serves a purpose in today’s society, something Garfield will never be able to claim. Maybe that means Garfield is more popular, but we all know popularity is hardly a true judge of something’s value. And we all know just how fleeting popularity can be. Garfield should know that best of all, seeing as how he’s been dropped by some of the biggest newspapers in the industry. But not only has Garfield been dropped, when he’s been dropped the newspapers have been praised for their decision. Seems to me if something was so unquestionably fantastic and good, people wouldn’t be so excited when it was taken away.

Next On Danger Queue: Jabba the Hutt vs Jamba Juice—I’ll Have Mine With a Carbonite Boost

Either way, we're proving half of fourth grade worthless.

RYAN: We live in an advanced world dominated by the need for quick, reliable information. That’s why I always rely on fractions. I’m sure some people out there think there’s little to no difference between decimals and fractions. Well, that kind of stupid ignorance doesn’t get us anywhere. Fractions are a thing of beauty, far superior to the clunky decimal, a relic of the old school mathematics. With the quiet elegance of a numerator and denominator, a fraction tells us so much in so very little. Two-thirds in a fraction is nothing more than a simple 2/3. It’s to the point, but it’s still telling us everything we need to know. It’s like the Cliffs Notes of math. Try getting a decimal to tell you two-thirds and you’ll be sitting there all day going through an endless string of numbers. Stupid decimals just don’t always know when to stop.

SHAWN: You dare call decimals a relic? Have you not heard of, oh, I don’t know, pi? Or the series of other numbers that don’t convert into your perfect little fractions? We live in a messy world, and sometimes numbers don’t fit comfortably into your simplistic format, one whole number standing on top of the other like some kind of confusing sexual position. Sometimes numbers can only be revealed with a dot and a bunch more numbers after it. Plus, every fraction can easily be written as a decimal—3/4 involves as much writing as .75 or your supposedly difficult 2/3 is a simple .66 repeating. But not every decimal can easily be written as a fraction—.321235423457 for example. Decimals are the catch-all—easy to follow, fun to use, and practical. And with so many rules for multiplying, dividing, raping, subtracting and even multiplying, fractions are a pain in the ass. With decimals, line up the dots and go nuts!

Try writing that as a fraction, chief.

RYAN: Oh, dang, I can’t write pi as a fraction? Oh, no, my entire world is falling apart. Oh, wait. What’s that? Pi equals circumference/diameter? Yeah, there’s your precious little pi as a fraction. Did fractions just blow your mind? Cause they’ll do that to ya. Fractions are so kickass they don’t even need to use numbers if they don’t want to. They can use abstract concepts instead. I’d like to see a decimal try and do that. As for decimals being practical, surely you must be joking. When was the last time someone asked you to cut 2.875″ of wood? Probably never, as the only time you handle wood is when your wife works late and you got some alone time. Regardless, nobody asks for decimals in the real world. It’s always fractions. 7/8. 13/16. 5/32. Those are the numbers that real men use. If you want to use your dainty decimals, go ahead. But just realize how incredibly stupid that will make you look. Almost as stupid as you just looked for saying .321235423457 can’t be put into a fraction. 321235423457/1000000000000. Yeah. That just happened. It’s not pretty, but neither are you, and I don’t hold that against you and your ugly face.

SHAWN: Okay, you may want to rethink your elementary school education, and possibly everything you’ve ever thought you knew, as pi doesn’t equal circumference/diameter—it’s a constant that functions within ratios. Pi itself can only best be written as a decimal, douche. Thanks for somehow forcing us to make our blog even nerdier. We’re this close to doing RPGs vs MMRPGs and now we’re lecturing on pi. Great. But my point is that, no, fractions are not blowing my mind. If anything, I’m further seeing their horrible limitations. Is there really any use for fractions that a fine decimal couldn’t just make easier? This is math, dammit, so the less abstract the better. If there’s anything I learned from the SAT—besides that you have to wear pants to it—it’s that math needs to be as simplified as possible or you’ll never succeed at it. Maybe you may think the only use of numbers is for chopping wood or telling the three children you kidnapped that one-third of them gets to go home, but you clearly care little for the greatest form of statistic imaginable—the percentage. It’s way easier to make a percentage from a decimal than a fraction. One-eighth, go! What’s that? You had to convert it to .125 first to know it’s 12.5%? Interesting. And way to prove my point of the uselessness of fractions by converting my long decimal into one—you’ve just made a number that’s entirely incomprehensible. Unless, of course, you convert it to a decimal.

I hope that's exactly .625", missy!

RYAN: Don’t even bother trying to out-nerd me. I’ve been nerding it up longer than you can possibly imagine. So pi can only be written as a decimal, eh? Okay, write it out for me. Yeah, go ahead. No, don’t stop after just six lousy old decimal spots. Pi goes on much, much longer than that. Keep going… keep going… keep going. Oh, look, you want to stop, huh? Giving up on this like you have so many other things in life? Figures, quitter. I guess pi isn’t so great as a decimal. Maybe it’s better represented as a fraction. Yeah, that circumference/diameter thing I mentioned before. What a great way to represent pi! So much easier than writing a long, drawn out decimal to the infinite place. Even you should be able to admit that. Oh, sure, you could always just round off your fancy decimal to the hundredth or thousandth place. But how great can a decimal really be if you have to cut off part of it like that to make it usable? Nothing gets cut off with fractions. You get the whole number the way God meant it to be. Stop playing God and rounding your decimals! And way to bring percentages, the bastard child of all mathematics, into the debate. Apparently I missed the part of school where they said that percentages are the most important thing in the world. Though, I’m not even entirely sure you went to school in the first place. You really had to convert one-eighth to a decimal to realize what percentage it is? That’s more than a little sad, but surprisingly fitting considering you’re from Cleveland. 4/5 of people agree that place sucks. Oh, look, a fraction!

SHAWN: Oh, you dare try to toss your own nerdiness in my face, you hockey-watching Call of Duty fan? Yeah, not only are both of those things mainstream, cool, and about as frat-house as you can get, but your pi skills are still setting you far off from true nerdom. Guess you’ll just have to watch more Firefly, if you even know what that is. When you write pi as a circumference or diameter, you’re writing is as a formula, for example 4*pi. In other words, you’re not actually converting pi at all; hell, you’re reducing it to something like a variable, thus in no way tackling what pi actually is. Sure, you could solve that circumference, but you’ll still have the pi symbol in your answer—again, not actually creating a number or solving for pi. Gees! And, you know what, anyone can write pi out as a decimal, dickweed: 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097494459230781640628620899862803482534
211706798214808651328230664709384460955058223172535940812848111745028410270193852110555964462
29489549303819644288109756659334461284756482337867831652712019091456485669234603486104543266
482133936072602491412737245870066063155881748815209209628292540917153643678925903600113305305
488204665213841469519415116094330572703657595919530921861173819326117931051185480744623799627
495673518857527248912279381830119491.
Sure, it’s not pretty, but you can’t even write that as a fraction, hot shot, or at least without making it even uglier. And there’s nothing wrong with rounding, and it’s certainly easy to round using decimals—let’s go ahead and make it 3.14, an acceptable replacement according to two millennia of mathematicians. But, well, you can’t do shit with pi as a fraction. And even though you missed the part of school where they pointed out the importance of percentages, I must’ve missed where they said fractions are more important. Oh, wait, they didn’t. But you know who taught me percentages and decimals are more important? The school of life—news reports, day-to-day conversation, math problems. They’re all better and easier with decimals. And way to ruin your own argument with a false statistic. Everyone knows 89.4 percent of people agree Cleveland sucks, while 100 percent agree that you’re an idiot. Why, I don’t even need a decimal on that second one!

Next On Danger Queue: Garfield vs Mary Worth—Meet Up At High Noon in Bloom County, Bring Peanuts

Without them, there'd be nothing to download on iTunes.

SHAWN: If you think Saturdays are fun, you’ve clearly never experienced Latter-Days—and move over, New Orleans, because its Saints are the finest in town. The Latter-Day Saint movement is well-known as being just awesome, and it all couldn’t have happened without the Book of Mormon. Once you pray to find out if it’s true or not, it just gets better and better! Looking to baptize the dead? Why not! Want to try out polygamy? I know you do! Otherwise, you hitting on my wife constantly is going to get uncomfortable. But when it’s a religious thing, who am I to judge? I mean, I’ll be the one ending up at the lowest level of Heaven, while you stand on top. Man, a book that comes up with all that good stuff has got to be the finest compilation ever created. I challenge you, sir, to name a single better collection.

RYAN: Three words: Justin fuckin’ Bieber. I’m not even going to ask if you’ve heard of him, because it’s a scientifically proven fact that the entire world not only knows of him, but absolutely adores him. It’s all well deserved too. In just a few scant years, Justin Bieber has put together a collection of work that puts everything else to absolute shame, including that little book of yours. Like anyone even reads books anymore anyways. If you want hip, current, and fresh, try a little Bieber on for size. He exploded onto the scene with his debut album My World like a premature ejaculation. Coming out of nowhere, without warning, and catching us all by surprise. What followed was a never-ending orgy of television appearances, radio interviews, tour dates, and maybe even a driver’s permit. And then a new Bieber emerged. An older, wiser Bieber. And that change was reflected in his latest release, My World 2.0. Instead of catchy tween pop songs like “First Dance”, “Favorite Girl” and “Love Me”, Bieber explored deeper, darker areas of the human condition. What followed was pure magic, in the form of hit singles like “Baby”, “U Smile”, and “Never Let You Go”.

Like a phoenix, an older, wiser Bieber emerged from the ashes.

SHAWN: Are those names of songs or phrases preteen girls doodle in their notebook margins? Ah, I see what Bieber’s up to—they’re clearly both, and he knows how to pull at the heartstrings of little girls who know how to pull on mommy’s purse strings. I commend you for that, Bieber. That said, Bieber is a tool—like one of those tiny screwdrivers that are only useful because you don’t want to spend the time to get out the grown-up screwdriver. It’s not nearly as good or powerful, and you’re mostly embarrassed to be using it, but you still do. That’s really how America feels about Bieber: now that we’ve prematurely ejaculated, we might as well clean up after ourselves. None of his fame is deserved, as he’s just been properly structured to appeal to certain demographics. Preteen girls want to date him and their moms want to coddle him. “He needs a haircut,” they say, while secretly loving how rebellious yet sweet he is. And please never again use sexual imagery with Bieber—he’s an asexual creature who just lucked into being born with eyes that go on forever. The songs are terrible, with choruses that repeat the same word over and over again. For creative poetry, though, the Book of Mormon is unmatched. Sure, it may not have lines like, “And I was like baby, baby, baby, oooh,” but it has brilliance in its words, such as, “I will go and do what the Lord hath commanded,” and, “It came to pass that the Spirit said unto me again: Slay him.” And we should probably assume they’re talking about Bieber in that last one.

RYAN: So help me, if you even so much as touch one beautiful strand of Bieber’s perfectly parted hair, I will come looking for you. I will find you. And I will kill you. Bieber is a once-in-a-lifetime talent with the sweet, soothing voice of an angel. You’re clearly just jealous of how much more Bieber has accomplished than you ever will. He’s made millions of dollars and nailed countless chicks before he even turned 16. What have you done? You once lit your kitchen on fire while trying to microwave a burrito, and despite being married, were once courted by a gay man. Bieber’s better than you. It’s okay to admit that. He’s better than all of us. His collection of work is simply unrivaled right now. Nobody can produce hit after hit like him. His lyrics are fresh and original. Each and every song perfectly captures the trials and tribulations we all go through in the formative years of our lives. His way with words is magical. Just a single line from any song makes females between the ages of 8 and 47 swoon uncontrollaby. The Book of Mormom hardly makes anyone swoon, if at all. Nobody knows what the hell is even going on with that book. Is it fiction or nonfiction? Who the hell is this Joseph Smith character and why were there ancient tablets buried in the state of New York of all places? For a book that’s supposed to provide the answers, it sure leaves people with a whole lot of questions. The work of Bieber, there’s no questioning that.

...And my many smokin' hot wives!

SHAWN: For the record, that isn’t even Bieber’s real hair: it’s clearly a dead Maltese puppy, but everyone’s too scared to say anything because of Bieber’s power. And let’s not make this a debate about my numerous failures. Let’s focus more on the fact that Bieber’s songbook is about as complex as a ball in a cup. He just strung together some standard pop star terminology like he’s some kind of CEO—baby, love, synergy, girl, lonely, the letter U—and called it music. How useless is that? Plus, it’s giving him too much credit saying he strung that music together, when it was clearly produced by the POP1300, a robot designed to create terrible music that makes fat preteen girls feel slightly less fat. Dear readers, note how Ryan talks big about Justin Bieber’s fine lyrics and music, yet doesn’t have the balls to quote him. Come on: let’s hear some of those “fresh and original” lyrics. I gave you an example earlier, but I’m thinking you’re just having trouble finding any that aren’t terrible. Here’s some more help: “Most of all, baby doll, you’ll be my love love love,” and “Put your tooth under a pillow case.” No? Those don’t help your case? Not shocking, in that you’re not a four-year-old girl. You can find far truer poetry and more interesting content in the Book of Mormon. It’s the true, inspired story of Mormonism, and everybody knows that. Let’s not get caught up in what ancient tablets were found where: let’s focus on the magical storytelling it provides for the entire universe. Not only does it teach us to pray, but it teaches us that Jesus did in fact come to the Americas and he kicked ass. Speaking of the Americas, what kind of American are you, loving your Canadian Justin Bieber? Go back to chopping down trees in the Arctic, Ryan, and leave good writing to the professionals like Joseph Smith in collaboration with an angel.

RYAN: You may think I don’t have the balls to quote Bieber’s lyrics, but really, you’re just too stupid to see that (cue Admiral Ackbar) IT’S A TRAP! Yep. A trap. And just like the Rebel Alliance, you fell right into it. This whole time you’ve been trying to convince us how much better the Book of Mormon is than the collected works of Justin Bieber, and yet, you’ve been throwing around Bieber lyrics like someone who’s very well-acquainted with his library of songs. But where are all the quotes from the Book of Mormon? I mean, you say it’s got more interesting content than Bieber’s songs, but then you didn’t even give us an example to prove your point. What’s the matter? Couldn’t find anything to back up your claim? Or were you too lazy to filter through hundreds of pages of pure nonsense? That’s what makes Bieber’s work so much better. It’s catchy, fresh, and fun. And it’s also relatable. Everyone knows the pure joy of putting a tooth under a pillow case, and the anticipation of what you’ll find the next morning. Unlike the Book of Mormon, it’s a universal concept that can be enjoyed by people from all walks of life. Including Canada. I can’t help it if you’ve got an unwarranted problem with Canada. It’s a fine country that gave us a titilating Winter Olympics and Michael J. Fox. Is that not enough for you? Maybe instead of being so selfish and always asking for more, you should try giving. It’s like a wise, selfless young scholar once said: “Whatever you want shawty, I’ll give it you. Your world is my world.” I don’t think I need to tell you that wasn’t Joseph Smith talking.

Next On Danger Queue: Fractions vs Decimals—We Hope You Realized There Would Be a Math Portion

Can there really be a winner?

RYAN: Oh, it’s Tuesday. Time for me to call home and check in on things. Sure, it’s not the best thing in the world, but calling home puts me in the driver’s seat of the phone conversation. I don’t have to worry about being inconvenienced with the call, as I’m the one making it. Calling home, besides getting me points for putting in the effort, also gives me time beforehand to create a rough outline of discussion topics. Definitely need to have a story about my dog ready, as they eat those up like candy. And maybe a self-deprecating story about something stupid I did to make them feel like I still need them. Oh, and I always need to have an update about work. Sure, calling home requires a little more diligence, but it’s far better than the alternative of getting a call from home. Those can blindside you at any time of any day, and who knows what they’re about. It could be a TV show, an article in a newspaper, or a bird that just flew by the window.

SHAWN: Just walking home. Don’t have a lot going on. Maybe I’ll crack open a beer, chill a little bit, watch my TiVo’d World Cup game at 3x the speed so it’s vaguely interesting…wait, what’s this? A call from home? What a delight! Sure, they’re a little rare, but it’s always something good—my mom wants to say ‘hi’ or my sister just met Rob Thomas. Who knows! But the best thing about a call from home is that it’s an unexpected pleasure that can make your day, all day, any day. Plus, it’s way easier to leave the ball in your family’s court. When you’re calling every Tuesday, it’s obviously become a chore, a requirement of sorts, no fun at all. And what happens if a smoking hot concert or free porn convention comes up and you can’t make the call? Why, then your family worries like crazy! Maybe Ryan died! Maybe he’s been eaten by another crocodile! Maybe he’s a zombie! Shoot him!!! It’s way better to just let them control when they want to talk to you. A phone call from home means you can enjoy your family’s banter when you want, or send them straight to voicemail, calling them back when you have time. Yeah, it’s convenient, and delightful, but only when you want it to be.

Phoning home has become far easier these days.

RYAN: Calling back your family when you have time? Interesting, because that sounds like the exact same point I made about calling home. You should probably do a better job arguing for calls from home. Or, maybe you just can’t because deep down in your blackened heart you know that calling home is way better than getting calls from home. An occasional call from home can be an unexpected pleasure, yes, but they won’t stay that way for long. That’s the problem with letting them control when they want to talk to you. Because they always want to talk to you. Soon enough, you’ll be fielding daily calls from home about anything and everything. Either you answer the phone and get sucked into a 20-minute conversation about the latest “tip” from Suze Orman (you mean if I want to save money, I shouldn’t eat out twice every day?), or you reject their call and look like the world’s biggest dick. And don’t take that as a compliment. Your mom changed your diapers the first 9 years of your life. She knows your dick isn’t anything to call home about. I’ll stick with calling home myself because of the control it gives me over the entire situation. Maybe I only want to talk for a few minutes. Well, then I say right away: “Hey, I got a few minutes before class, I thought I’d check in.” That makes me seem sweet and thoughtful while also immediately establishing an out. Getting a call from home means you can forget about that beer and TiVo’d World Cup game, though that’s not really much of a loss anyways.

SHAWN: Whoa, whoa—by not always answering when you get phone calls from home, you establish that you don’t always want to talk and, ergo, don’t have to deal with constant calls. If there’s one way to make your family always want to talk to you, it’s always talking to your family. What side are you on now? You don’t look like a dick when you reject calls; it means you’re rightfully busy, living your own life—something that will never happen with your phone calls home all the time. Cut the cord, Ryan; it’s all black now and starting to crumble apart on its own. That’s disgusting. It’s better to let them call you if they want to talk. I mean, you’ve already given up on having any in your marriage, you might as well get some power in your family relationships. How does you calling home give you power, when you’re the one running back to them, begging to talk all the time? “Mommy, mommy, this little boy cut me when I tried to kidnap him and the bleeding won’t stop. What do I do? Waaaaaahhhh!!!” Gees, at some point, Ryan, you’re going to have to stop running to your mommy for help, especially when you keep implicating her like that. Plus, waiting for calls from home mean there’s always something fun and exciting to say. Sure, I told my mother several times that I was going to Hawaii for a week, but when she called the day before and asked what I was up to over the weekend—oh, the look on her face that I couldn’t see! That kind of fun and excitement never comes with boring phone calls home. Shit, if you’re always telling your family what you’re doing, then how can they be delightfully shocked when they see you on America’s Most Want…Got Talent.

Surprise, mom! I'm awaiting my congratulations call...

RYAN: I guess we just have different approaches to life. You like to run from your problems, hoping that if you keep ignoring them, they’ll just go away. It hasn’t worked for that obscene growth on your neck, which I like to call Steve, and it’s certainly not going to work for all those calls from home. I confront problems head on. Which is why I don’t sit around waiting for calls from home. I make the call myself. It’s called being a man, Shawn, and it’s what I do best. All those times when you ignore those calls from home, you’re not establishing you’re busy. You’re only feeding the flames, and at some point, you’re going to get burned. Maybe one time you’ll forget to look at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe your clever mom will call from her work number. Either way, eventually, you’re going to answer that call, and then you’ll immediately regret your decision, as your mom is going to go at you hard, and she’s going to do it all night long. Is that what you want? Probably, cause you’re a sick perv. And actually, that excitement over you telling your mom about your Hawaii trip, that wasn’t because of the call from home. That was because of your mom’s forgetfulness. Actually, I’m guessing it was more of her overall indifference to you in general. You told her multiple times and she still forgot? I guess she just wasn’t paying all that much attention before. I do the same thing when I make calls home. Sounds like maybe your mom views calls to her son the same way I see calls from home. Something you don’t want to do, but nevertheless have to. I guess your mom and I have more in common than we thought. And we already had plenty in common. We both like ordering the daily special at restaurants, and we both get a little reckless after a few glasses of wine.

SHAWN: First of all, this growth on my neck is clearly just another head coming through, as my one head isn’t large enough to contain my massive, brilliant mind. And you know what? That growth is my bitch. If I wanted to go to the hospital to check it out, I’d go there on my own, when it starts bulging again. It’s like a phone call from home. If I wanted to pick it up, I would, and I’d find out that my aunt’s on the bottle again. If I don’t want to pick up, I don’t, and let the growth stay. I mean, it’s not really hurting and I feel I’m smart enough to gauge when something needs to be done. In other words, I’m the independent man, unlike you, who goes running back to mommy and daddy, calling them up like they’re your therapist (what does your therapist think of that?), and seeking that self-absorption you so crave from them telling you that you are, in fact, handsome (spoiler alert: they lie). I pick up the phone when I want, and I don’t fear my mother yelling at me, like you apparently do. Still having those flashbacks to her smacking you on the playground? Well, you had it coming for running around and inappropriately touching all the other boys in your class. And, fine, maybe my mother can be a little forgetful, but she still remembers the horrifying night when she had those glasses of wine with you. Of her 60-plus years, that’s her biggest regret, and this is coming from the woman who gave birth to me. Let’s lay out the facts: We both love our families, but it’s way more fun to wait for them to call you—it gives you power, it means there’s something interesting to say, and you’ll still find out what that cousin of yours has been up to. My guess is he’s a doctor now, because he spent his time living life instead of calling home. Maybe you can get him to cut that cord for you.

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