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?

What is it all about?

From a young age, we were told that the hokey pokey is what it’s all about. Then a young blowhard named Puff Daddy swooped in and told us it’s all about the Benjamins. And the world has been confused ever since. Until now…

RYAN: At one point in time, yes, the hokey pokey was what it’s all about. Back in the day, you couldn’t talk about “it” without bringing up the hokey pokey. But things have changed, and the hokey pokey hasn’t caught up. In our modern times, filled with iPods, computers, and Billy Bush, we don’t have the time to stick our left foot in, stick our left foot out, and then shake it all about, no matter how catchy that tune may be. Our society is way too materialistic to worry about such intangible things. And with the economy giving us the ol’ reacharound, people worry even more about their money. When they see their nest egg slowly disappear, they’re not pulling their right hand out; they’re pulling their life savings out. Like Puff Daddy says, it’s all about the Benjamins.

Where's the 'Hokey Pokey' movie? Huh?

SHAWN: There are back sides out there not being shaken all about, and all YOU care about is money? For shame. For. Shame. However, I’m not going to debate you on the point that we are materialistic and crumbling and fat, but I will argue that we need the hokey pokey now more than ever. In a country falling apart all around us, divided on political, racial, and superhuman (get it together, Hiro) lines, we need…participatory dance! Sure, at home, you may be one man shaking, but the hokey pokey leads us to shake together. That’s why it’s universal law that it must be played at every wedding and, if it weren’t for its subtle atheistic roots, it would be played at every church service as well. What do you do when the world’s bringing you down? You do the hoooooooookey pokey: THAT’S what it’s all about.

RYAN: Are you calling Puff Daddy a liar? Don’t make the same mistake as all those non-voters in 2004 when Diddy had his infamous “Vote or Die” campaign. Some of their bodies still haven’t been found. I really don’t see how it can be all about the hokey pokey when the hokey pokey isn’t even the best participatory dance song. That baton has since been passed on to the likes of the chicken dance song, the Cha Cha Slide, and now the $5 footlong song from Subway. But really, we all know participatory dancing is so overrated. No one does the hokey pokey outside of 1st grade gym class and weddings with a horrible DJ—oh, I’m sorry—”master of ceremonies”. Know what’s not overrated? The Benjamin. $100 each and every time. It’s the single best currency out there. Way better than the Lincoln, Washington, or even that lame ass Sacajawea.

SHAWN: Are you calling Sacajawea a lame ass? She was the ultimate translator, single-handedly fighting the British with her translations and freeing this great country! Her currency might not be worth as much as Benjamin’s, but they’re worth the same in my heart. Because my heart doesn’t take cash. And the Cha Cha Slide doesn’t bring the world together, as old people are frightened by its driving beat. The chicken dance just makes you want to murder anybody who does the chicken dance. Meanwhile, EVERYBODY knows the hokey pokey. And, if not, it has the clearest instructions of any participatory dance in history (studies show only 4% of Americans know what the fuck a Charlie Brown is). Join in, world! The only dance that’s even come close to hokey’s greatness is Yay, Pepto Bismol!, which now resides in a wormhole with Mambo No. 5. Money’s cool, sure, but so is togetherness. Why do you hate love?

They stuck in. They stuck it out. And then they shook. And we're all better because of it.

RYAN: I don’t know what you think Sacajawea did, but I can confidently declare that you are quite wrong. She did very little, which is why she was stuck on a coin like all those other no name losers that I’m too lazy to look up. Real winners like Benjamin Franklin get immortalized with paper money. Everyone knows how much Benjamin accomplished a lot in his life, which is why he’s worth so much nowadays. We only know the hokey pokey because we’ve been tormented by it for far too long. It’s time to move on. Or at the very least, let’s modernize it a little bit. Instead of sticking your hands or feet in, how bout we stick our iPods in and shake them all about? At least then it will shuffle the playlist and we can move onto a song that’s, oh, I don’t know… good.

SHAWN: I’m just gonna go ahead and take one of your sentences completely out of context: “I don’t know good”. Damn straight, you don’t know good. You just know money—dirty, stinking money. You know what Benjamins create? Archvillains, hatemongering, robberies, greed, awkward lust, kidnappings. When was the last time someone kidnapped the President’s daughter to ransom her for a million hokey pokeys? “Put your left leg out, goddamn it, or I’ll blow your brains out!” Yeah, Benjamins are the root of evil. The hokey pokey is a simple good time. Sure you can’t exchange the hokey pokey for goods and services, but who needs it when you’re having so much fun? You may not be so lucky, but last time I put something in and shook it all about, I had a blast.

There can be only one all-American, average Joe.

SHAWN: There’s only room for one Joe in this general election and he works hard…but he plays harder: ’six beers in one night’ harder. Joe Six-Pack is the true prototypical American. Long day stamping ball bearings out of…bigger ball bearings? Time to go home, open up not a-one, not a-two, not a-six, but a-SIX brewskies and plop yourself home in your well-worked couch crevice and turn on the football game and belch your goddamn American ass off! That’s America! And don’t get this Joe Six-Pack confused with the Gold’s Gym mascot—Joe won’t even get close to a six-pack that you can’t shatter over the edge of bar and threaten to cut a close friend with. Like a good patriot, he believes in an America where he does whatever President Palin says, no matter what. I mean, she’s freakin’ hott! Uh-oh—off he goes, it’s time for his daily 10 minutes of CNN. Just enough.

RYAN: If a hard-working Joe is what you’re after, then, my friends, look no further than Joe the Plumber. Just two short weeks ago, nobody knew or even cared about Joe the Plumber. Seriously. Nobody. He was just your typical American who plays football outside with his son and sometimes spends his free time plumbing. Now he’s living the American dream, riding his fluke 15 minutes of fame to heights that most people only daydream of reaching. He’s personally talked with Obama and McCain, who both want his vote so badly they recently held a nationally televised debate just for him. Anyone else’s 15 minutes would have run out there. But no. Joe worked hard to stay in the spotlight. He held his own press conference. He made the rounds with Katie Couric, Diane Sawyer, and even Neil Cavuto. Yes. The Neil Cavuto. That doesn’t just happen. It takes hard work and determination. The same hard work and determination it takes to apply for a plumbing license in 2003 and not finish the work.

14:53... 14:54... 14:55...

SHAWN: A hard-working Joe? A plumber that doesn’t even have a plumbing license? Clearly, Joe the plumber is a fraud in every sense of the word. Plus, his plumbing company wouldn’t even come close to making enough money to fall in Obama’s tax plan (he lives in OHIO, for goodness sake)! I call shenanigans! Joe Six-Pack, on the other hand, will never be accused of not having his drinking license. You don’t need one, but, if you did, Joe Six-Pack would probably be in charge of issuing them. He knows his booze far better than Joe the Plumber knows his plumbing. Joe Six-Pack is an American hero, tirelessly plugging away at the world until his liver finally fails. But you know what will never fail? His spirit.

RYAN: Calling Joe the Plumber a fraud is a bit harsh. Phony or fake, maybe. But fraud? Come on now. You’re missing the point. Even if Joe the Plumber isn’t a plumber in the literal sense of the word, which he isn’t, that doesn’t take away from the fact that he represents the typical American—underachieving and unwilling to work hard but still holding onto an unrealistic, yet completely American, dream. A dream that involves buying his business and turning it into a cashcow despite its financial history. What’s wrong with that? At least it’s something. The only thing Joe Six-Pack dreams about is that cool, refreshing taste that’s as cold as the Rockies. Keep reaching for those stars, Joe Six-Pack. Just make sure the cold-activated label turns those Rockies blue first.

Joe Six-Pack doesn't have time to guess if his beer is cold.

SHAWN: Say it ain’t so, Joe. Going on about Joe the Plumber symbolizing America? This country isn’t about dreams and aspirations and asking Presidential candidates about said dreams. This country is about sitting. We’re the best sitters in the world, and Joe Six-Pack ain’t taking the time to go to no Presidential rally to ask a goddamn question about some business he’ll never open. He’s been busy drinking hard and spending the last month trying to figure out how his digital converter works. True patriotism is when you accept your country, your beer, and your fine taste of the mountains. Joe the Plumber has been working his ass off, interviewing with the elite liberal media like FOX News, but have McCain’s points surged in Ohio? No. Because Ohioans are busy voting based on the past eight years and/or race. And that’s my beer heaven.

RYAN: Oh, it’s so, Joe. It’s so. I think when you picked up that sixth beer, you took your fingers off the pulse of America. Otherwise you’d realize we’re no longer the nation of sitters who stay at home and complain to no one in particular about nothing in particular. No. Now we get up off our butts to complain about anything and everything. The economy. The war. Taxes. Government spending. Political corruption. Constitutional rights. Budget deficit. Health care. Gas prices. Beverly Hills Chihuahua. You name it, we’ll complain about it. Joe the Plumber didn’t go to any presidential rallies like my mistaken friend mistakenly wrote all mistaken like. He happened to be outside when Obama walked by his house. He saw his chance to get in the spotlight, his one chance to make a name for himself, to be known outside of the Ohio plumbing community. So he did what any other real American would do. He grabbed that chance, and now he’s refusing to let go no matter how much we all drag him through the dirt.

Next on Danger Queue: The Benjamins vs The Hokey Pokey—What Is It Really All About?

[polldaddy poll=1032036]

Only one will get actually you somewhere in life.

Should have gone high, my friend.

SHAWN: Sorry hugs aren’t romantic; looks like you’ll have to find another way to run the bases with your mother. I’m not sure what kind of hugs you give in your family, but how many unwanted pregnancies come out of Thanksgiving? The purpose of hugs isn’t to score points with the ladies or your boss. They’re so you can be held and happy, coddled like the baby you often wish you could regress to before you accidentally make poopies at work (cough, cough, Ryan). There’s only gray area when you awkwardly stroke your coworker’s ass after her “sorry about your grandfather” hug (cough, cough, Shawn). Clean your sword all you like, but I’d rather not see where you’re apparently thrusting your hugs.

Arthur was known for being a poor hugger.

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

Which noir is the one true noir?

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

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

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

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

Gabriella Montez is the femme fatale.

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

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

Somehow Shawn doesn't bring up Sideways.

Next on Danger Queue: Nessie vs. Lassie—Who’s The Real Monster?

Brilliant status updates or award-winning prose?

RYAN: Facebook is truly the gift that keeps on giving. Looking for that friend who moved away 15 years ago? Oh, there he is. Think you’re the only one who watched My Brother and Me religiously? Nope, there’s a whole group of losers who loved that show (myself included). Want to be friends with people you never talk to? So do they! To think you can do all this on a single web site, all while getting paid—provided you do this all at work like everyone else. Sure, all of this may be happening on the surface, and none of said conversations are deep or meaningful, but do we really care? No, sir. We’re too busy to worry about little things like that. We’ve got to keep tabs on what our 700 friends have been doing since we’ve last checked an hour ago.

SHAWN: Let me introduce you to the REAL gift that keeps on giving: Toni Morrison’s Beloved. The 1987 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel relates the fascinating tale of a woman and her daughter creating a new life for themselves after escaping slavery. Boring, right? Well, what if I told you they live in a house…THAT’S HAUNTED?! Move over, mini-feed (status change: “Ryan is masturbating”), get ready for adventure, mystery, and confronting the painful memories of your past. The greatest works in history have story arcs and raw emotion and active readership, not stalking applications, lists of favorite movies that all feature Garden State, and Scrabulous—no matter how delightful and pathetic those things may be. I’ll think about turning my back on Beloved if you can show me Oprah starring in the film version of Facebook.

Danny Glover hasn't made a decent film since Angels in the Outfield.

RYAN: The only gift Beloved gives me is an annoying headache. Page after page of unnecessary dialogue, narration, symbolism, blah blah blah. I don’t need that garbage to understand people. Just give me their interests, hobbies, favorite movies and TV shows, access to their wall, and a minimum of two photo albums complete with tags, and I’ll have everything I need. That’s what Facebook is all about: providing us with the Cliffs Notes for all our friends. With just the click of a mouse, I can see someone has a birthday in two days, recently broke up with a longtime girlfriend, and just spent a semester studying abroad. Now I’m all caught up after months of not talking. And if story arcs and raw emotion are what you truly crave, then look no further than Facebook.com. Just friend someone who wears their heart on their sleeve and thinks each new relationship is “the one”. A hilarious newsfeed booming with relationship-filled status updates will be your reward.

SHAWN: I’m not going to go so far as to call you unsophisticated, but you’ve been known to wipe food off your chin with a hobo. Boring dialogue? Let’s compare. Beloved: “Freeing yourself was one thing: claiming ownership of that freed self was another.” Facebook: “6 of your friends are giving away free Pieces of Flair!” Beloved: “You could be lost forever, if there wasn’t nobody to show you the way.” Facebook: “Cindi is I can’t belive tomorrow is already TUesday…” Yeah, good reading right there, good reading. As wonderful as my Facebook friends are (hi, all 9231 of you I all surely know personally), I’d rather read the extended version of the story of interesting people than the Cliffs Notes on that girl I used to chase around in kindergarten and haven’t seen since. Beloved has inspired generations; Facebook reminds you that you stopped making friends after college.

RYAN: You’ve got 9231 friends on Facebook? Sorry, I didn’t realize you were one of those people. Maybe I should put it another way for you: if it weren’t for Facebook, how could you possibly gauge your own popularity? With some book? Puh-lease. You need Facebook. I know it. You know it. Charlie American knows it. Facebook provides you a warm little security blanket that you can wrap yourself up in every time you log in and see your never-ending list of “friends”. Beloved may be all well and good (I’m still skeptical when Oprah’s involved), but you probably read it once then put it on your bookshelf with all the other forgotten “masterpieces” that you have no intention of reading again. Try going a day without logging into Facebook. You can’t. And while you’re at it, maybe you should change your status to “Shawn is wrong”.

Nothing wrong with a nice security blanket.

SHAWN: If I change my status, the only thing I’ll be changing it to is “Shawn is rereading the greatest piece of American literature to date, blown away by the precise and poignant characterization of post-slavery America!” Except that it might not fit, since Facebook only lets you write like two lines. Facebook would never be able to contain the power of Toni Morrison: “Toni has attempted to merge those two words, black and feminist, because she was surrounded by black women who were very tough and who always assumed they had to work and rear children and”. Have some goddamn respect, Facebook. And might I point out that thousands of Facebook users list Toni Morrison under their Favorite Quotes, while, at most, a mere one or two Toni Morrison novels quote Facebook. I’d rather deal with the life-changing, intellectual decisions found in Beloved than the difficult decision of “Poke back vs. ignore”.

Next on Danger Queue: Pinot Noir vs. Film Noir—Noir’s the New Black