Finally, a Super Bowl analysis worth reading.

RYAN: Have you ever seen a cardinal? A real cardinal, Shawn, not some lousy drawing in that birdwatching book of yours. The cardinal is a thing of beauty. Maybe it doesn’t get the same national attention and respect as the eagle, falcon, or raven, but it’s clear God spent a little extra time putting that breathtaking red bird together. The cardinal is as timeless as it is elegant, which is why so many people nowadays refer to it as the “Judy Dench of birds”. And much like myself, the cardinal is surprisingly strong, amazingly passionate, and, when provoked, quite deadly. Its wingspan can reach almost the entire length of a standard ruler. That’s nearly 12 inches (or 30 centimeters for all you metric fans). Doesn’t sound like much? Well, just close your eyes and imagine 12 inches of uncontrollable cardinal ferocity bearing down on you. What’s that sound, you ask? That’s the sound of you wetting yourself.

SHAWN: Surprisingly strong, amazingly passionate, and deadly when provoked? No wonder it’s called the Judy Dench of birds. Except that means you might as well call it Dame Cardinal, have it star in made-for-PBS movies, and diaper its incontinence, because cardinals are pussies compared to steelers. You want a ferocious wingspan? Imagine five feet of blacksmith arm pounding down on you with a giant mallet. Who’s wetting herself now, Dench? A steeler would smash a cardinal, use it to wipe the sweat off his manly brow, and then eat it. He works hard and shows it off with assless chaps. Let’s think about it in non-Wikipedia terms: some badass like Brad Pitt or Bruce Willis would totally play the steeler in the movie version, while the cardinal’s movie (That’s So Cardinal?) would most likely feature the kid from Twilight wearing a red jumpsuit.

Vampire, maybe. Cardinal? Now we're talking.

RYAN: I won’t argue that steelers are more manly than cardinals. But you can’t deny that cardinals are more birdly than steelers. Much, much more birdly. So there. Better hope your steeler movie, starring Bruce Willis and/or Brad Pitt, has plenty of money put aside for CGI (is Michael Bay signed on?) cause there’s no way one of those goons can hit a real cardinal with a giant mallet. Cardinals are kind of fast. Kind of real fast. Way faster than any steeler. So fast that no one actually knows how fast they are really are, not even my good, hard-working friends at Wikipedia. Conservative estimates put their top speed right around 90 mph. Are steelers that fast? I don’t know, but I do know if you fit a cardinal with a flux capacitor, you’ve got yourself a time-traveling bird. Better watch out cats, or ancient Egyptians might find themselves a new god.

SHAWN: I know we’ve had this argument before, so I won’t bore everyone pointing out how Ryan still thinks being fast is good. I don’t care what the cardinal that lives inside your head tells you, 42 seconds is not a record in any respect. Even if speed was so desirable, what have cardinals ever actually given the world? Besides eating all of our delicious seeds and being the only orange-breasted creatures since Pamela Anderson’s jaundice cleared up. Plus, I’m just going to say it: Cardinals look like they’ve been shot in the face. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my birdwatching book (it was a gift…from me to me), it’s that birds serve no real purpose besides being stared at. Oh, and by the way, what is that building you’re sitting in, that car you drive, and those tools you pretend to use all made of? Yeah, steel, and I bet it wasn’t forged by birds.

Ryan's plastic car gets infinity miles per gallon.

RYAN: Did steelers forge all the plastic in my car? Cause that’s all it’s made of. That’s all anything’s made of nowadays. We live in a plastic world, my friend. The computers we use, the televisions we watch, the breasts we ogle–they’re all plastic now. Steelers are a dying breed and have have been ever since the end of the Industrial Revolution. The only thing keeping them alive is Donald Trump’s unexplainable obsession with building a towering phallic symbol in Chicago. But cardinals, oh, cardinals aren’t going anywhere. They’re way too popular for that. Do you know how many states named the cardinal the state bird? Go ahead, guess. Nope. Higher. Higher. Keep going. Ok, they’re aren’t even that many states, jerk. Seven. Seven states! I don’t recall seeing the steeler named the state man anywhere. Nope. Cause a steeler is just another man on the verge of unemployment, just like the rest of us. But a cardinal. A cardinal is what all other birds aspire to be. I read somewhere the ugly duckling, in early drafts, turned into a cardinal, but editors thought it might ruin the message to have the bird turn into something that awesome. So they settled on a lousy old swan. Something like that’s gotta be true.

SHAWN: The ugly duckling turned into a cardinal? So like in She’s All That when Rachael Leigh Cook’s character went through the transformation and was then played by Tom Hanks? Cardinals are beastly and they are only state birds because governors can, on average, only name three birds off the top of their heads. And congrats on beating the western meadowlark by one state, cardinal—that makes you just slightly more popular than a bird most Americans couldn’t identify if it was taped to wall with a sign reading “western meadowlark” next to it. And if this is some kind of plastic world, why is steel still the number one indicator of economic progress (besides baby tears)? Steel is a man’s metal and without steelers and, oh, the Industrial Revolution, you would never have all those plastic cars you drive and all those plastic pants your doctor makes you wear. A couple states may have granted the cardinal the most meaningless title since People’s Choice Award Winner, but this country—hell, this world—was built on steel and the steel-making steelers that made it all happen.

Next on Danger Queue: The Vagina Monologues vs Sportscenter—No Matter What Happens, Someone’s Leaving Here Feeling Inadequate

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SHAWN: You better think—THINK—about what really makes an inauguration. Done? Good—and I can guarantee y’all thought the same thing: phenomenal outfits. And nobody better inaugurated that concept than one Mrs. Aretha Franklin. When she belted “My Country” with all her homegrown talent, zazz and pizzazz, she donned a hat that sang with just as much zazz. Marvel at its size! Love how it truly embodies a nation! That’s one gift bow I can’t wait to unwrap, that’s for sure. Rowr! Sure, some might look at her and think Hello Kitty, but that’s why they can’t walk anymore. Aretha’s hat says, “Hear me, love me, R-E-S-P-E-C-T me!”

RYAN: It must have been nice for Aretha to waddle up to that microphone and sing for the entire nation. But not everyone had the luxury of walking on that historic day. Dick Cheney, the lovable, huggable former Vice President, literally had to be wheeled out after putting his body on the line every day for the nation he loves so much—maybe too much—he’s willing to disregard all of its carefully crafted laws. His body, ravaged by countless heart attacks, surgeries, and subpeonas, understandably broke down on him. Was the wheelchair over the top and unnecessary? Maybe, but what else would you expect from the man who, while hunting birds raised in a pen, once shot his friend in the face?

SHAWN: Anyone who watched the inauguration and didn’t think Aretha’s hat was the highlight must’ve been hanging out with Cheney too much because they’ve clearly been shot in the face. At least Aretha had the poise, the air of triumph, the respectability to waddle up to that mike. Cheney—old, filthy, creepy, silent Cheney—conveniently “hurt his back” trying to “lift” a “box” when he “was” moving. Yeah, like the bloodless shell that is Dick Cheney even has material possessions; his rewards are stockpiled in Hell and you know it. Clearly, he was in that wheelchair because he either slipped when he was trying to kick a puppy or he pretended he was injured so he could sneak the Presidents’ Book of Secrets out in the cushion.

Luke Song, you've done it again!

RYAN: Calling what Aretha Franklin wore a hat is an insult to all the hard-working hats out there that actually serve a purpose—keeping our heads warm, blocking out the sun, and making us look cool when we wear them backwards. If Cheney wanted to be as loud and obnoxious as Aretha, then he would have been carted onstage in a wheelbarrow. But no. He’s too classy for those kinds of shenanigans. He went with a traditional, nondescript wheelchair, opting not to steal the spotlight from those who really deserved it, like the Obama girls. And seeing the honorable Dick Cheney like that, battered and bruised from years of hard work, evoked images of other wheelchaired greats: FDR, Professor Charles Xavier, John Locke before he landed on the island. Maybe slackers like you and Aretha Franklin don’t understand the satisfaction and respect that comes from putting in a hard day’s work. Or in this case, two terms of hard work. The pride and joy of knowing deep down you left things better off than when you started.

Dick Cheney's "undisclosed location" was actually on the island.

SHAWN: This just in: Ryan forced to forfeit Danger Queue argument when Aretha’s hat becomes international sensation! Yeah, move over “First Day in Office”, the New York Times has more important stories to handle. Apparently, the jewel-studded $179 hat—designed by Luke Song, Ryan’s favorite—has become more desirable than tits, with the store that makes it unable to keep up with the ridiculous demand from both the United States and Europe, our semi-friendly neighbor who we only talk to when we need to ask him to shovel his sidewalk. That hat represents not the-one, not the-2015, but the-two insanely important people that Aretha sang for—nothing wrong with wanting a piece of history. Not a lot of people trying to push their way to the front of the ramp to get their hands on a Cheney wheelchair. The closest thing is Cheney trying to push his way to the front of Toys R Us to get his hands on a delicious child.

RYAN: You’re basing your final argument on the fact people want to buy the hat, huh? That’s putting a lot of faith in people, the same people who just made Paul Blart: Mall Cop a box-office hit while Hotel for Dogs played to empty theaters across the nation. If people want to go spend their money on a shitty, diamond-encrusted hat, then go ahead. After all, nothing says spoiled and self-indulgent like unnecessary diamonds. But why stop at hats? Maybe sunglasses. Water bottles. Other larger diamonds. Anything to draw more attention to yourself. Sorry, that’s not how Cheney rolls. He’s a simple man from a simpler time. He came out on your basic run-of-the-mill wheelchair. None of the frills. Sure, it was boring, but that’s not the reason people aren’t clamoring for the Cheney wheelchair. You want to know why? Cause they can F****** WALK! Diamond-studded hats are something of a luxury item. People like you and Aretha use them to accessorize an outfit and say “Hey, look at me!” Wheelchairs are a necessity. People use them for mobility. Make fun of him all you want, but Cheney was only following doctor’s orders. I guess he could have crawled his way on stage. Is that what you wanted to see—Dick Cheney dragging himself across the stage?

Next On Danger Queue: Cardinals vs Steelers—Advertising Opportunities Available For Only $3 Million

A God-given compass or unwanted surprise?

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

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

Every 19 hours.

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

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

See? It's all about image.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, friend. There's an easier way.

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

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

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

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

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

Next on Danger Queue: Noses vs. Women Who Have Babies Without Realizing They’re Pregnant—Something Smells Fishy

Acclaimed movie star or delicious lunch concoction?

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

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

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

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

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

Unless it's for Predators.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not in the face?

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

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

Hate the player or hate the game?

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

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

Really? Operation Hulk? Really??

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

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

We were just talking, Coach. Honest.

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

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

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