This debate is recommended for ages 3 to 101.

SHAWN: Chutes! Nothing more fun than riding down a big old chute! It’s like a poor man’s slide, but with the chance that you could end up in a trash compactor or slaughterhouse. But it’s always a fun ride. Heck, even small chutes are great for things like laundry, mail, babies, and even laundry. You see, when I need to get something from point A to point B, I like to actually make sure it gets there—quickly and accurately—which is why there’s no better form of movement than the fine chute. So simple and easy to use, too! Just drop in your item and the next thing you know, it’s at the bottom of the chute! Like magic! Oh, as a young gir…boy, I had tons of fun at my Grandma’s house, pretending to accidentally fall down the laundry chute from the third floor straight down the basement (good thing I was a fatty or that could’ve been dangerous)—in fact, an average person’s best memories are 97% chute-related. What good are ladders besides for falling off? Ugh, and all that effort. Screw that. Pass me a chute.

RYAN: I’m tired of the chutes in life putting me down. Just when I think I’m working my way to the top, bam! A chute comes along and sends me right back where I started. I don’t call that fun or magical. I call that anti-progress, and I am, and always have been, 100% against anti-progress. That’s why I’m 100% for ladders. From the corporate one I hope to eventually climb to the aluminum one in my garage, ladders represent progress. They help us achieve great, wonderful things. Like being named VP of Regional Sales and Marketing, or painting the ceiling. Without a ladder, neither one of those impressive things would be possible. The only thing chutes help you do is fall without getting hurt. Thankfully for you, they do that quite well, as it sounds like you were a fat, uncoordinated, unsupervised child. Possibly even a girl. While the chute caters wonderfully to your tendency to put yourself down, not all of us enjoy the self-deprecation. Some us want to go onto to bigger and better things. And with a ladder, the sky’s the limit.

That's not how you climb a ladder.

SHAWN: I’d like to see this corporate ladder of yours, as from my understanding of your work life, it consists of one step that leads to the same platform as the janitor. And you still have to climb up it, expending all of that energy to get nowhere. If you’re not getting anywhere in your job, you might as well take a chute there. Sure, chute’s are not necessarily going up, but since when was going up the only path to progress? Ever hear of geothermal heating, groundwater, or food? Yeah, those all came about because some innovator wasn’t too proud to take a chute and discover what lies beneath, be it fertile soil or a sexy dead body. So not only can you take a chute to something new and interesting, but you can make progress without wasting your time to climb some crickety old ladder like a chump. Maybe I’m just a realist, but when you inevitable tumble in life, I’d rather fall down a chute than a ladder. Plus, I’d rather ride one at the local water park than be stuck at home painting my ceiling.

RYAN: Fine, my corporate ladder might be more of a step ladder, but that’s good enough for me. Even if it is only one step, it’s still a step up. Yes, that’s right. Up. The one place that a chute can never go. Or how did you put it? “Chutes are not necessarily going up.” Yes, that’s a kind way of putting the fact chutes only go down. Down into a world ripe with laziness and mediocrity. Maybe you’re content with that, but some of us in this world aren’t scared of success like you. Some of us are always striving, like the Jeffersons strived, to move on up in this world. To get ourselves a bigger piece of the pie, if you will. Whether that pie is a new job or a freshly painted ceiling, with a ladder, we’re up to the task. You may call yourself a realist for wanting to tumble down a chute instead of a ladder, but that’s because you’re resigned to always failing. Me, I’d rather climb up a ladder rather than climb up a chute. I guess I’m just an optimist. A soon-to-be-successful optimist!

Looks like the elephant just dropped a massive chute.

SHAWN: Must I repeat myself like some kind of parrot or homeless guy? I agree that chutes don’t go up, but I’m saying there’s nothing special about up besides the fact that it gets you one step closer to burning to death first when the sun inevitably explodes. Maybe I just forgot that you still live in 1952 when people cooled their pies on windowsills, because there’s just as big a piece of the pie—if not a bigger piece—down here at ground level. And it must be sad for you to associate things that are fun with failure. Resigned to failing because I prefer chutes? More like resigned to having a blast! Instead, you prefer to heave yourself up a rickety ladder and pretend that things are better up there because it took more energy to get there. But you know what? Nobody ever climbs into the lap of luxury; you fall into it. Without effort. Without hard work. And without the possibility of falling backwards and cracking your head open again. Yet you end up with even more wealth, money and power than that guy over there on the ladder. You know: the janitor.

RYAN: I only make you repeat yourself cause what you say is always so stupid. Nothing special about going up? Really? That’s what you’re going with? That and ladders putting you one step closer to a burning death? Oh, Shawn. You and your whacky imagination. The only thing putting you closer to a burning death is all your sins. And chutes. Each chute you ride puts you closer to the fiery inferno known as hell. I’ll keep climbing these ladders. With each step I get closer to heaven. If nothing else can solve this argument, there’s also a game—I don’t remember the name of it—filled with both chutes and ladders. The point of this untitled game is to use the chutes and ladders to reach the end of the board first. I say chutes and ladders only to be kind because really you only use the ladders. See, the ladders are the reward for landing on a space, providing a shortcut by allowing you to climb further up the board. The chutes are a penalty, throwing you further back on the board, making victory impossible. In conclusion, ladders equal heaven and winning. Chutes equal hell and losing.

Next On Danger Queue: Bed Bath & Beyond vs MTV’s Cribs—These Sheets Are 1500 Thread Count

You don't want to be stuck next to either on a bus.

RYAN: I’ve made my stance on noses well known, so it should be obvious that I’m in full support of smelly people. From the cabs we ride in to the cubicles across from us, smelly people are often criticized and never appreciated. With their poor hygiene, overpowering colognes, and hyperactive sweat glands, they fragrantly spice up our otherwise bland, odorless world. But instead of rolling our eyes, holding our breath, and plugging our noses, we should be accepting these people with open arms, open hearts, and open nostrils. Embrace the smell. Don’t be so quick to label it bad, gag-inducing, or repulsive. Instead, try to be a little more understanding, a little more positive. Original. Musky. Bold. It takes a certain type of courage to be a smelly person. The same type of courage that earns medals, ribbons, and the cover of People magazine.

SHAWN: Maybe I wouldn’t label smelly people as gag-inducing if they’d stop inducing me to gag. It doesn’t take courage to be smelly, it takes not bathing. It takes sloth. Dejectedness. Other negative attributes. But you know what does take courage? Standing out from the pack and breaking the silence. In a world that’s so bland, as you point out, someone has to step up and end the smothering calm we all live in as peons, going to our jobs, day-in, day-out, not talking, sitting, typing, all quietly. Luckily, we live in a world with loud people—the subtle, brilliant Ghandis of our cruel world who wait for the perfect opportunity to defy convention. Maybe you’re trying to think, or dive into the deep recesses of your mind that you’ve locked up for years (especially that time in third grade your uncle picked you up from school), but thankfully loud people come along and save the day. I’LL BE THERE AT NOON, they yell into their cell phone on the train. No need for your boring Sudoku now! They continue, MY CROTCH HAS BEEN ITCHING ALL DAY SO I HAVE TO SWING BY THE DOCTOR FIRST. Thanks again for making me feel better about me!

This Sudoku isn't going to finish itself!

RYAN: There’s nothing subtle or courageous about loud people. They’re obnoxious. And rude. And disrespectful. And so many other words that make me want to get my stab on. The world is loud enough, with all the loud typers, loud breathers, loud coughers, loud dressers, and even loud listeners. Loud people are just another instance of someone who thinks they’re more important than anything anyone else might be doing. Such blatant disregard makes me so sick to my stomach I think I might just puke. If only we could go back to the simpler, quieter times when people were mindful and respectful of others. When people could sit quietly on the train and at work without dealing with any distractions. Try all you want, but there’s no blocking out the loud people. Unless you crank the volume on your iPod high enough to suffer permanent hearing loss, something we’ve all seriously contemplated at one point or another. As grotesque as you may think smelly people are, they are at least avoidable. Just stay outside a 10-foot radius and you’re breathing easy. Even if you can’t, you eventually grow used to the smell. Maybe even find it charming. You can’t avoid loud people, and even worse, they get more annoying the more they blab on about their new-found STDs. The next thing you know you’ve got a knife in your hand and… no… not now. Too many witnesses. Patience, Ryan. Patience.

SHAWN: Loud people have a blatant disregard for others? That’s really your argument? Because there’s something in this world called smell pollution and it goes beyond the Chicago slaughterhouses (Is that bacon? No?). Clearly, the smelly people want to cause even more trouble for their fellow man. And sometimes smells are so pungent, there’s no way to get away from them. What if you’re stuck sitting next to Mr. Stankapalooza at work? What if you can’t get away? It’s no more simple to get 10 feet away from him than it is to get away from Sir Talksalot. Plus, at least with loud person, if you’re some kind of freak who hates lively discussion, you can always tell loud person to shut the hell up. Try turning to smelly person and being all, “STOP BEING SMELLY!” Yeah, it ain’t that easy, is it? Sure you may grow used to the smell, but it’s just like how the fine people of Chernobyl grew used to the radiation…and now have six arms. And not cool Dr. Octopus arms, either. Although it sounds like you wouldn’t mind being a supervillain with your reckless abandon and desire to get your stab on. Someone took a violent turn. That’s going even a little far for me, and I already made a molestation joke this Danger. Maybe the smell’s gone to someone’s head…

Rockin' the pit stains!

RYAN: Good for you for getting that molestation joke out of the way early on in this Danger.  Our readers have come to depend on that tired and true joke just as much as they depend on me always winning the argument. And I wouldn’t want to come up short on my end of the deal. I know you like to talk yourself up quite a bit in these, but we both know you’re not about to tell a loud person to shut the hell up. That would cause a confrontation. You know, that thing you’re always avoiding. You might tell yourself you’re going to say something, as soon as there’s a pause in the conversation, but one pause turns to two, four, five. Hours later, it’s obviously clear you’re not going to do a thing. Which is why the loud person is as loud as he is. He knows no one will do anything, except probably bitch as soon as he leaves the room. Smelly people, on the other hand, are mostly oblivious to their own stank. Maybe they never learned proper hygiene. Maybe they didn’t realize they’re supposed to repeat after rinsing. While a loud person is fully set in his loud ways, there’s always hope for a smelly person. Contrary to what you said, it actually can help to tell a smelly person to stop being smelly. Maybe it won’t pay dividends right away, but give it time. It’s like that old Chinese proverb: Give a man a bath and you clean him for a day. Teach a man to bathe and you clean him for life.

SHAWN: Whoa. Now there have been days where you’ve produced terrible arguments before (I call those “weekdays”), but this takes the cake. First of all, molestation is always comedy gold, especially for our readership which is composed almost entirely of preteen girls—and it’s far more refreshing than your “if I know so-and-so, which I don’t, he would…” line that died with Yakov Smirnoff. Secondlyness, you’re accusing of me of not having the balls to call someone loud while saying it’s not just easy, but ethical, to call someone smelly? Yeah, why don’t you go around and start pointing out smelly people, especially that big guy at the gym whose ’roids have been known to take other ’roids. And, finally, you’re saying I avoid confrontation? I’m not sure if you noticed, but we write a blog in which we confront each other twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 9am (check your local listings). Wow—this smelly people issue sure has hit you hard. I mean, what kind of person would defend smelly people, simply saying they haven’t learned how to shower when clearly they’ve tried as they don’t all live in third-world countries? Seriously. What kind of person would say smelly people are underappreciated and that it’s okay because they are immune to their own scents andHOLY CRAP! This just in: Ryan’s a smelly person. Was that ballsy enough for you?

Next On Danger Queue: Chutes vs Ladders—We’re Going To Be All Over The Board

Which one gets our operating systems all aflutter?

SHAWN: I’m a PC. There, I said it. Go ahead, play your Feist and select your programs from a crazy ass tool bar at the bottom of your screen and then not get viruses. Whatever. I like customization and I LOVE Bill Gates. ROWR! And, well, look at that—even when Macs try to make their own Office Suites, everyone still gets the sweetest suite in the sweet-ass world of suites: Microsoft Office. With Word, Excel, PowerPoint, the ugly one, FrontPage (2003 and older), it’s unstoppable, just like everything Microsoft does. Nothing’s more comforting than seeing the start-up page for Microsoft Windows. Ahh, safety and familiarity—a double whammy of awesomeness. What? A problem? That’s not safe! But, wait, now it’s loading in safe mode. That sounds safe. If we could overhaul the concept of religion and place a company in God’s stead, my vote is for Microsoft. Five bucks they use the brilliant Microsoft Money program to keep track of their millions. Bless ‘em.

RYAN: Microsoft as God? Surely you jest. Who would be the spokesperson? The paperclip from Word? The dog who feebly sniffs around during searches? Come on. Let’s be serious. If we’re looking for a new God, we need someone opinionated with convictions as powerful as his ties. Someone like Stephen Colbert.  He’s already proven that his word is more powerful than any word of Microsoft or God. Stephen Colbert literally made up a word—truthiness—that became accepted in mainstream culture before going on to be named Word of the Year in not one, not two, but TWO different years! And his following is already more devoted than that of any god, let alone that of Microsoft. How else do you explain the fact he’s had an ice cream flavor, plane, bald eagle, hockey team, futuristic space treadmill, species of spider, and bridge named after him? I don’t see anybody eating a pint of Microsoft Excel-lent Chocolate Ice Cream or crossing Microsoft Outlook Bridge. If you’re not willing to name an ice cream after something, how good can it really be?

I hope you're not allergic to the truth.

SHAWN: Truthiness, eh? Yeah, it’s a cool word, but have you heard of “continuous partial attention”—a sweet-ass bunch of words meaning the way you focus on computers, coined by a Microsoft executive. Oh, and maybe you’ve also heard of “computers” or “the Internet”. Maybe you should be getting on your knees (shouldn’t be hard for you) and bowing down to the most innovative company this side of Sanrio. Without technical brilliance like that found at Microsoft, there would be no space treadmill, bald eagle or ice cream for Stephen Colbert to ruthlessly (granted, also righteously) attach his name to by begging fans to make it happen. Colbert just appears to have a huge following because he’s constantly rallying them for his noble purposes. If Microsoft wanted to create a world of mindless zombie followers, all it would have to do is put one secret order in MS Word, which, yes, more people in the world use than watch Colbert. But you know what? They don’t do that. Because they’re a good, fair, brilliant company that MUST RAISE TO GOD-LIKE STATUSSESSSERRROR… … …….

RYAN: Microsoft didn’t invent the Internet—Al Gore did—and they surely didn’t invent computers. They just hopped on that bandwagon almost immediately and then forced everyone else out through somewhat illegal business practices. Innovative? More like monopolistic. Yes, more people use Word than watch Colbert (as of now), but that’s only because for years Microsoft was the only option. If Colbert was the only thing on TV, which would be fine by me, then his following would be larger than any following of Microsoft. How it could not be? The man is a walking embodiment of the perfect human being. Brains (he is a doctor after all), brawn (GQ’s 2006 Man of the Year), sex appeal (Maxim’s 2nd Sexiest TV News Anchor), and most importantly, balls (did you see his speech at the White House Correspondents Association Dinner?). He’s the total package, which is probably why the International Space Station placed a digitized version of Colbert’s DNA—or seed, if you will—in space. On the off chance the human race is destroyed by Microsoft, Skynet, or the computer from War Games, Colbert—and Colbert alone—will resurrect mankind. Microsoft can’t even resurrect my files when Windows (not so) unexpectedly crashes.

Please stop staring at my error messages.

SHAWN: Runtime Error! Program: C:|ProgramFiles (x84)\Danger\GroupWise\dq.exe. This application has requested the Runtime to terminate it in an unusual way. Please contact the application’s support team for more information.

RYAN: No, I will not contact the application’s support team. I’m tired of talking with ”Jim” from “Kentucky” whose first question is always “Is your computer plugged in?” Stop asking stupid questions and start telling me how I can back all the important porn…err…work-related files I had open. Oh, who am I kidding? Trying to change Microsoft is a lost cause, much like that one cause so long ago that was eventually lost. But thanks to Stephen Colbert, it’s not too late for America, the little country that did. By tirelessly warning us of the danger of bears, raising awareness of wrist violence, and even sacrificing his beautiful head of hair, Stephen Colbert has single-handedly made this country stronger than it’s ever been. His long-running series “Better Know A District” has, albeit slowly, educated the entire country on the inner workings of the ill-equipped people working in our government. And his daily rants on the most topical subjects not only explain them in full detail, but they also tell us what to think. Whenever I work with Microsoft, all I think is how I wish I were a Mac. And how dreamy that Justin Long is.

Next On Danger Queue: Smelly People vs Loud People—Everybody Shut Up And Shower

Which one is all it's cracked up to be?

RYAN: Hey, Shawn, I’ve got a surprise for you for your birthday. Put this blindfold on. Now, grab this long stick right here—it’s big, you’ll want to use both hands—and start swinging away! Do it just right, and you’ll be showered with a wonderful treat! That’s right, it’s a piñata! The piñata, with its delicate combination of paper, maché, candy, and toys, has revolutionized the way we celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and even randomly selected days like May 5th. Before, our parties always centered around cake, candles, and last-minute gifts that only give once. Not anymore! Piñatas are gifts that we literally beat the shit out of until they can give no more. It may look like that Spongebob piñata is empty, what with its head cracked wide open and all, but you never know what goodies he’s hiding in those squarepants of his. And if the piñata teaches us just one thing, it’s if someone has something you want, just beat them with a big wooden stick until you get it.

SHAWN: Yeah, that piñata sure sounds fun. How about we blindfold someone, get them all dizzy, and then give them a blunt object to swing around at their whim? And, then, if they manage to break the piñata, fill it with toys as you suggest so we can all get Hot Wheels concussions? Weeeee! Sorry, sir, but that sounds like too much worry for me. You see, I like to live my life a little bit more relaxed, a little bit worry-free, a little bit chill. In fact, I’d go as far as to live my life with NO worries, for the rest of my days (which will be few if Ryan keeps throwing those piñata parties). Enticed? Well, you too could share my carefree philosophy with one wonderful phrase. Hakuna matata. Sure, it would also make a fine stripper name, but hakuna matata is not just a way to live—it’s THE way to live. And, trust me, it ain’t no passing craze, like piñatas. I mean, piñatas probably only have another year or two before kids reject them for the more streamlined party game where you put a pillowcase over your head and spray the room with bullets.

Yes, stabbing is also an acceptable approach.

RYAN: Trust me. The piñata is not going away anytime soon. Everyone loves it way too much for that to happen. China, Spain, Mexico, Africa, they’re all fighting over who created the first piñata. Nobody fights over something like that unless that something is absolutely awesome. And, if you bothered to do any research… on Wikipedia, you’d know the piñata is penetrating the European market at this very moment. Feel that Great Britain? Yeah, that’s some sweet penetration. Hakuna matata hasn’t penetrated anything, much less an entire continent, in more than a decade. It was just another one of the flash-in-the-pan Disney creations that couldn’t stand the test of time. Swahili? No worries? A talking meerkat? Hey, Disney, enough with the in-your-face life lessons. Just stick with what you do best: inserting subtle references to penises in all your movies. And for the record, it’s not like all other party games are free and clear of danger. Pin the tail on the donkey involves blindfolding someone and hoping they don’t stab you. Bobbing for apples is really just glorified waterboarding. A little danger is accepted—nay, required!—when it comes to party games. If you don’t want to join in on the action, no worries, just sit off to the side and play with yourself.

SHAWN: Penetration? Long stick? Showered with a treat? It sounds like you have more riding on this piñata argument than most of us would ever want to imagine. Unless we’re looking to be forced into burning off our own retinas. So do you actually play piñata with piñatas or just use them to fulfill your raw ungodly fantasies with Dora the Explorer? Dora calls that “violación reglamentaria” and she doesn’t have to take it. Does this mean maybe piñatas are only taking off around the world to fulfill cheap sexual fantasies? I don’t know and I don’t care. Because I have hakuna matata. Say what you will about meerkats and Disney and blah blah blah—it doesn’t get me down. No worries! And it won’t stop me from having my own hakuna matata party, with some of my best friends who like things like sitting around, chilling, drinking, talking, whatever—unlike your party where you apparently all get together and waterboard one another. Man, life is sweet.

It only simulates drowning.

RYAN: Look at you. Living in your little fantasy world with no worries, where nothing gets you down. Hakuna matata, right? Causing the death of your father, Mustafa—hakuna matata! Growing up with a priest that was a little too “hands on”—hakuna matata! Being forced to wear hand-me-down clothes from your older sister—hakuna matata! I believe psychologists call that repression, and by no means is it considered healthy. All those horrible, traumatic things you choose not to think and worry about, they’re going to come out someday, someway. Most likely in a violent explosion of raw, unaddressed emotion. When they do, I just hope instead of your friends, family, or hilarious Danger Queue partner, you have a piñata nearby to take it all out on. Just another reason why piñatas are so fantastic. Not only are they the giver of toys and candy, but they’re also a perfectly good whipping boy to take out any long-held aggression on. No one’s going to judge you for swinging a wooden rod at an inanimate object. Even if you do focus a little too much on the crotch. It’s all healthy, good fun! Hakuna matata!

SHAWN: Clearly, you never saw my sister’s hand-me-downs or you’d know I was looking damn fine rocking my Rainbow Brite sneakers and babydoll dresses. Maybe it didn’t make me “cool”, but it let my crotch air out like nobody’s business—easy and breezy. Once again, I was living a life free of worry—and underwear—and it was awesome. Hakuna matata! And, fun fact, I feel absolutely no aggression, no matter what you want to pretend happens to people who enjoy their lives, you poor, bitter soul. Maybe it’s your long history of getting abandoned in that grocery store when you were 12, being raised by wolverines, and discovering that you were a boy when you were 19 that’s made you so angry?—but that’s no excuse to take it out on a rainbow-print hollow pony. There are therapists for that. Although with all your focusing on the crotch and your obsession with “whipping boys”, maybe prison’s a better option for you. Meanwhile, I’ll be hanging out in the jungle with my enormous pig friend (hi, Tom!) and doing something that may be entirely unfamiliar to sadomasachists like yourself: smiling.

Either way, we're expecting calls from PETA.

SHAWN: Huggable. Lovable. Endangered. Three words that could easily describe both Kathy Najimy and snow owls. For the sake of this Danger, though, we’ll focus on the latter. Found only in the most adorable of regions (the Arctic Circle) the snow owl’s fluffy white feathers and enticing yellow eyes make it not only a creature of unusual awesomeness, but a creature often hunted by other predators for its tasty meat. Can you blame them? That being said, we should make sure to protect these beautiful beasts, as the loss of them would be the loss of a beacon of adorable light in the coldest of regions. Plus, they may be predators themselves, but the snow owl only focuses on rodents like lemmings—yes, ones on the constant verge of death anyway. That’s kind of you, snow owl. Mighty kind. That just makes you more huggable. Anyone ever want to hug a fire ant?

RYAN: The fire ant may not be the most huggable of creatures, but let’s not make that the only standard by which we judge them. For in fact, what fire ants lack in huggability they more than make up for in their military-like sense of discipline and teamwork. While the snow owl lazily flies around picking off suicidal lemmings like a coward, fire ants work together as a team to accomplish what no single fire ant could: taking down crickets and even small animals. Small animals NOT on the verge of killing themselves. If that wasn’t awesome enough, which it is, fire ants also play a vital role in keeping our planet in constant harmony. How so? Interesting I should ask. See, fire ants feed on seeds and young plants, thereby keeping the plant population at easily manageable levels. And if we learned just one lesson from M. Night Shamalayan’s The Happening (besides how much of a fluke The Sixth Sense was), it was that plants can not be trusted. Gee, that’s mighty kind of you, fire ants. Thanks for saving us all from certain death.

Mark Wahlberg's strutting can only carry a movie so far.

SHAWN: If we learned just one lesson from The Happening, it’s clearly that we judged The Village too harshly, ala saying things couldn’t get worse than Mussolini before Hitler showed up. But that’s all. Plants are not going to rise up, as you can tell by looking out your office window to a parking lot and a series of former tree stumps doused in urine to prevent regrowth. Ever hear of global warming? It’s not a myth—like centaurs or Kathy Najimy—and it’s caused by our lack of plant life, which you point out was caused by, yes, fire ants. And, in fact, global warming is actually going to kill us all, despite what Shymalanalalandingdong believes will cause Armageddon. So that IS mighty kind of you, fire ants, for destroying us all. And if that’s not bad enough, fire ants sting, and they often sting humans. They’re just bad news at every turn. When was the last time you got stung by a snow owl? What, never? Because he was too busy hooting and flying around all adorably? Interesting. Maybe I’m the one with a sixth sense—the sense to see through your lies.

RYAN: Again with the Kathy Najimy? I see somebody caught up on his DVDs of Veronica’s Closet this past weekend. It’s a good show. No argument there. But I do take issue with the fact you say fire ants caused global warming. If you’re looking for someone to blame for global warming, you should take a good, hard look in the mirror… at yourself! That gas-guzzling Hummer you drive, the newspapers you don’t recycle, the mounds of leaves you burn without a permit, you don’t think any of that has any sort of impact? Please. You and Kathy Najimy are way more responsible for global warming than fire ants. And you’re damn straight that plants aren’t going to rise up. Cause fire ants have been keeping them in line. It’s what they do. And yes, occasionally fire ants do sting, but that’s only after you mess with their shit. If you don’t like being stung, then stop kicking their nest and stop fucking with the Queen. At least fire ants can defend themselves, unlike a certain owl of snowy nature. “Oh, but hunters are after me for my eyes and feet.” Can it, snow owl! Maybe you should have thought about that before turning into the biggest pussy of the animal kingdom.

Kirstie Alley, Dan Cortez, token black guy, how did this show not last?

SHAWN: Whoa, whoa, whoa—you are always trying to pass the buck about who these Dangers are really about. This ain’t fire ants vs me, even if I may look extra sporty in my fine Hummer that runs on bald eagles. And nothing wrong with a little leaf-burning—how else will I make a flame large enough to dispose of my American flags? But maybe you should get away from your sci-fi plants-taking-over dreams and come back down to a little place called Earth: a place where people don’t like being stung, even if they accidentally step on your fat-ass Queen. People do, however, like a little friendship, a little love, a little peace—and all of those ideals are rolled up perfectly for us in a precious ball of feathers called the snow owl. Sure, snow owl may be a bit of a pacifist, but I’m not sure if you noticed this, fire ants, but snow owls can also fucking fly. Beat that. Oh, what, you carry 20 times your own weight—so, like, a raisin? I’d like to see you battle a snow owl and watch as he immediately swoops down, picks you up, and drops you to your horrible death from 50 feet up. Who’s the pussy now? So how about you back off, fire ants, before this here snow owl goes all Kathy Najimy on your asses.

RYAN: Me passing the buck? ME passing the buck? This coming from the guy who’s brought up Kathy Najimy, Hitler, and global warming in his defense of the snow owl. Yeah, you’re really one to stay on topic. Even when you are on topic, you’re still jumping all around. First the snow owl was a predator. Now it’s a pacifist. Except of course when it’s killing fire ants for no reason but its own amusement. Well, which one is it? Here, let me help you. The snow owl is like the bully at school who picks on the underclassmen for its own amusement. Rats, lemmings, other rodents, anything small that doesn’t pose a threat. But the second someone gives the snow owl a taste of its own medicine, all of a sudden it’s bitching about how it’s not fair and how it’s an endangered species.  Wah, wah, wah! Hey, snow owl, if you don’t like the circle of life then get the fuck out of it. Fire ants are all about the circle. They eat plants and crickets, flies eat fire ants, frogs eat flies, and so on and so on. You don’t hear any bitching or moaning any time a fire ant dies. Cause they got no problem with death. Hell, most male fire ants die immediately after sexing up the Queen. It’s all just part of the beautiful circle of life. If you need help understanding it, just listen to the Elton John song: Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting.

Next On Danger Queue: Piñatas vs Hakuna Matata—No Worries ’Til We Crack Open Pumbaa’s Belly

Just like Journey always said: don't stop believing.

RYAN: Science, you’ve done it again! Having already taken the dreaded lemon out of the lemonade equation, it could have very easily coasted through life, riding the wave of that one grand accomplishment. But no. Science went right back out there and got to work, completely outdoing itself by recreating the unmistakable qualities of butter in a margarine alternative. Well done. And really, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter is truly one for the ages. It’s spreadable like butter; it tastes like butter; it’s smooth like butter. But guess what: it’s not butter. Normally, no one would believe it’s not butter, but then a young marketing genius decided to name it I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. Few products nowadays have the balls to name themselves after exactly what people are going say as they eat it. Totinos Pizza Rolls didn’t do it. Goldfish didn’t do it. Chips Ahoy! kinda did it, but that just might be me. But I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter went for it, and you know what? It pulled it off. Even if you don’t believe it’s not butter, you still believe it tastes fucking great.

SHAWN: Why do you only praise science when it puts together something both unnatural and disgusting? We all know you hate natural flavors like that of the fine lemon, but now you’re supporting a synthetic product that tastes exactly like a perfectly delicious, healthy project, except that your version is fattening and weird? I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter tries its damnedest to taste exactly like butter, but you know what product does taste like butter? Butter! But I digress—we’re not arguing butter vs its villainous doppelganger. Your smooth, artificial, counterfeit butter may be uncomfortably smooth, but it’s not as amazingly bizarre as anything you’d find in Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. A man who spent $4000 to tattoo himself into a zombie? A pink dolphin? Jewelry made out of reindeer poop? A man who puts 1500 WHAT up his nostrils? Believe it…or not! It doesn’t matter, since it’s all freakin’ amazing. Wow, science, you managed to make not butter taste like butter, what a thrill. Have you tried making, maybe, a Chevrolet billboard made entirely of pennies? You know, something interesting?

Horrible comedian or... no, that's really the only choice.

RYAN: I praise science for continually pushing the boundaries of reality, which is exactly what happened with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. Butter, not butter, no one can tell the difference, no matter what anyone says to the contrary. Ripley’s doesn’t push anything. Sure, it’s bizarre, but Ripley’s Believe It Or Not does not come close to making me question my own beliefs. Seeing a guy who had nothing better to do than tattoo himself into a zombie isn’t unbelievable. It’s just stupid, and stupidity doesn’t impress me. A pink dolphin, jewelry made of poop, whatever, it’s all idiotic, and frankly, it’s all quite believable because of how ridiculously stupid people have proven themselves to be. If people can make Larry the Cable Guy successful, then I’m ready to believe they’ll do anything. But I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter? Now THAT shit’s crazy. Every taste I have blows my mind and renders me completely flabbergasted. My taste buds tell me it’s butter, but the label tells me it’s not. What do I do? What do I trust? What do I… believe?

SHAWN: What do you believe? I’ll tell you what you believe—you believe it’s not butter. You believe the goddamn label that tells you you’re filling your body with gross margarine or oil spread or baby juice or whatever I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter is made out of. Just because it tastes good, doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Bacon-wrapped jujubes are the greatest tasting hors d’oeurve in the universe, but if you eat more than three you will likely die. The only reason I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter makes you question your beliefs is because every time you eat it it brings you one giant step closer to death. Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, however, is wholesome, clean, safe fun. Maybe zombie guys doesn’t impress you, but you have to admit staring at his poor soul is hilarious. But if you don’t like that, or the pink dolphin, or poop jewelry, just move onto the next item: Ripley’s has it all! Compiling so much bizarre culture is a gift, and if you can forego the stapler someone found in an egg to look at HAL the robot suit, then you have yourself the greatest place of all time. What do you eat if you don’t like your fake butter? Well, I can think of one other option, but it ain’t HAL: REAL butter.

You won't believe your eyes: Dean Cain's on television still!

RYAN: Ripley’s has it all? Surely you jest. Yes, they may have poop jewelery, tattooed freaks, and a stapler in an egg among other asinine things, but I’ll tell you something it doesn’t have: unbelievability. They should change the name to Ripley’s Believe It Cause It’s Really Not That Weird. At least then it would have an honest name that doesn’t rope people in under false pretenses. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter doesn’t have to stoop down to those shoddy marketing techniques. It lives up to the standard of its name. One spoonful of it, and you’ll surely be exclaiming to no one in particular “I can’t believe it’s not butter.” Two, three, nine spoonfuls later, you’ll still be saying the same thing. Is it good for you? No, and nobody ever said it was. The only people who would believe butter, real or not, is healthy are the same people you’d find queued in line to catch a glimpse of a shitty piece of “bizarre culture”. Oh, look, they made they outside of the building look like it’s slanted! How clever! If it comes down to nothing else, just take a look at the spokesmen. I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter had the man, the myth, the legend. Fabio. A man so famous he needn’t bother with last name. Ripley’s had Dean Cain, a guy who’s only famous because at one point he was mistakenly considered famous.

SHAWN: Do you have Tourette’s, because I can’t imagine any sane human shouting “I can’t believe it’s not butter!” to a room full of strangers and/or nobody. Although who are we kidding? If you’re cutting costs and downing I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, you likely live alone and friendless. Nobody reacts aloud to fake butter—hell, you wouldn’t verbally react to the finest burger ever made, even if you cream your pants a little. Now if you want a physiological reaction, look no further than guy with a split lizard tongue. How can you look at him without an “Oh, mother of God, shit!”? Yeah, you can’t, because it’s that crazy. It’s just THAT Ripley’s. But you’re really saying people are more interested in, um, the subtle difference between butter and margarine than custom clouds? Sorry, readers—well, if we have any readers out there since y’all are probably watching paint dry or picking at dried glue right now. And, in all fairness, Dean Cain is basically Ripley’s in a nutshell. Ripley’s is so self-aware, it has one of its own selling it as a TV show. Dean Cain is famous—believe it or not! A washing machine that only uses one cup of water—believe it or not! Ryan just got owned on this Danger—believe it…or believe it!

Next On Danger Queue: Snow Owls vs Fire Ants—Endangered Means There’s Still Time

Pop quiz hot shot. Life hands you lemons. What do you do? What do YOU do?

SHAWN: Man, this water is gross. It sure could use a slice of fruit to spice it up. Man, this fish is dry. It sure could use a hunk of fruit to spice it up. Man, this hooker’s chest is bare. It sure could use a squeeze of fruit to spice it up. But what fruit is that versatile, that sexy, that amazing? Well, friends, look no further than the lemon. We at the Queue have spoken out before for our love of apples and oranges (see Apples vs. Oranges), but we left out a third, far superior fruit and it’s finally getting its just desserts. Truly it is the perfect fruit. Not only does it have the unique sour taste that has since permeated every aspect of food life from basil chicken to patch kids, but it has adorable little nubs at the end for easy picking straight from the tree. Plus, its sweet scent is perfect for any cleaner you could ever imagine. Name one other scent that you’d want to scrub the inside of your toilet with, besides ham.

RYAN: Instead of garnishing that gross water with a lemon, why not turn it into something 10, no, 15, no, 10 times more delicious? I speak of course of lemonade. Yes, lemonade. That cool, refreshing drink. See, when life hands you lemons, you don’t cut off a slice and put it on the edge of your glass like some snobby prick. No, you make yourself a tall glass of lemonade. What’s that? You don’t have any lemons handy? No problem, my citrus-deprived friend, for lemonade doesn’t come only from lemons. It also comes from the power of powder. Country Time. Crystal Light. Generic off brand. It doesn’t matter. A couple spoonfuls—more if you want to make your dentist really work for his money—and suddenly that boring glass of water is exploding with the riveting, mouth-puckering flavor of lemonade! Woahhhhhhhhhh! And unlike that orange wannabe lemon, lemonade comes in a variety of different options. Pink, strawberry, raspberry, hard, there’s something for everyone. Yes, even you!

Ha! With the two lemons it looks like a penis.

SHAWN: You sure are a naturalist, what with your healthy, wholesome Crystal Light and generic off-brand “lemonade”. Mmm, nothing like a tall glass of sugar, yellow 5, infant urine, and sugar to start off the day. You and your damned mature taste! Actually, fun fact, some of us have grown past 10 and don’t suffer from reverse-Jack syndrome, and we have developed tastes that don’t require copious amounts of sugar turned into flavored powder using some kind of futuristic powdering device. Some of us can still enjoy the raw, delicious taste of pure lemon. And why would you want something called lemonade when you know damn well no actual lemons are inside of it? How would you like a taste of this here apple juice? Don’t worry—the apple flavoring is actually cow tongue. But even if you can synthetically create lemonade in a research lab, it doesn’t take away from the one and only true inspiration of lemonade: the lemon. Admit it: we wouldn’t have lemonade without the lemon, the far superior parent to its ugly lemonade baby. Hell, without lemons, we’d have to name that powdered stuff after what it actually is. Kids, come downstairs, it’s time for some isoglucoseade.

RYAN: Hmmm? Oh, sorry, I just wanted to watch you enjoy the “raw, delicious taste” of the lemon like you said. Don’t worry. I’ll wait. Take a big whopping bite of that lemon. Go ahead. Then when you’re trying not to suck your face inside itself, you’ll understand why we need lemonade.  Fact: lemons are so awful that they can only be enjoyed in small portions in which their brutal sour flavor is masked. That’s why you only garnish your drinks and serve your chicken or fish with the smallest of lemon slices. Using a full lemon would only make things worse. But lemonade, sweet ol’ lemonade takes the delicious flavor of lemons, hidden behind the disgusting rind and gag-inducing pulp, and puts it into a wonderfully refreshing, easily enjoyable drink. Powdered or not, lemonade was needed because God dropped the ball with the lemon. Thankfully, man was around to right that wrong with lemonade. All the flavor of lemons without any of the raw, painful tart. Did the lemon inspire lemonade? More like the lemon necessitated lemonade.

Yep. Just a couple of bloodthirsty entrepreneurs.

SHAWN: Double fact: it’s not that lemons are “so awful” that makes them most enjoyable in small portions, but that they are so freakin’ perfect that you only need a pinch of their fine amalgam of taste to get the full effect of their awesomeness. Take sex, for example—a topic rarely discussed on the Queue. Let’s say you had to go at it for fourteen hours just to feel something. Yeah, that sounds fun. Triple fact: sex, like lemons, is so amazing that it’s enjoyable from the get-go. Unless you’re a furry like Ryan, but then once you buy a children’s bear costume you’re good to go. The lemon didn’t necessitate lemonade—us humans screwed it all up by adding sugar and turning it from a healthy food accent to a fattening heap of fakeness. So as the humble lemon remains the subtle treat of kings, lemonade has become the root of evil, turning mere children into bloodthirsty entrepreneurs, hocking their wares on the street like five-dollar hookers, making overhead like its drug store candy! And I hope word doesn’t get back to God about you saying he dropped the ball on the lemon. The only balls God ever dropped were his own, after he created Playboy.

RYAN: Sigh. I thought for a minute we were going to get through one of these without the pedophile insinuations. I guess I’m just an optimist, always expecting the best out of people no matter how many times they show their worst. But I long ago gave up on the lemon. It’s the black sheep of the citrus family. You don’t eat it like an orange. You don’t put in your Coronas like a lime. Its only saving grace was lemonade, but now we don’t even need a lemon for that. It doesn’t make a difference that the lemon inspired lemonade. Nowhere in the Bible, or any book, does it say the inspiration is always greater than the inspired. In fact, quite the opposite. The inspired takes only the best parts of its inspiration, in this case the muted flavor buried deep down in the travesty that is a lemon, and flushes it out, enhances it for all to enjoy. Really, the lemon should be thankful, seeing how lemonade is the only thing keeping it relevant nowadays. You said yourself the lemon was nothing more than a food accent, an afterthought at best. As in, “wow, this chicken is kind of dry and flavorless, well, maybe this lemon can make it a little less crappy.” That’s already quite the stretch though, since it requires someone to have actually bought a lemon. Actually, that’s not fair. People buy lemons all the time. Except now there’s the Lemon Law to protect them in case a car they bought is a lemon; you know, broken, defective, and worthless.

Next On Danger Queue: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter vs Ripley’s Believe It Or Not—Check Your Beliefs At The Door