It's like a water park in your own backyard...or bathroom.

RYAN: As a card-carrying man, I can honestly say that we do our best work on our feet. Which is exactly why the urinal is easily the greatest creation this world has ever seen. At the very least it’s in the discussion. For far too long men have been subjected to the no-win situation of toilets. Either sit down and risk being caught with your pants around your ankles, or pee standing up and deal with the inevitable splashback that has ruined one too many Dockers. With urinals, all those worries are gone. Flushed away just like our comfortably secreted urine. We can do our business on our feet in the open, no longer forced to hide behind the closed doors of another darkened stall. Thanks to urinals, we men can pee without having to compromise our dignity.

SHAWN: First of all, I’d like to see that card you supposedly carry, as your vagina makes me question your “man”-ness. Secondly, everyone knows you do your best work on your knees. And, mostly, all a urinal provides is a place where you can watch your pee slip and slide all over, still with some splashback. If you’re looking for having a little fun slipping and sliding, it’s time for you to turn to the Slip ‘n Slide. Just dribble a little water onto the mat, run, jump into it, and slide your way to fun—basically, just slip, and then slide. Weeeeeeeee!!! Try doing that in the bathroom after your drunken ass misses the urinal. And, sure, maybe the Slip ‘n Slide wasn’t always safe—creating some neck injuries and a few cases of mild quadriplegia—but it brought a generation of fat kids outside and got them running.

The urinal's too high! It's too high!

RYAN: I don’t know what kind of funky urinals you’ve been peeing in, but if you’re getting splashback or even missing for that matter, you’re doing something very wrong. Urinals couldn’t make it any easier for people to go to the bathroom (except maybe women, but that’s a lost cause). They’re always at the perfect crotch height, and some even extend all the way down to the floor. Maybe next time you pee, try focusing on actually peeing, instead of trying to catch a glimpse of the guy at the urinal next to you. It’s because of people like you that we’re now forced to live with urinal walls. Urinals are about peeing in the open and not having to feel like a caged animal while you do it. Walls totally defeat that purpose. Sure, it may only be one urinal wall today, but how many will it be tomorrow? Two? Three? Five? God, I sure hope it isn’t five. But I can see now why you love Slip ‘n Slides so much. One run down that and your swimsuit is soaked. After that, nobody will ever know that’s not water dripping down your leg.

SHAWN: Well, la-de-da, look at me, I’m Ryan, going to all my rich people mansions and restaurants and peeing in urinals that are set up “at the perfect crotch height”. Clearly, you’ve never experienced the half-hanging shitty movie theater urinal or the one that’s only set up for giants. But splashback isn’t the point here. If the best part about urinals is peeing in the open, we shouldn’t even need urinals in the first place. The world’s our urinal. Why not start peeing on the street, in the middle of a third-grade classroom, or on your spouse’s chest? Where will it stop, Ryan? Urinals are the first step in a devolving focus on the intimacy of excreting wastes. We’ve all seen the trough, aka step two. The next thing you know we’ll all be peeing into a hole dug into a janitor’s closet. Excuse me for respecting the sanctity of the bathroom. As for Slip ‘n Slides—which you curiously chose not to give any arguments against—they are awesome. They provide that freedom to not feel like a caged animal, running around and laughing and playing, without the downside of urinating in front of glance-stealing strangers like myself.

It was the Slip 'n Slide, I swears it!

RYAN: Again, I don’t know what kind of funky urinals you’ve been peeing in. You might see fewer half-hanging urinals if you spent less time at highway truck stops, but you don’t go there to use the bathroom, do you? And that “devolving focus” you’re unbelievably concerned with ends the second a person is potty trained. So age 3 for most people, last year for you. Really, no one in their right mind pees in the middle of a third grade classroom or on a person’s chest, at least without asking first. Urinals provide us men with a little openness to stretch our legs and air things out while also respecting the accepted social norms for going to the bathroom. If it’s too complicated for you, just sit down like a woman when you pee. As for Slip ‘n Slides, they’re a crappy product that can be recreated with nothing more than a tarp and garden hose. Besides wasting hundreds of gallons of water each year, they’re also the least fun water-related activity, behind pools, hot tubs, and even a simple sprinkler. Only one kid can go at a time, which always leads to some self-conscious fat kid in a Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt who refuses to wait his turn.

SHAWN: Since when did I become the gay pedophile (or, in this case, trucker)—that’s my shtick for you and you can’t have it. And if you’re going to the urinal, “stretching and airing things out,” then maybe you don’t quite realize what social norms are. You’re supposed to do your business and get out, not flap around your wang and do yoga poses. I bet you’re also a urinal talker or, worse, an adjacent urinal user when there are several open ones. There’s etiquette to urinals too, so don’t pretend they offer animalistic fulfillment. And just because you grew up on the set of Deliverance, doesn’t mean we’re all bathing in tarps and hoses to make redneck-style Slip ‘n Slides. Did you also have a Nintendo made out of your favorite hollowed-out music box, three pipe cleaners, and the word Nintendo written on the side in crayon? The Slip ‘n Slide is the real thing, with pin-sized holes along the sides to keep the whole slide perfectly slippery, made out of the perfect material for sliding all slippery-like. It’s glorious. And, call me crazy, but I believe most statistics will point out that urinals use a bit more water in a year’s time than Slip ‘n Slides, especially when, like yourself, you have to pee 12 times a day because you’re always boozing like it’s Armageddon. But I guess there wasn’t much else to do besides drink where you grew up, especially if everyone got to your sexy cousins first.

Next on Danger Queue: From the Archives—Lexington vs. Concord

This will be required reading for all kindergarten classes.

SHAWN: 0010011011100001. 001. 01110. HAHAHAHA!!! Get it? No? Well, that’s because that’s how goddamn robots talk. We talk with words and letters and awesomeness, and that’s what not only separates us from the robots, but makes us superior. Letters are the greatest thing since the printing press, and that’s why they’re the first thing you learn in school. Sure, kids learn how to count to 10—big whoop—but there are 26 of these little guys that can form like a kajillion words in like a bunch of different languages. Numbers go on forever, and it would be impossible for children to count all of them. The fact that there are only a few letters that can all come together to form this here amazing sentence (possibly the best ever written) is what makes them so charming. That’s why they make games like Scrabble. Letters are like puzzle pieces and only the best and brightest can put them together. Any homeless feces-throwing monkey can count to 10.

RYAN: Don’t underestimate numbers. While those 26 letters of yours (I assume all foreign language alphabets don’t count), can form a “kazillion” words, those 10 little numbers kids learn right away can form 4, no 10, no INFINTIY times more numbers. That what makes numbers so special. Their potential is limitless. Put any string of letters together and the man will be all in your face on how “QYZTPJ” isn’t a word. Put any string of numbers together, and WOAH! What’s that? An even greater number! With letters, once you hit ‘z’, the fun—if you want to call it that—is over. With numbers, the fun never ends cause each number is greater than the one before it. Literally. Yeah, that’s right. I just made a math joke. And by the way, that robot joke of yours didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t even binary, which is what I assume you were trying to do. Maybe you should have paid attention in school to the subjects that came after letters. It’s not too late to learn. Here, try this one out: 01000110 01110101 01100011 01101011 01111001 01101111 01110101.

These guys totally just dug that math joke.

SHAWN: Let me guess: there’s some kind of ridiculous joke about me being gay or stupid or naked hidden in that binary code. I’d go ahead and try to figure it out, but I’m not a dirty robot, you dirty robot. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but you completely misquoted me like some of FOX News anchor. I didn’t say a “kazillion” words, but a “kajillion” words. Wait—wait a minute. Do you even know numbers? Are you defending numbers when you can’t even get them right? That’s going to be a tough sell for all our readers. And I for one am glad that someone will be all up in your grill if you write QYZTPJ. As I eloquently pointed out earlier, the magic of letters is the puzzle factor—each new word has to be discovered and solved, and even then those words have to be put together to make sense, a skill that I imagine one day you will learn. Speaking of eloquence, I’m especially impressed by how you point out how numbers are “special”, right after you point out that there are infinity of them. Yeah—that sure sounds special. Clearly, you’re referring to the other definition of ‘special’—the one that legally requires you to wear a helmet whenever you leave the house.

RYAN: Uh, oh. I must have hit a nerve if you’re already focusing your arguments on specific words of mine. Next up, you calling me a homosexual pedophile. Can’t wait. That’s okay. It’s just becoming painfully obvious you’re running on empty. You can’t even keep your arguments straight. Letters. Words. What are you arguing for? Maybe you’re talking about words so much cause you know letters are worthless. “…the magic of letters is the puzzle factor—each new word has to be discovered and solved”. Letters, useless until you make them into words. Your words. No misquoting there. Numbers, however, stand on their own. You can put them together if you want—hell, you can subtract, multiply, or divide them for all I care—but you don’t have to. Each number, with it’s own specific meaning, is fine on its own. That—not wearing helmets whenever they go outside—is what makes them special. Even though there are infinity of them, no two numbers are the same. They’re like mathematical snowflakes.

This little program got Ryan through high school.

SHAWN: I’m sorry, but REALLY? Numbers are arranged exactly the same as letters—the number 12 is just the number 1 next to the number 2, not some kind of independent being that exploded from nothing. Someone needs to get back into Sesame Street, which might also help him get out of his dependence on Velcro shoes. And, Jesus Christ, Bill O’Reilly, I just said the “magic of letters” is that they can transform into sweet-ass words, not that they’re useless beforehand—lest we forget how much that singular letter F on your third-grade report card affected your life. You could’ve been President Ryan, but instead you’re comparing numbers to snowflakes on a blog that mentions the Jonas Brothers every other post to lure the Google crawlers. But let’s just break it down—letters have given us communication, the written word, language, just about everything a civilization can hope for. Numbers have plagued us with calculus—they’re like the Rhesus monkey from Outbreak, but less huggable. And way to be the one bringing up you being a homosexual pedophile; I’ll just let our readers take that for what it is.

RYAN: Anyone who actually got to third grade would know the grading scale is not based on letters. It’s based on happy and sad faces. And I most definitely passed the third grade with straight happy faces. I’ll just assume you never made it past kindergarten, which is why you know so little about so many different things. 12 is just the number 1 next to the number 2? I must say, even after all these years of referencing the Jonas Brothers on Danger Queue, I’m still amazed at your ignorance. Just because some things look the same doesn’t mean they are the same. Is the letter ‘t’ just an ‘l’ with a line through it? Is the letter ‘m’ just a ‘n’ with another hump? No, of course not. Don’t be so stupid. And don’t go thinking that letters are the bee’s knees around here. We had written words, communication, and language long before letters came around. Numbers don’t plague us with things like calculus, something you know nothing about anyways since it wasn’t covered in your kindergarten class. Numbers are a blessing, the basis for all the things we love in life: currency, time, NFL power rankings, and, most importantly, the Dewey Decimal System. Where would be in without the Dewey Decimal System? WHERE?!?

Next On Danger Queue: Urinals vs Slip ‘N Slides—Someone’s Pants Will Be Wet

Gimme a half slab...hold the back.

RYAN: From the first one Adam gave to God, to the last little nub on the rack, ribs truly are the greatest gift ever given. But of all the different ribs out there, baby back ribs are head and shoulders the greatest of all. Meaty. Saucy. Meaty. They have everything you could ever want. And with upwards of 13 bones per rack, baby back ribs can surely quiet even the hungriest of stomachs. I know I love feasting on delicious baby back ribs. Eating them makes me feel like early man enjoying the fruits of another successful hunt. Using nothing but my hands, I crack off bone after bone and then rip off the delicious meat with only my teeth. Sure, that gets me a lot of stares at Chili’s, but if you ask me, which you clearly just did, that’s the one and only way to enjoy baby back ribs.

SHAWN: If you’re truly looking to sate the hungriest of stomachs and crack bone after bone to rip off the delicious meat with only your teeth, then why are you wasting your time on those fake-ass baby back ribs when you could be indulging in the original—baby ribs? Smooth, silky, and protective of an infant’s fragile lungs, baby ribs are an even better gift of God and, on the right baby, they’re even meatier and saucier than your Chili’s faux meat (is that cat?). Plus, baby ribs serve a dual purpose of actually holding babies together. If it weren’t for baby ribs, we’d all still be gestating in some kind of plastic cage at the hospital, rather than living our quiet lives of indulging on delicious ribs of all types. Useful, adorable, delicious: baby ribs.

Only the manliest may enjoy baby back ribs.

RYAN: The only way baby ribs can cure a man-size appetite is if some poor woman just pushed a 40-lb newborn out of her vagina. If that’s the case, I’d say she’s the one who deserves to be feasting on those baby ribs. Not you. Normal baby ribs, however, are notoriously thin on meat, making them hardly worth the effort of preparing, cooking, and eating them. Also, with baby ribs being so fragile and weak, the bones break with the slightest touch. That’s a choking hazard, my friend. For all those reasons and more, I prefer my baby ribs to be of the back variety. Plenty of meat plus strong bones equals a finger-licking good rib experience. And really, baby back ribs are a more socially acceptable meal than baby ribs. Maybe in 10 years that won’t be true because of overpopulating, but for now I’m going to stick with what works: baby back ribs.

SHAWN: Wow, Ward Cleaver, with an adventurous appetite like yours, you must be a hit at parties. Fine—stick to what works. And while we’re at it, let’s continue to not provide healthcare for the poor and, hell, let’s install some segregated drinking fountains while we’re at it. We’d never make progress, especially in the way of food, if everyone had your lame attitude of only eating what’s “normal”. I, however, refuse to be fenced in by what’s “socially acceptable”. When baby ribs become a delicacy in 10 years, y’all will have to be coming to me to get your hands on some, as I will have already been stockpiling their succulence for a decade. As for your baby back ribs, you clearly must buy them at the same drive-thru as Fred Flintstone, because I don’t know any restaurants that serve 40-pounders. The name itself—baby back—implies that they’re small ribs, so don’t pretend you love them for their immense meatiness when you yourself admit that you don’t even eat baby ribs, which totally compare in meatiness. That’s a little like you debating sex, another phenomenal treat that seems to evade you.

Ready and raring to go!

RYAN: Way to compare eating baby ribs to the civil rights movement. I can definitely see the similarities. Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr. wanted equal rights, and you want to eat babies. Anyone who doesn’t understand how those two are related must be completely missing the point, kind of like what you did with my 40 lbs comment. I didn’t say I ate 40-lb slabs of baby back ribs, ala Fred Flintstone. I said that in order for baby ribs to have the same amount of meat as baby back ribs, the baby would have to weigh a vagina-destroying 40 lbs. I thought I made that point clear, but maybe reading comprehension is another one of those “socially acceptable” things you refuse to be fenced in by. Not to crush your dreams—that’s your wife’s job—but no matter how many baby ribs you horde, they’ll never be legal. People get royally pissed if you poke a fetus with a coat hanger. Why would they ever be okay with you taking a butcher knife to a baby? Just enjoy a nice slab of baby back ribs and call it a day. They’re meaty. They’re juicy. And no one will complain when you eat them. Except maybe PETA, but they don’t really count.

SHAWN: Maybe you’re the illiterate one, as I already pointed out that baby ribs have the same amount of meat as baby back ribs, and not just on overweight McDonald’s babies—an argument you can’t possibly defend against as you have admitted that you never even tried baby ribs. And what country do you live in where you’re convinced that things never change? How can you say baby ribs will never become legal when you can go to the drug store right now and buy cancer sticks, pornography and absinthe in one fell swoop? And those aren’t even delicious! Also, please tell me where I say that I’m only eating fine baby ribs after murdering babies. Where in my argument is that? Everyone knows some babies are harvested solely for their ribs and die of natural causes, unlike your filthy cows (or pigs?) that have to be slaughtered for your baby back ribs. Thanks for starting mad cow disease (or swine flu?), baby back ribs—that’s so kind of you. But, even if you aren’t devouring baby ribs, baby ribs remain the building blocks of every human. Where would you be—or I—if we weren’t born with ribs? We’d just be gelatinous blobs, slugging our way through life like some kind of Jim Belushi. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT???

Next on Danger Queue: Letters vs. Numbers—It’s About to Get a Little Preschool Up in Here

The view's always better from the top.

SHAWN: Welcome to the world. You may have heard of it. What happens here is that people live, breathe and make babies, and then die and the cycle starts anew. Ask Simba. But in that cycle, we all have about 80 years to find stuff to do with ourselves. Some of us work, some of us sit in our mom’s basement and play video games, some of us just have group orgies—but none of it could be done without our main construction for life: buildings. Thanks to buildings, we have a sense of purpose—places to go, things to see, people to rendezvous with. Buildings are the building blocks (good name) for our entire civilization. Without them, we’d all just be running around, fending for ourselves in the wretched wild. And then where would we be working, playing PS3, or having sex with a group of other swingers? In public, of course, and nobody wants to see that. Thanks, buildings.

RYAN: Yes, welcome to the world indeed. The real world though, not the bastardized version ruined by man’s not-so-Midas touch. I’m talking about the one created by God, or whoever you believe put this place together. He didn’t need much to make it great. With only a few tools at his disposal, he gave us rivers, deserts, lakes, valleys, and most importantly, mountains. But then man had to come along and George Lucas everything up after the fact by adding in buildings and cellphone towers and making Greedo shoot first. But for all the changes taking place around, thankfully mountains stay the same. Gloriously towering above everything else, they’re a stark reminder that there’s something bigger than us all. Buildings don’t provide people with a purpose. They merely provide people an avenue to waste away their lives with video games, nine-to-five jobs, and group orgies. If you want a purpose, trying climbing the nearest mountain in nothing but boots and sweat pants and screaming “DRAGO!” when you reach the top.

That mountain's not going to climb itself, Rock.

SHAWN: Not to get personal, but methinks you didn’t spend your last evening climbing the nearest mountain; rather, you probably went back to your nice home, put on your Strawberry Shortcake sweatpants, turned the air on, ate a Little Debbie, and played PS3. Maybe you shouldn’t be such a hypocrite and go climb one of these mountains you so love. Everyone knows darn well that humans are fat and lazy, and nobody’s rushing to the nearest mountain. Even God knew that when he put his humans in a perfect little garden with tons of delicious non-sinful apples and let them run free. Five bucks they weren’t spending their fun naked time climbing mountains. Heck, He even knew how important buildings would be, giving us trees early on so we could experience something called shade. The next thing you know Adam realizes this “shade” thing is quite good and that you could have it all day long—thus, buildings. Plus, when Adam’s hay was getting eaten by his neighbor’s ox or when it started raining blood, it became painfully obvious that you couldn’t seek safety on top of a mountain. And when God’s wrath pours down in the form of lightning, where would you rather be—safely in a building, or on top of a mountain?

RYAN: Wow. Calling trees the early version of buildings because they both provide shade. I hope you didn’t pull any muscles when you made that stretch. Hey, a flower provides some shade too. Is that a version of a building? What about that apple over there? Despite what that poorly researched Wikipedia article says, buildings weren’t created for the shade. God provided plenty of other things for that. Trees, mountains, clouds, Rosie O’Donnell. So why even bother creating a building? Because people became giant pussies and couldn’t handle a little bit of wind and water. That’s why. And don’t for a second think that a building will protect you from God’s wrath. I’m sure all those sinners thought they were safe in their homes until God came and flooded them all down to hell where they belong. But if they’d be up in a mountain, well, things may have played out differently. Because mountains are known for being safe. Being on top of a mountain is like being held in God’s strong arms while he calmly says “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” That’s why controlling mountains is so important in warfare. They give instant power. Buildings, not so much. One well-placed artillery shell and that amazing shade-providing building of yours is nothing more than a pile of rubble.

Yep. Just a little bit of wind and water.

SHAWN: Speaking of making a stretch, did you just say that flowers provide shade? Okay, I guess that makes sense as you’re 1’2” tall but, for the rest of us, flowers are for picking and/or squishing and nothing more. And my point must be a basketball hoop, because as usual you missed it entirely. Shade protects us from the elements (sun, rain and babies), thus an early precursor to buildings. It’s like how apes evolved into man—or, in your case, some kind of half-ape, half-man monstrosity. Plus, that explains why you think mankind are pussies for wanting to hide from a “little bit of wind and water”. Try telling that to Floridians during monsoon season or next time baseball-sized hail rains down in Chicago in mid-May. But maybe everyone should just run up to the mountains, which you seem to think are notorious for being safe. Really? It makes me wonder if you were safely playing on Mount St. Helens that morning in 1980, or hanging with the nine climbers who died on K-2 last year, or freezing to death during the 1996 Mount Everest tragedy, or chatting with the three men who fell off Mount Hood in 2002, or WHERE DO YOU GET OFF??? Clearly, mountains are no safer than buildings. And 1320 A.D. called: they said mountains aren’t military fortresses anymore, now that there are actually military fortresses. And those military fortresses are exactly where I’ll be safely hidden during nuclear holocaust. Good luck surviving it on your mountain.

RYAN: What exactly don’t you get about flowers providing shade? Next time the sun is out, take a look at a flower. The darkened ground underneath it, yeah, that’s called shade. I’m not sure how much shade buildings provide in the rain, seeing as how the sun isn’t out when it rains so it’s not possible for there to be sha—Oh, wait, I see what happened here. Did you mean to say “shelter” instead of “shade”? Oh, what a stupid mistake that you made over and over. You might have learned the obvious difference between those two words if you spent more time in school. You know, that big brown building that you, like the big hypocrite that you are, never liked going to even though according to you all buildings are awesome. Had you actually gone to school, even for a little bit, you’d also have learned that Mount St. Helens is a volcano, not a mountain like you stupidly thought. As for all the other climbers who died on top of mountains, they found their purpose in life, which as I said earlier happens when you reach the top of a mountain. And their purpose was to die on top of a mountain. Despite all those deaths, mountains are still considered plenty safe, especially during a nuclear holocaust. Where do you think all those missiles will be heading? A sparsely populated mountain, or a military fortress? Yeah. Good call on that one. Don’t worry. Those mushroom clouds will provide you with plenty of shade.

Next On Danger Queue: Baby Back Ribs vs Baby Ribs—Delicious When Slow-Cooked For Nine Months

The guy who said three's a crowd was full of shit.

RYAN: You, sir. Yes, you there. Are you tired of being buried in a seemingly never-ending stack of papers, forms, and even more papers? Tired of having the smothering feeling of disorganization weighing down on your shoulders? Then you, my casual acquaintance, should look into the wonders of a three-ring binder. Yes, three-ring binders. Maybe they’re not the wave of the future, but sometimes things of the past were done so well they don’t need to be modernized. Such is the case with the three-ring binder. Available in a wide range of colors, sizes, materials, and even colors(!!!), three-ring binders keep all your most important documents, faxes, and autographed glossies in order in one easily accessible place. Watch as that stack of papers magically transforms into a single, well-kept three-ring binder. Stare in awe as your messy eyesore of a desk instantly turns into the most-envied workspace in your department. Open up your mind, open up your heart, and most importantly open up those three rings and see for yourself the wonders of organization that come true with a three-ring binder!

SHAWN: No, sir, don’t listen to him! If you’re truly tired of your seemingly never-ending stack of papers, the solution isn’t to organize them—it’s to get the hell out of there. Throw caution to the wind, put down your Trapper Keeper (for the love of God, you’re 35), and run on out to the nearest three-ring circus. Most circuses are lucky to offer one ring of entertainment, but with a three-ring circus, you get TWICE—wait, no, THRICE—the rings for the price of one! What’s that over there? Clowns? Eh, they scare me. Well, look just to your left a little and—BAM!—bearded lady taming a lion! Oh, shoot—the lion just ate her. Well, I guess there’s nothing else to watch…WAIT! Just look a little more to the left and there’s a trapeze artist, and he’s doing crazy shit. Yes, sir, there is always something to see at the three-ring circus, and you can rest assure it ain’t a bunch of progress reports and abstracts clipped together.

That bearded woman has quite the Adam's apple.

RYAN: Three-ring circuses’ promises of fun and excitement are as empty and hollow as the souls of the people who work there. For shame, taking advantage of those poor defenseless creatures of the Earth. Lions, tigers, and bear..ded women have feelings too. Plus, everyone knows they only created three-ring circuses because they know they had a crappy product that can’t stand on its own, which is why one-ring circuses always fail. Three-ring binders easily stand on their own, especially if you, wisely I might add, go with the hard cover option. Besides always delivering on their promises of organization and peace of mind, three-ring binders also give you an aura of importance. Walk around the office carrying nothing and you look like a slacker. Walk around that safe office with a 2.5″ glossy front three-ring binder complete with tab separators and oh, what’s that, you just go promoted to president! The only promoting going on with a three-ring circus is when they try to boost ticket sales after another one of the trapeze artists falls to his death.

SHAWN: Don’t pretend you know lions, tigers and bearded women. If it weren’t for the circus, they’d be struggling to survive in the wild, possibly running around getting stuck in tar pits or putting forks in electrical outlets. The circus is their salvation, so back off. And quit lying about why they made three-ring circuses. If one-ring circuses were so bad, they wouldn’t immediately be all, “Let’s make MORE of them.” Have you noticed that Rob Schneider hasn’t had a theatrical release lately? Let alone a trilogy? No, sir, you make three of something because one of them is so damn good you want more. One-ring circuses are so awesome, they added two more rings to make them even more spectacular! And I wouldn’t go saying three-ring binders always promise organization and peace of mind, as you’ve clearly never carried one—as many binder-users do—that has the metal ripping through your papers and pages falling out and it won’t even close because you crammed so much shit in it. Yeah, that looks real presidential. The only thing binders make you look like is a 12-year-old girl and, unless you’re Mattel, there’s no way she’s moving up in the corporate ladder. Unlike your imaginary office world, the three-ring circus promotes people because of skills, which is why the bear on a tricycle was recently moved to center circle after he landed that abubaca.

Why hello there, Mr. Future President.

RYAN: Lions, tigers, and bearded women survived before three-ring circuses came into town, and they’ll survive long after three-ring circuses leave town. And please, Shawn, don’t insult our readers by speaking of three-ring circuses like they’re nice friendly corporations when in reality they’re nothing more than prisons. Big, brightly colored, traveling prisons. That bear riding around on a tricycle isn’t free to leave whenever he wants. Neither is the bearded woman. Or the tiger. Just like me, they all aspire to do something more. Maybe that bear wants to open a coffee house. And that tiger wants to own and operate his own daycare center. Unfortunately for them, they’re not given the tools they need to succeed. For me, that tool is a three-ring binder. Where you see an overstuffed binder and immediately want to give up, like you so often do in life, I see an opportunity. An opportunity to put together a second binder. Maybe even a third. And a fourth. As many as I need, that’s for sure. I know talk of reports and graphs and streamlined work processes is beyond your comprehension, so allow me to put it into terms you’d better understand. Without a three-ring binder, where would you keep your highly coveted collection of the Saved By The Bell trading cards?

SHAWN: First of all, I keep those trading cards in my storage unit in the original packaging so they’ll only increase in value—only an idiot would put them in a binder. Secondly, who are you to tell these bears, tigers and bearded women what they want? Why don’t you go right up to my awesome circus bear and tell him that he actually wants to open a coffee house? Yeah, the only thing he’ll be opening is your stomach with his claws. Don’t assume you know people you’ve never met. Besides, this bear’s skills lie in tricycle-riding, not scavenging for food. But I guess you prefer sending animals in the wild to die, huh? It’s okay, animal hater; you’re too busy to care about animals anyway, what with looking all professional, carrying around six binders. Did I hear that right? That it’ll look more streamlined for you to carry around six binders rather than one? I’m sure that’s how Bill Gates got to the top. Wait, no, that wasn’t it—Mr. Gates had heard of this newfangled invention called the “computer”. Since you haven’t heard of it, I’ll explain: it stores information like a binder but without making you look like a tool. Invest in one. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that binder’s doing you any favors, not like the favor three-ring circuses are doing for the world. You know—entertaining it.

Next On Danger Queue: Buildings vs Mountains—The View’s Better From The Top

One sound of nature is enough, thank you very much.

SHAWN: Well, look who it is—the college professor of the animal kingdom. Hello, Mr. Owl, what say you? HOOT! Awww, adorable. A quiet, gentle noise, gracefully parading across a serene landscape. Just soft enough to not wake you at night, but calming enough to put you right back to sleep if you’re still awake. It’s really the perfect animal noise. Is it any wonder the most famous of owls is named Hootie? Such a phenomenal sound must be brought up as oft as possible. Sometimes the noise is even made twice in a row—HOOT, HOOT!—like a sanguine Tupac melody. In fact, the sounds of night wouldn’t even be close to what they are without HOOT coming into to the mix. Give a hoot, don’t listen to whatever Ryan’s about to say.

RYAN: Ah, Mr. Owl. The ol’ college professor of the animal kingdom. That seems about right. Both of them are arrogant and pompous with self-inflated opinions of themselves. If that’s what you want, then go for it. I much prefer the unmistakable calling card of the cow: MOO. MOO says so much while not saying too much. The HOOT screams of pretentiousness and arrogance while the MOO, on the other hand, is nothing more than a laid back, non-threatening “Hey, what’s up?”  It’s doesn’t wake you up when you’re sleeping because like most normal animals, the cow sleeps at night. He’s not up MOO-ing at all hours like that pathetic attention whore the owl. HOOT. HOOT. We heard you the first time owl. We didn’t care then. And we don’t care now.

Stop sleeping with your students!

SHAWN: What, they didn’t have friendly, hard-working college professors at the community college you dropped out of after failing that class on throw pillow craftsmanship? The owl doesn’t conform to your stereotyped, hurtful view of the college professor—he’s that professor everyone likes. The fun, funny one who doesn’t expect you to be in class EVERY Tuesday and sleeps with one or two sexy co-eds just to make the point that he’s everyone’s friend. That’s the kind of awesome professor Mr. Owl is. MOO is just the scream of the lazy, which is why it’s now associated with fatties. Sleeping at night, being “laid back”—yeah, that’s just sloth right there, and MOO is the epitome of it. It’s barely even a noise, and you can hold the OOOOOOO until you fall back into your coma. Why don’t you MOOve the fuck over and make way for the sexy HOOT? And riddle me this: which restaurant sounds sexier—Hooters or Moo-ers?

RYAN: Woah, there Mr. Liberal Arts college. Not all of us went to a school where we could smoke up with our professors after class before heading to the quad to play some ultimate novelty flying disc. That’s nice though that your professors didn’t care if you showed up every week. But that kind of lazy, laid-back attitude seems to be exactly what you just criticized the MOO for having. So which is it? More importantly, what are we arguing here? Owls. Professors. HOOT. Hooters. You’re all over the map like a blind cartographer. Try and focus your pot-riddled mind on the task at hand: HOOT vs MOO. MOO isn’t the scream of the lazy, though that sounds like it’d be right up your alley. No, MOO is the calming, endearing call of the friendly, giving cow. Whether we’re milking its teats or slaughtering it for meat, the cow is surely to give out a memorable MOO. HOOT is the obnoxious, repetitive call of an animal that’s too stupid to realize no one cares. It’s no coincidence that the phrase “I don’t give a HOOT” means the same thing as “I don’t give a shit.” One can only infer then that HOOT equals shit.

Moo, baby. Moo.

SHAWN: Wow—if that’s not the pot calling the kettle something or other. Who just started attacking me about my awesome liberal arts degree that now nets me upwards of $10/hr.? Who’s now focusing on all the benefits of the cow, rather than the MOO? If I’m all over the map, you, sir, need to get off your space shuttle because you’re all over the universe. Now, what was I saying? Ah, yes, HOOT is awesome. And the owl—who we established as a fine animal—represents the HOOT and the quiet yet fun innocence of it all. When you hear a soft HOOT, it means it’s a tender, lovable night and the world is at peace. When you hear a dehabilitatingly gross-sounding MOO, it means someone’s yanking on a cow’s naughty bits. How romantic. And HOOT equaling shit doesn’t make a lick of sense, unless you’re so crass that you don’t realize “Give a HOOT” also means “Give a care,” thus HOOT equals care, which is adorable. MOO, on the other teat, is an ugly word thrown around in Chinese food titles and to taunt fatties—just as ugly as the noise itself. Try sleeping to a big ole’ MOOOOOOOOOOO plowing in through your window—and, yes, cows MOO at night sometimes too.

RYAN: I wouldn’t have as much problem with the HOOT if the owl wasn’t so in your face with it. You can call it lovable and tender all you want, but really, it’s obnoxious and aggravating. The middle of the night is not the appropriate time for a HOOT. Not when I’ve got my adult-sized onesies on and am all cozy in my bed sleeping. Maybe if there was a reason behind the HOOT, I wouldn’t hate it as much. Say a warning for a fire, hurricane, or anti-abortion rally. But no, it’s just the owl’s stupid way of saying “hey, everybody pay attention to me right now”. If there was a quiet innocence to the HOOT, then frankly I shouldn’t be able to hear it. But the owl makes sure that everyone hears it, sometimes repeating itself two, three, even forty times! Yes, in some instances MOO’s have been heard occasionally at night, but those MOO’s are not without reason. Most of the time, it’s because night owls like you are out causing shenanigans that may or may not involve a tipping of the cow. Usually it’s a “Hey, what’s up” type MOO that quickly turns into a “Hey, leave me alone” MOO. But even if there’s a MOO or two at night, it’s doubtful that you, or anyone else, hears them because it’s all on a freakin’ farm in the middle of nowhere. That’s what makes the MOO great. You can hear it on your terms by merely visiting a farm or zoo. HOOTs meanwhile, can come at anytime and anyplace without warning.

Next On Danger Queue: Three-Ring Binders vs Three-Ring Circuses—Good Things Come In Sets Of Three

Even Bear Grylls is undecided.

RYAN: Man, the ultimate trifecta of brains, brawn, and balls. Created by God himself, man is the standard by which we have come to judge all other things. Everything we cherish in life we owe to the power, determination, and dedication of man. If there’s a problem, man solves it. If there’s a war, man wins it. If there’s an animal, man kills it. It’s what man does. And as man has proven time and time again, he does it well. Just look at man’s greatest accomplishments throughout history. He built the pyramids. He defied gravity. He walked on the moon. He built the Berlin Wall. He destroyed the Berlin Wall. Simply put, there’s nothing in this world that man can’t conquer, destroy, or claim as his own.

SHAWN: Wooooooooooooooooo!!! Party! Party! Party! Things are getting wild! And there ain’t much out there more fun that “wild”. Sometimes you have to get out of control, and you love it. Why? Because you’re getting in touch with your primitive animal roots—the wild. Man may be able to build weapons to murder one another and then build wall-shaped mistakes and realize they were idiots and tear them down, but the wild is where it’s at. Fending for yourself, giving into animalistic tendencies, wearing nothing but a little strategically placed mud: it only makes sense that man is constantly yearning for wild. Meanwhile, man has decided to dress up in suits, sit in a box all day while typing on another box, and then killing one another. Sure, man cuts down trees and urinates in baby seal habitats (to prevent regrowth), so there’s no doubt that man is winning in the war against wild—but, dammit, it’s only because man is scared of how awesome the wild is. We kill bears because we know they’ll fight back…and it’s about time they did.

The construction and destruction of this wall were two of man's greatest accomplishments.

RYAN: The only thing wild around here are all the accusations you’re throwing around. Man doesn’t yearn for wild, and man certainly is not scared of “how awesome wild is”. Maybe back in the day, like four or five centuries ago, wild was considered awesome, but so was religious persecution and thinking the world was flat. Things are different now, and neither of those are considered to be awesome. Man needs something more than wild because really, it’s looking less and less wild with every passing day. Which is why the days of man being lured out of the comfort of his own home by the call of the wild are over. Unless it’s for a reality TV show where money is at stake, then all bets are off. The problem is wild can’t keep up with the ever-evolving man. His tastes are different than they were before. They’re more mature. You can have your wild parties with people wearing lampshades as hats. Man craves sophistication and elegance now. He’s not some savage like you.

SHAWN: Who is this “ever-evolving man” you speak of and where does he live? I’m not sure if you’ve heard of any of the following: terrorists, Darfur, the mafia, Jon Gosselin, the GOP, the Ku Klux Klan, Mormons, Michael Bay, rapists, you after two drinks, or everybody whose ever seen a Rob Zombie film, but they all prove you’re an idiot. Which of these “man” have mature tastes, sophistication, elegance? Clearly, man could use a little work. But you know what’s always perfect? Wild. Unaffected by things like hate, greed, rock concerts, and—what’s that?—reality television. Yeah, the thing you mention that man created so he could become more wild. What? Man is trying to replicate wild, and then giving people prizes, and then getting mad ratings like it’s some kind of inexplicably successful CBS sitcom about a fat guy with a hot wife? I’m not sure how you define “yearning,” but that sure sounds like yearning to me. But there is one way to get away from these horrible things, and it’s right there in the wild. Not a lot of bears creating reality shows about other bears wearing suits and trying to survive in man’s world, huh?

Fat guys always get the girls.

RYAN: Exactly how is it that a reality show in the wild is man trying to replicate the wild? I keep trying to understand that, but I keep getting lost at the part where absolutely none of it makes sense. Actually, while you’re at it, could you go ahead and define yearning for me? Or at least the definition that you’re using to claim that man yearns for the wild. When man goes into the jungle for a reality show, it’s not because he yearns for the wild. It’s because he’s trying to yearn himself some money. More importantly, if man truly yearned for the wild, as you say, then why aren’t you out there right now? Is that because you’re not a man, or is it because your claim is as ridiculous as that list of man you put together. Listing me after rapists? Please. I’m way better than any rapist, two drinks or not. But that’s besides the point. The point here is that man is a champion of progress in this world, directly responsible for nearly everything in our lives. Wild, so set in its old ways, has become nothing more than a relic. An afterthought at best. Having argued so well for man, it’s hard to find the words to perfectly sum up why man is better than wild. So I’m going to go ahead and use yours. “There’s no doubt that man is winning in the war against wild”. Yeah. You can concede now.

SHAWN: Yearn, v. to desire strongly or persistently. For example, to desire to spend two months of your life somewhere else. You know, like how men want to spent significant portions of their lives in the wild under the guise of winning money—which not only proves my point about man wanting wild, but man being greedy bitches. And thanks, Bill O’Reilly, for completely only reiterating half of my quote for our audience, without any indication of the fact that “man is winning in the war against wild” is surrounded by me pointing out that man is only attacking the wild and killing adorable baby animals because man is scared shitless. Congratulations, man, on starting a war without even telling the other side. Maybe you can find some other things to shoot in the back of the head when they’re not looking. And maybe I went a little far listing you with rapists, but I notice how you only defended yourself, rather than the numerous other failed members of your “dominant” species. Jon Gosselin—point and match. Do you like having every single one of your points systematically murdered? I’m thinking you do. When you throw it down with the wild, you best get ready to be devoured. I’d check your bed tonight for crocodiles.