One way or another, smack is getting laid down.

RYAN: There’s something strangely poetic about the sport of boxing and the way two people willingly step into a ring to beat the living hell out of each other. The way they approach one another for the first time, the intensity in their eyes as they look for their opening without leaving themselves vulnerable. The way they seemingly dance around the ring, their bodies moving to a beat that nobody but themselves can hear. The way the crowd unfailingly roars in perfect unison with every punch that connects. Those elements, which make this primitive sport so beautiful, have stayed the same throughout time, from the very first drunken fist fight to the latest main event. Those who complain about the violence of this timeless sport simply don’t see the beauty in the subtleties and the strategy behind every mo–PUNCH HIM! PUNCH HIM IN HIS FUCKING FACE!!

SHAWN: Punch him in his fucking face, eh? Quite poetic indeed—especially for those of you who hate poetry. Now, for real poetics, sometimes you don’t even need words. Sometimes raw music can emanate from the raspberry of a lip or spitting into your hand while pressing it against your face. And sometimes that beat can erupt into an impromptu musical extravaganza—all without a single musical instrument. Although I guess that’s not fair, as there is an instrument, and it’s named YOU. That’s what makes beatboxing the finest creation since marmalade. With only yourself, a fist and some made Rockapella-level skills, you can bust out into hip-hop, oldies, hip-hop or even rockabilly if you can somehow make that twangy noise with your cheek. We all feel a beat now and then and, thanks to beatboxing, we can let that beat soar. I guess boxing is similar, in that it gives people an opportunity to let their hatred soar when they want to punch someone, except nobody gets hurt in beatboxing and, also, it is fun. In SAT analogy-speak, beatboxing :: smart and hip people, as boxing :: drunken hicks.

Without the beatboxing guy, they would've never found Carmen Sandiego.

RYAN: Just because you don’t like something (or more likely are scared of something) doesn’t mean it’s strictly for “drunken hicks”. It may seem brutish and barbaric to the uninitiated, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Boxing is a sport of gentlemen. It’s governed by a very strict set of rules that keeps the spirit and aw excitement of boxing alive while also protecting the safety and humanity of its participants. And the participants I speak of aren’t some blood-thirsty roided out savages. They’re street-savvy businessmen who are trying to cash in on their very marketable skills–punching people in the face. There’s rarely ever a personal vendetta between the two fighters. They’re just trying to do their job and make some cash money. I’m talking real money too, not the quarters you see people “beatboxing” for when you ride the subway. The only reason to even give them a quarter is to get them to go away, not because they sound any good. Why would I want to waste my money listening to someone “beatbox” their way to mediocrity when I could just listen to someone actually play real instruments? Oh, look, he’s making a twangy noise with his cheek. It kind of sounds like a banjo if you close your eyes and ignore all the saliva flying from his mouth. Neat! You know what else sounds like a banjo? An actual banjo! Here’s a more accurate SAT description for you–beatboxing :: music as WWE :: boxing.

SHAWN: Hey, remember that beatboxing match where the one guy bit off the other guy’s ear? No? Yeah, that was boxing, the “sport of gentlemen,” as you so poorly claim. At what point does watching two men bash the other’s head in until they get a concussion and eventually die at 32 no longer constitute a classy sport? I’m thinking at square one. Now, if this were a Danger between boxing and WWE—which you seem to think it is—you’d make a valid point about how boxers don’t have back stories and personal vendettas. But boxers are still savages, even if not as savage as the most savagey savages. Beatboxing, on other hand, could never be considered savage. It’s classy and delightful entertainment—for those who have ascended beyond music instruments to appreciate the abilities of man. Beatboxing proves that the world’s an instrument and you don’t need to be confined to a banjo to play the banjo. It’s liberating—a feeling you probably wouldn’t know much about confined to your suburbs. Maybe you need to get out of those and onto an actual subway, as you’ll find pretty much nobody beatboxing for spare change. It’s not a poor man’s skill—it’s the kind of skill that you break out at parties and American Idol competitions. And it’s also often performed by educated people, unlike your “businessmen” boxers who actually have seen more foreclosures than Bank of America (Tyson, Holyfield, the rest). Maybe boxing is just a bunch of roided-out brutes attacking one another. Huh, looks like your analogy was right after all. WWE is like boxing, just like beatboxing is music—wonderful music.

Just a friendly game.

RYAN: Hey, way to stereotype an entire sport based on the actions of one person. I’d hate to know what views you have on different races. I’d do the same for beatboxing, but I’m not sure that “musical genre” even has anyone famous in it. Oh, wait. Here’s one, courtesy of Google. Rahzel. Anyone? Rahzel? No? Okay. Whatever. Beatboxing isn’t for those who have “ascended beyond musical instruments”. If that were the case, then all the best beatboxers out there would be blowing our minds with new and innovative musical sounds, not simply imitating sounds from musical instruments. You can pontificate all you want on beatboxing, but I stand by what I said before. It’ just a watered down version of real music. If anybody actually likes it–I’ve yet to meet anyone–it’s only because they have such lowered expectations, which I know is what your whole life is based on. That must be why you like it. I expect more than mediocrity, which is why if I want to hear someone mix it up on the turntables, I’ll go and watch someone actually mix it up on the turntables. Not just a guy on stage with a fog machine and a microphone. If boxing has too much testosterone for you, then change the channel back to Glee. But don’t go saying it’s too violent. Everyone craves violence. It’s the reason why people love hockey, football, and golf. Boxing just has the balls to admit what it is and not go through a whole song of showcasing big hits while handing out penalties and fines and suspensions at the same time. And hey, way to take something as simple as an analogy and take it completely out of context. I mention WWE once, to prove a point on how beatboxing isn’t real music, and apparently that means I’m arguing boxing vs WWE? By that solid logic, you’re arguing beatboxing vs suburbs vs American Idol vs Bank of America.

SHAWN: I may have given one example of obscene violence in boxing, but I thought you’d be content with me saying the whole sport is based on people bashing each other’s heads in. As it is, I guess you need more examples: Pedro Alcazar’s beating that led to fatal head trauma the next day, Leavander Johnson dying in the dressing room after 11 rounds of smackdown, The Crusher taking a boulder to the face after Bugs Bunny made him hold a slingshot with one it. Yeah. Need me to go on? And should we be surprised that you don’t know Rahzel? You, who readily admits to not even liking beatboxing? That’s like asking a four-year-old girl if she knows who Alfonso Zamora is. And how can you also say beatboxing is not an ascension of music, when you clearly haven’t ascended yourself? That’s like watching a retarded four-year-old girl argue against long division. Plus, just because you don’t associate with fans of beatboxing, doesn’t mean there aren’t any. I don’t know any Nickelback fans, but they have to be out there somewhere or we would’ve euthanised those wretched monstrosities years ago. It’s hard for me to believe you like watching someone mix it up on the turntables when you think people beatbox in the subway. But, even if you do like it, it’s sad that you’re so reliant on technology and can’t appreciate someone creating beautiful music without the aid of electronic instruments. I bet you had quite the imagination as a kid. Were you the annoying one who kept asking the teacher how the cat and the hat learned to talk? It’s pretty obvious that beatboxing—something creative, smart, and reliant on people with attention spans beyond Baby Einstein—is just lost on you. You go ahead and keep having fun with your boxing and watching two men wail on each other, and pretend violence is what makes the world go round. Tell that to your dislocated shoulder and missing leg. Maybe you’ve been punched in the head too many times yourself.

Next On Danger Queue: Marvin Gardens vs Pennsylvania Avenue—Better Send In Your Check to the Electric Company, Because You’ll Want Internet For This One

Sadly neither of these names is real.

SHAWN: Sometimes when I go digging in my backyard in my favorite spacesuit, I make sure I bring along an air pump. You may laugh, but when a fire-breathing dragon attacks me down there and I use the air pump to explode him, then who will be the one who is laughing? The moral of this story is that Namco—the greatest arcade game designer in the history of the world ever—turned this kind of common adventure into one of the best, most fun arcade experiences since Street Fighter. Dig Dug, the little game that could, has pleasured gamers harder and more frequently than fold-out spreads of Lara Croft. The adventure just gets tougher and tougher, and the strategy only becomes more in-depth, but every level features just as simple a setup. It’s a game that’s equally simple and complex—so simple that even a baby like Ryan could play it, but complex enough for geniuses like myself. But you know what’s simple but not at all complex? The acting career of Doug E. Doug, who you may remember from such things as the dumpster outside the Burger King on Main and 3rd.

RYAN: I don’t know how you can say that Doug E. Doug’s acting career isn’t complex. That’s almost as crazy as you saying you dig holes in your backyard while wearing a spacesuit, which we all know is really just an adult-sized onesie. In fact, Doug E. Doug’s career may perhaps be the most underrated of the past 20 years. Seriously. Take a look at his resume. He was on Cosby 93 times. 93! That’s almost 100! Not only that, but he starred in the inspirational cult classic Cool Runnings. As Sanka Coffie, Doug E. Doug gracefully balanced the comedic responsibilities of his role while also perfectly capturing the raw emotion of his character’s endless desire to win. We suffered with Sanka Coffie, and when that Jamaican bobsled flipped right before the finish line, there wasn’t a dry eye in the theater. That undeniable acting prowless later led Doug E. Doug to brush elbows with greatness when he was cast alongside the one and only Danny Glover on the set of Operation: Dumbo Drop. Dig Dug, besides being arguably one of the overrated games of its time, sent millions of youngsters onto the destructive path of self pleasure. Four pumps to make the monster burst? If that’s not code for masturbation, then I don’t know what is. No wonder you love that game so hard.

Unfortunately, the sequel Cooler Runnings never got out of the development phase.

SHAWN: Maybe you’d love Dig Dug just as much if instead of fire-breathing dragons the game was littered with naked schoolboys. It’s obvious that you were thinking about that, as you instantly imagined people running around down there in onesies. And, hey, you know who was on Cosby more than 93 times? Cosby. You know, someone who’s actually famous. And I feel like we should also clarify that Doug E. Doug was not on the long-running, much beloved The Cosby Show of all our childhoods, but the horrible update that only managed to last 93 episodes because Cosby funded it himself. And I wouldn’t exactly call spitting out well-written one-liners in the background “starring” in Cool Runnings. And I wouldn’t exactly call Operation Dumbo Drop a “movie,” as much as an opportunity for Disney to remind people that it made a cartoon 50 years ago called Dumbo. For lasting quality—and I mean quality—look no further than Dig Dug, a game that has been released and re-released on so many hardwares it’ll make your head spin. Doug E. Doug’s only lasting quality will be the reminder that there is always work for unwanted actors—it’s called voiceovers.

RYAN: How dare you downplay Doug E. Doug’s long-running character on Cosby by saying it “only” lasted 93 episodes? TV shows nowadays are lucky if they even make it to even half as many episodes as that. Maybe you’re just jealous because the television industry chewed you up and spit you out after only part of one measly episode on Nickelodeon. And voice actors are just as legitimate as film actors, you ignorant jerk. Without voice actors, all the animated shows you love–The Simpsons, Family Guy, According to Jim–wouldn’t exist. Just look at Mark Hamill’s prolific career as a voice actor. Unwanted actors, my ass. Doug E. Doug has the balls to take on new challenges in life—comedy, acting, screenwriting, producing, directing. It’s call reinventing oneself, a concept lost entirely on Dig Dug. All he does is face the same old underground monsters over and over and over and over. All those different ports, those sequels, and those re-released versions are the calling card of a franchise with a tired, dated concept that nobody gives two shits about except for people over the age of 30 who have a massive hard on for nostalgia.

Those monsters aren't going to inflate themselves to death.

SHAWN: Oh, I’m sorry, is there something wrong with nostalgia, Cool Runnings fan? Last I checked, that movie isn’t currently climbing the charts at the box office. And learn to read already—I said the only reason the new Cosby show lasted that long was because Bill Cosby produced it himself, not because of popularity, and certainly not because of Doug E. Doug. Also, way to put Doug E. Doug in the same “prolific career” grouping as Mark Hamill—what side are you on anyway? Doug E. Doug can reinvent himself as much as he wants—it doesn’t matter when nobody gives a rat’s ass about any of those reinventions. Doug E. Doug becoming a producer is like reinventing the Thigh Master to bake bread—nobody cares. Dig Dug, reinvention or not, has done far more successfully than Doug E. Doug and his many “jobs” (I use the term loosely, as jobs are generally regarded as profitable). Why would you reinvent the sixth most popular arcade game of all time over and over anyway? People can enjoy the same game and its slight variations multiple times for years and years—the true sign of a classic. Doug E. Doug is enjoyable for maybe 20 minutes, and that’s only if John Candy and a kickass winter sports-related screenplay have his back. Now if you’ll excuse me, my garden is under attack by goggles-wearing tangerines and they’re not going to explode themselves.

RYAN: Woah, now. I don’t see anyone here claiming that Cool Runnings is the greatest thing ever, or even sixth greatest, like you did with Dig Dug. There’s a big difference between thinking something is pretty grand, which Cool Runnings obviously is, and thinking something is so great the exact same unchanged product should be released every year. Thinking like that will get you a job at Ford. Dig Dug’s refusal to branch out into anything new, or even remotely close to being considered new, completely killed off any little demand for the game that may have existed. Meanwhile, Doug E. Doug followed the basic rules of economics in his career. He just doesn’t say “yes” to every project that lands on his desk. Otherwise, no one would ever want to see him. No, he’s picky about what he attaches his name to. If that means taking a break between projects, waiting for the right thing to come along, Doug E. Doug doesn’t mind. And it’s that kind of strategic thinking that has his IMDB page filled to the brim with posts wondering where people can see him next. He’s created a demand by restricting the supply. I don’t see anyone out there beating down the doors asking for another stupid reincarnation of Dig Dig. That’s because Doug E. Doug has a way more compelling story. Growing up in Brooklyn. Working his way to the top. Taking his stage name after an emcee couldn’t remember his last name. That’s good stuff. Does Dig Dug even have a story? Anything more than just killing off unexplained underground monsters? What’s his back story? What’s his motivation? Give me something.

Next On Danger Queue: Boxing vs Beatboxing—Both Are Right in Tyson’s Wheelhouse

Don't make me bust out my sharpener.

RYAN: Like everyone else, I grew up in a world of Scantron forms. On a seemingly daily basis, I was forced, sometimes at gunpoint, to answer an endless stream of questions: questions on my name, my race, my ethnicity, my birthday, and then even my knowledge. And every answer had to be made by filling in a tiny little circle with a pencil. Not just any pencil though. Only a No. 2 pencil. It said so right on the form. In bold letters even. Just like that, that damned No. 2 pencil betrayed us all. Pencils were supposed to empower us by giving us the free expression that comes with the written word. Instead, the No. 2 pencil sold us out for a few extra bucks, thus becoming a symbol of all that was wrong with the world. It had become a tool of the man, who has forced us into a world where we are judged solely by the circles we fill in. Thankfully one pencil still has our trust. The No. 3 pencil. It hasn’t sold out. It isn’t in the pocket of the big corporations who have slowly taken over the world. No, thankfully, the No. 3 pencil has the courage to be above all those things.

SHAWN: Whoa, whoa, whoa—don’t blame the pencil for the work of the man. The No. 2 pencil existed long before Scantron forms, so when the evil Princeton Review or whoever put together those awful tests, they FORCED No. 2 to be a part of it. No. 2 didn’t have a say in what it’s used for—it didn’t write the rules. That’s like blaming the glacier for the Titanic disaster. Yeah, the glacier just jumped out of nowhere and attacked it, fists blazing. Meanwhile, you conveniently forgot that No. 2 pencils still offer all the amazing possibilities you yourself mention: free expression via a worldwide standard. The magic of knowing that children in Asia are writing with the same density of graphite as people in South America—that’s enough to bring a tear to your eye. Something else that might bring a tear to your eye—but for other reasons—would be seeing any work you produce with a No. 3 pencil. That useless tool just makes your lines and lettering look like you smeared your hand all over the page. You have to retrace a line like two or three times with a No. 3 pencil just to achieve the maximum effect a No. 2 pencil achieves with one stroke.

The Benedict Arnold of pencils claims another victim.

RYAN: Oh, yeah, sure, like No. 2 just happened to be selected by the powers that be. Bullshit. No. 2 betrayed all its pencil friends when it chose to get involved with those standardized tests. It may have existed long before those tests came around, but its existence now is forever linked with the standardized tests that have ruined this once great nation. No. 2 saw it chances to be the top pencil and it greedily went for it no matter the cost. Meanwhile, No. 3 continues to be the same quality pencil that it’s always been since the day it was created. It’s only useless if you need to fill out a Scantron, and it’s not like anyone is doing that in their free time anyways. Other than that, No. 3 pencils are as wonderful as their name suggests. They write so free and easy, it’s as if you’re barely even writing at all. Maybe they don’t write as dark as their No. 2 counterpart, but I know I prefer it that way. No. 2 is so dark that everything I write feels so permanent regardless of whether or not I erase it. With a No. 3, you can write and draw whatever you want without having to feel so committed to every single line you make. Maybe a No. 2 works just swell for all the penis drawings you do in your free time, but the rest of us would much rather take the No. 3 and its flexibility. And no, shaking the No. 2 pencil so it looks like it’s made of rubber doesn’t count.

SHAWN: You and your fear of commitment. No wonder you have more and more illegitimate children, you one-man Michelle Duggar. You wouldn’t have to complain about No. 2’s “dark” and “permanent” writing if you wouldn’t write like an idiot. Just spell things correctly and learn how to draw a straight line, Captain Parkinson’s, and we won’t have this problem. Plus, I’m not sure what crappy No. 2 pencils they have at Aldi’s, but most erase just fine. A thick No. 2 line shows confidence and poise, while STILL possessing the ability to erase. No. 3 pencils just make you look like a pussy. Scared to draw a manly line? Fine, then have your No. 3, but No. 2s are for real men. And I’m not even sure if I should comment on you pretending a pencil has aspirations to be the “top pencil.” No. 2 had glory thrust upon him by the Scantron organization, and I think No. 2 is dealing with it quite well, thank you very much. It’s still just as useful for other purposes, but with the support of major organizations. I’d accuse you of only rooting for independent organizations, but then again you have a lot of Ashton Kutcher movies on your Netflix queue. Everyone knows No. 3 pencils are less popular for a reason—they’re less good. You can’t find them at stores, they write like a girl, and they’re useless in an academic setting. Oh—I guess that’s why you like them. They’re just like you.

Try doing that with a No. 3.

RYAN: I like how you say I write like an idiot in a paragraph plagued with typos and incomplete sentences. (Note to self: change Shawn’s paragraph to make that true.) Don’t pretend for a minute that everything you do is always perfect the first time around. Everyone, including you, makes plenty of mistakes. That’s why the Delete and Backspace keys on your keyboard are as worn down as your VHS copy of Wild Things. No. 3 pencils understand people need to sometimes go back and change things. That’s why they write a little lighter than the No. 2. Sure, No. 2 pencil marks erase if you really work at it. While you’re used to vigorously rubbing things out on a daily basis, if not more, the rest of us don’t feel like putting all that work in when there’s a much reasonable alternative in the No. 3. It may not be the more popular pencil option, but since when does something have to be popular to be considered good? By that well-thought-out definition, almost everything you like would be considered bad, Mr. I’m-Too-Good-For-The-Mainstream. And really, saying I write like a girl, besides being horribly sexist and upsetting our female audience, is hardly an insult considering some of the finest authors were of the female persuasion. Judy Blume. Jan Berenstain. Danielle Steel, who by your own very words must be good because she’s popular. Oh, look at that. Your own words come back to bite you in the ass.

SHAWN: I like how you convolute my words to the point of non-recognition and then say they bit me in the ass. That’s like me saying you’re argument is worthless because you yourself admit that everybody makes mistakes, and by that reasoning your mother also made mistakes and one of those was you—thus, everything you ever say ever is worthless. But I’m not stooping to the same level as your flimsy argument. What I will say is that, whether or not everything is perfect the first time around, the No. 2 pencil exudes confidence. Sure, it may take a little extra effort to erase—which your skinny baby arms might not be able to handle—but things still erase just fine, even if you apparently only buy shitty-ass erasers that come with your Aldi’s pencils. No. 2 gives you that extra oomph the first time around, without needing to retrace the letter ‘A’ fifteen times to make it look like something—another reason it’s, yes, more suited for academic and leisure settings. And, this might be difficult to understand considering your world view is more narrow than a nun’s…hallway, but there’s a difference between a popular author who just happens to write about something people are interested in—dumbing down plots enough to appeal to people like you—and pencils. While Danielle Steel’s popularity is a matter of shitty opinion, No. 2 pencils are more popular because they are factually superior. No one likes No. 2 pencils because they wrote Toxic Bachelors, but because they work better for every possible application. No. 3 pencils are good for—what—lightly tracing comic strip characters on tracing paper? Jesus, just buy some Silly Putty already, since you lost that argument too.

Next On Danger Queue: Dig Dug vs Doug E. Doug—The E Stands For Excitement

Will the real Don please stand up?

SHAWN: Smart. Sexy. Sophisticated. Sexy. Sexy. And, no, that’s not the new TLC album. Those words describe the man, the myth, the legend—the one and only Don Draper. With a drag of his cigarette, a sip of his scotch, and a raise of his…eyebrow, Don can make any woman swoon and any man wish he were him. Street-savvy and business-brilliant, Draper doesn’t sell advertising, he sells products. Sure, some may call him an alcoholic, chain-smoking playboy, but it was the 60s and, well, it probably doesn’t matter that it was the 60s because women still love those things. Yet he’s a man’s man, too, drinking like there’s no tomorrow and serving this great country in the Korean War. Plus, can you communicate 43 minutes worth of television plot with a wide eye and three words? Draper can. The smoothest of operators, he’s the true Don.

RYAN: Liar, cheat, and thief would be much more accurate descriptors of one Don Draper. The man’s entire life is built on an intricate series of bold-faced lies. Each more elaborate than the last. What you call making women “swoon” I call being a sexual predator who preys on and takes advantage of defenseless women. The one true Don? I think not. The one true Don in every sense must be Don Quixote. Timeless. Heroic. Dare I say sexy? Yes. I dare. Don Quixote is someone that the everyday man can relate to. He’s just a simple, regular guy that became enthralled with the romanticism of chivalry. This led him on a series of adventures that we have all come to know and love. While some may call Quixote’s methods “crazy”, there’s no doubt his heart was in the right place. He defended the honor of his lady love. He freesd slaves. He rescued a young boy. He fought windmills. The only thing Don Draper fights is alcoholism, and I don’t think he’s winning.

That windmill is so getting slayed.

SHAWN: I knew you had a thing for crazy old men, Ryan, but I didn’t realize you’d consider them sexy. I guess that’s just your thing—I hope the little boys don’t get jealous. And running blindly toward windmills because you think they’re giants actually doesn’t make you heroic. It makes you suitable for therapy. Don Quixote’s crazy adventures were lived almost 99% in his head, which doesn’t really make him all that romantic. Don Draper, on the other hand, is actually living Don Quixote’s dream—carving a path through the ad industry with his sword and trusty steed (played by Elizabeth Moss), saving companies that are in danger of not being able to market cigarettes to children, and even honoring his lady love, all 15 of them. Plus, if Draper’s an alcoholic, so was every other phenomenal 1960s genius who just liked a little scotch after a good meeting or bad meeting or mid-day snack or shallow conversation. And if you think Draper’s being a sexual predator, you should take a look at all the women who throw themselves at him, even when they know he’s married. They act like you at an old man convention. You can’t rape the willing.

RYAN: Women may instinctively flock to Draper like the salmon of Capistrano, but last I checked, Draper was a married man. How does his wife feel about all that? Or is she just one of the many victims of Draper’s lies? At least with Quixote, the only one he lies to is himself.  And those lies certainly do no harm to anyone else. Just play along with him—yes, my house is a castle, and yes, that windmill is a giant—he’ll have his fun and then be on his way. And just because you claim everyone was an alcoholic in the 60s doesn’t make it true. And it certainly doesn’t make it right. Progress is only truely made when someone has the courage to stand up and go against the norm and fight to right the many wrongs of the world. Much like what Don Quixote did in his travels. He may not be your typical run-of-the-mill hero, but he’s a hero nonetheless. He doesn’t hesitate to help others, regardless of whether or not they need any help. Don Draper only helps Don Draper, and—woah, spoiler alert!—Don Draper isn’t even Don Draper.

Hmmm... usually there's a woman underneath him when he does this.

SHAWN: WHY WOULD YOU SPOIL THAT??? Dear readers, I apologize for my colleagu…er, nemesis’s reckless disregard for your viewing pleasure. It’ll never happen again. In the spirit of not adding any more spoilers, I’ll just say there’s a fine explanation for Draper not being Draper and leave it at that. And, yes, Mr. Literacy, I did say that Draper was married—and, sure, sometimes his wife’s not thrilled with his cheating ways, yet even when he’s sleeping around he still (usually) comes home at the end of the night, to his wife and kids, where he knows it’s good. Because, after everything, Draper still has a heart. Plus, I never said everyone in the 60s was an alcoholic—I just said they all had scotch every so often, probably no more often than any of us do, so don’t single Don Draper out for a problem he doesn’t have. As for real problems, why are we patronizing Don Quixote? You yourself are calling him the mentally disabled kid of the literary world—just telling us to play along when he goes running headfirst into a giant spinning blade. Yeah, sounds safe. And I still don’t know where you get off calling Don Quixote a hero, when he’s only saving the day in his crazy dreams. Don Draper, on the other hand—he saved a whole gaggle of women from lonely nights.

RYAN: Does Don Draper have a heart? Because everything I’ve seen, heard, and read about the guy seems to imply otherwise. If he had a heart, then he surely wouldn’t always be cheating on the wife that he says he loves. Facts are facts, and the facts point to Don Draper being a selfish, arrogant man who only looks to fulfill his wants and his needs. Constant lying. Constant drinking. Constant smoking. Constant sexing. That’s quite the role model, right there. I’d much rather have Don Quixote as a role model any day. You may ignorantly label him a “mentally disabled kid”—where do you get off?—but really he’s just got an active imagination. The same type of active imagination you recently applauded Max from Where The Wild Things Are for having. Hmmmm. I don’t remember you calling Max a “mentally disabled kid”. Oh, the hypocricy. The sweet, delicious hypocricy. Don Quixote inspired generations upons generations to follow their hearts and be themselves. Don Draper inspired a bunch of people to start smoking in the office. Hooray! And really, my spoiler was hardly even a spoiler. Even people who don’t watch the show, like me, know that Don Draper isn’t really Don Draper. A real spoiler would have been if I revealed how at the end of the current season, Don Draper dies in a freak trampoline accident.

Next On Danger Queue: No. 2 Pencils vs. No. 3 Pencils—Scantron Forms Be Damned

Both have people making mischief in wolf costumes, but only one's a kid.

RYAN: If you really want to go where the wild things are, the only boat you’ll need to sail on is the Riverlink Ferry to New Jersey. Yes, New Jersey. The little state that did. Don’t worry. It’s not wild with monsters. It’s wild with diversity. Cubans. Costa Ricans. Muslims. Asians. Italians. Whites. African Americans. Koreans. Name any race, chances are they’re in New Jersey. And why not? New Jersey is filled with wonders that you won’t hear about in Conan O’Brien’s nightly smear campaigns. Tired of pumping all your gas like a chump? Well you wouldn’t be if you lived in New Jersey where self-servicing is illegal. Don’t worry, Shawn, the “self-servicing” you do in the shower is still okay. Speaking of masturbating, New Jersey’s historical significance in our country simply can not be downplayed. It was the third state to ratify the Constitution. That pretty much makes New Jersey the bronze medal of the United States. Which is why New Jersey is at least as good as any other place, real or not. It’s no wonder then that some of the most recognizable stars in our country have called New Jersey home. Bon Jovi. Bruce Springsteen. Queen Latifah. Frank Sinatra. And arguably the biggest and brightest of them all, the Jonas Brothers.

SHAWN: Let the wild rumpus begin! Now, if that wild rumpus was in, say, New Jersey, it would consist of jumping up and down on homeless people, shooting up in a back alley, littering, crying about living in New Jersey, and the Jonas Brothers—arguably, the most toxic of all pop stars. No, sir, this wild rumpus is somewhere else—somewhere fun. It’s Where the Wild Things Are. This wild rumpus consists of marching and jumping and playing—way more fun than watching someone pump your gas. Sure, New Jersey residents look a lot like the wild things in Maurice Sendak’s phenomenally amazing children’s book, but they’re not nearly as fun. The wild things will make you king of their island where you will dance all day. New Jersey residents will honk their horns, swear at you, and then move to New York. God, I’m scared to think about what would’ve happened to Max if he ended up in New Jersey, but it’s probably pretty close to what would happen to the little tyke if he ended up in Ryan’s car…and it’s not good. Oh, but what’s that? New Jersey was the third state, so it’s cool? That’s called good timing and being located next to far more important states. Congrats on being convenient?

Let the wild rumpus begin!

RYAN: I didn’t realize you were so against convenience. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I see you use a TV remote, visit an ATM, or go to 7-11. Or are those convenient things okay? The rest of us non-hypocrites love convenience in all its many forms, which is exactly why we love New Jersey. Easily accessible by plane, train, and automobile, New Jersey has all the delightful small town values we’ve all come to know and love, but since it’s only a stone’s throw away from New York and Pennsylvania, it’s easy to get a taste of that big city whenever you want it. Yes, sir, I’d gladly take the convenience of New Jersey over whatever it is Where The Wild Things Are has to offer, which is what exactly? A wild rumpus of dancing and marching? New Jersey has that too. It’s called a parade. In fact, it has many of them every year. You can stereotype New Jersey all you want, saying it’s all just a bunch of people “shooting up in the back alley”, but we all know Max was trippin’ mad balls when he traveled to that magical land of monsters. How else do you explain the crazy hallucinations? Call me crazy, but I prefer the heroes in my children’s books not be whacked out druggies. They don’t make good role models. Real role models are supposed to be intelligent, thoughtful, and inspiring. Like Thomas Edison, Alexander Hamilton, and Clara Barton. Oh, look at that. They’re all from New Jersey.

SHAWN: For the record, I’m not the one saying convenience makes anything superior to anything else, so I’ll use all the damn remote controls I want. And, oh, what’s that? The most famous people to come out of New Jersey all died close to 80 years ago? Yeah, your state’s going downhill and downhill fast. Sure, you can get there via all forms of transportation, but God (and statistics) know that the only reason people fly, drive or choo-choo into New Jersey is to then proceed into New York City. New Jersey’s the dumpy gateway to a place people actually want to go, and you know it. As for Where the Wild Things Are, does it hurt your fragile emotions to bash a beloved children’s book like that? Probably not, since you obviously have no soul. What good is the book? Well, besides the fact that it has inspired generations of children to read, dream and love their families, it has inspired countless adults to spend time with their kids and cut loose a little bit. Show me a father and son enjoying Where the Wild Things Are and I’ll show you two crazy kids having a wild rumpus in their jammies. Delightful. And everyone who reads at a first grade reading level—which excludes you—knows that Max isn’t “trippin’ mad balls” (such a crass, New Jersey thing to say about a child), but dreaming. And even you have to admit that dreams can get a little crazy—or do I need to tell our readers about your dream about Hugh Jackman?

Should've stayed in Newark.

RYAN: Reading comprehension isn’t your thing is it? Or did you forget about the mega-impressive list of famous people I already mentioned. Springsteen. Latifah. Sinatra. Jonas. With names like that, it sure doesn’t seem like New Jersey is going downhill. Quite the opposite actually. New Jersey is thriving. Yes, it’s dealing with a defecit just like so many other states right now, but it’s also literally the lifeblood of the pharmaceutical, telecommunications, and energy industries and home to many Fortune 500 companies. It’s got way more going for it than Where The Wild Things Are. In answer to your question, no, I have no qualms bashing a severely overrated children’s book that is inexplicably being made into a movie that even more inexplicably people want to see. Apparently I’m the only one who remembers Where The Wild Things Are was a scant 20 pages of uninspired work. Oh, but apparently that book “inspired generations of children to read”. You do realize that “book” only had nine sentences in it, right? Nine! I’ve seen more words on the back of a cereal box, and I haven’t heard anyone brag about how Captain Crunch inspired kids to read. Because that would be almost as ridiculous as a book with nine sentences being made into a movie. Seriously. Nine. I’ve seen more impressive writing spray-painted onto walls of the New Jersey turnpike. Maybe Spike Jonze can make that into a movie too.

SHAWN: Wow. I’ve seen more respectful arguments from Kanye West. If you’re going to just criticize my ability to read, maybe you should just take a peek once more at that list: Queen Latifah, the Jonas Brothers? Not exactly the inventors of the automobile or Nobel Peace Prize winners, although I hear the Jonas Brothers hit a note one time. There’s just as “extravagant” a spattering of stars coming out of every other state in the country, and better stars at that. You gave us four, and one is very dead. All you’re proving is that there are like five (you’d have to tell me how many Jonases there are) notable living people from New Jersey. Hell, even Alaska has you beat. And I’d hardly call a few businesses moving there because industrial space next to a radioactive crack den is cheap “the lifeblood” of the industries. Oh, and I’m sorry, Ryan, where pray tell is your 20-page masterpiece that sells millions of copies every year? If Where the Wild Things is so “uninspired”, where are your bestselling nine sentences? You must’ve forgotten that most children’s publishers don’t care for split infinitives and dropping celebrities’ names in sentence fragments because the author thinks it makes lousy names sound more important. And I’m not just pulling it out of my ass that Where the Wild Things Are inspires children—those nine sentences and 20 pictures have done more to inspire the imagination than a Cap’n Crunch box or most of the shitty literature of today (I’m looking at you, Patterson). Sure, Where the Wild Things Are is at the high end of your reading level, but there are things called “picture books” and, yes, they are still books, so put your quotation marks away. Also, nobody said we’re arguing the movie here, but it’s hard to believe you’re repulsed by the idea of turning nine sentence into a movie when you’re apparently a big fan of the Jonas Brothers, who have managed to spend their young careers turning two chords into a series of albums. Nobody said you have to join our wild rumpus anyway. Just stay in New Jersey—I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun at the…um…Burger King?

Next On Danger Queue: Don Draper vs Don Quixote—Don’t Tell Corleone; We’re Saving Him For Next Time

Which one is truly worthy of its name?

SHAWN: Oh, Garfield! You and your shenanigans! Loving lasagna like that and then falling asleep—why do you fall asleep at noon? Ah, because it’s Monday and you HATE Mondays! Now, if only I could look at you again, but stretched out so that Jon’s face is all mushy and so your word bubble is impossible to read. Well, look at that—I CAN do that, thanks to the finest invention mankind has ever created (next to Slip ‘n Slides, buildings, three-ring circuses, fanny packs, Krispy Kreme, surfak, smoked meats, TiVo, hopscotch, yardsticks, and Lexington), Silly Putty. Silly Putty is fun in something like a million different ways (who’s keeping count?)—you can shape it, bounce it, make a mold of your face with it, light it on fire, pick up dirt with it, strengthen your grip by squeezing it, anything! Plus, it’s an inductee into the National Toy Hall of Fame, an honor shared by few and cherished by many. And so simple an idea—it’s putty, but it’s silly. Why, that’s raw brilliance.

RYAN: I’m not surprised you like Garfield. It’s just another example of why your opinion on anything can never be trusted. Which is exactly why we shouldn’t believe a word you just said about Silly Putty. You say it’s fun in a million different ways, but then only go on to list six. Six! That’s not quite a million. Even then, none of those ways involve eating, which as we all know is the number one use for anything. That’s why I gladly prefer Laffy Taffy. Unlike Silly Putty, it’s recommended—nay!—encouraged that you eat it. What’s that? You’re wondering what makes Laffy Taffy better than regular taffy? First off, don’t interrupt me. But if you must know, Laffy Taffy tastes like two million times better than regular old taffy. AND Laffy Taffy has a joke on the wrapper. But not just any joke. A hilarious joke guaranteed to make you laugh (Disclaimer: not an actual guarantee). The only jokes Silly Putty has are the ones it lifts from the funnies. Get your own material, you hack!

Haha! Farouk Sattar sitting behind the wheel of his cab. Now that's funny!

SHAWN: I’m sorry—I didn’t realize Laffy Taffy had so many uses. Why, eating it AND reading lame jokes off the wrapper? That’s like……………….TWO whole uses. Way more than the six I mentioned for Silly Putty, even though I ended my list of uses with the all-encompassing “anything”—we only have so much space on our blog, Ryan, despite how much room you waste with your empty words. I figured I’d not take our readers for two-year-olds and let them think of the other million uses themselves (some sexual). Although it’s sad to hear the number one use for anything is eating it, which entirely devalues inventions such as light bulbs, computers, condoms, disposable diapers, Mortal Kombat, shoes, photographs, and Mazda Proteges. But I guess all of those things are just crap anyway, huh? For the record, if you’ve ever had Laffy Taffy, you know it doesn’t taste any better than Silly Putty. And if you’ve ever read a Laffy Taffy joke, you know that they’re never funny (Q: What falls down but never gets hurt? A: Snow. REALLY?). Thus making the entire phrase “Laffy Taffy” a filthy lie—unlike Silly Putty, which we’ve easily established is both of those things.

RYAN: I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I said Laffy Taffy has more uses than Silly Putty. Oh, wait. I didn’t. You just made that up, along with most everything else you ever say. Unlike Silly Putty, Laffy Taffy doesn’t have to make false promises of all its “uses” to get people to buy it. It does two things—tasting great and telling jokes—and it does them well. I’d much rather have that than some big gob of Silly Putty. A million different uses, you say. Well, I say it’s easy to do a million different things when you’re crappy at every single one of them. And yes, I stand by my comment the number one use for anything is eating it. Glitzy cars, fancy computers, and monogrammed condoms are all well and good, but in order to survive, you eventually need food. Food like Laffy Taffy. Available in a wide assortment of delicious flavors including banana, grape, sour apple, strawberry, and more (how’s that for all-encompassing?), Laffy Taffy is sure to have a flavor that everyone can enjoy. Silly Putty only comes in one flavor, and it’s best described as a mix of silica and polydimethylsioxane. That doesn’t make me want to eat it. It makes me want to vomit, which coincidentally enough is what happens when you eat Silly Putty.

This taffy isn't all that laffy.

SHAWN: I challenge you to survive on Laffy Taffy. You’ll end up looking like that guy in Super Size Me, but less svelte. Sure, most doctors would wonder how your diabetes got diabetes, but then you’ll blindside them with a hilarious joke (Q: What do you call an avid gardener? A: Herb) and all will be well. Speaking of vomiting, at least Silly Putty’s mix of silica and polydimnightshyamalan isn’t intended for eating. What, then, do you call Laffy Taffy’s mix of corn syrup, diglyceride and red #40? Or my favorite Laffy Taffy ingredient: partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oil? Hell, the manufacturers don’t even know what’s in it. It may be more “food” than Silly Putty, but not by much. And as for your all-encompassing “more”, it would mean a lot more to people if it didn’t stand for watermelon, fruit punch, blue raspberry, cherry and that’s it. My all-encompassing word meant way more. Also, clearly you have no clue how to actually play with Silly Putty if you don’t think it bounces, tacks things, copies comics, et. al. wonderfully. And even if it’s not absolutely amazing at one of those things, at least that one thing it sucks at isn’t half of its only two features. Have you noticed that I’m the only one using actual Laffy Taffy jokes in this argument? Yeah—even you know they suck. Here’s a joke for you—Q: What would you call what Shawn just gave Ryan if they both lived in a hive? A: A bee-ting.

RYAN: What do I call Laffy Taffy’s mix of corn syrup, diglyceride and red #40? Oh, I don’t know, how about fucking delicious? And yes, I noticed you’re the only one mentioning the Laffy Taffy jokes. I also noticed you’re hardly even mentioning Silly Putty. The few times you do, it’s the same old nonsense about all its “uses”. Oh, wow. Silly Putty bounces if you slam it on the ground. So would your head if I did it hard enough, which I’m seriously considering right now, but that doesn’t mean I’d call your head “bouncy”. And yay. Silly Putty copies comics from the newspaper, albeit the illegible, flipped image. Hold it up to a mirror and you can kind of read what Beetle Bailey is saying to Sarge. Yayyyyy. It’s clear you’re the one who doesn’t know how to play with Silly Putty. If you did, you’d have no problem listing more than 6 things it can do. Instead, you went with the obvious cop out of your “all-encompassing” word, and despite my repeated attempts, refused to get into more specifics. I’ve been upfront and honest about Laffy Taffy while you’ve been ducking and dodging the issue with Silly Putty. What are you trying to hide? Huh? What? And that joke didn’t even make sense. The whole premise is flawed. Why would we be living in a bee hive? Now here’s a good joke for you—Q: What do you call Shawn after this debate? A: A loser. It’s funny because it’s true. Okay, it’s not even funny, but it sure is true.

Next On Danger Queue: New Jersey vs Where The Wild Things Are—Let’s Hope Mayor Booker Doesn’t Ban Us

Who will land the fatality?

RYAN: I don’t like to throw around the word “perfect” very often. It carries with it a certain amount of prestige that should be reserved for only the most deserving of things. But I hesitate not even the slightest in dubbing Mortal Kombat the most perfect video game ever created. In a time when most fighting games settled on finishing moves that hardly ever impressed, Mortal Kombat introduced an entire generation to fatalities. Ripping someone’s heart from their chest. Ripping someone’s spine from their body. Whatever Sonya did. Mortal Kombat had the violence and blood we all craved, but it also taught us bright-eyed youngsters valuable things about life. Like, it’s not a good idea to get in a fight on top of a bridge over a pit of metal spikes. And always be weary of someone trying to punch you in the crotch. Those are lessons I carry with me to this day.

SHAWN: I don’t throw around the word “filthy copycat” very often, but let’s start this debate by talking about the elephant in the room—Street Fighter came out years before Mortal Kombat, proliferating the fighting engine that made Mortal Kombat what it is. There, I said it. Street Fighter’s the master, and Mortal Kombat’s the sneaky student that came in, stole Street Fighter’s technique, added some blood and bells and whistles and a sea of acid, and raped the spotlight away from it for a short period. Not cool. Plus, while Street Fighter took the bloodless high road, with a delightful animated style, Mortal Kombat used realism to make kids thirst for blood and shoot harpoons out of their wrists at their friends. On top of that, the word “combat” is now misspelled on 95% of high school papers. For shame, Mortal Kombat. Now let’s talk about a series of games that was perfect before perfect was cool—Street Fighter. We don’t crave blood—we simply crave good fighting games—and Street Fighter delivers with great combat and some kick-ass feudal moves like the legendary Hadouken, the fine-tuned Hundred Hand Slap, and the popular Surge Fist, which coincidentally enough was also Ryan’s prison nickname.

It's funny: Ryan's cellmate used to love it.

RYAN: Your cries of “filthy copycat” would be valid if Street Fighter were the first fighting game to ever be released. But it wasn’t. Not even close. Ever heard of Karate Champ, The Way Of The Exploding Fist, or Yie Ar Kung Fu? Yeah. Me neither. But the point remains. All those games were released well before the world was introduced to horribly boring Ryu and Ken, meaning Mortal Kombat is no more a copycat than Street Fighter. The difference is that Mortal Kombat completely revolutionized the entire genre of fighting games. Instead of the cheesy animated style of Street Fighter that had become dated and old, Mortal Kombat used a groundbreaking technology called digitized sprites to add a never-before-seen sense of realism to the game. This new technique was so insanely successful that Street Fighter later stole it when they released the movie-based arcade game creatively named Street Fighter: The Movie. Now who’s the filthy copycat? Yeah, it’s you, Street Fighter. And really, Street Fighter was never that good of a fighting game in the first place. It required no skill whatsoever. All you need to do to win is hit the same button over and over to Hundred Hand Slap someone into oblivion. If that’s what constitutes “great combat”, I’d rather have the ‘k’ anytime.

SHAWN: Don’t think so little of our readers that they haven’t heard of the likes of The Way of the Exploding Fist or Yie Ar Kung Fu. The point is that Street Fighter was the first out there to really revolutionize the genre and give us the prototype for fighting games (like Mortal Kombat or RapeLay) for years to come. As you say yourself, nobody knows the fighting games before Street Fighter. Street Fighter put special moves and ass-kicking on the map. And, as much as I regale the Street Fighter series, there was one game that everyone would agree has been the wretched black sheep of the series—the game that shall not be named—and that’s Street Fighter: The Movie, the same game that you claim stole ideas from Mortal Kombat. I mean, if we want to play the black sheep card, I’ll happily talk about the Mortal Kombat movies or Mortal Kombat Advance. But let’s let those pit stains cool in peace. As for Street Fighter, it may not have used new “digitalized sprites”, but that’s all aesthetics, you superficial pig. What Street Fighter did do was bring you the first arcade game with a variety of characters with special moves—you know, the only thing that makes Mortal Kombat worth playing. All the digital sprites (are those Rainbow Brite characters?) in the world couldn’t make a good game without special moves. And you only can win mashing the Hundred Hand Slap buttons over and over if you’re playing someone who sucks.

Innovative characters abound.

RYAN: I have no problem talking about the Mortal Kombat movies. Both of them were solid films with excellent casting that paid tribute to the games they were based on in a meaningful and tasteful way. The Street Fighter movie, on the other hand, was a wretched debacle of epic proportions. That movie was so bad, so atrocious, that after making it, the man who played boss M. Bison, Raul Julia, died from cancer that was surely brought on by his own shame. And let’s not forget the recently released Chun Li movie. I’m not sure how bad that was, but if I ever find the one person who saw it, I’ll be sure to ask him. Getting back to the video games, I refuse to hold Street Fighter in high esteem for being the first to have special moves and a variety of characters. It’s like applauding Hernando de Soto for discovering the Mississippi River. Sure, he was the first, but someone else would have done it if he didn’t. And really, the variety of characters in Street Fighter you love so much was a total farce. Ryu and Ken were the exact same character with the exact same set of moves. Wow. Some variety. Although Scorpion, Sub-Zero, and Reptile all looked nearly identical, at least Mortal Kombat’s programmers didn’t give them the same moves. No, they leave that type of laziness to the people behind Street Fighter. Just look at the whole slew of Street Fighter Vs. games we had to suffer through. I guess they realized how awful the entire Street Fighter franchise was and had to resort to bringing in other companies’ characters. Way to be, Street Fighter. Way to be.

SHAWN: A Raul Julia joke? Too soon. I haven’t seen someone misjudge a joke that badly since David Carradine tried to impersonate a Census worker. And I’m going to gloss over the fact that you clearly didn’t see either Mortal Kombat movie, as you have no idea what you’re talking about (Billy Madison star Bridgette Wilson as Sonya? Really?). But the idea that Street Fighter isn’t as innovative because “if it didn’t do it, someone else would’ve” is about as poor an argument as “me like pie” (see Ryan’s defense of pie). You’re effectively trying to strip away every innovation in history. If Apple didn’t invent the iPod, someone would’ve. If Lincoln didn’t free the slaves, someone would’ve. If Ryan didn’t mash his fat fingers on a keyboard and present it as an argument, someone would’ve. And, if that’s your argument, if Mortal Kombat wouldn’t have introduced your “digital sprites” that you’re so proud of, someone else would’ve. As for Ryu and Ken, so what if they have similar moves? Conveniently, you left out the unique characteristics of, well, every other character—from green Blanka and his sexy lightning to Dhalsim and his stretchy body parts (bet you’d like that). And, oh, look at some of your Mortal Kombat moves. What’s that? Raiden and Scorpion both teleport? Not only does Mortal Kombat reuse moves, but that move was even cooler when Dhalsim did it a few years earlier. Even you admit that some of the Mortal Kombat characters look identical (maybe you should’ve boasted the singular “digital sprite”), as do all the games in the series. Street Fighter’s a charming pioneer; Mortal Kombat is a bloody mess. Ultra combo finish!

Next On Danger Queue: Silly Putty vs Laffy Taffy—Neither Can Legally Label Itself Nontoxic

For true, the history books will only have record of but one of these battles.

SHAWN: Of the origin and design of the Battle of Lexington, with concise reasonage as to why said Battle is far tops when laid in comparison to the true Battle of Concord, I say to you that, while both Battles mark the ABSOLUTE outbreak of battle with the British Army, only at Lexington dare I display that the FIRST SHOT of the war was fired. ‘Tis the opening act, with Concord as its deviant follower. When our Militia at Lexington, upon ordered consultation, concluded not to be discovered, nor meddle or make with said Regular Troops, they were commanded not to fire. However, here then, as strong Colonists, we chose not to make haste, but listen to the simple voice of Reason, shouting to do what is right, and that is to fire upon the British army! This alarm alerted Concord, which would have succumbed to the Monarchical tyranny of Britain without Lexington!

RYAN: How can you be so bold as to propose Lexington reigns supreme in comparison to Concord? I dare say the site of the first shot matters not, for all Colonists know in thine hearts that War was an inevitability. For what truly matters is what happened after that first shot rang out. The Men at Lexington fled quicker than a minuteman on horseback. It was only at Concord, with the grace of God at their side, that the true spirit of Independence resonated with those brave Colonists as they boldly took up arms against the oppressive rule of the Redcoats. Brandishing nothing but their rifles and desire for Freedom, our Minutemen heroically fought off the British Regulars and fell many of their officers and sergeants. Whereas Lexington was by all measures a failure, Concord was a success that will surely serve as a rallying cry for all future engagements. Perhaps you support Lexington, where many Colonists were felled, with such bravado because your loyalty still lies with the tyrannical King George!

Even the noble Benedict Arnold has no tolerance for traitors.

SHAWN: You dare exalt yourself so great as to label me a traitor? I demand satisfaction in the form of a hearty duel! For your own sake, I beseech you to dig up your old musket, as I will approach at dawn, full force. There, you will be felled for all MANKIND! As for this argument, what dost thou mean, decreeing War’s inevitability? WE may have found multitude reasonage to declare War on the Heathens, but I did not see you as the Minuteman, privy to action on the first call. Nobody was attacking Britain’s honour until Lexington. Although we fell back from our attacks at Lexington, the bravery of those who fired the first shots far exceeds those who had the proper time to search for rations and weaponry before confronting the invading evil conquest. All can battle to victory with proper time for preparations, but the true heroes fight when the contest is least plausible! Thou clearly art jealous of my effecting proposal, which explains why you so impiously invade the prerogative of Heaven with your pride!

RYAN: Very well, sir. If a duel is the object of your desires, then I should feel so obliged to accept your hastily issued challenge. Be warned. For the aim of my musket will be steady and true. Come dawn, the air will be filled with the black smoke from my musket and the last breaths from your lungs. You speak of Lexington as if you witnessed it with your very own eyes. A greater lie I can not envision, as we all know in our hearts you were indeed not in close proximity to the fighting at Lexington. The Bravery of those who fired the first shots is not in question. We only question the nature by which those first shots came to be. Of whom’s musket did those shots fire from? Only God Himself knows the answer. Whereas the majority of shots were fired from the muskets of the British at Lexington, with the few Minutemen present shamefully fleeing at the first instant they sensed trouble, at Concord, our Minutemen defiantly refused passage to the British and righteously fired their arms. The strength of our cause for freedom is built on the courage of men who support it through all misfortunes without surrender or wavering of their convictions. Such as the courage of those men who FOUGHT at Concord; not those who FLED at Lexington.

By only the grace of God was that noble dog spared from the slaughter.

SHAWN: The aim of your musket is steady and true? Alas!, if your 14 half-breed bastard children have anything to say, it is clear your musket fires prematurely quite frequently. And Nah, I not once imposed that I was eye witness to the proceedings at Lexington, nor does it station relevance of who doth fired the initial shot. I challenge the warmest advocate for reconciliation to show a single advantage of the initial shot over the first many shots. The MEN at Lexington paved a thoroughfare for the War, and for that we owe them much gratitude. Britain hath not manifested the least inclination toward a compromise, so War was inevitable. Lexington reigns as the true onset, as Concord is singularly just another Battle of many more to foresee. Our endeavored Militia would never have claimed victory on Concord without the troops of Lexington and the CRAFTED foundation They set for War. As summoned by the names of Sirs. George Washington, Thomas Paine, and Ben Franklin, War was deemed a necessity and the Militia at Lexington stood firm to ensure the occurrence!

RYAN: Imposed you were witness is exactly what you did when you laid your criticisms down upon me for not heeding the same call to duty as the Minutemen at Lexington. Or perhaps this occurrence is further proof of the hypocrisy that runs rampant through your veins? War was inevitable, a sentiment of mine you at first questioned but now plagiarize. In this WAR, much like the first shot matters not, so does the site of the first engagement when said engagement is in no regards considered a Victory. The only war the Men of Lexington paved way for was a war in which our humble colonies would Lose. Their refusal to take up arms and fight against a country that had wronged them in many regards was a sign of cowardice and weakness that would have inspired even the lowliest rank of Redcoat to fight. Under normal circumstances, such an event would have silenced our cries for revolution. It was the brave soldiers of Concord, upon their procurement of victory against the King’s army, that inspired the Colonies and let it be known that the Goal of FREEDOM and LIBERTY is one that was quite attainable.

Next On Danger Queue: Street Fighter vs Mortal Kombat—You’re Damn Straight We’re Turning On Blood Mode