There's only one way to travel...and that's with some difficulty.

RYAN: I like to live my life on the road. Just me and the pavement. Seeing the sights and cruising towards that never-ending horizon. The way Nicolas Cage intended it. That’s why motorhomes are the far superior choice for vehicular residences. With a top speed of 70 mph, and a highway fuel efficiency of 8 mpg, motorhomes give me the freedom to explore this fantastic country one road at a time, so long as that road has a turning radius big enough to accompany my 78-foot long road monster. The best part about motorhomes is when I get a little tired, bored, or restless, I just pull over at the nearest exit, and relax in the home living section. Maybe watch a little TV. Take a shower. Cook a turkey. Catch a nap up in one of the bunk beds. The possibilities are seemingly endless. Just like the road in front of me.

SHAWN: The only way Nicolas Cage intended life to be was for you to piss away all your money despite starring in 12 movies every year. But with purchasing a gas-guzzling monster like a motorhome, you’ve probably already pissed away plenty. You know what’s probably cheaper than the 50 gallons of gas it takes to get you out of Chicago in one of those things? A plane ticket and a hotel. And that’s why the far superior form of vehicular residence is the houseboat. Docked, not docked, mid-docked, it’s a gorgeous safe-haven on the water. Not just is the country your oyster, but the entire world, thanks to the majestic oceans and your houseboat. Tired? Drop anchor (literally, and by taking a shit) and relax in your homey vessel. And with the soft swaying of the ocean, it’s like always sleeping in a waterbed, even when you’re standing up. Sure, a houseboat may only get 1 mpg, but that’s one nautical mile, which everyone knows is way cooler. You could live on the road in a 1983 Mercury—as many do—but living on the sea is where it’s at, and you’ll need a houseboat for that.

That turn was a little wide.

RYAN: Don’t kid yourself. Nobody’s about to take their houseboat across the Atlantic so they can visit the Greek islands. Because they all know there’s no chance in hell it would ever make it. You’d capsize before you even reached international waters. Even if it could make across the ocean, you’d still never be able to see anything good. Anything not near a stream, river, lake, or retention pond might as well be on the moon as far as houseboats are concerned. And that’s when it’s the motorhome’s time to shine. National parks. Land-locked cities. Canyons that may or may not be grand. You can check out all of those with a fantastic motorhome. Thanks to those wonderful homes on wheels, it’s never been easier to roam around the country and soak in all those spacious skies and amber waves of grain. Hell, you don’t even need to have a destination. Just go where the road takes you. If you don’t like what road you’re on, just turn off on the next one you see. Good luck doing that in a houseboat. Oh, right. You can’t. All you can do is follow the river and pray your house doesn’t sink.

SHAWN: Oh, so the motorhome has better range than the houseboat? Well, what happens when the motorhome encounters a water hazard of any kind? Yeah, so no pulling the tricky argument that one’s more maneuverable, as both have their weaknesses. However, the houseboat has the strength of being on the fucking ocean! Most people spend upwards of a third of their life on roads; why would you want to make it closer to all of your life by living on the road too? As for water, you’re lucky to get on a motherfucking boat three times ever—and once a year is right-out ritzy. That’s what makes being on a boat so damn cool, especially with your swim trunks and your flippy-floppies, and other things. Have fun with your exciting shark encounters on dry land. What’s that? There aren’t any? Not fun at all. As for houseboats, maybe you should stop shopping at One-Armed Trig’s Dilapidated Warehouse of Refurbished Houseboats since you’re clearly buying ones that sink at the drop of a hat. They actually make houseboats that do float now, and ones that can really tread water, which is more than I can say for your motorhome, which will never get to experience the fresh air and open expanse of the ocean—unless, of course, you finally came to your senses and decided to drown yourself.

I'd like to see you try doing this on dry land.

RYAN: Fine, both have their limitations. Houseboats can’t go on land, where everyone always wants to be, and motorhomes can’t drive through water. Thankfully, bridges, ferries, and tunnels take care of that problem nicely. But houseboats, well, they’re just kinda stuck. If the world is ever covered in water, ala the hit film Waterworld, then all the houseboat owners will be king. Until then, they’re the lame, awkward younger brother to the cooler, more functional motorhome. Yes, we spend most of our lives on the road, but there’s a good reason for that: Everything worth seeing and doing is on a road. Don’t try and paint roads as some awful, God-forbidden thing. Roads are a fine creation that took this country from good to great. They’re the network that keeps everyone connected, like the Internet before the Internet. Thanks to roads, you can travel any direction at any time and go visit almost any place. If you did all your traveling by water, you’re not going to see jack shit. You’re certainly not going east or west, as no rivers run in that direction. Oh, and I hope you like going downstream. Cause upstream is a bit of a problem. But other than that, yay! So much fun out on the ocean where there’s so much to see. Look over there. Water! And on the other side? More water! And behind you? Oh, nothing, just that stupid land that won’t have you anymore. Cause the only people who live on houseboats are social rejects. Oh, and maybe next time, don’t call them “flippy-floppies”. At least if you want people to actually respect what you’re saying.

SHAWN: Why do you assume people always want to be on land? If that were the case, there wouldn’t even be boats, or houseboats, or motorboats, or water skis, or Sea-Doos—and God knows a world without Sea-Doos would be like a world without Christmas. People crave the ocean. They love dreaming about places they can’t get to easily, hence tales of Atlantis and the existence of NASA. The houseboat, however, actually gives people the opportunity to fulfill these fantasies, being part of the ocean, part of nature, as God intended. As for roads, we spend our lives on them because we have to. What’s worth seeing on your lazy suburban drive into work every day besides that Hooters billboard by Schaumburg? Oh, look, that giant crab arm is going to eat the waitress! I hope her boobs are okay! Plus, why are you turning this into an argument about roads. Guess what, hot shot, there are plenty of other vehicles that can hit the road, and ones that aren’t immediately associated with people who can’t even understand Larry the Cable Guy’s humor (“Get what done, huh?”). Plus, half of all motorhome users have those very homes (that apparently offer you this magical open road) mounted on concrete blocks on their front lawns, or in parks designated for them, magical places where contraception doesn’t exist. Sure, you see a lot of water on motorhomes, but you can still dock them and get some land, if you have to, without feeling like white trash. And then when you head back out to sea, there’s a whole new range of ocean life waiting for you and new worlds to explore—not exactly nothing but water. But, you know, maybe exploration isn’t for everybody. I mean, you have that nice motorhome, and your cousin’s been waiting for you get home already.

Next on Danger Queue: Premature Ejaculation vs Double Fault—Oops, I Did It Again

Back to the future, or future to the back?

SHAWN: Boring. Bo-ring. Come on, come on, American Idol, get on with it. Just tell us the minority kid got voted off and let us be on our way. This is taking forever! Thank God for the invention of fast forward. Finally, DVRs can give you the meaty 10 minutes of a two-hour reality show without having to swallow the rest, commercials included. Thanks to fast forward, we can skip to the good parts, even in the old days of VCRs. Scared you’ll miss the beginning of that very special episode of Full House you want to record? Just start recording 10 minutes early, to be safe! Don’t worry—you can fast forward right to where you want to be when you watch it back. It’s like traveling through time and seeing the awesome outcomes without plodding your way through the boring-ass setup. Heck, remote controls would be way better, and more streamlined, with just a giant fast forward button in the middle. Think of all the free time you’ll have to not watch that fucking Filet o’ Fish commercial for the 5,000th time.

RYAN: What? Oh, yeah. Filet o’ Fish. Yeah. That’s great. Huh? Listen. Just shut your mouth for one freakin’ minute so I can actually watc—oh, great. Now I just missed Simon’s hilarious quip about that last performance. Thanks a lot. Lucky for you, power of rewind lets me go back and see all the stuff I missed listening to your mindless dribble. If we can have just one button on our remotes, that button is obviously the rewind. Fast forward is a lousy luxury that just breeds impatience. Catching a few commercials or actually watching a movie in its entirety is not the end of the world. But missing out on the big reveal in Lost? That could literally kill someone. But rewind isn’t just for when we miss something. It’s also for when we want to go back and enjoy something again and again and again and again. Maybe it was the game-winning catch in the Super Bowl. Or maybe it was the time Russell Crowe decapitated that guy in Gladiator. Or maybe it was the time in Man With The Golden Gun when you can see the camera crew in a mirror in the background. Whatever strikes your fancy, rewind lets you strike it over and over as much as you want.

Get on with it, Seacrest!

SHAWN: I’m sorry, I used fast forward to only pay attention to those parts of your argument that were interesting or made sense, so all I heard was: “…Simon’s hilarious quip…power…our…watching a movie…kill someone…decapitated that guy…Gun…” So obviously your whole argument for rewind is that it helps you build your plot to murder Simon? That’s what I caught. Luckily, everything else in your argument was boring, mundane and smelly, and I just coasted through it. Thanks, fast forward! As for rewind, maybe you should just pay attention in the first place and you wouldn’t have to waste your life watching the same thing over and over again. And over. And over. And over. And, wow, that’s as boring as watching Carrie Underwood having tea with Hilary Swank. Plus, it ruins the punch if you have to go back and watch the twist ending five times to figure out what happened. Maybe that was supposed to be a clue, not something to go back to, pause, and examine like it’s that growth on your crotch. Rewind is just a failsafe for slow people, and there’s no reason we should be catering to them. If anything, they should cater to us, which they do, at restaurants and such. And maybe I should tell the NFL that you’re rewinding games, recording them without the NFL’s written consent! Let’s fast forward: Yep, you’re a prison bitch.

RYAN: Did you actually just criticize me for not paying attention only sentences after admitting you didn’t pay attention to everything I just said? Hypocrisy at its finest. Actually, no, hypocrisy at its finest came later when you said re-watching the twist of a movie ruins the punch. Funny. I seem to remember you just watching Cache, and being so confused at the end that you had to go back and watch it again. Tell me, Shawn, what button did you use to do that? Surely not fast forward. I bet you used rewind. Yeah, had to be rewind. That makes the most sense. And really, rewind isn’t just for slow people, though it certainly helps them too. It’s for astute people who like picking up on the subtle nuances of each and every scene. It’s for people who care enough to want to know every minute detail of what just happened. Fast forward is for the people who don’t care at all. It’s for impatient people like you who don’t want to fully commit themselves to something. Because of that, you’re missing out on the full experience. I bet you used Cliffs Notes for all the books you read in high school English class too. I’d say you’re cheating yourself, but obviously you’ve fast forwarded through all of this, so it’d be pointless unless I bring you back in with something that piques your interest: Rosie O’Donnell Tongue Twist.

It’s fine as long as there’s a mute button.

SHAWN: Blah blah blah hypocrisy blah blah fast forward fast forward bringing my personal life into this blah blah English. Quite the argument there. And, honestly, even if I missed the clue at the ending of Cache (if that’s what you were talking about), so did half the audience—and, well, they didn’t deserve to see it. Those of us who rewound were cheating, and clearly not paying the right kind of attention. Maybe there’s a little self-depreciation there, but it’s true. Even angelic juggernauts like me stumble sometimes. But that’s no excuse for the overused and unimpressive rewind button. The point of mistakes is to shake them off and move forward. You can’t rewind in real life, so why should you get to on television? It only teaches you that you can redo life, which is a falser promise than healthcare. And who are you to call me hypocritical when you just said earlier that you rewind because someone was talking over the TV or to see a Super Bowl replay? That’s not exactly the “astute observer” you suddenly cast rewind users as this time. God, hopefully our readers fast forwarded your arguments too. Because the only full experience they would miss out on is wanting to gouge their eyes out after reading your wretched ideas. Hopefully you didn’t end your last argument with a grotesque image of a fat talk show host doing something inexplicably horrifying. Praise Jesus for fast forward if you did.

RYAN: Well, look at that. Shawn, the self-described “angelic juggernaut”, is being taken down by his own flawed logic. Look at him grasping for straws, his tiny arms flailing all about. Oh, he got one! He’s playing the “rewind is stupid because you can’t do it in real life” card. Nice try. Predictable, but nice nonetheless. Unfortunately, that would make fast forward just as stupid since we can’t do it real life either. Unless you’ve been stashing time-travelling technology in your mom’s basement all this time. I’m a little skeptical to say the least, since you hardly have any room down there between the stained mattress you sleep on, the stacks of Nintendo Power, and the boxes upon boxes of fingernail clippings. Even if you could skip forward, no one ever would because they’d miss out on so many great, unforeseen things. It’s like in the movie Click, starring Adam Sandler and the always lovable Christopher Walken. True, I didn’t actually see it, but I picked up on enough from the commercials. Adam Sandler can control the world with a remote. He slows down the action for the big-breasted woman who’s jogging. He pauses so he can punch David Hasselhoff in the face. And then he fast forwards to get through the tough times of parenthood or something like that. But then he realizes he missed out on all the fun experiences of life. Oh, no! So what does he use to go back? Oh, nothing really, just the motherfuckin’ rewind button. That’s all.

Next on Danger Queue: Motorhomes vs Houseboats—Wherever I Go, The Foreman Grill Comes Too

Which one was Metro Station really singing about?

RYAN: Look at that! All the windows, they’re shaking. All our pictures, they’re crashing to the ground. And the whole house feels like it just got hit by a truck. It must be one of those fantastic earthquakes everyone’s always talking about. When the ground shakes beneath your very feet, well, it’s just a feeling unlike any other. I like to think every earthquake is God giving the Earth a gentle nudge to let everyone know who’s in charge. Like when you shake a baby that won’t stop crying. No harm done, and we all move on with our lives. Occassionally, yes, an earthquake can cause a few problems, like stopping a World Series game or something along those lines, but really that’s more a minor inconvenience than anything else.

SHAWN: If you think a house collapsing brings all the boys to the yard, then you clearly haven’t seen my milkshake—and, damn right, it’s better than yours. Vanilla! Chocolate! Strawberry! Jamocha! Shamrock! With so many flavors in such a simple, delicious, decadent beverage, there’s nothing better. Plus, it’s so simple: Milk, ice cream, more milk, some four-leaf clovers, one wild jamocha—shake, shake, shake, shake, shake shake it, and you’re done! It’s a treat for all ages, from fat kids to fat adults. Who doesn’t come running for a cool, refreshing milkshake? And, you can easily top a milkshake with a gamut of your favorite similar treats, such as strawberries, whipped cream, strawberry cream, whipped berries, bacon bits, chocolate syrup, or more! Don’t even get my started when you pair it with steak.

Earthquake the wrestler was as lovable as he was hairy.

RYAN: You would want to bring all the boys to your yard. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the reason why you’re legally required to introduce yourself to the neighbors every time you move. Earthquakes might not feed your insatiable pedophile desires, but they’re still pretty damn great. Every earthquake is a fantastic display of the beauty and power of nature. Each gentle tremble reminds everyone that hey, Earth is in charge around here. Earthquakes get people talking. Oh, did you feel that? Man, it woke me up in the middle of the night! People who slept through it can’t help but feel they missed out on something special. Because they did. No one talks about milkshakes, mostly because nobody has the energy to after drinking one of those unholy, unhealthy concoctions. That deadly combination of milk and ice cream is enough to make even the most open-minded person lactose intolerant.

SHAWN: First of all, I’m a friendly guy and would introduce myself to neighbors whether or not the court mandated it. Secondly, I’m not sure if you understand how earthquakes work, living in Chicago and all. You see, sometimes they’re dangerous. Sometimes they’re not gentle shaking. Sometimes it’s not like a fun little roller coaster ride, but a scary—albeit still a little fun—moment of destruction. You clearly haven’t experienced all your fine china displayed in your dining room cabinet crashing to the floor, or your porcelain dildo collection (what’s up with that, by the way?) getting crushed under a falling television. It’s not the beauty and power of nature, but how nature can be a total bitch, with its tectonic plates rubbing up against each other like one’s you and the other’s a little boy on the bus. And no one talks about milkshakes because you don’t need to. It’s understood that they’re freaking awesome and you can’t talk anyway, because you’re busy suckling on the most delicious chilly treat you’ve ever had. If they were so detrimental, people wouldn’t be drinking them all the freaking time. Plus, they may take the energy out of you, but it’s worth it, and that’s why you have it a dessert, not as an appetizer to your triple steakburger with delicious cheese.

Damn straight.

RYAN: Actually, living in Chicago doesn’t exclude me from knowing how earthquakes work, seeing as how we just had one of our own here. It was a horrible experience, only because I slept through the whole thing like some sort of deep-sleeping chump. Earthquake’s are a once-in-a-lifetime experience, maybe twice if you live in California. And I missed it. That’s something I’ll regret for as long as I remember it. Saying earthquakes are dangerous is just stereotyping, like saying Asian people are good at math or bearded men are pedophiles. It may be true for some (how’s that beard treating you?), but it’s hardly true of all of them. In fact, everyday there are earthquakes that cause no damage whatsoever, unless of course you consider thrilling and exciting people to be damage. I could see why you would think that. Your heart probably can’t handle all that strain after all the milkshakes you’ve drank in your lifetime. I love that you argue milkshakes can’t be detrimental because people are having them all the time. Wow. I believe cigarette companies used the same flawless logic when testifying to Congress on how cigarettes weren’t harmful to one’s health. I think that panned out pretty well for them. It wasn’t like there was mountains of evidence and thousands of deaths that proved otherwise.

SHAWN: That fact that you all but missed the Chicago earthquakes proves that you know nothing about earthquakes. Here in the gentle, sexy Midwest, earthquakes are mild nuisances. Now try telling that to countries unstrategically positioned (what were they thinking?) on the borders of tectonic plates. It’s a different story there, one that you obviously refuse to read, possibly due to your crippling illiteracy. And way to try to take everyone’s mind off that fact by casting them as fun and pointing to my alleged pedophilia when you’re the one who only likes earthquakes because they give you the opportunity to “accidentally” fall on top of nearby young boys. Just because there are plenty of earthquakes that don’t cause damage doesn’t mean there are some that are damaging and terrible. Now name one milkshake that causes any damage. Go for it. No? You can’t? Way to try to make it about cigarettes, too, which are deadly and horrible—but we’re talking milkshakes here and those are delicious. There are no proven detrimental effects, which is the least I can say about earthquakes. Milkshakes are a magical treat, and who do you think you are to say otherwise? Have you never had a good milkshake? How can one live like that! Before milkshakes, all people drank for an iced treat was a tall glass of ice. At least it didn’t spill during those terrible, terrible earthquakes, destroyers of overfull beverages.

Next On Danger Queue: Fast Forward vs Rewind—With Great Power, Comes Great Responsibility

The Platinum Medal’s still up for grabs!

SHAWN: Let’s start with a simple question: Ryan, how many blue ribbons have you won? None? Yeah, folks, it’s probably none. But you know who’s won ONE blue ribbon (confirmation pending)? Pabst Blue Ribbon—or PBR, to all its friends. It’s the finest, cheap-ass beer you could ever encounter. It’s recently been revitalized by hipsters, and for good reason: It’s economical for the starving artist, but way tastier than any Busch Light or Busch Fat or whatever. Named after the glorious blue ribbons that were once tied on its bottleneck, it is classic and actually did win a Gold Medal just a few years back at the American Beer Festival—so, suck it, all y’all who question its blue ribbon merits. And, yeah, it was in Gran Torino. Beat that, or get off my lawn.

RYAN: Pabst Blue Ribbon is hardly a good beer. It’s only “blue ribbon” because of the award it won at the Chicago World’s Fair in the 1893. Back in those days, beer standards were so low anything that didn’t make you immediately blind was considered good. So congrats, Pabst, for being the best of the worst. But the best of the best, well that obviously goes to Olympic gold medal winner Evan Lysacek. His performance in the short program at Vancouver was a thing of beauty. With a dazzling array of steps, jumps, and spins, Lysacek captured our hearts and a gold medal, making him the first American to win the title since Brian Boitano. Brian Boitano! His performance was so thrilling, so relentlessly perfect in every regard, it literally brought Scott Hamilton down to his knees. That rarely happens anymore. And more importantly, it rekindled our nation’s anti-Russia sentiment, which had been dormant since the good ole’ days of the Cold War.

Hamilton, in a rare pose.

SHAWN: Who’s this Brian Boitano you speak of? Oh, yes, that figure skater no one cares about who had a momentary resurgence as the butt of a three-minute joke in the South Park movie. Everyone knows figure skaters have the lasting power of Saudi Arabian ice cubes. But PBR: Did you just say it won an award at the World’s Fair in 1893? Why, that was…TI-83 calculator…x equals 7…carry the one…something like a million years ago! And it’s still famous and popular? Interesting. Definitely makes your theory about it only being good in comparison to the beers of 1893 make no sense at all. It still sells quite a bit, cheaply, these days, up against fine beers like Bud Select and Miller Chill. Evan Lysacek, on the other hand, is a flash in the pan. Sure, he’s got America’s heart now, but like most figure skaters, no one will care in four months. Maybe Dancing With the Stars will extend that for another couple weeks, but I doubt we’ll remember his name in 120 years. Do you know who won the figure skating gold 120 years ago? No? Shocker. Plus, he didn’t even pull off a quad, and everyone knows winning the gold without landing a quad is the equivalent of being elected President without the popular vote. Sure, they still win, but it doesn’t really count. And the Russians still take home the platinum.

RYAN: Just because something’s famous and popular doesn’t mean it’s deserving of either. In case you haven’t noticed, America has a little bit of a track record of turning the stupidest people into the biggest celebrities. Paris Hilton. Cameron Diaz. Any guy who’s ever been on The Bachelor. It’s the same thing with that crappy ole’ beer of yours. PBR is just the Jersey Shore of beers: A watered-down alternative to the real thing that’s supposedly fun because it’s so bad. OMG! We’re drinking PBRs! How ridic! It only sells quite a bit because it’s so unbelievably cheap, and some people will always choose quantity over quality. But those that choose quality appreciate the brilliance of Evan Lysacek. Sure, his performance didn’t feature a quad, but it’s stupid to rely on one thing to bring success, whether that thing is a quad or blue ribbon. Real winners like Lysacek know that one trick is hardly considered the ultimate measure of a performance. A true performance is all encompassing. The moves. The steps. The footwork. The landings. Evan Lysacek did it all, and he did it all beautifully, which is why he’ll forever be remembered. Just like fellow Olympic heroes Nancy Kerrigan, Kerri Strug, Michael Phelps, and yes, Brian Boitano. You’d have to be a stupid, dirty Russian to think otherwise.

Even the dead flock to the delicious beer-like taste of PBR.

SHAWN: Funny that all those Olympians you named were from the last 20 years or less. So you still can’t name any figure skaters as long-lasting and delicious as PBR, eh? That’s understandable, since even remembered names like Nancy Kerrigan have long lost their flavor (unlike the rich, beer-like flavor of PBR). Have you seen Kerrigan these days? She’s tall, lanky, and confused, like a frightened giraffe on roller skates. And, yes, Lysacek’s skills will waiver one day, too, and he’ll be reduced to Disney on Ice and/or ice dancing solo for the Sunday afternoon television audience in a quarter-sold ice arena to the live music of a washed-up band from 10 years ago. It’s the five overlapping circles of life, and there’s nothing Evan Lysacek and his winning smile can do about it. PBR, on the other hand, will continue to live on, years into the future, as it has for over a century, thanks to its winning and recognizable taste, quality and price. Oh, and quality and economy don’t have to be enemies, my friend, or have you never heard of Honda? Or Acer? Or Asian hookers? All of those combine awesomeness and a fair price, which is exactly what PBR does. And, yes, PBR is fair, unlike Evan Lysacek who wooed the Olympic judges with his stunning good lucks, even though he only pulled off a series of easy stunts. If this really were the Cold War, he’d be investigated for treason, with the way he graciously accepted victory, winked at other countries, and did it all without rubbing his medal in his opponents’ faces. Plus, let’s look at the root of this whole argument—a figure skater vs. beer. Maybe it’s because I’m a dude, and have at least a basic education, but I’ll take the beer.

RYAN: PBR may have recognizable taste, quality, and price, but for all the wrong reasons. The taste is shitty. The quality is poor. And the price, well, you get exactly what you pay for. You take the beer, not because you’re a dude with a 7th grade education, but because you’re a raging alcoholic who is willing to drink anything that promises to give you even a slightest buzz. PBR. Rubbing alcohol. Scope. The rest of us, who don’t need the numbing powers of alcohol to make it through the day, would much rather have the greatness of Evan Lysacek. On the biggest stage, with the entire world watching and scrutinizing his every move, Lysacek skated his heart out and gave the performance of a lifetime. He showed off incredible nerves as he earned a gold medal over his Russian counterpart, who was the heavy favorite coming into the event. It was the classic underdog story that we all know and love, and it put Lysacek on the same level as past Olympic heroes. And yes, we all remember Kerri Strug’s heroics, much like we’ll always remember Kerrigan’s comeback and Phelps’ epic domination of the competition. Sorry, I don’t remember any from more than 20 years back. I guess I’ll have to blame my mom for not giving birth to me earlier. Even if we eventually do forget about the Strugs, the Kerrigans, the Phelps, and the Lysaceks of past Olympics, it doesn’t diminish their accomplishments in the least. It’s much better to be briefly remembered as great, which may happen to Evan Lysacek, than forever remembered as terrible, like PBR.

Next on Danger Queue: Earthquakes vs Milkshakes—There’s a Whole Lotta Shaking Going On

Who are you to say they're not real?

RYAN: Most men stumble their way through life. They see each day as a burden they must bear. Gene Winthrop is not one of those men. Gene Winthrop sees each and every day as an opportunity. From the instant he opens his eyes each morning to they second he closes them again that night, Gene Winthrop achieves nothing but greatness. He lives his life so efficiently, he has no carbon footprint. If Gene Winthrop bothered playing the the stock market, his unparalleled financial understanding would make him millions before the first closing bell rang. But he doesn’t invest in stocks. He invests in people. A homeless person once asked Gene Winthrop for change. Gene gave him all the change he needed, but it wasn’t money. It was a change in lifestyle. A new education, a new house, and a new job. Gene Winthrop single-handedly lifted this man from the lowliest of lows. That man went on to host The Price is Right for 35 years and became one of the most beloved men in the world.

SHAWN: It’s fitting that a silly American like you would be all about Gene Winthrop and his supposedly philanthropic ways. But that’s probably because you’ve never heard of Akira Fakename, the famed Japanese director of 13 Oscar-winning documentaries that have changed the lives of countless people. When filming Moby Don’t, off the coast of Namibia, he took the time to teach the natives how to build cheap fuel for energy out of the minute amount of compost the community produced. When filming The Journeyman in Northern Canada, he rescued a missing soccer team from a frozen tundra. Plus, everyone knows that when he was filming Miracle at St. Tony’s: District 46, Akira Fakename wrestled and killed a bear that was threatening his camera crew. And, through all of that, he filmed it. And he showed it to us. And we were moved. Akira Fakename lives his life like a cat in the dark, but then he is the darkness. Akira Fakename smells fear and then cooks it. Akira Fakename makes Gene Winthrop look like Tony Jesus.

Bears need lovin' too.

RYAN: I saw the video of Akira Fakename and the bear. I couldn’t tell if he was fighting the bear or having sex with it. Regardless of whether he was furiously punching or lovingly fisting, Akira Fakename is a beta version of Gene Winthrop at best. Gene Winthrop would never have to fight off any animal because he’s closely connected with all of God’s creatures. He’s like a horse whisperer, except with all animals. Whenever one escapes from the zoo, authorities immediately call Gene Winthrop. Just last year, a gorilla was on the loose at the San Diego Zoo. In 10 minutes, Gene Winthrop had not only safely returned the gorilla to its habitat, he also taught it sign language. That’s just what Gene Winthrop does. He helps those in need. Which is why he was the original inspiration behind the hit TV series The A-Team. Hannibal was loosely based on Gene Winthrop, except for one glaring difference. Gene Winthrop never smokes. No cigars. No cigarettes. Not because it’s bad for him, but because it’s bad for you. That’s how much he cares.

SHAWN: Whether or not Akira Fakename took some gentle—and they were gentle—liberties with that bear before killing it doesn’t lessen the fact that he saved a camera crew comprised of scientists, geniuses, and women with adorable children. As for Gene Winthrop, it’s not his “connection to God’s creatures” that keeps him from wrestling a bear, it’s him being a giant pussy. What man would want to be compared to a horse whisperer? Last I heard, all Gene Winthrop does is talk to plants, alone in his condo, wearing an apron and crying while he watches The View. That’s not being in tune; that’s being a wimp. We don’t need Gene Winthrops running around, coddling gorillas while they’re ripping our faces off; we need Akira Fakename to come in and kick some ass and then drive his hovercar (yes, he’s one of the ten people in the world that own one) on his merry way. Akira Fakename may not have inspired The A-Team, but he was busy inspiring 24, Lost, Heroes and Two-and-a-Half Men simultaneously. Akira Fakename is a man’s man, but the ladies love him too. When Akira Fakename winks, every bra within a 400 foot perimeter snaps open. When Akira Fakename goes to the bar, his drinks are always on the house but he pays for them anyway. Akira Fakename invented the Roomba.

Somebody get that Roomba an iPod hookup!

RYAN: Whatever you think you heard about Gene Winthrop, I assure you it couldn’t be further from the truth. Gene Winthrop would never be caught dead living in a condo. He doesn’t see them as a wise financial investment because it’s a volitle niche market. When he does buy real estate, he buys only houses. And he never pays closing costs. Cause he’s not a complete fool. That’s the same reason why he doesn’t own a hover car. The insurance rates and poor fuel efficiency make them an overpriced luxury. And Gene Winthrop doesn’t believe in luxuries, which is why he drives a modest, mid-sized car. Rather than be selfish and own hover cars and robotic vacuums, Gene Winthrop uses his vast resources to help others. He’s single-handedly funded more than 20 children’s hospitals around the world. And when it comes to the take a penny, leave a penny policy, Gene Winthrop always leaves. He never takes. It’s just not in his nature. And you know, gorillas wouldn’t want to rip off your face if you stopped trying to have sex with them all the time. “No” means no, whether it’s a college girl muffling it through duct tape it or an adult gorilla signing it. Maybe you’d have a little more respect for females if you looked up to Gene Winthrop instead of Akira Fakename. Unsnapping girls bras hasn’t been funny since the 5th grade, and even then it was a dick move that never got you any action.

SHAWN: Oh, so Gene Winthrop is apparently above the law? Not paying closing costs? Not owning hovercars? I guess that explains the crazy-ass horrible things he apparently does for humanity in the process. You know what happens when people stop paying closing costs and stop supporting the automobile industry? The fucking economic meltdown happens and Gene Winthrop didn’t help. You know why Japan didn’t have a meltdown? Akira Fakename. Akira Fakename balanced the country’s budget on a lazy Sunday afternoon watching reruns of Food Network Challenge. Akira Fakename’s movies have made enough money to feed Central Africa…twice…which he did. Maybe he doesn’t go around bragging about all the selfless acts he’s doing like Winthrop does, but it’s only because Akira Fakename is a modest, brilliant billionaire with a heart of gold, who’s not looking for praise, but simply to make the world a great, less gorilla-filled place. I mean, I guess Gene Winthrop’s being helpful, leaving a penny and all, but Akira Fakename drops benjamins like they’re ticker tape. One time, Akira Fakename walked into a poverty-stricken elementary school in Bolivia and bought everyone Pumas, steaks and mopeds. It’s now a national holiday called Fakename Gift-Giving Happy Steak Day (unprofessional translation). And, for the record, I said Akira Fakename invented the Roomba, not that he simply owns one. If you think giving humanity a robot vacuum cleaner isn’t helping others, then you, sir, are no Akira Fakename.

Next On Danger Queue: Pabst Blue Ribbon vs Evan Lysacek—We’ve Only Got Enough American Pride For One Of You

No, after you.

SHAWN: Ah, life. It can get a little rough. Bad things happen quite a bit, and sometimes to good people. How can we all live together and get through it all? Well, luckily, there’s one quality that truly makes the world worth living in, and that’s kindness. Human kindness is the greatest attribute God’s given us. Like a rainbow built on the hope of swans, we are filled with great joy when someone’s kind to us. And you know what? It fills us with joy when we’re kind to others as well! Nothing bad comes from kindness, unless you count smiles, hugs and puppies as bad. Sometimes, when I think about human kindness, I want to skip and sing, and lust for life as I do every morning. Thanks to kindness, we can all live in harmony, and I don’t have to skip and sing alone. It’s just so wonderful. Now it’s your turn, Ryan, my friend. Good luck with your argument! Not that you’ll need it, as you are so very good at this, and handsome.

RYAN: How dare you call me grizzled and ugl-wait, wha?!? Friend? Good? Handsome? That doesn’t sound right at all. You always attack, degrade, and belittle me. This newfound kindness just seems off. So forced and contrived. I have a hard time believing any of it, to be perfectly honest. But I have no problem believing in generosity. Unlike kindness, generosity has a tangible element that makes it unquestionably real. Kindness gets you nothing more than a worthless compliment, usually phony or backhanded. “Oh, great job, losing that big game!” Pssshawww. That doesn’t help. But if someone says “Oh, you lost game but, here, have a pizza!”, your spirits are lifted. That’s the magic of generosity. It puts something in your hands to make you feel better. Maybe I’m giving you the last chicken wing. Maybe I’m giving you my DVD copy of Last Action Hero. Maybe I’m buying you an amazing birthday present. Regardless of what it is, my generosity makes you feel better. Your kindness only makes me wonder if you even mean what you say.

For the love of God, how can we be sure he’s sincere?

SHAWN: If you care so much about generosity, you striking young chap, where’s my copy of Last Action Hero? I don’t see it anywhere. Thinking about generosity is good and all, but it requires follow through, and you just don’t see that often, as unfortunate as it is. How many homeless people do you walk by on a daily basis? How many losing little league teams do you buy pizzas for? How many times do you plow a pedestrian down on the sidewalk and not leave a few bucks in your wake? Kindness, however, is something anyone can give. You don’t have to have millions of dollars to throw around to be kind, and it’s way easier for even those people to follow through with. Thanks for holding the door for me, homeless guy! It’s okay that you lost, little league team the South Elgin Elks, but you’ll get ‘em next time! Sure, it’s no pizza, but it still warms your heart and people are way more willing to give it up. Some people just don’t need material things to lift their spirits. They’re not shallow. Sometimes a smile or a door being held open is the greatest gift you could give—way greater than that DVD I’m still waiting for, you wonderful gem.

RYAN: I only said “maybe” I’m giving you my Last Action Hero DVD. It was purely a hypothetical, and even in the hypothetical, I wouldn’t give it to you. Maybe I’d be more likely to be so generous with my prized possessions if I for a second actually believed in your kindness. Unfortunately for you, you’ve got a history of being the exact opposite of kind—unkind, if you will—so it will take a long time for you to completely wipe that slate clean. The nice thing about generosity is its impact is felt immediately. Maybe a rich old man used to be stingy with his money, but if he chooses one day to donate a large sum of money to the town’s orphanage, then all will be forgotten. Because actions speak louder than your hollow words ever could. Kindness is easier to follow through on only because it requires you to do so very little. You can tell that team of Little Leaguers they played a good game, but everyone, including them, knows if that were true, they would have won. Your kindness is really just a bold-faced lie. Call me crazy if you must, but I just don’t believe lying to people is the best way to warm their hearts. Not when the gift of giving is much more real and meaningful.

Bet you feel better now.

SHAWN: The fact that you letting me have your DVD was just a hypothetical proves my point about the fleeting nature of generosity, you delightful little cunt. It’s all about kindness. And, hell, whether or not the kindness is real or not, kind actions are awesome. Hugs are great. Doors held open are fabulous. A few nice words make even the biggest dick like you feel like the goddess that you are. And damn straight I’m kind, even if sometimes I tease you a little because you’re such an easy target. The only slate I have to wipe clean is my ass because of all the bullshit you’re giving me. Generosity may have immediate impact, but even you just used the word “if” when describing the old man giving money. Well, douche, what if giving is too much work for him? Then it’s all moot! Generosity takes so much out of you that kindness is the easy, better, smarter way to go. You can’t run out of kindness, like how you run out of roofies every Saturday. Plus, you feel the effects of kindness immediately (also unlike roofies)—by not having a door slam on your face or feeling all warm and fuzzy inside (the same feeling Ryan gets from pictures of naked boys). And, yes, actions can be stronger than words, but there is such thing as kind actions, and it doesn’t necessarily require you giving away half of your hard-earned money. Kindness creates peace and love and goddamn relationships, and those keep this motherfucking world afloat, you filthy son of a bitch!

RYAN: Ha! Thanks for showing your true colors and proving that kindness is as fake and ingenuine as a Tiger Woods apology. And just like Tiger, you’re wrong. How can you say it doesn’t matter if kindness is real or not? That’s the only thing that matters. If it’s not real, it’s not meaningful, and if it’s not meaningful, then what’s the point? Just admit the only reason anyone is ever kind to someone is for their own selfish reasons. You only hold doors open for women so you can check them out from behind. You only hug people so you can feel the elusive warmth of physical contact. And you only share nice words with people so you can, if only briefly, feel less like an asshole. True, there may be ulterior motives to anyone’s generosity, but the difference is that generosity undisputedly benefits everyone involved. If an old man donates money to an orphanage, he feels better about himself and the children are less likely to be put down. So what if there is an “if” involved? That “if” is what makes generosity real. It’s a choice. Not some forced thing you feel like you have to do, like holding open a door. Oh, thanks for giving two seconds of your time to hold open a door I could have opened myself. Whoopity fucking doo. That doesn’t change the fact the other 86,398 seconds of the day, you’re a total dick. And really, only calling you a dick is me being generous. You’re welcome.

Next on Danger Queue: Gene Winthrop vs Akira Fakename—Which Oscar-Winning Magician/Philanthropist Will Come Out On Top?

You may want to close your eyes.

RYAN: Everyone in the world needs a little support. Something to keep us up when we’re feeling down. Something to hold us close when we’re feeling lonely. That’s why each and every morning, I choose briefs. They’re the perfect way to start each day. And with a wide assortment of colors to choose from, I can always find a color to match my mood. If I’m feeling classy, I go black. Wild and crazy, I go green. Saucy, I go red. For those days when I’m feeling just blah, I go with whichever white has the least amount of stains. But I always choose briefs. They’re a magical piece of clothing that gives us men one less thing to worry about during the day. Before briefs, man bounced around every which way like a damned animal. Sorry, but that kind of stuff doesn’t fly anymore. Much like we wear shoes to ease the strain on our feet, we wear briefs to ease the strain on our balls.

SHAWN: The good news about men who love briefs is they won’t be able to create children who share their brief-loving ways. Why? Because their tight-ass underwear has all but left them sterile, with low-to-no sperm counts and an inability to procreate. Me? I like to let my junk hang free and easy, the way God intended it. That’s why I go commando. Like the great commandos of World War I, no underwear allows my genitals the ability to breathe and live. They can swing low, swing high, bounce around—and, most importantly, the ladies can see the bulge dangling right through my pants and be all, “Mmm hmm!” Man, it feels good. No restrictions, and a higher sperm count than most sperm banks. That’s the life. Plus, I’m not wasting time choosing colors, especially since, if you’re the kind of guy that wears briefs, there’s a good chance no woman’s going to be seeing them anyway. I, on the other hand, am ready at a moment’s notice for whatever challenge I need to mount.

Looks like we found ourselves a ladies' man.

RYAN: Even if briefs do lead to low sperm counts, I don’t see why that’s a big deal. Oh, no, I can’t procreate. I guess I’m stuck having as much sex as I want without having to worry about kids. Woe is me. Meanwhile, you’re stuck raising a bunch of hell-raising, bank account-draining kids because you went commando all the time. Apparently for all the wrong reasons on top of that. Going commando does not create a bulge. I don’t want to get into the inner workings of gravity, but when you go commando, everything just hangs down and disappears into the fabric of the pants (please tell me you’re wearing pants). If you really want to impress the ladies with a bulge, you need to fight gravity and cradle and lift things up. That’s where the briefs come in. Now your privates don’t disappear between your legs like a frightened turtle. They become a focal point that, with the helpful addition of a sock or two, will get the women all riled up. Also, if you’re concerned about the well being of your junk, then going commando is the worst possible decision. You’re leaving yourself exposed to all sorts of dangers. All it takes is one wrong move to turn the pencils, pens, and keys in your pockets into deadly weapons. And I sure hope you’ve got a button fly because the jagged teeth of a zipper are absolutely unforgiving. Or have you not seen There’s Something About Mary? But briefs—loyal, trustworthy briefs—not only lift things out of harm’s way, they also provide another layer of protection.

SHAWN: My favorite part is how you turned an argument for briefs into an argument pro-sterilization. Hopefully, we can just keep our species from reproducing at all, successfully ending the horrible human race that created everything from Glenn Beck to Heelys. Wait—we’re part of that race! Maybe we should get out of those briefs then. And just because I’m going commando doesn’t mean I’m necessarily having sex and not pulling out all over the damn place. I’m still a responsible, married adult, and my lack of underwear hasn’t produced any offspring for me yet. At least I have the option to procreate if I want, though. The only option you have is being laughed at in the locker room at the gym. Who wears briefs anymore, besides six-year-old boys with creepily overbearing mothers? And maybe you should read your argument again, as you just pointed out that you need to trick women into thinking you have more junk than you do with your briefs. Excuse me for not needing artificial support to make a bulge work. No one’s complained yet. What happens to you when the fake support comes off? “Oh, God, that’s it?” Plus, some of us don’t have turtles for genitals, and they don’t disappear between their fat thighs when they go commando—they sit comfortable in the crotch of their pants, swinging around enough to be free, but cradled enough to not get stabbed by all the sharp objects you apparently fill your pockets with. Maybe you should get a book bag. Or are you scared that you have so little control of your junk that you’d get it caught in the zipper of that too?

Free and easy, with a place for spare change.

RYAN: My favorite part is when you lacked any understanding of one of the most basic concepts in the world: gravity. Seriously. Do I have to explain this to you? I figured at some point in your life, you would have learned all this, but your unwavering belief that you can have a bulge while going commando says otherwise. I don’t care how much you want to lie about the size of your junk. The only way you’re getting a bulge while going commando is if you’re wearing pants that have an inseam four inches higher than it should be. And really, if that’s the case, then all your arguments about being comfortable and hanging free are complete lies. I don’t care what bad things you say about briefs, I’m way more comfortable with them. They’re supportive, but not smothering. Functional, yet flattering. People in the locker room may laugh at briefs, but I’d much rather have that than be the creepy guy in the locker room who drops his pants and has nothing on underneath. Do you go commando when you’re wearing gym shorts too? Every time you do some crunches, your genitalia plops down on the mat. Of course, that’s assuming you actually work out when you go to the gym and don’t just stare longingly at the women on the treadmill. More than likely, you don’t go commando when you’re at the gym. It’s just doesn’t work, right? It’s the same reason why you don’t go commando when you’re wearing itchy pants. Or overalls. Or shorts. Oh well. I guess not everything can be suitable for all occasions like briefs.

SHAWN: Do I need to be clearer? If your dick were bigger, you’d realize that going commando isn’t as dangerous as you think it is. Plus, you keep buying those 22-waist Wal-Mart pants with the oversized crotches that let everything dangle beyond belief, even the little guy you got hiding under there. We all know how gravity works here, but we’re not Baggin’ Saggin’ Barry with enough room for our junk to throw a block party down there. Maybe this is a matter for cut of pant, but the argument stands that God made our fine genitals to be uninhibited with the ability to dangle when they want to dangle, like the junk of the animals. As for briefs, let’s take this sentence by sentence: “Supportive not smothering”—tell that to the zero kids you will ever have. “Functional yet flattering”—tell that to every woman ever. And, as for the gym, maybe there’s a time and a place for some boxers or even boxer briefs, but regular old briefs are never worth wearing. Hell, if you wear briefs at the gym, I’d bet you’d get all kinds of sweat collected in there, which 9 out of 10 doctors will confirm causes rashes and odors. So, even in the unlikely case that you get to a girl’s bedroom and she doesn’t laugh you back out of her house with those briefs, the second they’re on the floor all she’ll have to look at is…hell, I won’t describe it. Just google “rash” and cry yourself to sleep. Look at that: briefs are actually suitable for no occasions at all. Interesting to see your whole argument in shambles. At least now it’ll match your love life and hideously scrunched tiny balls.

Next on Danger Queue: Kindness vs Generosity—The Politest Danger That Ever Queued