Puntabulous

Welcome to another edition of Puntabulous Guest Debates! Joining us today is the always fabulous and chic Suburban Kamikaze from the blog Suburban Kamikaze. As she says on her blog: Her address says suburbs, but her shoes scream “get me out of here…”

Her idea for a debate is something I feel very passionately about. One might even say I get all hot and bothered.

Summer vs Winter: Let’s get this party started!

Suburban Kamikaze: Don’t fall for what you see on the postcards Craig; winter is dirty, nasty and cold, and I don’t mean dirty and nasty in a good way. Do you know who came up with the idea of hell as a high-temperature kind of place? Well neither do I, but I can tell you who didn’t: anyone who ever lived through February in Chicago.

Craig: So you admit that Hell being a high temperature place proves the amazingness of Winter? Are you sure you’re not on my side of this debate? And while we’re on the subject of Hell, why don’t we bring up Heaven as well? (RHYME!) You know heaven, right? That place where all good people, I mean Christians, go when they die? That place way up in the sky? (RHYME AGAIN!) Do high altitudes mean anything to you? Well they do to me! Nice, brisk, refreshing, cold weather! It’s like winter all year round! There’s no better way to be rewarded in the afterlife than skiing with Jesus.

Suburban Kamikaze: I think maybe the altitude is a little too high in the Puntabulous corporate offices. There is absolutely no way that you will be doing any skiing with Jesus in the afterlife. For one thing, as any parochial school kid could tell you, the guy sports an all-over tan and hair down to his shoulders. He’s definitely a surfer. Speaking of sports, let me just throw out some statistics: I have been hit in the face with a lump of frozen water three times today already. That is an accuracy rate of 100 percent for my 12-year-old son, who only pretends that he is not aiming for my head. If I complain about the fact that my Wonderbra is now filled with snow melt and the side of my face is sporting a welt the size of a baseball, I am called a “bad sport”. When did hitting your mother in the face become a sport? I’ll tell you when: winter.

Craig: Don’t blame me for your son being straight. Maybe you should have raised him a little gayer and you wouldn’t have to worry about dodging anything. The way I throw, the snowball would surely have melted in the warm spring air by the time it reached you. Us gay kids always liked making snow angels and snazzily dressed snowmen instead. What can you make in the summer? A grass angel? Be careful of grass stains! A sandman? Good luck with that! Speaking of sand, it’s pretty much the worst substance on the face of the planet. But what’s worse than sand? Water THEN sand. And when does that happen? Oh right, the big summer hang out! The beach!

Suburban Kamikaze: Craig, I’m sure your snowmen were fabulous. But I am starting to wonder if maybe back indoors, in the closet perhaps, you were secretly studying the box scores and teaching yourself to make fart noises with your armpits. What else could explain the fact that you somehow failed to notice that in addition to sand and water, the beach is crawling with hard-bodied men wearing very little clothing?

Craig: Please. Who needs to go to the beach to see hard-bodied men wearing very little clothing when I already have them in the comfort of my own home on my computer screen? And at the beach none of the hard-bodied men say: “Hey dude, nice surfboard” “Thanks, but I’d rather be riding you instead” and then start making out. Speaking of getting naked in public. Outside of porn, it is socially unacceptable. In the summer, if it gets hot, you can’t just keep taking off clothes. So you’re stuck in sticky clothes being hot and miserable. But in the winter, if you’re cold, you can just keep adding clothes and get nice and cozy and warm!

Suburban Kamikaze: “If it gets hot you can’t just keep taking off clothes?” That would be news to the folks in South Beach, Craig, or even Fort Lauderdale, popular destinations for scads of actually gay men, as opposed to fans of the video game. I can sum up summer’s superiority in one word: “circulation”. It’s a good thing Craig, responsible for much of what makes life pleasurable, and like rum, it’s also better in the Bahamas. Do you know why your fingers start to burn and go numb when the temperature drops? It’s the beginning of what is known as “death”, Craig. But that doesn’t sell a lot of Currier & Ives prints, does it? Winter, on the other hand, is responsible for countless cases annually of what is now known as “seasonal affective disorder”. Which used to be known as the “winter blues” until Winter’s sleazy, high-priced, Washington lobbyists had it changed. They can call it what they want, Craig; nobody was ever depressed drinking mojitos under a palm tree.

Craig: Don’t even get me started on mojitos! Whoever’s idea it was to take perfectly good alcohol and add mint to it should be shot. If I wanted mint, I’d brush my teeth! And you act as if nobody ever suffers in the summer. Ever hear of heatstroke? If I look in my handy dandy home medical dictionary, it says heatstroke is “characterized by cessation of sweating, severe headache, high fever, hot dry skin, and, in serious cases, collapse and coma”. That’s right! A coma! Suddenly the winter blues don’t sound so bad! It’s like a fun jazz song! Shoobity shoobity shoo! My girl left me in the winter, I’ve got the winter bluuuueees! Yeah!

Suburban Kamikaze: You know what is also like a fun jazz song Craig? An actual fun jazz song. Maybe you have heard this one?

“Summertime, and the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high.
Oh yo’ daddy’s rich an’ yo’ ma is good lookin’
But Craig would prefer that the cotton all die….”

I don’t know what you have against fish and cotton Craig, but I can tell you this: If you are brushing your teeth with rum and sugar water, you are doing it all wrong.

Craig: Um, yeah, maybe I hate cotton. Maybe I hate cotton because it reminds me of 1800’s plantations. Maybe I hate 1800’s plantations because they remind me of slavery. But you know, if you like slavery, then yeah, by all means, cotton is awesome. I guess I just have a higher respect for humanity than you do. You know where they never had plantations? In the north. Where it isn’t hot and summer-like all year round. Just sayin! And yeah, fish is gross, because, well, you know.

Suburban Kamikaze: And who do you suppose was buying all that slave-produced cotton Craig? (Hint: blankets do not exactly fly off the shelves in Miami…) But your respect for humanity aside, Craig, I think we have gone a little off track. A discussion of the cotton trade would be relevant in a debate called “North vs. South, circa 1860,” but our assignment is “Winter vs. Summer.” Remember? (Maybe you should put a sweater on. Try to get your circulation going.) Along those lines, I will conclude with a few literary points. When novelist Edith Wharton produced her breezy tale of a young woman’s sexual awakening, she did not title it “Winter”. Can you guess what she called it Craig? When winter-logged Russian writer Leo Tolstoy took up the theme, the result was “Dreary, Vodka-Soaked Russian Woman Throws Herself Under the Train”. Now I am not saying that I am ready to throw myself under a train exactly. But it is no coincidence that the website and corresponding book of short stories I began in Miami, (“Suburban Happiness: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Tupperware”) evolved along somewhat darker themes. It’s cold here, Craig. That’s all I’m saying.

Craig: Yes. It is cold. But it’s a clean cold. It’s a refreshing cold. You come in from the snow, you pull off all your wet clothes and you enjoy a nice big mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows. And you’re happy. Summer makes you gross. You come in from the heat, you are a sweaty mess. You make lots of noises that sound like “Uuughghhhghhh” and you plop down on the couch until your body temperature levels itself out again. If you ask me, a snowball in the face every once in a while is well worth not having to make the “Uuughghhhghhh” noise ever again.

So who do you guys think won? Her pictures are incredible! The high heels in the snow are so chic! Be sure to head over to her blog: Suburban Kamikaze!

Think you could do better? Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me! If you’ve previously sent me a topic, and I never got back to you, or if we haven’t started the debating process yet, send me a reminder! I’m very forgetful! For more Puntabulous Debates CLICK HERE!

Welcome to another edition of Puntabulous Guest Debates! Joining us today is Juliet from the awesome (and super fun to say!) blog Evolving Revolver. Her idea for a debate was RIDICULOUSLY genius, I couldn’t wait to get it on. And by “get it on” I mean debate, of course.

Martha Stewart vs. Oprah. Let the battle begin!

Juliet: Without a doubt, Martha Stewart could OWN Oprah. Really. How many people can go to prison and make a come back as hot as she? Oprah wouldn’t last one week in the clink. Without her personal trainers, dietitians and plastic surgeons she would inevitably eat too much and literally burst at her *ahem* seams. But Martha came out fresh as a daisy!

Craig: And by “come back as hot as she” do you mean host the worst season of The Apprentice ever? A season so bad that they only gave her one? Is that what you mean? Or are you referring to the god awful knitted poncho she wore? Because yes, Oprah would never come back as “hot” as that. Plus Oprah would never wind up in prison because she is such an upstanding individual! Hello?! They don’t send people to prison for building beautiful schools in Africa! Last I checked they gave out Nobel Peace Prizes for that, not orange jump suits and shivs!

Juliet: AHEM. Knitted ponchos are SO in, or haven’t you noticed? Especially ones you knit yourself from the finest organic fair trade alpaca wool. I would guess you wouldn’t know that, though, since you watch OPRAH and lord knows that she’s been wearing the same power suit since she was fat! No, no, no, Martha is classy. Martha is about the finer things in life. For instance the shiv she carried in prison: This is no ordinary shiv! Martha’s shiv was fashioned out of a vintage French chandelier, brought to her from her Summer home in Bedford by one of her very trustworthy Omnimedia. And that orange jumpsuit was made of 600 thread count Egyptian cotton.

Craig: Please! Martha could have whatever freaky-deeky shiv she wants! If Oprah ever went to prison (which would never happen because (as discussed) she’s so upstanding) she wouldn’t need a shiv for three reasons: A) People would be lining up around the cell block to be her Gayle… I mean bitch, and wouldn’t even think about harming her. B) If Oprah drops the soap, the soap picks itself up so she’s never vulnerable. C) She can kill people with the power of her mind. Not physically of course, just emotionally. Like she did with Stedman. And James Frey’s career. Who has Martha killed lately? A turkey? Ooooo! I’m skurred!

Juliet: Wait wait wait. Did you just admit that Oprah is a murderer? Of careers and emotions and souls! This is exactly why the plastic surgery miracle can’t be trusted!! And what’s with all that makeover every two months anyhow? She’s more stapled and stitched than Frankenstien’s monster! You know what all the nip / tuck is about? It’s a disguise. To mask her true identity as the devil. Her and her evil minion Dr. Phil are plotting to steal the souls of children and spoil all that is good and innocent in this world. She’s been trying to book a show with Martha for years now. She wants to do a segment on ritual sacrifice.

Craig: Let’s get one thing straight, of the two people in discussion, one of them has gone to prison, one has not. Oprah only uses her murderous (and ability to emotionally rip someone a new asshole) powers for good, not for evil. James Frey needed to be put in his place! He was a liar and a phony! Just think… Lindsay Lohan almost starred in a movie based on one of his books! Oprah saved us from another Lindsay Lohan movie! Thank you Oprah! What has Martha done for us lately? Mmmm, that shepherds pie she cooked me was really good. Oh wait, no, she just made it on TV. At least it smelt good! Oh wait, no, smell-o-vision hasn’t been invented yet. And speaking of getting stuff done, I wonder what Martha’s hair color really is?

Juliet: Craig. DARLING. I think you missed what I said. “OPRAH is the DEVIL.” As in, soul snatching, hell fire, pointy tailed corrupter of the honest and good. As in, Dante’s nine levels of hell she is at the very bottom gnawing on those people who couldn’t make it to heaven ( i.e. – those who don’t believe in all that is MARTHA!). Lucifer, Damien, Beelzebub, SATAN. Here, let me draw you a comparison:

Notice how her flabby thighs so closely resemble wings? And I don’t think I’m mistaken when I say that her pouf of black hair is covering up her horns. The evidence is undeniable. And you’re trifling on about jail? People don’t go to hell for embezzlement anymore. It’s just a thing you do, you know? Like noticing keenly that no one else is going to take the last slice of Chestnut Cake with Chocolate-Armagnac Glaze and helping yourself – because you wouldn’t want that to go to waste. Or haven’t we spoken yet about how much Martha dislikes waste?? She’s all for saving any poor, distasteful soul she can! That’s downright saintly!

Craig: Martha only dislikes waste because it proves that no one likes what she’s cooking! If her cooking was so wonderful, why would there ever be an ounce left over to go to waste in the first place? Who the hell wants Chestnut Cake anyway? And I don’t even know what the fuck Armagnac is. Oprah only eats wholesome American food, like pizza and cheeseburgers! Yeah, so her weight might fluctuate a bit, but it only acts as a symbol of Americana! When I see her body wrapped in fat, I envision that her fat is the American flag, and it is draped over her oh so eloquently. It brings a tear to my eye. Oh say can you see Oprah kicking Martha’s ass?

Juliet: Wait, did you just call all of America FAT? Because I think I can speak for all of America and take offense to that. And besides that is further proof that she is Satan because everyone knows that fat is the devil and if she is like this big wavy fat flag thing, then she is INDEED the devil!!! I think that you are going to have to concede that Martha Stewart is far superior to Oprah. Look at the facts: She survived prison with class and Egyptian cotton, she has an Omnimedia and is a bajillionaire, she’s being canonized as a saint – even Mother Theresa hasn’t been canonized! – and there is word on the street that Jesus (as in THE Jesus) was seen in her creme fraiche. She’s TOTALLY the God’s Chosen One. Whereas – I think I have pretty well supported – OPRAH is the devil and she eats kittens for breakfast, she makes America look fat and she’s terrifying in red spandex. C’mon Craig. I think we both know who wins this throw down.

Craig: Canonized, eh? Yes, I think it’s an excellent idea to shoot Martha Stewart out of a canon! I mean really? Who needs her? She cooks all that fancy stuff you’d never be able to cook in a million years, so you sit at home, sad and alone, thinking “Boy, I’ll never be able to cook like that. I suck. Mom was right, maybe I should just kill myself.” But then right as you’re about to throw yourself on your sword, your samurai-enthusiast roommate (who’s sword you borrowed to throw yourself on) changes the channel to Oprah. And you see Tom Cruise jumping on a couch professing his love for Katie Holmes, and you think: “Hmmm, maybe my life isn’t that bad after all. Thank you Oprah.”

So who do you guys think won? She did an awesome job with the Oprah/Satan diagram. Why didn’t I think to bring visual aids? Be sure to head over to her blog: Evolving Revolver!

Think you could do better? Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me! If you’ve previously sent me a topic, and I never got back to you, or if we haven’t started the debating process yet, send me a reminder! I’m very forgetful! For more Puntabulous Debates CLICK HERE!

Welcome to another edition of Puntabulous Guest Debates! Bossy of I AM BOSSY fame has stepped up and offered her debating services to my humble little Puntabulous. Holler! Bossy is awesome. Her suggestion for a debate topic? So simple yet so genius…

Chocolate vs. Vanilla. Let the battle begin!

Bossy: Clearly chocolate is the best flavor because chocolate is associated with romance. For instance, what do you give your loved one for Valentine’s Day? A box of chocolates. A box of vanillas? Not so much.

Craig: A wise man once said: “Love stinks! Yeah! Yeah! Love stinks! Yeah! Yeah!” As does romance and anything to do with romantic gestures. That’s why vanilla is is the far superior flavor! Besides, if someone really loved you they’d give you nice healthy vanilla yogurt, not fatty bad-for-you chocolate! And yogurt is just the beginning! Vanilla is the most versatile (hee hee) of all flavors!

Bossy: The most versatile of flavors? Right because there’s vanilla and…vanilla. You want to talk versatile than you have to talk chocolate. You got your milk chocolate and your dark chocolate. You got your semi-sweet chocolate, your unsweetened chocolate and your bittersweet chocolate. You’ve got your 25% cacao, your 35% cacao, and your 70% cacao. And, hello Mr. White Bread? A little thing Bossy likes to call White Chocolate.

Craig: Puh-lease! White chocolate is just chocolate’s ghetto way of trying to be vanilla. And all those different kinds of chocolate, all sound like uh…chocolate. Vanilla is totally the slutty prom queen of flavors while chocolate is the chubby tuba player. Vanilla extract has an alcohol content! You can get drunk off of vanilla! What’s cooler than that? Do I have to remind you of those dorky Ovaltine commercials? “More Ovaltine please!” Ugh, those commercials make me want to punch a baby penguin.

Bossy: You get drunk from vanilla? Wow you must be really churchy. In which case Bossy would like to introduce you to a little thing she calls Dopamine. When you eat chocolate, the bioactive agents contained within increase the brain’s level of serotonin, producing mild stimulation and the release of the calming, mood enhancing dopamine. That would be chocolate. Vanilla just makes your farts smell like sugar cookies.

Craig: Um, you say that as if farts smelling like sugar cookies are a bad thing? And what’s so bad about being churchy? I believe it was baby Jesus who once said: “You who favor vanilla over chocolate shall be welcome into the kingdom of heaven when my dad thrusts the Earth into a realm of terror for America’s acceptance of gays.” Or something like that. So when we get up to heaven there’s gonna be two lines, one for vanilla lovers and one for chocolate lovers. Or as St. Peter will refer to them as: “White Line” and “Colored Line”. Yay segregation! Vanilla power!

Bossy: But those who prefer chocolate don’t have to wait their whole whitey lives for St. Peter and that gate thingy, because eating chocolate is like heaven on earth. And lucky thing, because those who eat chocolate will live longer. There’s only one flavor that has the potential to lower blood pressure and cholesterol and reduce the risk of blood clots. And that flavor? Ding ding ding! Chocolate! Meanwhile Vanilla is good for… um… looking it up and… oh, here it is: Nothing.

Craig: I love vanilla. It makes me happy. You say vanilla is good for nothing. Following this logic, my happiness means nothing to you. I therefore declare this debate a personal attack on myself and upon my character. I can believe nothing you say. Perhaps you really love vanilla and are just saying you don’t to make me feel bad. Why would you do that? Why Bossy? Why? Now I’m sad. Quick! I need comforting. Someone get me some vanilla ice cream damn it! Better yet! How about a swig of ye olde vanilla extract! Ahhhh, sweet, sweet comfort.

Bossy: Oh, sorry, you were saying what? Bossy couldn’t hear you above the sound of the weepy violin. Bossy is pained that the truth of vanilla is making you so sad. Do you know what always works for Bossy when she’s in need of comfort? First she takes a nice ceramic mug and puts it on the counter. And then she takes some milk and mixes it with her favorite chocolate syrup in a pan over a medium flame and voilà: Hot chocolate. You could always, um, take your, eh, and mix it with, uh, right, well—you could always eat your mug.

Craig: Oh, and what will you be putting in your hot chocolate? Is it…(dramatic pause)… marshmallows?! And do you know what a key ingredient in marshmallows is? Do I even need to tell you? Fine, I guess I do. (After all, people who prefer chocolate aren’t all that smart.) It’s vanilla! And as everyone knows, drinking hot chocolate is just an excuse to eat marshmallows and enjoy their vanilla goodness. Aw, I’m sorry my arguments are so awesome. Feel free to borrow my violin. You need it more than I do.

Bossy: You’ve heard it here first: on the planet Craig, marshmallows contain vanilla. Meanwhile for the rest of us, marshmallows are produced from a combination of sugar, egg whites, gelatin, corn syrup, dextrose, corn starch, tetrasodium pyrophosphate, and gum arabic. Which, yum, kind of reminds Bossy of vanilla. Also? Do you know how vanilla is harvested? The vanilla pods are plucked from their happy vine while they are all green and odorless and then they are sent off to slaughterhouses where their vegetative tissue is killed—this can be death by sun, by oven, by hot water, or by deep freezing. Bossy never knew Craig was so violent, but she thinks maybe there’s a mood enhancer that would help this predicament and—oh, it’s chocolate.

Craig: First off, the planet Craig is awesome. It is filled with hard bodies in loin cloths cooling me off with giant leaves and hand-feeding me grapes. Secondly, check out THIS recipe for marshmallows created by non other than Martha Fucking Stewart and shown on Oprah. Just try and defy Martha and Oprah! They will cut you! But wait, you must be right because you have a magazine and have built empires based upon just your name alone. Riiiiiiight. That’s what I thought. Vanilla rules, chocolate drools.

So who do you guys think won? Even if I lose, I think I deserve a consolation prize for freakiest picture for my vanilla ice cream picture. I look like Bilbo attacking Frodo in Rivendell for the One Ring. Okay, that was a dorky reference, but come on! It’s totally fitting!

Think you could do better? Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me! For more Puntabulous Debates CLICK HERE!

So I posted about my favorite Madonna song the other day and asked people to e-mail me with their favorite Madonna song, and if it was different than mine, we would debate over the title of Best! Madonna! Song! So I got an e-mail from Miss Britt who writes the hysterical blog Miss Britt and shocker, she didn’t have the same favorite Madonna song as me! Blasphemy! So here we are, to settle this matter once and for all:

Miss Britt: Clearly, Madonna’s best song is Like A Virgin. I mean, you think Madonna, you think “I don’t care how much Henna that woman paints on herself now, that girl’s no virgin!”, which inevitably leads you to start writhing to Like A Virgin – HEE! Not that a song being synonymous with the artist name necessarily makes it their best song. Unless you’re talking about Madonna, and Like A Virgin.

Craig: Wow. Everyone knows Madonna’s best song is Like a Prayer. I mean, you have heard it right? You can’t possibly listen to that song and not immediately start (as the kids say) busting moves. You know what happens when I try dancing to Like a Virgin? I start writhing awkwardly. Yes, that’s right. Two words that should never be paired together in a million years. Writhing. Awkwardly. It’s completely undanceable!

Miss Britt: You bust a move to Like A Prayer? Do you also get down when the church bells go off on Sunday? And get jiggy with the latest release from The Siberian Buddhist Monks*? Let me concede, dear Craig, that Like A Prayer is in fact a great song, and definitely one of Madonna’s better efforts. The message behind that song is impressive and the video was groundbreaking. But the best? You wanna bust a move, sing this out loud and I DARE you not to impersonate chest palpitations: “When your heart beats… next to miiiiiiiiiine… wohahahoh”

*To my knowledge, this group does not actually exist, nor have “releases”. But they could. And you’d be dancing to them.

Craig: AH HA! You have revealed your fatal (not really) debating flaw! Reason! You are admitting that Like a Prayer is a great song. I will concede no such thing when it comes to Like a Virgin! I will make bold and unreasonable claims such as wanting to wipe my ass with Like a Virgin! That I wouldn’t listen to Like a Virgin if it were the last song on Earth! You want another bold and unreasonable claim? Madonna pretending to be a virgin! To compare her with the biblical Madonna is blasphemy! What should you do to repent? Pray! Like a Prayer!

Miss Britt: It’s obviously time to pull out my Debating Secret Weapon: clearly, you’re retarded. And are incapable of grasping the intricate message behind Like A Virgin. She’s not pretending to BE a virgin. In fact, she’s talking about that feeling you get when you’re not… REALLY not. Where you’re beat, incomplete, you’ve been had, and you’re sad and blue… and THEN someone comes along and makes you feel shiny and new. Oh. Wait. I see. THAT’s your problem with it. You’re one of those “don’t want tarnished goods” kind of guys, eh? Well. I’m sorry. I should restate my argument to say that for those of us who understand history and mistakes and can’t be freaking PERFECT, Madonna’s Like a Virgin is obviously her best song.

Craig: Awww! That’s really good of you to admit that I’m perfect! I guess that means all my musical preferences are perfect also, no? And who wants to feel like a virgin when they’re having sex? Does that mean the sex lasts for 5 seconds and ends with me apologizing profusely? I mean, not ME apologizing profusely. I mean, hypothetically. You know, if I wasn’t like naturally amazing in bed. You see, Like a Virgin is all about making Madonna feel good, but Like a Prayer is all about pleasing the other person. “I’m down on my knees, I want to take you there!” See? This song is all about giving! CoughHeadCough.

Miss Britt: Oh. God. Craig’s painfully awkward sexual experiences. Quick! New mental image!!! Speaking of mental images… you hear Like A Prayer and instantly imagine the crying statue and really sad black guy from the video. And that weird ass chamber music or whatever it was going on in the beginning. Like A Prayer should have given us a sign that Madonna was eventually going to go all airy fairy “I feel things deeply” on us down the road. And let’s be honest, none of us likes Madonna with straight hair and henna. It shows off The Gap. But Like A Virgin? You hear Like a Virgin and you see Fun Madonna. Cool Madonna. Makeup and beads and lace and smile and pop punk good times Madonna. When Madonna is inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame (omg i am so old), guaranteed it will be in front of a picture of her in all her Like A Virgin glory.

Craig: Look, I think we can both agree that straight hair henna Madonna is the worst. And by all means you can fit a Banana Republic in that Gap of her’s. But let’s talk about the videos for a moment. In the Like a Virgin video she gets it on with some weird man lion hybrid. Seriously! Have you SEEN the video lately? Like, what? Is this song condoning bestiality? I just don’t get it. But wait! Who does she get it on with in the Like a Prayer video? Black Jesus. That’s right. And if you don’t respect that, you’re either a racist or a heathen. Take your pick.

Miss Britt: I have to admit, I did not remember any kind of bestiality (although I clearly remember Madonna’s victimization of the lovely and sacred Black Jesus, ferSHAME!). So I YouTubed both videos. And I will admit that the last few seconds of Like A Virgin contained way more references to an animalesque lover than any one video clip should ever have. While perusing YouTube Madonna videos, I also enjoyed Like A Prayer (she was a cute brunette) and Weird Al’s Like A Surgeon. Remember that? When Like A Virgin got so big that good ol’ Al decided to capitolize on it’s awesomeness with a hilarious parody? You know what I couldn’t find though… Weird Al’s parody of Like A Prayer. Crazy.

Craig: Maybe Weird Al didn’t make a parody of Like a Prayer because it’s so totally awesome and unmakefunable. (Yes, that’s a word!) And since when did variables consisting of Weird Al parodies become valid arguments when debating? That’s like saying guys with long hair are hotter than guys with short hair because Weird Al has long hair! Which we all know is completely wrong because guys with short hair are way hotter! Now look what you’ve done! I’m completely off topic! I assume this was all part of your plan to bring me down. Just like the religious right tried to bring Madonna down for her Like a Prayer video. That’s another reason why Like a Prayer is the best Madonna song. Because it reminds me of myself!

Miss Britt: Um, Craig? Let’s try to focus. I will concede that Like A Prayer is a great Madonna song (duh) – and even go so far as to say it’s ONE of my favorites. But it’s obvious that Like A Virgin is the quintessential Madonna song. It’s a perfect example of how you can take something pure (like virginity) and turn it into something slutty. And everyone knows THAT is what Madonna is about. That’s what made Madonna so cool back in the day – she made you want to touch yourself seductively in the check out line, just to see the cashier blush. Like A Prayer makes you think – which, okay, was a big step for Madonna. But Like A Virgin makes you dance, and sing along, and want to be a very, very bad girl…

Craig: Hmm, you want to take something pure and turn into something slutty? How about praying? Praying is pure, right? Let’s try making that slutty! Oh wait! Madonna already did! Listening to Like a Prayer is like praying for sex! If that doesn’t send you straight to hell, nothing will! (Although masturbating in a check out line isn’t exactly the yellow brick road to heaven.) In conclusion, what is the most cliche thing you could yell out mid-orgasm? That’s right: “Oh God! Oh God!” It’s like sex and prayer at the same time. It’s the essence of Like a Prayer and the pinnacle of Madonna’s awesomeness.

So who do you guys think won? I mean, clearly her pictures kick my pictures’ asses. But who won the debate?

Think you could do better? Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me! For more Puntabulous Debates CLICK HERE!

So I was in the car driving to the train station this morning singing (loudly) along to my favorite Madonna song. And I was thinking to myself: “This is by far the best Madonna song ever. How could this not be everyone’s favorite Madonna song?” And then I thought: “What if it isn’t everyone’s favorite Madonna song?!”

So for those of you who couldn’t think of a debate topic to debate with me, I’m giving you a freebie. If you feel passionately about a Madonna song, e-mail me the song title and if you’re the first person to e-mail me with a song that isn’t the one I’m talking about, we’ll fight for the title of best Madonna song in a heated Puntabulous Debate.

The next person to participate in my ass-whoopings… I mean Guest Debates is Jester who writes the fantastic blog Jestertunes. In today’s whoo… debate, we try and decide which is better, dogs or cats. Jester is on Team Dog, I am on Team Cat.

Jester: I can not believe that you think cats are better than dogs. What kind of Wal-Mart brand discount crack are you smoking? I have two words for you, “undying loyalty”. Haven’t you ever seen that episode of Futurama where Frye’s dog sits and waits on the sidewalk for a thousand years?

Craig: Yeah, I’ve seen that episode. And you know what I think? I think it’s pathetic. Come on dog! Get a life! Dogs are all like “Love me! Pet me! Coddle me!” What losers! You would never see cats lowering themselves to that level. Cats have more respect for themselves than that. If they want to be loved, they’ll come to me. If not, they’ll do their own thing and leave me the hell alone.

Jester: Sure cats have respect for themselves, and NO respect for others whatsoever! They feel entitled to sleep all day, meow all night, drop nasty frothy hairballs all over the place, kick litter halfway across the room… and I swear they secretly plot to kill their owners in their sleep. If I wanted that kind of treatment, I’d get back together with my Ex! Dogs, on the other hand want nothing more than to make their owners happy! “Let me guard the back yard!” “Let me scare away the creepy mailman!” “Let me keep your feet warm!”

Craig: Let’s see…When you say they want to “Guard the back yard” I hear “Bark all day and be annoying”. When you say they want to “Scare away the creepy mailman” I hear “Torture a poor old soul and be annoying”. When you say they want to “Keep my feet warm” I think “Ouch! You bastard! What are you doing on my feet?!” Cats deserve to sleep all day since being so damn cool is exhausting! I should know! I require, like, zero sleep! And that frothy hairball you find so disgusting? It was a present you ungrateful bastard!

Jester: Remind me to get off your Christmas list! Look, every cat I have ever met has had mental problems. Seriously! One minute they want attention and rub all over your lap; the next they become screaming balls of teeth and claws. In. Your. Lap. Dogs just want to lick you while you pet them. That’s not entirely unpleasant, in fact, some people pay big money for that. Have you ever been licked by a cat, Craig? It’s like a tuna-scented sandpaper body scrub!

Craig: You know what a screaming ball of teeth and claws is good for? Guarding your house! Burglars can easily distract dogs with tasty treats, but cat’s aren’t as easily fooled, because they aren’t stupid! One morning I woke up to a dead burglar in my living room. I looked over at my dog who was eating a bone, and then looked at my cat who just looked back at me with a glimmer in her eyes and gave me a thumbs up. True story.

Jester: Oh please, my cats greet every visitor as if he is wearing catnip and salmon pants. You didn’t mention what kind of bone your dog was eating… I’ll wager a guess that it was one of the burglar’s vertebra. Your cat was merely acknowledging the greatness of the mighty dog who protected you both. Let me ask you something… when’s the last time your cat came up to you with a leash and a ball in her mouth begging you to get off the computer and go outside to play?

Craig: First off, cat’s don’t have leashes because they are too cool for that. Why do dogs need leashes? If dogs love you so much, why do you need to tether them to you?! Because they are too stupid to know that they shouldn’t run away, or attack local school children, or poop in the neighbor’s garden. Which brings me to another awesome thing about cats: They clean up after themselves! They’re practically toilet trained! Have you ever heard anyone complain because they stepped in cat poop? Nope!

Jester: Dogs need leashes to keep them from spreading their love and joie de vivre to every single person they meet along the way. Seriously, if my dogs weren’t leashed when we’re out for a walk, we’d have 8 hour leg humping and heavy petting sessions with all the neighbors. And you KNOW I get tired after the first hour! And since you brought it up, I don’t think there is a chemical on earth that comes close to being as toxic as cat pee. God help you if your cat starts using an area in your house (like the top of the refrigerator!?!) that you don’t notice for a day a two. It makes your eyes burn, your face melt, and I’m pretty sure it’s a leading cause of the “great hair migration” from your head to your shoulders.

Craig: Um, if by “spreading their love” you mean “spreading their seed and leaving wet spots on my leg” than yes, you are correct. And do you live in some sort of bizarro world where dogs humping your legs aren’t considered annoying and disgusting? Because last I checked, it’s not a pleasurable experience! Unless you’re into bestiality, which if that’s the case, your arguments in this debate should be considered a conflict of interest and thrown out the figurative window.

Jester: Just how long do you allow a dog to hump your leg that he leaves wet spots? Hello, Pot, it’s Kettle calling! While I will admit to having dated some “dogs” in the past, they were always the human variety. They were just as inclined to hump the neighbor’s leg, however. Dogs don’t really need me sticking up for them in this debate; just look at all the famous dogs out there: Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, Eddie (from Frasier), Benji, Marmaduke, Snoopy, Odie, Shithead (from The Jerk), Pluto, Astro, Scooby Doo, Brian Griffin… this list could go on and on. Compare that to the cats: Heathcliff, Morris, and Garfield. Oh, and that cat that mauled Roy Horn.

Craig: Hmmm, let me introduce you to some cats I know: Lion-O, Jaga, Tygra, Panthro, and Cheetara. You would have been Mumm-Ra’s bitch by now if they weren’t out there protecting your ass. What good is the love and affection of a dog if they can’t protect you from evil intergalactic forces? Sure, dogs may be a man’s best friend. But what if the man is evil? Bam! Evil dog. Dog’s are too stupid to know the difference between good and evil. You can train them however you want! They have no minds of their own! “Here Fido! Take this nuclear weapon and bury it in the neighboring country. Good boy!”

Jester: Wait a second… I thought this debate was about which was better, cats or dogs, not who was a bigger geek (you will obviously win that argument!). I would never count on a dog or a cat to save me from intergalactic forces; I have my trusty tin foil hat for that. I think I win this debate based solely on your concession that an evil man with a dog makes the dog evil, which conversely must also mean that a good man will have a good dog. Everyone knows that all cats are evil no matter what kind of owner they have.

Craig: Cat’s aren’t evil. They are cool. There’s a big difference. Like those kids that used to put me in a headlock everyday in junior high. They weren’t evil. They were cool. I can see how the difference may be difficult for the untrained eye to detect, but there is definitely a difference. In conclusion, dogs require too much attention. I am far too self serving to be responsible from something that requires that much attention. That’s why I like cats. And babies.

So who do you guys think won?

Think you could do better? Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me! For more Puntabulous Debates CLICK HERE!

So I put out a call for Guest Debaters, and Polt of Polt’s Palace answered that call! In today’s Guest Debate, we try and decide which sucks more, living in a Rural area, or living in an Urban area!

Polt: Rural life, Craiggers, sucks, and I ought to know. I’ve lived all my nearly 40 years in the same town of 9,000 people. Why does rural life suck? Let’s start with shopping. You want to buy something in rural America, you can choose from Wal-Mart, Wal-Mart, Wal-Mart, oh, and lest I forget, Wal-Mart. High quality there, my friend!

Craig: Lest? Who the hell uses the word lest? Oh this is going to be too easy! City living sucks approximately three times as much ass as rural living. Yes, let’s start with shopping. “I want to go shopping! Let me go to one of those trendy boutiques that are so much cooler than Wal-Mart! Oh wait! I have no spending money because my rent is so damn expensive! No shopping for me!”

Polt: Rent? Rent as in an apartment? Oh that would be nice having people near you. Here in the country we live out in the woods, where it takes a compass to find your way to your mailbox. And you better bring along some snacks, cause if not, you’re liable to starve on the arduous trek to get the bills. And on your way, you get to smell the lovely odors wafting over from the farm next door. Nothing like sucking in the sulfurous smell of pig and cow manure whilst on your hours long trek to get the weekly newspaper from the box!

Craig: Um. Because the city is so well known for it’s glamorous urban smells? I don’t think so! And what’s so good about having people around? That trumpet player who lived above me was a blast! Literally! Oh, but he wouldn’t play after 10. Wasn’t that nice of him? You know, because trumpet playing is only annoying after 10. Now multiply that by EIGHT MILLION!!!!

Polt: Funny you should bring up music! Cause out here, all we’ve got is country music. Twanging, my- wife- left- me- and- my- dog- died- and- the- truck- needs- new- tires- and- I’m- outta- beer- money country music. In the city, you want music, you have the symphony, or opera, or all kinds of cultural enrichment. Here, the only culture we’ve got is yogurt and whatever that green stuff is growing in the old bathtub on the back porch. For entertainment, we have watching the grass grow, talking about which of the high school girls has the most teeth (cause you know she’ll be the Homecoming queen), NASCAR and shooting empty beer bottles off tree stumps at 100 yards. Yee-HAW!

Craig: Um, I don’t know what kind of dorks you hang out with but I am NOT going to the opera. Snooze-a-rama! At least you have grass! If we want to go see grass, we have to trek all the way to Central Park! Oh wait! The subways aren’t running this weekend! And I can’t have a car, because only crazy people bring their cars into the city! So I guess I’m stuck in my apartment! Hmmm, let’s see what’s on TV. Reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard! Woo! Living in the country looks like so much fun!

Polt: The Dukes of Hazzard, ah yes, now you’re onto another great thing about the country: fashion! Daisy Dukes, there’s some elegant apparel, something that we gay men can appreciate…as long as a cute guy is wearing them. And let’s not forget Uncle Jessie, an old fat man in bib overalls. Bib overalls, flannel shirts, belt buckles the size of Rhode Island and cowboy boots (even worn to weddings), quite the fashion plate eh? And let’s not forget, being thusly attired, one MUST have a glob of chewing tobacco in one’s cheek. There’s nothing like seeing a man with honking huge bulge in his cheek spit out wad of black snuff/saliva that could drown a large dog.

Craig: I think you’re missing the best part of being surrounded by a bunch of poorly dressed hicks! It just makes you look that much better in comparison! As long as the top and bottom of your Champion brand jogging suit matches, you’re already ahead of the pack! In the city you’re surrounded by flocks of immaculate metrosexuals, which is bad for two reasons: 1) You can’t tell the straight ones from the gay ones and 2) They make you look like crap in comparison! Two metrosexual eyebrows equals one Craig eyebrow. It’s terrible!

Polt: One eyebrow, two eyebrows, whatever. I got two words to show you why urban life is better: Indoor and Plumbing. Outhouses, what a marvelous invention, especially in the middle of January at 3:00 in the morning when your stomach’s rumbling from last night’s meal like a 67 Chevy without a muffler. Nuff said.

Craig: Please. Don’t even try to tell me there’s still outhouses where you’re from. I don’t believe you. You live in a rural area, not a fourth world area! You want bad plumbing? Try showering in the morning when the rest of your apartment building is showering at the same time. Drip. Drip. Drip. What’s that? Oh that’s just Craig trying to get the soap out of his eyes!

Polt: Ooo, an actual standup shower! How much sweeter would that be than sitting in a metal tub filled with tepid water, soap suds and your own filth, dumping steaming water from a pitcher onto yourself to wash off! And look, just because I don’t happen to use a tub or an outhouse doesn’t mean they don’t exist out here. And they, along with all the other factors I pointed out above, make it obvious that rural life is worse than urban life. I would think that would be obvious even to you, you broke, apartment-dwelling, no car driving, uni-browed, drip-drying city-boy you!

Craig: Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Let’s get one thing straight before we end this debate and declare me the winner. I have two eyebrows! They may be enormous! They may put Peter Gallagher’s to shame. They may be a lot of things. But there are two of them. TWO! Alright. In conclusion: living in the city sucks. Mass transit never works. Half your salary pays for your crappy apartment. And the suckiest part about living in the city, you ask? Everyone else in the city loves it. The city is their baby. And you’re the lone asshole who thinks their baby is ugly.

So who do you guys think won?

Think you could do better? Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me! For more Puntabulous Debates CLICK HERE!

Remember those debates me and Olivia used to do? Well I think it’s time we bring those back with a little spin! I’m going to bring on a series of guest-debaters to debate hot topics with me. But you’re going to be the one picking the debate topics! Send me an e-mail with a topic you’d like to debate with me (e.g. what’s the cutest baby animal? who’s the most badass transformer?) and I’ll pick my favorites and the winners will debate their hot topics with me.

1. Debates will be performed over e-mail. You’ll send an e-mail with your opinion regarding your debate topic, I’ll reply, you’ll reply, I’ll reply, and so on, until we have a series of statements (about 6-7 each). Then we’ll each take pictures of ourselves that reflect each of our statements and compile them into a complete debate post.

2. You have to be willing to have pictures of yourself posted on my site.

3. The back and forth e-mail should only take a few days, so you have to check your e-mail at least 2-3 times a day so you can reply in a timely manner.

4. Be funny!

5. No political topics, obvs!

6. Check out our old debates so you can have an idea of what I’m looking for! Olivia was a pro!

7. If you have a blog, send it to me with your debate topic so I can scope it out.

8. So for now, just e-mail me a topic, and if I like it, I’ll send you an e-mail about when we’ll begin our debate! The more the merrier!

It’s that time again! Olivia and Craig go head-to-head over one of society’s most important issues:

WHICH MEAL OF THE DAY IS THE BEST?

Olivia: Let me lay the scene out for you: you’ve just awoken from a night of bountiful dreams of glory, and those have worn you out. You look to your side, awesome, a beautiful stranger is there. What do you need to get your day started after such a tiring night? Breakfast…the meal of winners. Breakfast is amazing on around twenty seven different levels, and you’re about to experience a good lot of them.

Craig: You know what breakfast says to me? “Hey! You’ve just woken up! You’re still half asleep and totally groggy! Let’s stuff your face until you want to vomit!” Who in the world wants to eat right after they wake up? Not to mention who in the world has time to eat breakfast in the morning? Dinner is by far the best meal of the day. Glorious meat-filled dinner!

Olivia: Sure, I see your point there. But it’s a terrible point, so I choose to look over it. Dinner is a meal you can have only once a day, it sucks. It’s the meal of losers. But breakfast is bountiful and also very versatile. Breakfast for dinner, delicious!!! IHOP and Waffle House have taken this to the max, wonderful, mystical, breakfast-based dining experiences! Dinner, well…you can get dinner anywhere. It’s not special.

Craig: Not special?! Christmas DINNER! Thanksgiving DINNER! Romantic DINNER for Valentines Day! (So I’ve heard!) I don’t hear of many people celebrating the holidays with a fantastic breakfast. “Hey, what are you guys doing for Memorial Day?” “Oh we’re going to take the boat out, shoot some fireworks, and then have some scrambled eggs.” Um no, that doesn’t happen. Because breakfast isn’t special enough for celebrations.

Olivia: Well I am sorry that your parents did not love you enough to make a nice breakfast on Christmas, the day of Jesus, where Jesus’s first meal was breakfast, where he, as a baby, because he is Jesus and can, said “Wow, breakfast kicks dinner’s ass, so, so much.”

Craig: Don’t try and spin the Bible’s words around to work in your favor! That is an abomination! Baby Jesus’ first meal was not breakfast, it was so completely and utterly dinner. The three Kings brought him frankincense and myrrh, which I’m pretty sure is aramaic for burgers and ribs. Those barn animals at the Nativity didn’t stand a chance!

Olivia: Fine, let’s suppose that you’re right about THAT. But hey, what was the meal that got those three Kings ready for their day of baby Jesus gift giving? Some hearty cornflakes at breakfast! Maybe some eggs, toast, I don’t know, the possibilities are endless. The fact of the matter is, without breakfast, no one can properly start their day, including Jesus.

Craig: You know when it’s really hot out? And they say you can fry an egg on the sidewalk? Well an egg would mean it’s breakfast right? And you know what place is REALLY hot? And where they must be frying loads of eggs on sidewalks? Hell. That’s right! Hell. Eggs, and therefore breakfast, is the food of Satan.

Olivia: Yeah, sure, and WHEN has that actually ever happened? And WHY would there be sidewalks in Hell? It’s Hell, Craig!!! You don’t walk a dog on a sidewalk in Hell!!! And how about in 300 (great movie, by the way) when Mr. Buff goes “Tonight…we dine…in HELL!!” What was that key word?? Ohhh HELL! Wait, I mean TONIGHT! Night is when you have dinner, dinner is Hell.

Craig: Don’t try and distract me with talk of 300 and computer generated abdominals! Of course they have sidewalks in Hell! Where else would Satan walk his three-headed dog, and not pick up after it? You know what else is amazing about dinner? It’s followed by dessert! Dessert is God’s way of saying, “Hey Handsome! Wasn’t that yummy?! Let me reward you with even more yumminess! Have some ice cream! Oh, and breakfast sucks!” That’s right. He says all that.

Olivia: I’d like some sort of documentation of God saying all of that, because the last thing God said to me about dessert was “Dessert makes my thighs blow UP! I cannot eat any of that Hot Fudge Cake, pass me some delcious pancakes though!” And really, I was like “Jesus, God! Pancakes make you fat too!” But then God was all “Ya, but breakfast is way better, so it’s totally worth it. Oh, and Dinner sucks!” So really, what you just said doesn’t check out at all…

Craig: Your face doesn’t check out! I’m sick and tired of your lies! The only good thing about breakfast is the maple syrup needed to cover up the taste of all the disgustingness. Dinner requires no such magic cover-up liquid! And let’s think about maple syrup for a second: Aunt Jemima and Mrs. Butterworth. Hmmm, why are you supporting a meal that upholds the sexist idea that women are supposed to be serving us? Why, Olivia? Why do you hate women?

Olivia: NO sir!!! I am sick and tired of YOUR LIES! Dinner requires no cover-up delicious liquid? How about gravy?!! Gravy has to help all kinds of dinner-disasters! And about me hating women, I LOVE women!! I AM a woman I love them so much! You, however, are not, therefore, are a sexist pig. Get a vagina, then accuse me of hating women.

Craig: I would get a vagina, but since they are God’s most disgusting creation, I will opt not to. And now that I think of it, you know what gets made in vaginas? Eggs. Yeah, kinda like the ones you eat for BREAKFAST!!!! Aw yeah! It all comes full circle! Hold on, I’ll let that blow your mind for a second.

Olivia: And you call ME the woman hater?! Fine, whatever. Let’s check out the facts: One cannot begin one’s day without a hearty breakfast in one’s belly. Breakfast is the meal Jesus craves, and if you hate breakfast, you are hating the Baby Jesus. Dinner is the meal of vagina haters, therefore a sexist meal, and probably unconstitutional in some way, if not every way.

Craig: There you go again! Taking a historical document and twisting it around for your own evil purposes! First the Bible! Then the Constitution! Soon you’ll be saying that The Cat in the Hat supports your breakfast dogma! Is no writing safe? Dinner is amazing because 1) It requires no magic cover-up juice, 2) Is followed by dessert, and 3) Doesn’t involve anything that comes out of a vagina. Dinner rules!

For more Puntabulous Counter Puntabulous Debates: CLICK HERE!

Time for another round of Puntabulous Counter Puntabulous! Craig and Olivia go head to head over one of society’s most important issues: Which fictional character has the best super powers?

Be warned: Some Heroes spoilers if you’re not caught up!

Craig: If I were to have someone’s super powers, it would totally be Nathan Petrelli’s from the TV show Heroes. I mean, come on! The ability to fly is TOTALLY the best super power in the world. Plus, if I were Nathan Petrelli, I’d be all suave/corporate business man who looks totally hot with his shirt off and gets to have sex with online porn stars.

Olivia: Forget that jerk, I’m all for Peter Petrelli! You think flying is fancy? Well Peter can fly too, along with anything else anyone he meets can do! Nathan is a terrible brother to poor sweet Peter, and totally cheats on his wife with your treasured online porn star. You are a sick man, Craig.

Craig: First off: Cute! We’re brothers! Second: Let’s focus less on the philandering, and more on the awesomeness of flying! Plus, Nathan isn’t invincible like Superman, all he can do is fly, which takes a lot of responsibility off of him. If a bad guy starts shooting a gun, he can be all like: “Don’t look at me, all I do is fly!” And then fly away. And clearly if I’m gonna have a super power, it’s not gonna be to help people, it’ll be to have fun. Which is more important. Note the lack of a question mark. Not a question, a statement.

Olivia: He WOULD say something like “Don’t look at me, all I do is fly!” And you know why? Bad person. Let’s look at Peter, hey, he just saved the world! Wow! That seems like something that anyone would do if given the chance, oh wait. I’m forgetting a certain Nathan Petrelli who tried to prevent Peter from saving the world, and, in fact, didn’t really care after he did. Oh, and what’s this I hear now from Jesus who is telling me? WOW! AND CLAIRE IS THE ILLEGITIMATE LOVE CHILD OF NATHAN? The same Nathan that didn’t really care if she died? Oops, that baby daddy messed up! But don’t look at him, all he can do is fly. Uncle Peter’s got cho back though.

Craig: Hmmm… Now that you say “Uncle Peter” it just makes that little flirtation they had going when she went to visit him in jail all the grosser. Plus, if I could fly, I wouldn’t need to drive anywhere anymore. Think of all the gas I’d be saving! That just goes to show how much I care about the environment! Does Peter care about the environment? No. His whining and complaining about not being able to control his powers sounds like a lot of hot air. Hot Air = Greenhouse Gases. Greenhouse Gases = Huge Hole in the Ozone Layer. Thanks a lot Peter! I hope he’s willing to pay for my SPF 5000 sun block!

Olivia: Peter WOULD be willing to pay for your sun block, that’s just the kind of person he is. And flirtation? No sir, that was the care and love of an uncle. And I noticed you have no immediate response to my pointing out of the fact that crappy Nathan was going to let his daughter die! You know who else doesn’t care if his daughter dies? Satan. Nathan = Satan. And oh! They rhyme! How cute!

Craig: Well I think we can both agree how cute we are. But! It’s not like Nathan knew Peter was going to save his daughter Claire. All he knew was crazy Peter wanted to go put himself in danger’s way. He was just trying to protect his little brother! He’s like a mama bear protecting her young. But a hot man mama bear who can fly! But you’ve failed to mention why Peter’s powers are so cool. What are they again? Super Mega Whinyness? Mighty Morphin Emo Hair?

Olivia: I will not agree on how cute we are for the simple reason of wanting to disagree with you. And yes, actually, Peter DOES have Mighty Morphin Emo Hair, and I think out of all the Emo Hairs, that is the best kind to have. Peter can fly, be invisible, paint the future, regenerate, read minds, and spontaneously combust. Peter could kick Nathan’s ass any day of the week, then fly away, get eaten by an eagle, regenerate his arm that was eaten by the eagle, turn invisible so that the eagle can’t see him, and then read the eagle’s mind for the heck of it. Twenty. Times. Cooler. Than. Stupid Nathan.

Craig: See, the problem with having too many powers is that people will start expecting too much from you. If you read one eagle’s mind, suddenly everyone will be coming to you asking to read their cat’s mind, or their dog’s mind. And then all of a sudden you’re the freaking pet psychic. And you’re on some Animal Planet show hosted by Mario Lopez. Yeah, real cool. Woosh! Woosh! What’s that? That’s me flying around all cool and stuff.

Olivia: Not impressed. I’m sorry, but Peter is too busy saving the world to even care about what pets are thinking. Last time I checked, he was partially invisible, no one can even find him. Woosh, Woosh! What’s that? Oh, it’s Nathan Petrelli being a jerk and associating with mobsters or something, whoever Linderman is. Oh, stab, stab! What’s that? Nathan getting killed. Snap, Crackle, and POP sir!

Craig: If Nathan associates with mobsters, I’m sure it’s just for the benefit of his family and/or cleaning up after his crazy brother Peter’s public displays of lunacy. Nathan has the coolest powers because 1) He can fly, 2) He can ONLY fly and how can anyone be expected to save the world when all they can do is fly, so he can spend less time saving the world and more time having fun and flying, and 3) Who said having the coolest powers had anything to do with being a good person?

Olivia: Peter is about twenty six times cooler and more amazing that Nathan. And more hardcore. Peter absorbs powers, and not in a hobo way. Peter is way nicer than Nathan, more heroic, and saved Nathan’s daughter, how’s that for a slice of fried genius?! And as you pointed out, Peter has Mighty Morphin Emo Hair, and I like that. There’s no Average Joe haircut there, Nathan. Peter’s an individual, and noble. So there, Good day, Sir.