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Petty Hills You'll Die On

Everybody has that one tiny opinion they will defend to the bitter end, usually at full volume across the dinner table. Sixteen stubborn hills, from toilet paper to pineapple pizza, face off head-to-head. Vote for the hill you'd plant your flag on, and see which petty opinion the crowd will never, ever let go.

16 choices · 4 rounds

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The contenders

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The patent drawing from 1891 shows the roll going over, so I am not being petty, I am being historically accurate. Under-rollers are out here scraping their knuckles on the wall like cave people, and I refuse to live that way.

Milk first means you can't measure your cereal, and now you're drowning flakes like a breakfast shipwreck. I pour cereal, then milk, like a civilized architect building a crunchy masterpiece from the ground up.

It stands for Graphics, and nobody has ever said "jraphics" in the history of human mouths. I will say it with a hard G at every family reunion until someone writes it on my trophy.

A hot dog has one bun hinged at the bottom, which makes it a taco at best and a hot dog at worst. If you walk into a deli and order a sandwich, nobody hands you a frank in a bun, and that settles it forever.

Sweet, salty, juicy, and toasty all in one bite is called balance, and I am basically a pizza scientist. Anyone who picks the pineapple off is just afraid of happiness and tiny yellow triangles.

The window seat gets the view, the aisle seat gets the legroom, and the middle seat gets nothing but sadness unless we honor the armrest law. I will gently but firmly occupy both, and my elbows will not be negotiating.

Ketchup is basically tomato, vinegar, and sugar, which is a trio built to survive the apocalypse. Diners leave it on the table all day, and I will not let cold ketchup ruin perfectly warm fries in my house.

Pluto got kicked out of the club in 2006 by a vote, which is exactly how petty this whole thing is. It has a heart-shaped glacier and five moons, so I will keep counting it on my fingers until my last breath.

I am the one keeping us alive on the highway, so I deserve the aux cord and the right to play the same song nine times. Passengers can request songs in writing, and I will review them at the next rest stop.

Pop is the sound a balloon makes, not a beverage you order with a straight face. I say soda, my glass says soda, and the fizzy bubbles are cheering for me right now.

If you wanted the last slice, you had nineteen minutes to make your move while everybody politely stared at it. I am not greedy, I am decisive, and decisive people deserve pepperoni.

Pancakes soak up syrup evenly across the whole surface, while waffles hoard it in little square jail cells. I respect the waffle's ambition, but pancakes stack taller and never need a special machine.

Overnight, the sauce settles in, the cheese firms up, and the flavors hold a meeting and agree to be delicious. Microwaving it into a soggy sponge is a crime against breakfast, and I will testify.

The lid exists for a reason, and that reason is so nobody takes a surprise midnight swim. Lowering the seat takes one second, which is way less time than this argument has taken over the years.

I am just going to climb back into it in 14 hours, so making it is like folding a burrito you are about to eat. Messy beds are cozier, and my blankets are already in the perfect nest position.

Fridge water, hose water, and water-fountain water all taste completely different, and I can identify them blindfolded. If water had no taste, nobody would have a favorite water bottle, and everybody has a favorite.

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