Festivus 2024

[John Price]

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[John Price]

 

[John Price]

 

[PanthersPens62]

My grievance continues to be how the Dolphins would have a playoff berth wrapped in a bow had Tua not been "forced" to sit out for a month just because he became the poster boy for concussions. He was symptom free the next day & should have missed 1 game MAX.

My other grievances cannot be discussed here as they would violate HF posting rules.

 

[End of Line]

Time for the feats of strength…. Where you at @John Price?

 

[End of Line]

 

[John Price]

Biggest festivus gripes are ESPN taking the SEC and NHL rights. ESPN does a horrific job for hockey, so sad.

Everyone talked about how good ESPN would be now that NBC and Pierre were gone, but they have somehow gotten worse than NBC while paying no attention to the sport

 

[SoupNazi]

Time for the feats of strength…. Where you at @John Price?

Festivus is not over until John Price pins someone...which means every day until he dies will be Festivus.

 

[John Price]

John Price and the Festivus Fiasco​

John Price, the stoic and grizzled soldier, wasn't much for holidays. His life revolved around missions, tactics, and the occasional whiskey to unwind. But this year was different. He found himself reluctantly attending a Festivus celebration hosted by none other than his eccentric neighbor, Mr. Henderson.
Festivus, as Henderson enthusiastically explained, was a "holiday for the rest of us," complete with strange traditions like the aluminum pole, feats of strength, and the airing of grievances. Price had been roped in after Henderson claimed the holiday was about "simplicity and camaraderie," virtues he thought Price would appreciate.
When Price arrived at Henderson's modest home, the scene was surreal. In the middle of the living room stood a stark aluminum pole, devoid of decorations. Guests milled about, balancing plates of questionable-looking food. Henderson, wearing a garish sweater featuring a pole and the words "Festivus for the Rest of Us", greeted Price with a hearty slap on the back.
"Captain Price! You’re just in time for the airing of grievances!" Henderson bellowed.
Price raised an eyebrow. "Airing of grievances?"
"Exactly! A time-honored tradition where we let it all out—constructive criticism, petty complaints, whatever’s been bothering us all year!" Henderson handed Price a small microphone connected to a portable speaker.
Reluctantly, Price took the mic. "Alright, then," he began, his voice gruff. "Henderson, you park your car like a drunken sailor. And while we’re at it, that karaoke machine you haul out every weekend? Tone it down."
The room erupted in laughter and cheers. Henderson clapped. "Excellent! You’re a natural!"
The grievances continued, ranging from minor annoyances to heartfelt revelations. To Price's surprise, it felt oddly cathartic. By the time Henderson’s cousin complained about the state of the family barbecue, Price was smirking.
Next came the feats of strength. Henderson declared Price the reigning champion by default and challenged him to a good old-fashioned arm wrestle. It was over in seconds; Price’s military-honed strength made short work of his opponent.
As the evening wore on, Price found himself loosening up. He swapped stories with strangers, ate some surprisingly decent meatloaf, and even laughed at Henderson’s terrible jokes. For a man who had spent his life in the thick of battles, this simple celebration was a strange but welcome reprieve.
When the night wound down, Henderson raised a toast to everyone. "Here’s to Festivus! May the grievances air freely, the pole stay undecorated, and the feats of strength remind us of the good in us all!"
Price lifted his glass. "To Festivus," he said gruffly, a small smile tugging at his lips. For a moment, he thought maybe, just maybe, he’d found a holiday worth celebrating after all.
And as he left Henderson's house, the aluminum pole gleaming in the moonlight, Price couldn’t help but think: Maybe there’s something to this Festivus thing.

 

[SoupNazi]

John Price and the Festivus Debacle​

John Price wasn’t what anyone would call a regular guy. At 40, overweight, and deeply invested in his collection of rare plushies—most of them Korean imports with limited production runs—he preferred the company of his stuffed treasures to other humans. When he wasn’t obsessing over his collection, he frequented HFBoards’ “Useless Threads” forum, posting bizarre topics that garnered more ridicule than respect.

One evening, as he refreshed the forum for new replies, a private message popped up. It was from a user named Festivus4TheRestOfUs99.

“John, I hear you’re the best collector in Queens. My father’s Festivus celebration needs help. Bring your plushies and your holiday spirit to the Costanza household, 6 PM on Festivus Eve. – George Costanza.”

John read it three times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Could this be the George Costanza? Could the Costanzas actually be real? Against his better judgment, he packed up his favorite plushie, “Chongy,” a rotund snowman with a lopsided grin, and headed out into the cold December night.

---

Arriving at the Costanzas​

John knocked on the door of the infamous Costanza household. It flew open, revealing Frank Costanza, glaring like a man who’d already had enough of the holidays.

“You must be the plushie guy,” Frank barked. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Chongy from John’s hands and inspected it. “What is this? A snowman? Where’s the pizzazz? Where’s the flair?!”

John stammered, “I thought it was festive…”

“It’s soft! Weak! But I’ll allow it!” Frank snapped, ushering John inside.

The living room was a battlefield of personalities. George was sulking in a chair, muttering about how he had to invite “some loser from a message board” to appease his father. Estelle was zipping around the kitchen, yelling about Frank’s obsession with “this ridiculous holiday.” Elaine, already a few glasses of wine in, eyed John suspiciously, and Jerry leaned against the wall, his face plastered with amusement.

As for Kramer, he burst in moments later, hauling an armful of aluminum poles. “It’s a Festivus miracle!” he shouted, his wild entrance nearly knocking over a lamp.

---

The Airing of Grievances​

After a rushed Festivus dinner (a rubbery meatloaf that Estelle swore was “traditional”), Frank stood and pounded the table. “It’s time…for the Airing of Grievances!”

John shifted uncomfortably, but Frank’s glare pinned him to his seat.

“You,” Frank growled, pointing at John. “I don’t know you, but you’ve disappointed me!”

John blinked. “But I just got here—”

“Excuses!” Frank bellowed.

When it was John’s turn, he hesitated. “Well, sometimes people on HFBoards don’t take my threads seriously.”

Jerry couldn’t resist. “Gee, I wonder why. Maybe it’s the one about ranking NHL mascots by how huggable they’d be as plushies?”

Laughter erupted. Even Estelle chuckled, but she quickly turned her attention to John, sidling up to him with surprising interest.

---

Estelle Takes a Shine​

“A man with a hobby like yours,” Estelle cooed, “must be very gentle…very sensitive.”

John turned beet red. “Uh, I guess you could say that.”

Before Estelle could press further, Kramer swooped in and grabbed Chongy. “Now this is a quality plushie!” he declared, tossing it in the air like a basketball.

“Kramer, no!” John shouted, but it was too late. Chongy sailed across the room, smacking into the aluminum Festivus pole, where it ripped on the jagged edge. Stuffing spilled out dramatically, as if Chongy himself were lamenting his tragic fate.

“Chongy!” John wailed, rushing to his beloved plushie.

“Relax, buddy,” Kramer said, waving him off. “It’s just a little rip. We’ll patch it up with some duct tape. You got duct tape?”

John cradled Chongy, horrified. “He’s irreplaceable!”

“Great, now the plushie guy’s crying,” George muttered.

---

The Feats of Strength​

Frank, ignoring the drama, pounded the table again. “Enough! It’s time for the Feats of Strength! And this year, the challenger is…” His eyes landed on John. “You!”

John froze. “Me? I don’t even work out!”

Frank pointed at George. “You’ll wrestle my son! He’s been whining all night—time to put him in his place!”

George groaned. “I’m not wrestling him, Dad! Look at him! He’s sweating just from sitting down!”

“That’s the point!” Frank shouted. “No one leaves until I’m pinned!”

---

The living room was hastily cleared to make space for the match. John, terrified and still clutching the remains of Chongy, faced off against George, who looked equally unenthusiastic.

“Let’s get this over with,” George muttered.

Frank blew a whistle he’d inexplicably pulled out of his pocket, and the match began.

George lunged half-heartedly, but John sidestepped out of pure panic. “I don’t want to do this!” John cried.

“Fight, you coward!” Frank yelled.

Kramer, playing referee, circled them. “You gotta get low, John! Use your weight!”

Elaine, sipping her wine, leaned over to Jerry. “Is it just me, or does this look like two seals flopping on land?”

Jerry smirked. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Finally, George tripped over one of Kramer’s aluminum poles and landed face-first on the carpet. Seeing an opportunity, John sat on him.

“Pinned!” Kramer shouted.

Frank clapped his hands. “Festivus is complete!”

George groaned. “I think he broke my ribs…”

---

A Festivus Farewell​

As the night wound down, John packed up the remains of Chongy and prepared to leave. Estelle approached him one last time.

“You know, I was going to invite you back here sometime,” she said, “but then I heard you’re…a virgin.”

John’s jaw dropped. “How did you—”

“George told me!” Estelle snapped, storming off.

Elaine, overhearing, whispered to Jerry, “Wait, a 40-year-old virgin who collects plushies? I thought he was gay!”

Jerry grinned. “Well, he’s definitely got the commitment issues for it.”

As John walked home, he glanced down at Chongy and sighed. Despite the chaos, despite the humiliation, he realized he’d never forget this night. Maybe Festivus wasn’t such a bad holiday after all.