Useless Thread MCMVI: Fried Chicken Depreciation Thread

[SoupNazi]

Is your zoo of plushies gonna bake you a cake??

Or will there be all you can drink “Millerades”

If it takes more than one drink for you to get a hangover, you won’t be invited.

 

[John Price]

ah the price are too high for Vegas on my birthday week.

Going to probably go with my original plans to go in December

 

[John Price]

Has anyone ever been to Pittsburgh?

I thought about going to Pittsburgh for my birthday party but there's literally no night life or fun there. I think there's a casino bet Rivers nearby but Pittsburgh is a boring ass city. Hills, and cold weather everywhere. Why would anyone build anything there historically.

 

[SoupNazi]

John Price's 40th Birthday: A Disaster in Stuffed Plush and Bad Decisions

It was the big day. John Price, professional manchild, was turning the big 4-0. For most, it’s a time of reflection—embracing maturity and wisdom. For John, it meant one thing: the party of the century, planned with the reckless abandon of someone who had no idea what not to do.

John had invited the entire gang from the Useless Thread, his favorite online haunt. They were a ragtag bunch, mostly strangers bonded over their shared love for arguing about meaningless topics. What better way to celebrate than to meet in person and take them all to Nashville, a city John had never been to but assumed was the best place for a party? Spoiler: he was wrong.

The venue was a dive bar that smelled like old beer and questionable decisions. John arrived in his signature backwards cap and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, reeking of confidence and something else no one could quite place. The room was sparsely decorated, with a few sad, deflated balloons hovering around the edges. It didn’t matter—John had something special planned.

At the center of the room sat the pièce de résistance: a giant, gaudy birthday cake, towering three tiers high and decorated with neon icing. John had told everyone that he had a surprise inside it, but no one could have predicted what was coming.

At the stroke of midnight, John made an over-the-top gesture and yelled, “Let the fun begin!” Music blared, and the cake began to wobble as if it had a life of its own. Suddenly, the top tier exploded with a confetti burst, and out popped—of all things—his collection of beloved stuffed animals. They tumbled out of the cake like clowns from a tiny car, limbs flopping in all directions.

“Yes! My stuffies!” John screamed with glee, clapping his hands like a five-year-old. The entire Useless Thread crowd exchanged confused glances. Was this for real? Oh, it was.

The stuffed animals were many: from deranged-looking teddy bears to odd creatures no one could name. John paraded them around, introducing them like they were long-lost friends. “This one is Baxter, he’s been with me since third grade!” he announced proudly, shoving a worn-out plush lion into someone’s face. "And here’s Dinkles!"

The party was already off to a weird start, but John wasn’t done. He had planned a bar crawl through Nashville. Of course, the problem was that John, though 40 in years, had the drinking tolerance of a college freshman. His drink of choice for the night? Millerade—a combination of Miller Lite and lemonade that he swore by for its "perfect balance of flavor."

Three sips in, John was already feeling tipsy. By the time they reached the second bar on the crawl, he was fully in his zone. Dancing like a madman, arms flailing, trying to get people to join him in an impromptu rendition of Cotton-Eyed Joe on the sticky floor of a bar that hadn’t seen a mop since 1998.

By the third stop, the inevitable happened. John slurred something about needing to sit down and plopped onto a curb outside. He stared at the bright Nashville lights with a blissful, dopey grin, before declaring, “I love you guys!” to the random strangers passing by.

Unfortunately, his behavior didn’t go unnoticed. A nearby cop, already suspicious of the erratic dancing, saw John’s crumpled figure and slurred speech as a textbook case of public intoxication. As John attempted to stand, he promptly fell back onto the curb, his Millerade sloshing onto the street. The cop approached.

“Sir, you alright there?”

John, ever the talker, grinned at the officer. “I’m fiiiiiiine, my dude! Just celebrating my birthday with my thread! Wanna meet Baxter?”

It wasn’t long before the handcuffs were out.

“I’m sorry, what did I do wrong?” John protested as he was hauled to his feet.

“You’re drunk and disorderly in public. Let’s go.”

The Useless Thread gang watched in disbelief, half in shock, half embarrassed, as John was loaded into the back of the police car. His cake-stained Hawaiian shirt fluttered in the night breeze. The stuffed animals, meanwhile, were scattered on the sidewalk, a surreal sight under the neon lights of Broadway.

As the cop car drove away, someone from the group muttered, “Well, that went about as expected.”

The next morning, John woke up in a holding cell with the world’s worst headache and a vague memory of dancing with his stuffies. His only companion in the cell? A discarded Millerade can.

“Well,” he groaned to no one in particular, “that escalated quickly.”

It was a birthday he’d never forget—nor would anyone else who had the misfortune of attending.

 

[John Price]

John Callis denied bail for viral attack on Commanders fans; defense blames cocaine, alcohol bender

John Callis, the man accused of assaulting two 23-year-old men in Federal Hill after a Ravens and Washington Commanders football game on October 13, is held without bail.

www.cbsnews.com

John Price's 40th Birthday: A Disaster in Stuffed Plush and Bad Decisions

It was the big day. John Price, professional manchild, was turning the big 4-0. For most, it’s a time of reflection—embracing maturity and wisdom. For John, it meant one thing: the party of the century, planned with the reckless abandon of someone who had no idea what not to do.

John had invited the entire gang from the Useless Thread, his favorite online haunt. They were a ragtag bunch, mostly strangers bonded over their shared love for arguing about meaningless topics. What better way to celebrate than to meet in person and take them all to Nashville, a city John had never been to but assumed was the best place for a party? Spoiler: he was wrong.

The venue was a dive bar that smelled like old beer and questionable decisions. John arrived in his signature backwards cap and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, reeking of confidence and something else no one could quite place. The room was sparsely decorated, with a few sad, deflated balloons hovering around the edges. It didn’t matter—John had something special planned.

At the center of the room sat the pièce de résistance: a giant, gaudy birthday cake, towering three tiers high and decorated with neon icing. John had told everyone that he had a surprise inside it, but no one could have predicted what was coming.

At the stroke of midnight, John made an over-the-top gesture and yelled, “Let the fun begin!” Music blared, and the cake began to wobble as if it had a life of its own. Suddenly, the top tier exploded with a confetti burst, and out popped—of all things—his collection of beloved stuffed animals. They tumbled out of the cake like clowns from a tiny car, limbs flopping in all directions.

“Yes! My stuffies!” John screamed with glee, clapping his hands like a five-year-old. The entire Useless Thread crowd exchanged confused glances. Was this for real? Oh, it was.

The stuffed animals were many: from deranged-looking teddy bears to odd creatures no one could name. John paraded them around, introducing them like they were long-lost friends. “This one is Baxter, he’s been with me since third grade!” he announced proudly, shoving a worn-out plush lion into someone’s face. "And here’s Dinkles!"

The party was already off to a weird start, but John wasn’t done. He had planned a bar crawl through Nashville. Of course, the problem was that John, though 40 in years, had the drinking tolerance of a college freshman. His drink of choice for the night? Millerade—a combination of Miller Lite and lemonade that he swore by for its "perfect balance of flavor."

Three sips in, John was already feeling tipsy. By the time they reached the second bar on the crawl, he was fully in his zone. Dancing like a madman, arms flailing, trying to get people to join him in an impromptu rendition of Cotton-Eyed Joe on the sticky floor of a bar that hadn’t seen a mop since 1998.

By the third stop, the inevitable happened. John slurred something about needing to sit down and plopped onto a curb outside. He stared at the bright Nashville lights with a blissful, dopey grin, before declaring, “I love you guys!” to the random strangers passing by.

Unfortunately, his behavior didn’t go unnoticed. A nearby cop, already suspicious of the erratic dancing, saw John’s crumpled figure and slurred speech as a textbook case of public intoxication. As John attempted to stand, he promptly fell back onto the curb, his Millerade sloshing onto the street. The cop approached.

“Sir, you alright there?”

John, ever the talker, grinned at the officer. “I’m fiiiiiiine, my dude! Just celebrating my birthday with my thread! Wanna meet Baxter?”

It wasn’t long before the handcuffs were out.

“I’m sorry, what did I do wrong?” John protested as he was hauled to his feet.

“You’re drunk and disorderly in public. Let’s go.”

The Useless Thread gang watched in disbelief, half in shock, half embarrassed, as John was loaded into the back of the police car. His cake-stained Hawaiian shirt fluttered in the night breeze. The stuffed animals, meanwhile, were scattered on the sidewalk, a surreal sight under the neon lights of Broadway.

As the cop car drove away, someone from the group muttered, “Well, that went about as expected.”

The next morning, John woke up in a holding cell with the world’s worst headache and a vague memory of dancing with his stuffies. His only companion in the cell? A discarded Millerade can.

“Well,” he groaned to no one in particular, “that escalated quickly.”

It was a birthday he’d never forget—nor would anyone else who had the misfortune of attending.

it's so f***ed up the prices for Horseshoe in Vegas jump from 20 or 30 dollars a night to 300 or 400 during my birthday week. At that point it's not even worth it.

 

[John Price]

Maybe we can get Bozo the Clown for the JP Birthday bash.

 

[John Price]

JP Birthday Bash on South Beach

Even @PanthersPens62 would "touch grass" to drive up Route 1 and 95 to the South Beach bash

 

[PanthersPens62]

Has anyone ever been to Pittsburgh?

I thought about going to Pittsburgh for my birthday party but there's literally no night life or fun there. I think there's a casino bet Rivers nearby but Pittsburgh is a boring ass city. Hills, and cold weather everywhere. Why would anyone build anything there historically.

Pittsburgh is not a place to visit in the winter. There are actually decent things to do if you make a summertime visit, though.

 

[John Price]

Pittsburgh is not a place to visit in the winter. There are actually decent things to do if you make a summertime visit, though.

That's not true

Pittsburgh, a city so fun and exciting that @PanthersPens62 openly admitted he left there and never went back

No more damning indictment of the city than that

 

[John Price]

To be fair if I would get early bird meals all day at 4 pm and sleep at 7 in the nice hot weather I wouldn't go back to a shitty cold ass town too.

 

[John Price]

I know we always shit on Pittsburgh but I've actually been there (once). It's cold, it's always snowing. The city looks dreary as f***. Depressing. No sunlight. When I went the skies were gray.

Got in, spent an hour or so there, went home. Not worth a visit. There's nothing to do there.

Only highlight of that damn trip was Breezewood lirl. They literally interrupt the Pennsylvania Turnpike to make yinz drive through that commercialized shit.

 

[GIADF]

You were chased by an Emu?

No, he had a dream of deep frying and eating one. They are birds after all.

 

[End of Line]

I know we always shit on Pittsburgh but I've actually been there (once). It's cold, it's always snowing. The city looks dreary as f***. Depressing. No sunlight. When I went the skies were gray.

Got in, spent an hour or so there, went home. Not worth a visit. There's nothing to do there.

Only highlight of that damn trip was Breezewood lirl. They literally interrupt the Pennsylvania Turnpike to make yinz drive through that commercialized shit.

When did you go? January? Lmao.

Everywhere in the U.S. north of the Mason-Dixon is like that. Hell, here in Ohio it’s gray from December-March lol.

No, he had a dream of deep frying and eating one. They are birds after all.

With a side of Szechuan sauce

 

[John Price]

When did you go? January? Lmao.

Everywhere in the U.S. north of the Mason-Dixon is like that. Hell, here in Ohio it’s gray from December-March lol.



With a side of Szechuan sauce

must be awful

 

[End of Line]

must be awful

I enjoy being able to experience all 4 seasons

 

[John Price]

I enjoy being able to experience all 4 seasons

Too much snow up there too. I enjoy being able to drive out in winter without having to shovel anything.

Plus not sure if you get it up there but lake effect holy shit

 

[GIADF]

Never been to Pitt, and while I doubt it's as bad as JP is making it out to be... I won't be going out of my way to visit it. I'm also guessing he's judging his experience after having been there for less than 24 hours on a day in February.

Too much snow up there too. I enjoy being able to drive out in winter without having to shovel anything.

Plus not sure if you get it up there but lake effect holy shit

Quit acting like it's Alaska.

Pittsburgh averages an annual snow accumulation of 11.77 inches (299 millimetres) after 47.7 snowfall days.

 

[John Price]

Never been to Pitt, and while I doubt it's as bad as JP is making it out to be... I won't be going out of my way to visit it. I'm also guessing he's judging his experience after having been there for less than 24 hours on a day in February.



Quit acting like it's Alaska.

Pittsburgh averages an annual snow accumulation of 11.77 inches (299 millimetres) after 47.7 snowfall days.

Anything north of the mason dixon line is literally canada

cold, ice, gray dreary seasonal affect bullshit

 

[John Price]

And if you think I'm irate over the cold weather up north the south weather pisses me off too.

Lucky to live somewhere in the middle where we aren't expected to get polarizing heat or debilitating accident-causing blizzards and "lake effect" that cripple economies. It should be 50 degrees every day in winter here. Just jacket weather.

And then you all get angry when I start whining when it dips to 20 degrees or 5 degrees. No, do you know how weather works? This is not the north pole. DC should not get single digit weather.

And another thing! All the jabronis hoping OPM closes for the day so they can get a day off work, when they themselves had to ride the train into the city for their jobs, and always like "OPM Plllzzzzzzzzzzzz". Wow, look at you hoping the streets are icy enough just so you can have a day off to do who knows what (ebecause if sure as f*** isn't playing outside)

The whole concept of OPM hoping to cancel federal worker's days off became irrelevant with WFH.



This is now my grievance thread against society.

 

[End of Line]

Too much snow up there too. I enjoy being able to drive out in winter without having to shovel anything.

Plus not sure if you get it up there but lake effect holy shit

Rarely if ever do I experience lake effect snow where I’m at

 

[John Price]

Rarely if ever do I experience lake effect snow where I’m at

I would like to experience buffalo but all that snow. I hate snow

 

[GIADF]

This is a whole lot of complaining about weather all from a guy who I am having a hard time imagining spending anytime outside.

 

[PanthersPens62]

I know we always shit on Pittsburgh but I've actually been there (once). It's cold, it's always snowing. The city looks dreary as f***. Depressing. No sunlight. When I went the skies were gray.

Got in, spent an hour or so there, went home. Not worth a visit. There's nothing to do there.

Only highlight of that damn trip was Breezewood lirl. They literally interrupt the Pennsylvania Turnpike to make yinz drive through that commercialized shit.

WTF!!??? It's an EXIT off the turnpike, nothing more, nothing less. No one is "making you" get off & drive thru. Yes, its very commercialized because it is an exit that serves to connect to the interstate that goes to DC & Baltimore & all points south, so of course there are lots of motels & eateries there. Again, no one is "making you" go to any of them.

 

[John Price]

I'm glad we aren't as f***ing radical as reddit what a shit show

our moderators catch flack here but at least they are trying to restore order. it's just a free for all elsewhere. total chaos. total echo chamber. open your f***ing mind. dealing with one @PanthersPens62 is enough. it's like I'm talking to 20 of them elsewhere and they all parrot the same talking points.

Are they bots??

 

[GIADF]

Complains about weather.

Has an indoor stationary bike.

smh