Title: Brenda Strikes Back: The Plushie Stalker Chronicles
It had been three weeks since my disastrous date with Brenda, and I was finally starting to believe I was free of her. I’d blocked her number, ignored her barrage of Facebook friend requests, and avoided every Golden Corral within a 50-mile radius. I thought I’d escaped her gravitational pull.
I was wrong.
It started with small things. First, a teddy bear appeared on my doorstep. Not a cheap, mass-produced one, but a vintage collector’s item with a handwritten tag that read, “From John Price’s collection. He thinks you’d appreciate it.”
I didn’t know who John Price was, but I had a sinking feeling this was connected to Brenda. I threw the bear in a closet and tried to forget about it.
The next day, I got a friend request from someone named John “PlushKing45” Price. His profile picture was… unsettling. A 400-pound man cradling a giant Pikachu plushie, with a confident, almost defiant smirk. His bio read: “Plushie collector. HFBoards legend. Mom’s favorite son.”
I declined the request immediately.
That’s when the messages started.
John Price: “Hey. Mom says you’re being rude. She really likes you. Maybe too much, but still. Want to come over and see my plushie collection? I have a Charizard that’ll blow your mind.”
I didn’t respond.
The next day, another message.
John Price: “You didn’t reply. Mom’s upset. She’s talking about baking you lasagna. You don’t want that. Trust me. Just say hi and maybe we can work this out.”
Still, I ignored him.
Then came the plushie ambush.
One night, I returned home from work to find my yard covered in plushies. Giant stuffed animals of every shape and size were strewn across the lawn like some sort of deranged carnival prize explosion. There were teddy bears, Pokémon, a massive Snorlax propped against my mailbox, and even a life-sized Olaf from Frozen.
Taped to my front door was a note written in pink glitter pen:
“You can’t ignore family. Love, Brenda and John.”
I was furious. I called the police, but the officer who showed up didn’t take me seriously.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, trying not to laugh. “You’re being harassed… with plushies?”
“Yes!” I snapped. “They’re stalking me!”
The officer shrugged. “Nothing we can really do unless they threaten you. Maybe you should just talk to them.”
Talk to them? I’d rather move to another state.
But things escalated.
I started seeing Brenda’s minivan parked near my office. She wasn’t subtle about it, either. She’d roll down the window and wave enthusiastically, a plate of cookies balanced on her lap. Once, I swear I saw John sitting in the passenger seat, his massive frame squeezed into the tiny space, holding a stuffed Eevee like it was a baby.
The final straw came when I found Brenda in my house.
I got home one evening to find her in my kitchen, humming cheerfully as she arranged lasagna and garlic bread on my counter.
“How did you get in here?!” I yelled.
She smiled, completely unfazed. “Your landlord’s a friend of mine. I told him I was your girlfriend, and he gave me a spare key.”
“My girlfriend?!”
Before I could throw her out, John appeared in the doorway, holding a giant plush penguin. “Mom said you’d like this one,” he said, shoving it into my arms. “Its name is Waddles. Be good to it.”
“I don’t want Waddles!” I shouted, dropping the penguin on the floor.
Brenda gasped like I’d just kicked a puppy. “How dare you reject Waddles? John picked that out special!”
“That’s it!” I yelled, pointing at the door. “Both of you, out! Right now!”
But Brenda wasn’t going down without a fight.
“John,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “he needs a lesson in manners. Teach him.”
Before I knew what was happening, John lunged at me.
Now, I’m not a small guy, but when 400 pounds of plushie enthusiast comes at you, it’s like being tackled by a freight train. He slammed me into the couch, which creaked ominously under our combined weight.
“I’m doing this for Waddles!” he bellowed, trying to pin me down.
I managed to wriggle free and grab a throw pillow, using it as a makeshift weapon. “Get out of my house, you lunatic!”
The fight devolved into chaos. Brenda cheered John on from the sidelines, yelling things like, “Show him the power of a true collector!” and “This is for Mom!”
In a desperate move, I grabbed Waddles off the floor and held him up like a shield.
“Don’t make me hurt the penguin!” I shouted.
John froze, his eyes wide with horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” I said, my voice shaking.
Brenda gasped. “You monster.”
I used their moment of hesitation to shove them both toward the door. “Take your lasagna, your penguin, and your crazy plushie obsession, and GET OUT!”
To my surprise, they actually left.
As they climbed into the minivan, Brenda rolled down the window and yelled, “You’ll regret this! Nobody rejects the Prices!”
And with that, they were gone.
I changed the locks the next day and reported the incident to my landlord.
But every now and then, I still find a stray plushie on my porch. A reminder that somewhere out there, Brenda and John are plotting their next move.
And honestly? I sleep with one eye open.
