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Useless Thread MCMXCIX: Miss Piggy Appreciation Thread

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Plushies in the Snow: Brenda’s Next Move

I thought I was done with Brenda and John Price. I had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that I wanted nothing to do with their plushie drama. But Brenda was nothing if not persistent.

It was a crisp winter afternoon when she tracked me down again. The park was dusted in snow, and the hill near the playground was alive with the sound of kids laughing and sledding. I was just trying to enjoy a peaceful walk, hot cocoa in hand, when I heard the unmistakable crunch of oversized boots behind me.

“Sweetie!” Brenda’s voice rang out like a foghorn.

I groaned and turned to see her waddling toward me, wrapped in a massive fur-lined coat that looked like it could double as a sleeping bag. Beside her was John, bundled up in a garish neon snowsuit and dragging a sled piled high with plushies.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

They caught up to me near a bench overlooking the sledding hill. Brenda plopped down with a huff, sending a puff of snow into the air, while John busied himself arranging the plushies on the sled like they were contestants in some bizarre parade.

“I told you I’m out,” I said before Brenda could launch into whatever scheme she had cooked up.

“Oh, sweetie, this isn’t about you helping,” she said, waving dismissively. “It’s about us helping you. We’ve decided to bring you into the fold.”

“What fold?”

“The Plushie Redemption Initiative!” she declared, gesturing dramatically at the sled. “We’re taking John’s… condition and turning it into a positive.”

John grinned, holding up a stuffed polar bear. “We’re doing charity work now. Spreading plushie joy to the masses!”

I stared at them in disbelief. “You’re… giving out plushies?”

“Exactly!” Brenda said, clapping her mittened hands. “To these lovely children here at the park. A plushie for every sledder, courtesy of the Price family!”

“Wait,” I said, raising a hand. “Are these the same plushies John—”

“No!” Brenda snapped, cutting me off. “Those have been disposed of. These are… fresh.”

John nodded, though his face turned a little red. “Totally fresh. Never used.”

I didn’t believe him for a second.

Despite my protests, Brenda and John began their bizarre operation. They set up shop at the bottom of the sledding hill, waving kids over with promises of free toys.

At first, it seemed innocent enough. Brenda handed out plushies while John shouted things like, “Feel the fluff!” and “Plushies for everyone!”

But then the questions started.

“Why does this bear smell like Febreze?” one kid asked, holding up a slightly damp teddy.

“And why does this one have… brown stains?” another added, wrinkling his nose at a disheveled rabbit.

Brenda shot John a sharp look. “You did wash these, didn’t you?”

“I did!” John said defensively. “Mostly…”

Brenda’s face turned crimson. “Sweetie,” she hissed, “if I find out you’ve been handing out your personal collection—”

“Relax, Mom,” John muttered, turning his attention back to the sledding crowd. “The kids love them!”

As the day went on, things got progressively weirder.

John started giving unsolicited plushie facts to the parents, most of whom looked increasingly uncomfortable. “Did you know that plushies are scientifically proven to reduce stress?” he said, shoving a stuffed owl into a bewildered dad’s hands. “You should try it sometime!”

Meanwhile, Brenda attempted to drum up support for her lasagna business by handing out coupons along with the plushies. “One slice and you’ll never look at pasta the same way again!” she said to a group of teens who bolted the moment her back was turned.

I, of course, tried to stay as far away from them as possible. But my luck ran out when a little girl approached me, clutching a tattered plush unicorn.

“Excuse me,” she said, tugging on my sleeve. “Is this yours? That man over there said you were his partner.”

I looked over to see John waving at me, a smug grin on his face. Brenda, too, was watching, her expression daring me to deny it.

“I don’t even know them,” I told the girl, but she just shrugged and ran off.

The breaking point came when one of the sledding kids accidentally hit the plushie sled, sending the entire pile flying into the snow.

“No!” John screamed, diving after them like they were precious heirlooms.

Brenda’s face twisted in fury. “John! If you’d secured the sled like I told you, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“You didn’t say anything about securing the sled!”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

Their argument escalated, drawing the attention of every parent and child at the park. I could see people whispering, some even pulling out their phones to record the spectacle.

It all came to a head when John, in a fit of frustration, picked up a plushie and hurled it at Brenda. She ducked, and the plushie smacked me square in the face.

“Okay, that’s it!” I shouted, tossing the plushie back at John. “I’m done with both of you!”

I left them there, still bickering in the snow, surrounded by a pile of rejected plushies and the disapproving stares of the sledding crowd.

As I walked away, I heard Brenda yell, “You’ll regret this, sweetie! The plushie revolution stops for no one!”

Maybe she was right. But one thing was certain: I was never setting foot in that park again.
 
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