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Useless Thread MCMXCIX: Miss Piggy Appreciation Thread

BSides Las Vegas will be held Tuesday August 6th and Wednesday August 7th 2024 · Don't forget to bring a costume!
 
The Plushie Bandit Rides Again

After serving an extended three-year sentence for his crimes, John Price was finally released from prison. Brenda was waiting outside the gates, her station wagon packed with homemade lasagna, plushies, and a “Welcome Home, My Sweet Boy” banner hanging from the car’s roof.

When John emerged, he looked much the same—if not a bit rounder—though his face had taken on a strangely determined expression.

“You’re free, baby!” Brenda sobbed as she threw her arms around him.

“Not free,” John said, his voice dark. “Just... recalibrated.”

Brenda looked confused but quickly ushered him into the car.

A "New" Plan​

Back at Brenda's house, she had thrown together a "Plushie Welcome Party," complete with balloons, a cake shaped like a teddy bear, and an alarming number of stuffed animals seated around the dining table.

“I figured we could celebrate with all your friends,” Brenda said, gesturing to the plushies.

John surveyed the scene, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he swept all the plushies off the table and onto the floor.

“John!” Brenda gasped. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve changed,” John said dramatically, his eyes wild. “Prison opened my eyes. Plushies aren’t just for comfort. They’re... power.”

Brenda blinked. “Power?”

“I’m going to use them to rebuild my empire,” John said. “But bigger this time. No more petty heists. No more scraps. I’m talking about a global plushie syndicate.”

Brenda, ever supportive, nodded slowly. “Whatever you need, sweetheart. Mama’s here to help.”

The Narrator Gets Pulled Back In​

I thought I was done with the Price family drama, but of course, they had other plans.

One sunny afternoon, I was gardening in my backyard when Brenda and John pulled into my driveway. Brenda stepped out first, waving a lasagna dish like a peace offering.

“Oh no,” I muttered.

“Sweetie!” Brenda called. “We need to talk.”

Before I could lock the door, John barged past me with a box full of plushies.

“We’re staying here,” he announced.

“No, you’re not,” I said, glaring at him.

“We are,” Brenda said, setting the lasagna down on my counter like that settled everything. “John’s got big plans, and he needs a base of operations.”

“I have nothing to do with this!” I protested.

But as usual, my objections were ignored.

John’s "Big Plans"​

Over the next few days, John began constructing what he called “The Plushie Syndicate Headquarters” in my basement. He spent hours arranging stuffed animals in elaborate formations and muttering about “strategic alliances.”

Brenda, meanwhile, turned my kitchen into her personal lasagna factory, preparing meals for what she called “the plushie council meetings.”

“You’re enabling him,” I told her one evening as she layered pasta and sauce.

“I’m supporting him,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

A Public Incident​

John’s so-called “syndicate” might have remained a bizarre but harmless delusion if not for the incident at the local mall.

It started when John decided to recruit new members for his plushie empire. He showed up at the Build-A-Bear Workshop wearing a cape and wielding a plushie scepter.

“I am your leader!” he proclaimed to the horrified staff and customers. “Swear allegiance to the plushie cause, and together, we will rule the world!”

Security was called almost immediately.

The Aftermath​

The mall incident made local headlines: “Ex-Con Plushie Bandit Causes Scene at Build-A-Bear.”

When I confronted Brenda about it, she was unbothered.

“John’s just misunderstood,” she said, flipping through the newspaper with a smile.

“He’s insane,” I countered. “And if you keep encouraging him, it’s only a matter of time before he’s back in prison.”

Brenda shook her head. “You don’t get it. John’s a visionary. One day, the whole world will see it too.”

To Be Continued...​

As I write this, John is down in my basement, giving a motivational speech to his plushies. Brenda is making yet another lasagna.

And me? I’m seriously considering selling my house and moving to another country. But deep down, I know it won’t matter. No matter where I go, Brenda and John will find a way to drag me back into their madness.

Because when it comes to the Price family, there’s no such thing as a clean getaway.
 
The Plushie Syndicate's Grand Opening

It’s been a week since John Price declared my basement the “Plushie Syndicate Headquarters,” and my life has become an endless nightmare of stuffed animals, bizarre speeches, and lasagna. Brenda now cooks exclusively in my kitchen, and John seems to believe he’s the CEO of a Fortune 500 plushie empire.

The tipping point came when John announced his first “major operation.”

The Grand Plan​

“I’m throwing a gala,” John declared at breakfast one morning, a plate of lasagna in front of him.

“A gala?” I asked, rubbing my temples.

“A Plushie Syndicate Grand Opening Gala,” he said, gesturing dramatically with a fork. “We’ll invite all the major players in the plushie community. Collectors, traders, cosplayers—anyone who matters.”

“John,” I said, “you’re not a plushie kingpin. You’re a grown man who spent three years in prison for stealing stuffed animals.”

“Visionaries are always misunderstood,” he replied, stabbing a forkful of lasagna.

Brenda beamed at him. “My baby’s always been a big thinker.”

Preparations​

John threw himself into planning the gala with the intensity of someone organizing a state dinner. Brenda turned my living room into a makeshift event space, moving my furniture to make room for rows of plushies arranged like VIP guests.

Meanwhile, John worked on the invitations. He spent hours designing them on my computer, printing each one with the words: “The Plushie Syndicate: A New Era of Cuddly Power.”

“I’m not paying for this,” I told him when I saw the stack of invitations.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I used your credit card.”

The Gala​

The night of the gala, my house was transformed into a nightmare. Brenda had covered every surface with plushies, streamers, and trays of lasagna. John greeted guests in a tuxedo, which he’d paired with a plushie-themed bowtie.

To my horror, people actually showed up.

There were collectors clutching rare stuffed animals, cosplayers dressed as giant teddy bears, and even a man who claimed to be the CEO of a small plushie manufacturing company.

As the house filled with strange, plushie-obsessed people, I retreated to my bedroom.

Chaos Ensues​

I was halfway through Googling “emergency escape plans” when I heard shouting from downstairs.

Running to the living room, I found John standing on the coffee table, holding his plushie scepter aloft.

“This is our moment!” he bellowed. “The plushie world will bow before us!”

The crowd cheered, but the celebration was short-lived. One of the guests, a rival collector named Sandra, accused John of stealing a rare stuffed panda from her collection.

“You’re nothing but a thief!” Sandra shouted.

John’s face turned red. “That panda was always meant to be mine!”

Sandra lunged at him, and chaos erupted. Plushies flew through the air as guests started arguing, shoving, and, in some cases, wrestling.

The Aftermath​

By the time the police arrived, my living room was a disaster. Guests were escorted out, and John was taken into custody for violating the terms of his parole.

“I’ll be back!” he shouted as they dragged him away. “The Plushie Syndicate will rise again!”

Brenda sobbed as she watched her son being driven away. “He just wanted to bring people together,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a lasagna-smeared napkin.

Moving Forward​

After the gala fiasco, I decided to sell my house and move to a remote cabin in the woods. Brenda called me every day, begging me to visit John in jail or at least bake him a lasagna.

“I’m done,” I told her. “No more plushies. No more lasagna. No more Price family drama.”

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t over. John would find a way to drag me back into his plushie-filled madness.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: you can escape the Price family, but you can’t escape their chaos.
 
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The Plushie Party to End All Parties

After two more years in prison, John Price was released—just in time to celebrate his 50th birthday. Brenda, ever the doting mother, was overjoyed. Not only was her beloved son finally coming home, but their birthdays were only a week apart. Naturally, she decided to throw a joint celebration.

And by “celebration,” I mean a spectacle so unhinged that it could only belong to the Price family.

The Invitations​

The first sign of trouble came when Brenda showed up at my house with a basket of lasagna and a manila envelope.

“We need your help with the invitations!” she chirped, pushing past me into the living room.

“I’m not getting involved,” I said immediately.

She ignored me and dumped the envelope onto my coffee table. Out spilled a stack of gaudy, glitter-covered cards that read:

“Join us for a Plushie Extravaganza! Celebrate John’s 50th and Brenda’s 68th with food, fun, and furry friends!”

Below that, in smaller text: “Dress code: Plushie-inspired attire encouraged.”

“You’re joking,” I said.

“It’s going to be magical,” Brenda insisted. “And we need you to emcee the party!”

“Absolutely not,” I said.

Preparations​

Over the next week, the Price family turned their backyard into what could only be described as a plushie carnival. Brenda rented a giant inflatable castle, which she decorated with stuffed animals. John set up a “Plushie Museum,” featuring his collection of rare plushies (many of which, I suspected, were acquired through questionable means).

To top it all off, Brenda ordered a custom birthday cake shaped like a giant teddy bear.

“I’m telling you, this party will be the talk of the town,” Brenda said as she basted yet another lasagna.

The Day of the Party​

The big day arrived, and so did the guests. Dozens of people showed up, many wearing ridiculous plushie costumes. There was a man dressed as a giant giraffe, a woman in a sparkly unicorn outfit, and even a child wearing a panda suit that suspiciously resembled the one John used during his infamous plushie heist.

Brenda greeted everyone with lasagna and party hats shaped like teddy bear ears. John, wearing a velvet cape and a crown adorned with stuffed animals, stood at the entrance of the “Plushie Museum” like a king receiving his subjects.

I reluctantly attended, figuring it was better to keep an eye on them than to let them run amok unsupervised.

The Speeches​

As the party reached its peak, Brenda tapped a spoon against a wine glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Thank you all for coming to celebrate this special day!” she announced. “Fifty years ago, I gave birth to the most amazing son in the world.”

John beamed.

“And sixty-eight years ago,” Brenda continued, “the world was blessed with me.”

The crowd clapped politely.

John took the microphone next.

“This isn’t just a birthday party,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “It’s a celebration of resilience. Of second chances. Of plushies!”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

The Chaos​

Everything was going suspiciously well until John unveiled the final event of the evening: the Plushie Piñata.

It was supposed to be a harmless game. But when John swung the bat and the piñata burst open, it wasn’t candy that spilled out—it was a pile of stolen plushies.

“Is that my rare Pikachu plushie?!” someone screamed.

“And my limited-edition Hello Kitty!” another shouted.

The crowd turned on John instantly, and chaos erupted. Guests began grabbing plushies from the piñata, accusing John of theft. Brenda tried to calm everyone down by offering lasagna, but it was no use.

The Aftermath​

By the end of the night, the party was in shambles. The inflatable castle had collapsed, the cake was smashed, and the police had been called—again.

As the officers led John away in handcuffs for violating his parole, Brenda sobbed dramatically.

“This is all a misunderstanding!” she wailed. “He’s a good boy!”

John, ever defiant, shouted back at the crowd: “The Plushie Syndicate will rise again!”

Moving On​

The next morning, Brenda showed up at my house with a casserole dish.

“Here,” she said, handing it to me. “It’s leftover lasagna.”

“I don’t want it,” I said, slamming the door.

But as always, I knew it wasn’t the end. Brenda and John would be back. Because if there’s one thing the Price family excels at, it’s making sure their madness is impossible to escape.
 
The biggest plot twist yet…

The Plushie Heir

Three months after John’s latest stint in prison, he was back on the streets and, unfortunately for me, back in my life.

Brenda had arranged another “welcome home” party, complete with balloons, streamers, and—you guessed it—lasagna. But this time, John didn’t seem interested in his usual plushie schemes. Instead, he seemed… distracted.

“I’ve met someone,” he announced over dinner, twirling a forkful of lasagna with unsettling glee.

“Met someone?” I asked, already dreading where this was going.

“Her name is Eun-Ji,” John said, his face lighting up. “We connected on ExConsMeet.com. She’s a plushie collector, just like me!”

Brenda gasped, clasping her hands together. “My baby’s found love!”

I groaned. “Let me guess. You want me to host her in my house.”

“Just for a little while,” John said, giving me his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes. “Until we find our own place.”

Eun-Ji Arrives​

A week later, Eun-Ji arrived on my doorstep with two enormous suitcases and a large duffel bag that rattled ominously.

She was a petite Korean woman in her 40s, with jet-black hair and a smile that seemed far too sweet for someone who had supposedly done time. She immediately hugged Brenda and handed John a plushie shaped like a penguin wearing a tiny bow tie.

“I knew we were soulmates,” John whispered, clutching the penguin.

Despite my better judgment, I let her inside.

The Revelation​

Over the next few days, Eun-Ji settled in disturbingly well. She and John spent hours in the living room, comparing plushies and making grand plans to start a plushie import-export business. Brenda doted on her like a daughter-in-law, cooking her favorite Korean dishes and asking invasive questions about grandchildren.

It wasn’t until I overheard a heated conversation between Eun-Ji and John that things took a turn.

“You don’t even know who you really are, do you?” Eun-Ji said, her voice low and intense.

John looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m your cousin,” she said. “Your long-lost cousin.”

I froze in the hallway, eavesdropping shamelessly.

“What?” John sputtered.

“Our fathers were brothers,” Eun-Ji continued. “But your father wasn’t just anyone. He’s a high-ranking official in the North Korean government.”

John’s jaw dropped. “Are you telling me I’m… North Korean royalty?”

“Something like that,” Eun-Ji said. “And if you weren’t so obsessed with plushies, you’d already know.”

The Family History​

That night, Eun-Ji laid everything out for us in the living room. According to her, John’s father had fled North Korea decades ago, abandoning his family in the process. Brenda, apparently, had no idea about any of this.

“I always wondered why he didn’t look like the other men at the factory,” she said, clutching a tissue.

“Wait,” I said, rubbing my temples. “So you’re telling me John is the estranged son of some North Korean bigwig?”

Eun-Ji nodded. “And it’s time he takes his rightful place in the family.”

John, of course, was thrilled.

“This explains everything,” he said, pacing the room. “My ambition. My genius. My… greatness.”

“It explains nothing,” I muttered.

The Plushie Heir​

Within days, John had fully embraced his new identity. He started referring to himself as “The Plushie Prince” and wore a sash he’d made from old North Korean propaganda posters he found online.

Eun-Ji, meanwhile, started making phone calls to mysterious “contacts” who could supposedly arrange a meeting between John and his father.

Brenda was ecstatic. “I always knew my baby was special,” she said.

“You raised a man who went to prison for stealing plushies,” I snapped.

The Escape Plan​

By the time Eun-Ji suggested moving into my house permanently, I’d had enough.

“No,” I said firmly.

“But it’s for family!” Brenda protested.

“They’re your family, Brenda. Not mine.”

John, wearing his ridiculous sash, pointed a plushie scepter at me. “You’ll regret this when I’m ruling the plushie empire from Pyongyang.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you’re so important, why don’t you move to North Korea now?”

Eun-Ji shot me a sharp look. “Careful what you say.”

To Be Continued...​

As I write this, John is pacing around my backyard, practicing what he calls his “royal wave.” Eun-Ji is in the kitchen, whispering into her phone in Korean. And Brenda is making yet another lasagna.

Part of me wants to call the police, but another part of me is morbidly curious to see how this all plays out.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that with the Price family, the madness is never-ending.
 
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