SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,414
- 18,022
You for once aren’t the fattest guy in the room?
Useless Thread MCMXCIX: Miss Piggy Appreciation Thread
- Thread starter GIADF
- Start date
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,414
- 18,022
The Return of John Price
The next time John Price decided to visit the mall, it was a chilly Friday evening. It had been two weeks since his infamous Build-A-Bear escapade, but the sting of his public humiliation had faded. After all, John was a man of passion, and no mere banishment could keep him from the siren call of plushies.
Disguising himself with a fake mustache, sunglasses, and a trucker hat that read “Plushies Are Life”, John felt confident that no one would recognize him. He even wore a long trench coat—though it was comically short on him, barely reaching his knees. “They’ll never know,” he whispered to Princess Glitterwings, who peeked out from a reusable tote bag slung over his shoulder.
Entering the mall, John was extra cautious. He took a circuitous route to Build-A-Bear, stopping at a pretzel kiosk to blend in with the other shoppers. The aroma of cinnamon briefly distracted him, but he stayed focused. This was his chance to redeem himself, to prove to the world—or at least the employees of Build-A-Bear—that he was not the unhinged plushie enthusiast they thought he was.
As John approached the store, he noticed Becky, the manager, standing near the entrance. She was chatting with an employee and sipping a coffee, unaware of his approach. “Perfect,” John thought. He slipped inside, determined to be discreet.
Inside, the store was buzzing with activity—kids stuffing bears, parents assembling outfits, and teens taking selfies. John felt his heart race as he spotted a new collection of plushies: forest animals with glittery accessories. A fox with a sparkly cape caught his eye. “Lord Fuzzington,” he whispered, already naming it in his mind.
But fate had other plans.
As John reached for the fox, disaster struck. A child running through the store tripped over his oversized shoe, sending him stumbling backward into a display of unstuffed plushies. The crash was monumental. Stuffing flew into the air like snow, and John landed on his back, taking down three shelves of accessories in the process.
The store fell silent.
Becky, alerted by the commotion, marched inside. Her eyes widened as she recognized the trench coat-clad figure sprawled amidst the chaos. “Oh, no. Not him again.”
“Sir,” Becky began, hands on her hips, “didn’t we ban you?”
John scrambled to his feet, clutching Princess Glitterwings protectively. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he pleaded.
“It looks like you’re causing a scene. Again,” Becky snapped.
At that moment, Ethel Mae Jenkins—yes, that Ethel—happened to walk by the store. Recognizing John, she let out a triumphant laugh and stormed in, cane in hand. “I knew you’d be back, you menace!”
John panicked. As Becky summoned mall security, John did the only thing he could think of—he bolted.
Well, he tried to bolt. Running wasn’t exactly his forte, and the trench coat flared dramatically as he lumbered through the mall, Princess Glitterwings clutched to his chest. Behind him, Ethel gave chase, shouting, “You’re not getting away this time, you plushie pervert!”
A crowd began to gather, phones recording as John’s flight of shame took him past the food court and into the arcade. Security guards joined the pursuit, but John was surprisingly nimble for his size, weaving between claw machines and racing simulators.
Finally, cornered near the photo booth, John made his stand. “I just wanted to love them!” he declared, holding Princess Glitterwings aloft like a knight brandishing a sword. “Is that so wrong?”
Before anyone could answer, Ethel jabbed him in the shin with her cane, sending him toppling into the photo booth. The curtains closed, and a series of comical photos were printed—each capturing John’s look of despair as security wrestled him into submission.
By the time the ordeal was over, John was once again banned from the mall, this time for life. As he was escorted to the parking lot, the crowd erupted into cheers. Ethel waved to her adoring fans, reveling in her role as the mall’s unlikely hero.
Back at home, John slumped onto his couch, staring at his plushie collection. “They don’t understand us, Glitterwings,” he sighed. “But one day...they will.”
From then on, John became an online sensation, with his escapades inspiring memes, plushie-themed protest signs, and even a fan-made documentary titled “The Man, The Myth, The Plushie.”
And while he never returned to Build-A-Bear, rumors swirled that he had begun frequenting the rival store Fuzzy Friends Emporium—under the alias Jonathan Priceworthy.
The next time John Price decided to visit the mall, it was a chilly Friday evening. It had been two weeks since his infamous Build-A-Bear escapade, but the sting of his public humiliation had faded. After all, John was a man of passion, and no mere banishment could keep him from the siren call of plushies.
Disguising himself with a fake mustache, sunglasses, and a trucker hat that read “Plushies Are Life”, John felt confident that no one would recognize him. He even wore a long trench coat—though it was comically short on him, barely reaching his knees. “They’ll never know,” he whispered to Princess Glitterwings, who peeked out from a reusable tote bag slung over his shoulder.
Entering the mall, John was extra cautious. He took a circuitous route to Build-A-Bear, stopping at a pretzel kiosk to blend in with the other shoppers. The aroma of cinnamon briefly distracted him, but he stayed focused. This was his chance to redeem himself, to prove to the world—or at least the employees of Build-A-Bear—that he was not the unhinged plushie enthusiast they thought he was.
As John approached the store, he noticed Becky, the manager, standing near the entrance. She was chatting with an employee and sipping a coffee, unaware of his approach. “Perfect,” John thought. He slipped inside, determined to be discreet.
Inside, the store was buzzing with activity—kids stuffing bears, parents assembling outfits, and teens taking selfies. John felt his heart race as he spotted a new collection of plushies: forest animals with glittery accessories. A fox with a sparkly cape caught his eye. “Lord Fuzzington,” he whispered, already naming it in his mind.
But fate had other plans.
As John reached for the fox, disaster struck. A child running through the store tripped over his oversized shoe, sending him stumbling backward into a display of unstuffed plushies. The crash was monumental. Stuffing flew into the air like snow, and John landed on his back, taking down three shelves of accessories in the process.
The store fell silent.
Becky, alerted by the commotion, marched inside. Her eyes widened as she recognized the trench coat-clad figure sprawled amidst the chaos. “Oh, no. Not him again.”
“Sir,” Becky began, hands on her hips, “didn’t we ban you?”
John scrambled to his feet, clutching Princess Glitterwings protectively. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he pleaded.
“It looks like you’re causing a scene. Again,” Becky snapped.
At that moment, Ethel Mae Jenkins—yes, that Ethel—happened to walk by the store. Recognizing John, she let out a triumphant laugh and stormed in, cane in hand. “I knew you’d be back, you menace!”
John panicked. As Becky summoned mall security, John did the only thing he could think of—he bolted.
Well, he tried to bolt. Running wasn’t exactly his forte, and the trench coat flared dramatically as he lumbered through the mall, Princess Glitterwings clutched to his chest. Behind him, Ethel gave chase, shouting, “You’re not getting away this time, you plushie pervert!”
A crowd began to gather, phones recording as John’s flight of shame took him past the food court and into the arcade. Security guards joined the pursuit, but John was surprisingly nimble for his size, weaving between claw machines and racing simulators.
Finally, cornered near the photo booth, John made his stand. “I just wanted to love them!” he declared, holding Princess Glitterwings aloft like a knight brandishing a sword. “Is that so wrong?”
Before anyone could answer, Ethel jabbed him in the shin with her cane, sending him toppling into the photo booth. The curtains closed, and a series of comical photos were printed—each capturing John’s look of despair as security wrestled him into submission.
By the time the ordeal was over, John was once again banned from the mall, this time for life. As he was escorted to the parking lot, the crowd erupted into cheers. Ethel waved to her adoring fans, reveling in her role as the mall’s unlikely hero.
Back at home, John slumped onto his couch, staring at his plushie collection. “They don’t understand us, Glitterwings,” he sighed. “But one day...they will.”
From then on, John became an online sensation, with his escapades inspiring memes, plushie-themed protest signs, and even a fan-made documentary titled “The Man, The Myth, The Plushie.”
And while he never returned to Build-A-Bear, rumors swirled that he had begun frequenting the rival store Fuzzy Friends Emporium—under the alias Jonathan Priceworthy.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,414
- 18,022
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
You people BARELY beat a team with a third string QB that carved up your defense just like you barely beat a team led by Ken Pickett last week. Good luck with either Stafford or Bake.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
you're so madYou people BARELY beat a team with a third string QB that carved up your defense just like you barely beat a team led by Ken Pickett last week. Good luck with either Stafford or Bake.
lot of "Peter" puppies and dogs here for dog night.
Should I adopt one?
lot of little small pups running around in a big pen
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
You two could bond over your love of humping plushies.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
I don't know why I'm being mocked for wanting to get a puppy I could even take it for walks and lose weight
John Walks @PanthersPens62
John Walks @PanthersPens62
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,918
- 6,587
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
Lots of peanut butter buying with a dog
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
GIADF
Not A Mod
- Aug 17, 2024
- 2,620
- 3,009
No, he married his college sweetheart.
As for the dog, I am betting:
1. He is leashed
2. He is calmly sitting/lying on the ground
3. He is NOT jumping up & putting his paws on the tables.
So basically the opposite of JP as a human customer at a bar.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,414
- 18,022
@John Price, the legendary HFBoards poster and renowned plushie collector, was always up for something new. His posts about his ever-expanding plushie collection were the stuff of forum lore, earning him both admiration and lighthearted teasing. So, when John announced he was adopting a puppy, the HFBoards community erupted with excitement, peppering him with congratulations and plenty of warnings.
"Better keep those plushies in a vault!" one user joked.
"Nah, puppies are easy," John replied. "Sparky won't even notice them. They're on shelves way out of reach."
Ah, the optimism of a first-time puppy owner.
Sparky, an energetic golden retriever mix, arrived at John’s home and immediately began exploring every inch of his new domain. At first, everything seemed fine. Sparky barked at the vacuum cleaner, chased his tail, and napped in the sunlight like a picture-perfect pup. But then, he spotted them—the plushie collection.
The hundreds of vibrant, fluffy collectibles displayed proudly on shelves seemed to radiate an irresistible allure to Sparky. With John momentarily distracted in another room, Sparky made his move. Using a combination of puppy determination and surprising athleticism, he scrambled onto the couch, leapt onto a side table, and sent an entire shelf of plushies crashing to the ground.
What happened next was a blur of fluff and chaos. Sparky pounced on the plushies like a dog possessed, chewing, shredding, and scattering their remains across the room. Limited-edition collectibles, rare imports, and childhood favorites—all were reduced to slobbery scraps.
When John returned, he was met with a scene of utter devastation. "Sparky?!" he shouted, but the culprit was nowhere to be seen. Then John noticed the front door—slightly ajar.
Panic set in. Not only was Sparky gone, but so was one of John’s most treasured plushies: a rare, signed edition of "Puffaroo the Penguin," clamped tightly in the puppy's jaws when he bolted. John searched the neighborhood frantically, posting on local message boards and even updating HFBoards in real-time. The thread, titled “Puppy Apocalypse,” quickly became legendary as users chimed in with equal parts sympathy and schadenfreude.
Days passed, but there was no sign of Sparky. A neighbor eventually spotted the puppy several streets away, happily romping through someone else’s yard. Despite repeated attempts to coax him back, Sparky had clearly decided to start a new adventure—and Puffaroo, or what remained of him, was never recovered.
John updated HFBoards with a bittersweet post: “Sparky has moved on, taking my favorite plushie with him. Lost a lot of collectibles, but I guess that’s life. No more pets for me. Back to plushies—but this time, in a locked display case.”
And so, John returned to his plushie-collecting ways, albeit with a slightly smaller collection and a hard-earned lesson: puppies and priceless treasures simply don’t mix. As for Sparky, some say he still roams the town, leaving a trail of chewed-up toys and chaos in his wake.
"Better keep those plushies in a vault!" one user joked.
"Nah, puppies are easy," John replied. "Sparky won't even notice them. They're on shelves way out of reach."
Ah, the optimism of a first-time puppy owner.
Sparky, an energetic golden retriever mix, arrived at John’s home and immediately began exploring every inch of his new domain. At first, everything seemed fine. Sparky barked at the vacuum cleaner, chased his tail, and napped in the sunlight like a picture-perfect pup. But then, he spotted them—the plushie collection.
The hundreds of vibrant, fluffy collectibles displayed proudly on shelves seemed to radiate an irresistible allure to Sparky. With John momentarily distracted in another room, Sparky made his move. Using a combination of puppy determination and surprising athleticism, he scrambled onto the couch, leapt onto a side table, and sent an entire shelf of plushies crashing to the ground.
What happened next was a blur of fluff and chaos. Sparky pounced on the plushies like a dog possessed, chewing, shredding, and scattering their remains across the room. Limited-edition collectibles, rare imports, and childhood favorites—all were reduced to slobbery scraps.
When John returned, he was met with a scene of utter devastation. "Sparky?!" he shouted, but the culprit was nowhere to be seen. Then John noticed the front door—slightly ajar.
Panic set in. Not only was Sparky gone, but so was one of John’s most treasured plushies: a rare, signed edition of "Puffaroo the Penguin," clamped tightly in the puppy's jaws when he bolted. John searched the neighborhood frantically, posting on local message boards and even updating HFBoards in real-time. The thread, titled “Puppy Apocalypse,” quickly became legendary as users chimed in with equal parts sympathy and schadenfreude.
Days passed, but there was no sign of Sparky. A neighbor eventually spotted the puppy several streets away, happily romping through someone else’s yard. Despite repeated attempts to coax him back, Sparky had clearly decided to start a new adventure—and Puffaroo, or what remained of him, was never recovered.
John updated HFBoards with a bittersweet post: “Sparky has moved on, taking my favorite plushie with him. Lost a lot of collectibles, but I guess that’s life. No more pets for me. Back to plushies—but this time, in a locked display case.”
And so, John returned to his plushie-collecting ways, albeit with a slightly smaller collection and a hard-earned lesson: puppies and priceless treasures simply don’t mix. As for Sparky, some say he still roams the town, leaving a trail of chewed-up toys and chaos in his wake.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,811
- 31,678
Frank Fleming and the Case of the Frustrating Mets
In a small New Jersey town, there lived a passionate baseball fan named Frank Fleming. Frank wasn’t just any fan—he was the fan. His love for the New York Mets ran deep, but so did his frustrations. You see, Frank’s relationship with the Mets was like a roller coaster: thrilling highs, heartbreaking lows, and plenty of moments where you wondered why you got on in the first place.
One sunny Saturday morning, Frank decided to host a neighborhood picnic at the park. The kids were playing catch, the adults were grilling hot dogs, and Frank was, as usual, keeping an eye on his phone for the latest Mets updates.
Suddenly, a groan erupted from Frank. He stood up from his lawn chair, waving his arms dramatically.
“Another blown lead!” he exclaimed. “How do you load the bases with no outs and still manage to not score? It’s like they’re allergic to winning!”
The neighbors chuckled. They were used to Frank’s colorful commentary. Little Timmy, a ten-year-old Mets fan, tugged on Frank’s sleeve.
“Mr. Fleming, why do you still watch them if they make you so mad?” he asked innocently.
Frank knelt down to Timmy’s level, his expression softening. “Well, Timmy, that’s the thing about being a fan. It’s not just about the wins or the losses. It’s about hope. Every season, every game, there’s a chance for something amazing to happen. The Mets may drive me crazy, but I love them because they’re our team. They’re like family—you get frustrated, but you never give up on them.”
Timmy nodded, though he wasn’t sure he entirely understood. “So… you’re saying you believe they can still win the World Series one day?”
Frank stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Believe? Of course, I believe! I just wish they’d make it a little easier on me!”
That afternoon, inspired by Frank’s speech, the neighborhood kids decided to put on a Mets-themed baseball game. They divided into two teams: the “Miracle Mets” and the “Mighty Mets.” Frank was the umpire, calling the plays with his signature dramatic flair.
“Strike three! You’re out! Just like the Mets in the playoffs!” he bellowed, making everyone laugh.
By the end of the day, the kids were exhausted but happy. Frank, too, felt a little lighter. The Mets might frustrate him endlessly, but moments like these reminded him why he loved the game—and the team—so much.
As the sun set over the park, Frank raised his soda can in a toast. “To the Mets: may they drive us crazy for many years to come!”
And for once, no
body could argue with that.
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,918
- 6,587
Don’t give him any ideas….
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,414
- 18,022
He already does it with his plushies.
