GIADF
Not A Mod
- Aug 17, 2024
- 2,633
- 3,018
I see based off quotes that JP is still being a petulant little child.
Useless Thread MCMXCIX: Miss Piggy Appreciation Thread
- Thread starter GIADF
- Start date
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
"This is a great hockey city. We are all very glad that Mario Lemieux kept the Penguins alive."If it was such a great hockey city, why did it take Mario Lemieux to save them?
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
The first meeting between the Flyers and Penguins occurred on October 19, 1967, in the first-ever game at the Philadelphia Spectrum.[12] Flyers goaltender Doug Favell stopped all 17 Pittsburgh shots and Bill Sutherland scored the lone goal 2:59 into the third period for a 1–0 Flyers win.[12]
The rivalry was not as strong in earlier years, as the Penguins struggled in the NHL until the arrival of Mario Lemieux in 1984–85. The Flyers achieved just the opposite, winning back-to-back Stanley Cups in 1974 and 1975. When the NHL realigned divisions prior to the 1974–75 season, the two Pennsylvania teams were moved to separate divisions. The Penguins spent the next seven seasons in the Norris Division and became the Flyers' division rivals once again upon joining the Patrick Division in 1981–82.
Most notably during this era was the Penguins' 42-game winless streak at the Spectrum; from February 7, 1974, through February 2, 1989, the Penguins were 0–39–3 at the Spectrum. From 1967 to 1989, Philadelphia went 86–36–19 against Pittsburgh.
The rivalry was not as strong in earlier years, as the Penguins struggled in the NHL until the arrival of Mario Lemieux in 1984–85. The Flyers achieved just the opposite, winning back-to-back Stanley Cups in 1974 and 1975. When the NHL realigned divisions prior to the 1974–75 season, the two Pennsylvania teams were moved to separate divisions. The Penguins spent the next seven seasons in the Norris Division and became the Flyers' division rivals once again upon joining the Patrick Division in 1981–82.
Most notably during this era was the Penguins' 42-game winless streak at the Spectrum; from February 7, 1974, through February 2, 1989, the Penguins were 0–39–3 at the Spectrum. From 1967 to 1989, Philadelphia went 86–36–19 against Pittsburgh.
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
What, they've had like two logos. They did a cheesy 90s rebrand and then ditched it
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,417
- 18,025
Will your mom make you ride in your car seat?
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
I miss the old logo
From 1967 to 1989, Philadelphia went 86–36–19 against Pittsburgh.
From 1967 to 1989, Philadelphia went 86–36–19 against Pittsburgh.
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
The Caps current logo has a golf club for the P, very apt.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
JP rough-housing with his plushies:
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
In today's edition of "In case Yinz forgot" @PanthersPens62 @End of Line @MetalheadPenguinsFan
Imagine having Darren Pang have to prop your team up on national TV to keep them
That's cute, what did you do from 1967 to 1990.
The same thing Craps fans did until they were gifted Ovi.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
you already forgot the classic 80's teams that sadly ran up against the dynasty Islanders or the 98 team that made the final before losing...to the Detroit Red Wings another dynastyThe same thing Craps fans did until they were gifted Ovi.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Just like you constantly forget how many more nattys the U has than your Hokies, you forget how many Cups the Pens have compared to the Craps.
Oh & that GIF of Wilson just above.......I'd love to see him to that to the Rempe-ire State Building......guarantee you every tooth of his would be permanently gone.
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,920
- 6,592
Imagine this, a govt employee in JP, not doing any actual work and sucking off the tax payer teet
GIADF
Not A Mod
- Aug 17, 2024
- 2,633
- 3,018
More like when Miss Piggy says "no."
Gonna be cold all week.... bleh. We might not hit 40 until next Monday, and only 40 on the dot.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,920
- 6,592
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
could go to the Steelers game Saturday but have some shit to do all Saturday
usajobs sent me an email saying they'd discontinue my account because I didn't log in for 800 days lol
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,417
- 18,025
That's true.
JP works for one of those call centers that's trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,417
- 18,025
Title: The Return of Brenda and John: Plushie Revenge
Six months of peace. Six beautiful, uneventful months. I almost believed they’d finally given up. No surprise visits. No unsolicited plushies on my porch. No cryptic notes written in glitter pen. It was as if Brenda and John Price had vanished into the void.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Brenda, it’s that she never really goes away.
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon when the first sign of trouble arrived. I was watching TV, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation, when I heard the unmistakable thud of something heavy hitting my front porch.
I opened the door cautiously. There, sitting in the middle of my welcome mat, was a massive box wrapped in pink paper and tied with an oversized bow. The tag read:
“We missed you. Love, Brenda and John.”
I stared at the box, debating whether to call the bomb squad or just set it on fire. Against my better judgment, I dragged it inside and opened it.
Inside was a plushie so enormous it defied logic. It was a life-sized plushie of a hockey goalie, complete with pads, a mask, and a tiny plushie stick. A note was tucked into its glove:
“Meet Stanley, the goalie of your heart. Hope he blocks all your loneliness!”
I slammed the lid back on the box and shoved it into the corner. “Nope,” I muttered to myself. “Not today, Brenda.”
But this was just the opening salvo.
The next day, I came home to find a giant banner hanging across my garage that read:
"Forgive us, or Waddles will cry forever!"
Waddles—the plush penguin I’d rejected during their last visit—was perched on my front steps, looking especially forlorn. Its beady little eyes seemed to say, You brought this on yourself.
I ripped the banner down and tossed it into the trash. That’s when my phone buzzed.
It was a text from an unknown number:
Brenda: We’re not going anywhere, sweetie. Let’s talk this out like family.
Family? I nearly threw my phone across the room.
By the end of the week, they’d escalated.
One morning, I woke up to the sound of music blaring outside my window. I peeked through the blinds to find Brenda and John standing in my driveway with a karaoke machine. Brenda was belting out “I Will Always Love You,” while John awkwardly swayed back and forth, holding a giant plushie shaped like a heart.
A crowd of neighbors had gathered, filming the spectacle on their phones.
I stormed outside. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Brenda stopped mid-verse and gave me a wide smile. “We’re here to win you back, honey!”
“I don’t even know you!” I shouted.
John stepped forward, cradling the heart plushie like it was a newborn. “You’ve hurt Mom’s feelings. That’s unacceptable.”
“Oh, and this isn’t unacceptable?” I gestured wildly at the karaoke setup.
Brenda clapped her hands. “We made lasagna! It’s in the cooler. Let’s have lunch and talk this out.”
I was about to tell them where they could shove their lasagna when John interrupted.
“Also,” he added, narrowing his eyes, “we’ve been training.”
“Training for what?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Wrestling,” John said, cracking his knuckles. “You humiliated me last time, but I’ve been working out.”
I glanced at him. He didn’t look any smaller, but his T-shirt now read “Plushie Powerlifting Club” and his arms were visibly thicker.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered, turning to go back inside.
But John wasn’t having it. He dropped the plushie and charged.
What followed was the most absurd battle of my life.
John tackled me into my flower bed, crushing my azaleas. I managed to wriggle free and grabbed a garden gnome to defend myself. Brenda cheered from the sidelines, filming the whole thing on her phone.
“Go, Johnny! Show him the strength of a collector!”
John swung wildly, but I ducked and retaliated with a perfectly aimed gnome throw. It hit him square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward into the karaoke machine, which erupted in a burst of static and Whitney Houston’s high notes.
Brenda screamed, “Not the karaoke machine!”
Fueled by adrenaline and rage, I managed to wrestle John into a headlock. “Say you’ll leave me alone!” I shouted.
“Never!” he gasped, trying to squirm free.
Brenda came to his rescue, wielding a frying pan from the cooler like a weapon. I let go of John just in time to dodge her swing, which sent lasagna flying everywhere.
It was chaos. Plushies, food, and broken garden decorations littered the yard as the neighbors watched in stunned silence.
Finally, I grabbed Waddles off the porch and held him up. “ENOUGH! If I take Waddles back, will you leave me alone?!”
Brenda and John froze.
“You mean it?” Brenda asked, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Yes!” I shouted. “I’ll keep Waddles. Just GO!”
John picked himself up, brushing lasagna off his shirt. He gave me a solemn nod. “Take good care of him. He’s special.”
Brenda sniffled. “We knew you’d come around eventually.”
And just like that, they packed up their karaoke machine and cooler, leaving my yard a disaster zone.
It’s been two weeks since the battle, and so far, they’ve kept their word. Waddles now sits on my couch, a permanent reminder of the insanity I endured.
But every time I look at him, I can’t shake the feeling that Brenda and John are out there, planning their next move.
And I’m not sure my azaleas—or my sanity—can survive another visit.
Six months of peace. Six beautiful, uneventful months. I almost believed they’d finally given up. No surprise visits. No unsolicited plushies on my porch. No cryptic notes written in glitter pen. It was as if Brenda and John Price had vanished into the void.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Brenda, it’s that she never really goes away.
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon when the first sign of trouble arrived. I was watching TV, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation, when I heard the unmistakable thud of something heavy hitting my front porch.
I opened the door cautiously. There, sitting in the middle of my welcome mat, was a massive box wrapped in pink paper and tied with an oversized bow. The tag read:
“We missed you. Love, Brenda and John.”
I stared at the box, debating whether to call the bomb squad or just set it on fire. Against my better judgment, I dragged it inside and opened it.
Inside was a plushie so enormous it defied logic. It was a life-sized plushie of a hockey goalie, complete with pads, a mask, and a tiny plushie stick. A note was tucked into its glove:
“Meet Stanley, the goalie of your heart. Hope he blocks all your loneliness!”
I slammed the lid back on the box and shoved it into the corner. “Nope,” I muttered to myself. “Not today, Brenda.”
But this was just the opening salvo.
The next day, I came home to find a giant banner hanging across my garage that read:
"Forgive us, or Waddles will cry forever!"
Waddles—the plush penguin I’d rejected during their last visit—was perched on my front steps, looking especially forlorn. Its beady little eyes seemed to say, You brought this on yourself.
I ripped the banner down and tossed it into the trash. That’s when my phone buzzed.
It was a text from an unknown number:
Brenda: We’re not going anywhere, sweetie. Let’s talk this out like family.
Family? I nearly threw my phone across the room.
By the end of the week, they’d escalated.
One morning, I woke up to the sound of music blaring outside my window. I peeked through the blinds to find Brenda and John standing in my driveway with a karaoke machine. Brenda was belting out “I Will Always Love You,” while John awkwardly swayed back and forth, holding a giant plushie shaped like a heart.
A crowd of neighbors had gathered, filming the spectacle on their phones.
I stormed outside. “What the hell are you doing?!”
Brenda stopped mid-verse and gave me a wide smile. “We’re here to win you back, honey!”
“I don’t even know you!” I shouted.
John stepped forward, cradling the heart plushie like it was a newborn. “You’ve hurt Mom’s feelings. That’s unacceptable.”
“Oh, and this isn’t unacceptable?” I gestured wildly at the karaoke setup.
Brenda clapped her hands. “We made lasagna! It’s in the cooler. Let’s have lunch and talk this out.”
I was about to tell them where they could shove their lasagna when John interrupted.
“Also,” he added, narrowing his eyes, “we’ve been training.”
“Training for what?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Wrestling,” John said, cracking his knuckles. “You humiliated me last time, but I’ve been working out.”
I glanced at him. He didn’t look any smaller, but his T-shirt now read “Plushie Powerlifting Club” and his arms were visibly thicker.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered, turning to go back inside.
But John wasn’t having it. He dropped the plushie and charged.
What followed was the most absurd battle of my life.
John tackled me into my flower bed, crushing my azaleas. I managed to wriggle free and grabbed a garden gnome to defend myself. Brenda cheered from the sidelines, filming the whole thing on her phone.
“Go, Johnny! Show him the strength of a collector!”
John swung wildly, but I ducked and retaliated with a perfectly aimed gnome throw. It hit him square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward into the karaoke machine, which erupted in a burst of static and Whitney Houston’s high notes.
Brenda screamed, “Not the karaoke machine!”
Fueled by adrenaline and rage, I managed to wrestle John into a headlock. “Say you’ll leave me alone!” I shouted.
“Never!” he gasped, trying to squirm free.
Brenda came to his rescue, wielding a frying pan from the cooler like a weapon. I let go of John just in time to dodge her swing, which sent lasagna flying everywhere.
It was chaos. Plushies, food, and broken garden decorations littered the yard as the neighbors watched in stunned silence.
Finally, I grabbed Waddles off the porch and held him up. “ENOUGH! If I take Waddles back, will you leave me alone?!”
Brenda and John froze.
“You mean it?” Brenda asked, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Yes!” I shouted. “I’ll keep Waddles. Just GO!”
John picked himself up, brushing lasagna off his shirt. He gave me a solemn nod. “Take good care of him. He’s special.”
Brenda sniffled. “We knew you’d come around eventually.”
And just like that, they packed up their karaoke machine and cooler, leaving my yard a disaster zone.
It’s been two weeks since the battle, and so far, they’ve kept their word. Waddles now sits on my couch, a permanent reminder of the insanity I endured.
But every time I look at him, I can’t shake the feeling that Brenda and John are out there, planning their next move.
And I’m not sure my azaleas—or my sanity—can survive another visit.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,833
- 31,689
