MetalheadPenguinsFan
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Hood morning and happy Sunday Funday to you, my sunshine and love-filled friend!!
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Useless Thread MCMXCIX: Miss Piggy Appreciation Thread
- Thread starter GIADF
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Hood morning and happy Sunday Funday to you, my sunshine and love-filled friend!!
MetalheadPenguinsFan
Registered User
Since it’s TikTok, I’m surprised someone hasn’t “challenged them” to drink it and find out yet.
SoupNazi
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Hump one of your plushies and call it a night.
SoupNazi
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The Plushie Prince's Assassin Fiasco
John Price, self-proclaimed “Plushie Prince” and long-lost heir to some convoluted North Korean legacy, was about to embark on the most ridiculous mission of his life: carrying out an assassination for Kim Jong Un using plushies.
It all started the morning after our bizarre audience with the dictator. John woke up in our guesthouse, filled with misguided determination and wearing his cape of stuffed animals. Brenda was busy making “combat lasagna,” claiming it would fortify him for the mission.
“I’ve got this,” John said confidently, shoving a few plushies into a duffel bag. “This rival general won’t know what hit him.”
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, already bracing for disaster.
John grinned. “How hard can it be? It’s just one guy.”
“This is foolproof,” John declared as he adjusted his sash.
“It’s something, all right,” I muttered.
The guards at the gate eyed us suspiciously as John presented the panda plushie.
“This is a gift from the Supreme Leader himself,” John said, doing his best to sound official.
The guards exchanged skeptical glances but eventually let us through.
Inside, the rival general—an imposing man with a scar running down his cheek—sat at a lavish dining table, surrounded by his officers. He looked up as we entered, his gaze immediately narrowing at John’s absurd outfit.
“What is this?” the general growled.
“A token of respect from Kim Jong Un,” John said, setting the plushie on the table with a dramatic flourish.
The general raised an eyebrow but gestured for one of his officers to inspect the panda.
The poorly sewn seams burst open, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Instead of incapacitating anyone, the powder had the opposite effect: it triggered a wave of violent sneezing.
“What is this madness?!” the general roared, his eyes watering as he reached for his gun.
Panicking, John tried to salvage the situation by throwing smaller plushies at the general and his men.
“Take that!” he shouted, hurling a stuffed penguin.
It bounced harmlessly off the general’s chest.
Brenda, ever the supportive mother, leaped into action with her lasagna. She hurled the dish at one of the guards, knocking him off balance, but it wasn’t enough to save us.
Within seconds, we were surrounded by armed soldiers.
“You’ve got to believe me,” John said to the North Korean officer questioning us. “I was just trying to unify the plushie kingdom!”
The officer stared at him, deadpan. “You tried to assassinate a general with stuffed animals.”
“It was symbolic!” John protested.
The officer sighed and turned to Brenda. “And you threw… lasagna?”
Brenda nodded proudly. “It’s my secret weapon.”
“You failed,” he said, his tone icy. “Miserably.”
John fell to his knees. “Please, Supreme Leader, give me another chance! I can do better!”
Kim Jong Un stared at him for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle.
“You are either the most foolish man I have ever met,” he said, “or the most entertaining. Either way, I have no use for you.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Send them back to South Korea. Let them be someone else’s problem.”
John, ever the optimist, turned to us with a grin.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” he said, brushing dust off his cape.
Brenda hugged him tightly. “You’re still my little prince, no matter what.”
I, on the other hand, was already booking the next flight back home.
“Maybe we can start a plushie revolution in South Korea,” he mused. “Or open an international plushie museum!”
I sighed, knowing this was far from over. Because with John and Brenda Price, there’s always another ridiculous adventure waiting just around the corner.
John Price, self-proclaimed “Plushie Prince” and long-lost heir to some convoluted North Korean legacy, was about to embark on the most ridiculous mission of his life: carrying out an assassination for Kim Jong Un using plushies.
It all started the morning after our bizarre audience with the dictator. John woke up in our guesthouse, filled with misguided determination and wearing his cape of stuffed animals. Brenda was busy making “combat lasagna,” claiming it would fortify him for the mission.
“I’ve got this,” John said confidently, shoving a few plushies into a duffel bag. “This rival general won’t know what hit him.”
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, already bracing for disaster.
John grinned. “How hard can it be? It’s just one guy.”
The Plan (If You Can Call It That)
John’s brilliant plan involved sneaking into the rival general’s compound under the guise of delivering a gift from the Supreme Leader. The “gift” was, of course, a giant panda plushie with a hollowed-out center stuffed with knockout powder that Eun-Ji had somehow acquired.“This is foolproof,” John declared as he adjusted his sash.
“It’s something, all right,” I muttered.
The Mission
That evening, John and I arrived at the compound under the cover of darkness. Brenda insisted on tagging along, claiming her lasagna could serve as a backup weapon.The guards at the gate eyed us suspiciously as John presented the panda plushie.
“This is a gift from the Supreme Leader himself,” John said, doing his best to sound official.
The guards exchanged skeptical glances but eventually let us through.
Inside, the rival general—an imposing man with a scar running down his cheek—sat at a lavish dining table, surrounded by his officers. He looked up as we entered, his gaze immediately narrowing at John’s absurd outfit.
“What is this?” the general growled.
“A token of respect from Kim Jong Un,” John said, setting the plushie on the table with a dramatic flourish.
The general raised an eyebrow but gestured for one of his officers to inspect the panda.
The Disaster
Everything went downhill the moment the officer poked the plushie.The poorly sewn seams burst open, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Instead of incapacitating anyone, the powder had the opposite effect: it triggered a wave of violent sneezing.
“What is this madness?!” the general roared, his eyes watering as he reached for his gun.
Panicking, John tried to salvage the situation by throwing smaller plushies at the general and his men.
“Take that!” he shouted, hurling a stuffed penguin.
It bounced harmlessly off the general’s chest.
Brenda, ever the supportive mother, leaped into action with her lasagna. She hurled the dish at one of the guards, knocking him off balance, but it wasn’t enough to save us.
Within seconds, we were surrounded by armed soldiers.
The Aftermath
The next thing I knew, we were all sitting in a dank interrogation room, handcuffed to metal chairs.“You’ve got to believe me,” John said to the North Korean officer questioning us. “I was just trying to unify the plushie kingdom!”
The officer stared at him, deadpan. “You tried to assassinate a general with stuffed animals.”
“It was symbolic!” John protested.
The officer sighed and turned to Brenda. “And you threw… lasagna?”
Brenda nodded proudly. “It’s my secret weapon.”
Back to the Supreme Leader
After hours of questioning, we were dragged back to Kim Jong Un’s palace, where the Supreme Leader looked less than pleased.“You failed,” he said, his tone icy. “Miserably.”
John fell to his knees. “Please, Supreme Leader, give me another chance! I can do better!”
Kim Jong Un stared at him for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle.
“You are either the most foolish man I have ever met,” he said, “or the most entertaining. Either way, I have no use for you.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Send them back to South Korea. Let them be someone else’s problem.”
The Escape
Within hours, we were unceremoniously dumped across the border, escorted by guards who looked as though they couldn’t believe this circus had actually happened.John, ever the optimist, turned to us with a grin.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” he said, brushing dust off his cape.
Brenda hugged him tightly. “You’re still my little prince, no matter what.”
I, on the other hand, was already booking the next flight back home.
Epilogue
As we boarded the plane, John was already brainstorming his next scheme.“Maybe we can start a plushie revolution in South Korea,” he mused. “Or open an international plushie museum!”
I sighed, knowing this was far from over. Because with John and Brenda Price, there’s always another ridiculous adventure waiting just around the corner.
SoupNazi
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Plushies, Politics, and Pro-Wrestling
After our unceremonious expulsion from North Korea, I was ready to leave the madness of John and Brenda Price behind. But, as usual, they had other plans.
“Dennis Rodman is the key,” John declared as we boarded the plane back to the States. “He’ll understand Kim Jong Un’s true intentions.”
Brenda nodded in agreement, clutching her carry-on cooler of lasagna. “And Vince McMahon is our next step. Wrestling is huge—John could become a plushie-themed wrestler!”
I groaned. “Why are we meeting Dennis Rodman and Vince McMahon?”
John turned to me with a gleam in his eye. “It’s simple. Rodman gives us credibility, and McMahon gives us a platform to take the Plushie Kingdom global.”
Rodman finally sauntered in, wearing sunglasses, a leopard-print jacket, and more piercings than I could count. He took one look at John’s outfit and burst out laughing.
“What’s this?” Rodman asked, pointing to John’s plushie tie.
“I’m John Price,” John said, puffing out his chest. “Plushie Prince and the rightful heir to a plushie empire. I just got back from North Korea.”
Rodman raised an eyebrow. “North Korea, huh? What’s Kim up to these days?”
John launched into an overly dramatic account of his time with the dictator, complete with details about his failed assassination attempt, the exploding panda, and his “vision” for a plushie-powered North Korea.
Rodman listened intently, occasionally sipping his drink and nodding. When John finally finished, Rodman leaned back and said, “Man, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard—and I’ve done a lot of weird stuff.”
Brenda slid a plate of lasagna toward him. “Do you think you could help us get back in? John’s dream isn’t over yet.”
Rodman took a bite of the lasagna and grinned. “This is good. I’ll think about it.”
“I don’t usually take meetings like this,” Vince said, glaring at John. “But my assistant told me it was... intriguing.”
John beamed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. McMahon. I believe my story could inspire a new WWE character—the Plushie Prince. I’ll bring diplomacy and destruction to the ring!”
Vince’s eyebrow twitched. “You want to be a wrestler?”
John nodded enthusiastically. “Picture it: I enter the ring in my plushie cape, wielding my stuffed tiger, and I take down opponents with moves like the Plushie Slam and the Cuddle Lock!”
Linda cleared her throat. “This all sounds… unique. But what’s the broader appeal?”
Brenda leaned forward. “It’s not just wrestling. It’s a movement. Plushies bring people together! Also, I brought lasagna.” She handed Linda a container, which Linda accepted with a polite smile.
Vince leaned back in his chair, clearly torn between outright dismissal and morbid curiosity. “We’d need to see a demonstration,” he said finally. “Do you even know how to wrestle?”
John’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been practicing on my plushies!”
First, he attempted a body slam on a giant stuffed panda. He tripped, fell face-first onto the mat, and got tangled in his cape.
Next, he tried his signature move, the Cuddle Lock, on a volunteer wrestler. The wrestler, clearly unimpressed, broke free with minimal effort and sent John sprawling.
By the end of the demonstration, Vince was shaking his head. “I’ve seen enough,” he said.
“Wait!” Brenda shouted, rushing into the ring with a lasagna in hand. “This is just the beginning. John has so much more to offer!”
Linda tried to intervene. “Perhaps wrestling isn’t the right fit—”
But before she could finish, John grabbed a plushie and hurled it at Vince, shouting, “Feel the power of plushie diplomacy!”
The plushie hit Vince square in the chest. He stared at it, then at John, his expression unreadable.
John, however, remained undeterred. “This is just a setback,” he said as we walked to the car. “The Plushie Kingdom will rise. We just need the right platform.”
Brenda patted his shoulder. “You’re destined for greatness, sweetie. We’ll figure it out.”
As for me, I was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led me to this point. But knowing John and Brenda, I knew this wasn’t the end of their ridiculous escapades.
After our unceremonious expulsion from North Korea, I was ready to leave the madness of John and Brenda Price behind. But, as usual, they had other plans.
“Dennis Rodman is the key,” John declared as we boarded the plane back to the States. “He’ll understand Kim Jong Un’s true intentions.”
Brenda nodded in agreement, clutching her carry-on cooler of lasagna. “And Vince McMahon is our next step. Wrestling is huge—John could become a plushie-themed wrestler!”
I groaned. “Why are we meeting Dennis Rodman and Vince McMahon?”
John turned to me with a gleam in his eye. “It’s simple. Rodman gives us credibility, and McMahon gives us a platform to take the Plushie Kingdom global.”
Meeting Dennis Rodman
A week later, we were in a private lounge at an upscale Chicago bar, waiting for Dennis Rodman. John was dressed in a suit covered in tiny plushie patterns, and Brenda had brought two pans of lasagna as a peace offering.Rodman finally sauntered in, wearing sunglasses, a leopard-print jacket, and more piercings than I could count. He took one look at John’s outfit and burst out laughing.
“What’s this?” Rodman asked, pointing to John’s plushie tie.
“I’m John Price,” John said, puffing out his chest. “Plushie Prince and the rightful heir to a plushie empire. I just got back from North Korea.”
Rodman raised an eyebrow. “North Korea, huh? What’s Kim up to these days?”
John launched into an overly dramatic account of his time with the dictator, complete with details about his failed assassination attempt, the exploding panda, and his “vision” for a plushie-powered North Korea.
Rodman listened intently, occasionally sipping his drink and nodding. When John finally finished, Rodman leaned back and said, “Man, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard—and I’ve done a lot of weird stuff.”
Brenda slid a plate of lasagna toward him. “Do you think you could help us get back in? John’s dream isn’t over yet.”
Rodman took a bite of the lasagna and grinned. “This is good. I’ll think about it.”
Enter Vince and Linda McMahon
Through some incomprehensible series of events (Brenda claimed she’d emailed Vince McMahon directly), we found ourselves at WWE headquarters in Stamford, Connecticut, sitting across from none other than Vince and Linda McMahon.“I don’t usually take meetings like this,” Vince said, glaring at John. “But my assistant told me it was... intriguing.”
John beamed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. McMahon. I believe my story could inspire a new WWE character—the Plushie Prince. I’ll bring diplomacy and destruction to the ring!”
Vince’s eyebrow twitched. “You want to be a wrestler?”
John nodded enthusiastically. “Picture it: I enter the ring in my plushie cape, wielding my stuffed tiger, and I take down opponents with moves like the Plushie Slam and the Cuddle Lock!”
Linda cleared her throat. “This all sounds… unique. But what’s the broader appeal?”
Brenda leaned forward. “It’s not just wrestling. It’s a movement. Plushies bring people together! Also, I brought lasagna.” She handed Linda a container, which Linda accepted with a polite smile.
Vince leaned back in his chair, clearly torn between outright dismissal and morbid curiosity. “We’d need to see a demonstration,” he said finally. “Do you even know how to wrestle?”
John’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been practicing on my plushies!”
The Demonstration
The next day, we were in a WWE training facility, surrounded by skeptical wrestlers. John stood in the center of the ring, his plushie cape fluttering dramatically as he demonstrated his “moves.”First, he attempted a body slam on a giant stuffed panda. He tripped, fell face-first onto the mat, and got tangled in his cape.
Next, he tried his signature move, the Cuddle Lock, on a volunteer wrestler. The wrestler, clearly unimpressed, broke free with minimal effort and sent John sprawling.
By the end of the demonstration, Vince was shaking his head. “I’ve seen enough,” he said.
“Wait!” Brenda shouted, rushing into the ring with a lasagna in hand. “This is just the beginning. John has so much more to offer!”
Linda tried to intervene. “Perhaps wrestling isn’t the right fit—”
But before she could finish, John grabbed a plushie and hurled it at Vince, shouting, “Feel the power of plushie diplomacy!”
The plushie hit Vince square in the chest. He stared at it, then at John, his expression unreadable.
The Aftermath
We were escorted out of WWE headquarters shortly afterward, with Vince muttering something about “never wasting my time again.”John, however, remained undeterred. “This is just a setback,” he said as we walked to the car. “The Plushie Kingdom will rise. We just need the right platform.”
Brenda patted his shoulder. “You’re destined for greatness, sweetie. We’ll figure it out.”
As for me, I was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led me to this point. But knowing John and Brenda, I knew this wasn’t the end of their ridiculous escapades.
To Be Continued...
With Rodman vaguely on board, WWE out of the picture, and John’s plushie-fueled ambitions still burning brightly, it was only a matter of time before they dragged me into their next absurd adventure.
SoupNazi
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John Price
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John Price
pro gambler/drinker
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John Price
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SUNRISE, Fla. -- — David Pastrnak scored a power-play goal with 2 seconds left in overtime and the Boston Bruins snapped a six-game losing streak with a 4-3 win over the Florida Panthers on Saturday.
John Price
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Ovechkin, eyeing record, scores goal No. 873
Alex Ovechkin scored the 873rd goal of his career on Saturday to bring him 21 goals shy of tying Wayne Gretzky's record.
MetalheadPenguinsFan
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Poopin’ and posting
John Price
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SoupNazi
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The Plushie Party Revolution
Six months after the WWE fiasco, I thought life with John and Brenda might finally settle down. Maybe John would quietly focus on his plushie collection, and Brenda would stick to making lasagna. But no. They had another harebrained scheme in the works.
John Price, the self-proclaimed Plushie Prince, had decided to run for Senate.
“I’m going to shake up Washington,” John declared, standing in his living room-turned-campaign headquarters. He wore an ill-fitting suit over his plushie-covered cape, holding a stuffed eagle like a scepter. “The Plushie Party is what this country needs!”
Brenda, sitting at a folding table covered in campaign flyers featuring John hugging a giant teddy bear, chimed in: “It’s a real banger of an idea!”
I groaned. “John, you don’t know anything about politics.”
“Neither do most politicians,” he shot back. “I’m relatable. I’m the voice of the plushie-loving masses!”
“Friends, citizens, fellow plushie enthusiasts!” he bellowed into the microphone. “For too long, our government has ignored the vital role that plushies play in our lives. It’s time for change!”
He launched into a speech about “plushie diplomacy” and his vision of a world where every household had access to affordable stuffed animals.
Brenda, wearing a campaign T-shirt that read “John Price: It’s a Real Banger!”, passed out free lasagna samples.
“Vote Plushie Party!” she exclaimed to anyone who would listen.
“What inspired you to run for Senate?” the reporter asked, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.
John held up a stuffed panda. “This little guy did. Plushies have been my companions, my confidants, my inspiration. They deserve representation!”
The reporter blinked. “And your platform?”
“Plushies for all!” John declared. “Plushies in schools, plushies in hospitals, plushies in Congress. Together, we can build a softer, cuddlier future!”
Brenda, sitting off-camera, shouted, “It’s a real banger of a platform!”
“Mr. Price,” she said, “do you really believe that stuffed animals are the solution to this country’s problems?”
John stood firm. “Absolutely. Plushies bring comfort and unity. Can you name one senator who wouldn’t benefit from hugging a plushie during a heated debate?”
The audience chuckled, but John continued undeterred.
“You laugh, but this is serious! America needs softness in hard times.”
Brenda clapped enthusiastically from the front row. “Tell ’em, Johnny! It’s a real banger!”
“I was framed!” John claimed during a press conference. “I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve learned from them. Plushies saved me, and now I want to give back.”
Brenda jumped in, shouting at reporters, “Leave my son alone! He’s a real banger of a candidate!”
The media had a field day with the story, dubbing John “The Plushie Felon.” But instead of hurting his campaign, it only seemed to endear him to his supporters.
As John took the stage, he looked out at the crowd and smiled.
“This is what the Plushie Party is all about,” he said. “Together, we can make the world a better, fluffier place. Are you with me?”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Brenda grabbed the microphone. “It’s a real banger, people! Vote for John Price!”
Six months after the WWE fiasco, I thought life with John and Brenda might finally settle down. Maybe John would quietly focus on his plushie collection, and Brenda would stick to making lasagna. But no. They had another harebrained scheme in the works.
John Price, the self-proclaimed Plushie Prince, had decided to run for Senate.
“I’m going to shake up Washington,” John declared, standing in his living room-turned-campaign headquarters. He wore an ill-fitting suit over his plushie-covered cape, holding a stuffed eagle like a scepter. “The Plushie Party is what this country needs!”
Brenda, sitting at a folding table covered in campaign flyers featuring John hugging a giant teddy bear, chimed in: “It’s a real banger of an idea!”
I groaned. “John, you don’t know anything about politics.”
“Neither do most politicians,” he shot back. “I’m relatable. I’m the voice of the plushie-loving masses!”
Campaigning, Plushie Style
The campaign kicked off with a rally at the local community center. John stood on a makeshift stage surrounded by bins of plushies, waving to a crowd of about fifteen confused onlookers.“Friends, citizens, fellow plushie enthusiasts!” he bellowed into the microphone. “For too long, our government has ignored the vital role that plushies play in our lives. It’s time for change!”
He launched into a speech about “plushie diplomacy” and his vision of a world where every household had access to affordable stuffed animals.
Brenda, wearing a campaign T-shirt that read “John Price: It’s a Real Banger!”, passed out free lasagna samples.
“Vote Plushie Party!” she exclaimed to anyone who would listen.
Media Attention
Surprisingly, the absurdity of John’s campaign caught the media’s attention. A local news station interviewed him on live television.“What inspired you to run for Senate?” the reporter asked, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.
John held up a stuffed panda. “This little guy did. Plushies have been my companions, my confidants, my inspiration. They deserve representation!”
The reporter blinked. “And your platform?”
“Plushies for all!” John declared. “Plushies in schools, plushies in hospitals, plushies in Congress. Together, we can build a softer, cuddlier future!”
Brenda, sitting off-camera, shouted, “It’s a real banger of a platform!”
The Opposition
As John’s campaign gained momentum (and a small but dedicated following), his political opponents started taking notice. One candidate, Senator Evelyn Carter, openly mocked him during a debate.“Mr. Price,” she said, “do you really believe that stuffed animals are the solution to this country’s problems?”
John stood firm. “Absolutely. Plushies bring comfort and unity. Can you name one senator who wouldn’t benefit from hugging a plushie during a heated debate?”
The audience chuckled, but John continued undeterred.
“You laugh, but this is serious! America needs softness in hard times.”
Brenda clapped enthusiastically from the front row. “Tell ’em, Johnny! It’s a real banger!”
The Scandal
Things took a turn when a rival campaign dug up dirt on John’s past: his arrest for stealing plushies and his stint in prison.“I was framed!” John claimed during a press conference. “I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve learned from them. Plushies saved me, and now I want to give back.”
Brenda jumped in, shouting at reporters, “Leave my son alone! He’s a real banger of a candidate!”
The media had a field day with the story, dubbing John “The Plushie Felon.” But instead of hurting his campaign, it only seemed to endear him to his supporters.
The Campaign Rally That Changed Everything
The campaign reached its peak at a massive rally in the park. Hundreds of plushie enthusiasts showed up, waving stuffed animals like flags. Brenda set up a lasagna buffet, which quickly became the highlight of the event.As John took the stage, he looked out at the crowd and smiled.
“This is what the Plushie Party is all about,” he said. “Together, we can make the world a better, fluffier place. Are you with me?”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Brenda grabbed the microphone. “It’s a real banger, people! Vote for John Price!”
To Be Continued...
Whether or not John wins the election remains to be seen. But one thing is clear: the Plushie Party is here to stay, and Brenda’s catchphrase is now etched into the annals of political history.
SoupNazi
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Plushies vs. Baseballs
The Plushie Party campaign was in full swing. John’s rallies drew larger and larger crowds, mostly curious onlookers, die-hard plushie collectors, and those who came for Brenda’s lasagna buffet. His slogan, “Fluff for the Future!”, adorned every sign, T-shirt, and plushie-themed bumper sticker.
But just as John began to gain traction, an unlikely adversary emerged: Zack Hample, the infamous baseball collector.
Hample had been building his reputation as a baseball-obsessed eccentric for years, hoarding thousands of game-used balls and annoying MLB fans by snatching home runs meant for kids. But now, he’d decided to step into politics with a single-issue campaign: “Baseballs Over Plushies.”
At his first rally, Hample stood on a stage surrounded by autographed baseballs in glass cases.
“America doesn’t need plushies,” he declared. “We need discipline, tradition, and a focus on REAL collectibles! Vote for me, and I’ll make sure no plushie lunatic ever sets foot in Congress.”
The crowd cheered. Someone threw him a baseball, which he caught effortlessly.
It didn’t take long for Hample to start targeting John directly. During a live debate, he didn’t hold back.
“Mr. Price, how can the American people trust a man who once went to prison for stealing plushies?”
John, sweating profusely, adjusted his plushie-patterned tie. “That’s ancient history, Zack. What matters is the future—a future where every child has a plushie to hug!”
Hample smirked. “Children don’t need plushies. They need baseballs! Baseball teaches teamwork, strategy, and perseverance. What do plushies teach? Nap time?”
Brenda, watching from the audience, stood up and shouted, “Plushies teach comfort and love! It’s a real banger of a lesson!”
The crowd erupted in laughter and applause.
The rivalry quickly turned into an all-out feud. Hample began hosting baseball-themed events directly across from John’s plushie rallies, drawing away attendees with free batting cages and autographed memorabilia.
John fought back by sending plushie mascots to disrupt Hample’s events. A giant stuffed penguin named Percy the Plushie stormed one of Hample’s rallies, handing out “Fluff for the Future” buttons and singing the Plushie Party anthem.
Hample retaliated by hiring a plane to fly a banner over John’s largest rally. The banner read: “Plushies are for quitters—Vote Baseball!”
The tension reached its peak during a televised town hall. The moderator struggled to maintain order as John and Hample exchanged insults.
“Your campaign is a joke, Zack,” John snapped. “Plushies bring comfort to millions. What have baseballs ever done?!”
Hample shot back, “Baseballs built this country, John! Babe Ruth didn’t hit a home run with a stuffed panda!”
The audience gasped. Brenda stormed the stage with a plate of lasagna.
“You leave my son alone!” she shouted. “This lasagna’s a banger, and so is he!” She threw the plate at Hample, missing him but hitting the moderator, who looked both shocked and strangely impressed by the lasagna’s aroma.
The town hall debacle made national headlines. News outlets dubbed it “The Battle of Fluff and Leather.”Social media was flooded with memes of Brenda’s lasagna flying through the air.
Despite the chaos, John’s campaign didn’t falter. In fact, it gained even more supporters who admired his passion and Brenda’s unwavering loyalty.
Hample, however, doubled down. He released a campaign ad featuring slow-motion footage of baseballs hitting plushies, set to dramatic music. The ad ended with Hample saying, “When it comes to America’s future, only one side can win. Baseball beats plushies every time.”
With the election only weeks away, the battle between John and Hample raged on. Would plushies prevail, or would baseball take the win? One thing was certain: Brenda wasn’t done throwing lasagna, and John wasn’t done embarrassing himself.
The Plushie Party campaign was in full swing. John’s rallies drew larger and larger crowds, mostly curious onlookers, die-hard plushie collectors, and those who came for Brenda’s lasagna buffet. His slogan, “Fluff for the Future!”, adorned every sign, T-shirt, and plushie-themed bumper sticker.
But just as John began to gain traction, an unlikely adversary emerged: Zack Hample, the infamous baseball collector.
Hample had been building his reputation as a baseball-obsessed eccentric for years, hoarding thousands of game-used balls and annoying MLB fans by snatching home runs meant for kids. But now, he’d decided to step into politics with a single-issue campaign: “Baseballs Over Plushies.”
At his first rally, Hample stood on a stage surrounded by autographed baseballs in glass cases.
“America doesn’t need plushies,” he declared. “We need discipline, tradition, and a focus on REAL collectibles! Vote for me, and I’ll make sure no plushie lunatic ever sets foot in Congress.”
The crowd cheered. Someone threw him a baseball, which he caught effortlessly.
It didn’t take long for Hample to start targeting John directly. During a live debate, he didn’t hold back.
“Mr. Price, how can the American people trust a man who once went to prison for stealing plushies?”
John, sweating profusely, adjusted his plushie-patterned tie. “That’s ancient history, Zack. What matters is the future—a future where every child has a plushie to hug!”
Hample smirked. “Children don’t need plushies. They need baseballs! Baseball teaches teamwork, strategy, and perseverance. What do plushies teach? Nap time?”
Brenda, watching from the audience, stood up and shouted, “Plushies teach comfort and love! It’s a real banger of a lesson!”
The crowd erupted in laughter and applause.
The rivalry quickly turned into an all-out feud. Hample began hosting baseball-themed events directly across from John’s plushie rallies, drawing away attendees with free batting cages and autographed memorabilia.
John fought back by sending plushie mascots to disrupt Hample’s events. A giant stuffed penguin named Percy the Plushie stormed one of Hample’s rallies, handing out “Fluff for the Future” buttons and singing the Plushie Party anthem.
Hample retaliated by hiring a plane to fly a banner over John’s largest rally. The banner read: “Plushies are for quitters—Vote Baseball!”
The tension reached its peak during a televised town hall. The moderator struggled to maintain order as John and Hample exchanged insults.
“Your campaign is a joke, Zack,” John snapped. “Plushies bring comfort to millions. What have baseballs ever done?!”
Hample shot back, “Baseballs built this country, John! Babe Ruth didn’t hit a home run with a stuffed panda!”
The audience gasped. Brenda stormed the stage with a plate of lasagna.
“You leave my son alone!” she shouted. “This lasagna’s a banger, and so is he!” She threw the plate at Hample, missing him but hitting the moderator, who looked both shocked and strangely impressed by the lasagna’s aroma.
The town hall debacle made national headlines. News outlets dubbed it “The Battle of Fluff and Leather.”Social media was flooded with memes of Brenda’s lasagna flying through the air.
Despite the chaos, John’s campaign didn’t falter. In fact, it gained even more supporters who admired his passion and Brenda’s unwavering loyalty.
Hample, however, doubled down. He released a campaign ad featuring slow-motion footage of baseballs hitting plushies, set to dramatic music. The ad ended with Hample saying, “When it comes to America’s future, only one side can win. Baseball beats plushies every time.”
With the election only weeks away, the battle between John and Hample raged on. Would plushies prevail, or would baseball take the win? One thing was certain: Brenda wasn’t done throwing lasagna, and John wasn’t done embarrassing himself.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2008
- Messages
- 388,038
- Likes
- 31,780
The Anonymous Steelers Fan’s Rant
It was a cold January evening in Pittsburgh, and the city was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that only came after a crushing playoff loss. Inside a dimly lit basement decked out in black and gold, an anonymous Steelers fan took to his keyboard, the glow of his laptop reflecting off Terrible Towels draped over the walls. The title of his post was already typed out:
“Mike Tomlin’s Sixth Straight Playoff Loss: Enough Is Enough!”
He cracked his knuckles and began to type furiously.
“Let me preface this by saying I’ve been a Steelers fan my entire life. I bleed black and gold. I was there for the highs of the Cowher years and the early glory days of Mike Tomlin. But after tonight, I can’t hold it in any longer. Six. Straight. Playoff. Losses. Are you kidding me?!”
He slammed the table for emphasis, rattling a bobblehead of Franco Harris.
“I’ve heard all the excuses. Injuries, bad matchups, whatever. But how many times are we going to trot out the same tired clichés about being ‘resilient’ and ‘the standard being the standard’? NEWSFLASH: The standard isn’t standard anymore, Mike! It’s mediocrity! This team hasn’t won a playoff game since 2016. That’s nearly a decade of heartbreak, and I, for one, am fed up.”
The fan paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. His fingers hovered over the keys as he remembered the game earlier that day.
“Tonight was the final straw. The offense was lifeless. Kenny Pickett, our so-called quarterback of the future, looked like a deer in headlights. Where was the creativity on offense? Where was the aggression? I’ll tell you where it was—buried under Mike Tomlin’s ‘play not to lose’ mentality. This is the same guy who punts on 4th and 1 in enemy territory during the playoffs. The same guy who burns timeouts like they grow on trees. The same guy who claps on the sideline as we’re down by three scores. I’m tired of the act.”
He stood up and started pacing the room, his frustration mounting. The memories of past playoff disappointments flashed before his eyes—the Jaguars debacle in 2017, the embarrassing loss to the Browns in 2020, and now this latest chapter in the book of postseason misery.
“And don’t get me started on the defense!” he wrote, slamming back into his chair. “We pay T.J. Watt a king’s ransom, and for what? To watch opposing quarterbacks carve us up like a Thanksgiving turkey? The secondary looked like they’d never seen a crossing route before. Where’s the accountability, Mike? Where’s the fire? This is Pittsburgh! Defense is supposed to be our identity!”
He paused again, hands shaking as he stared at the screen. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked, breaking the eerie silence of the neighborhood.
“I know what some of you are going to say. ‘But Tomlin’s never had a losing season!’ Who cares? What good is a winning record if it doesn’t translate to playoff success? This isn’t Cleveland or Detroit. We don’t hang banners for mediocrity in Pittsburgh. We’re supposed to be chasing Super Bowls, not patting ourselves on the back for scraping into the Wild Card round every year.”
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, he considered deleting the entire post. But then he thought about all the other fans out there, just like him, sitting in their own basements or living rooms, staring at their televisions in disbelief. They deserved to have their voices heard, even if his was the loudest.
“So here it is,” he typed, his words like daggers on the screen. “Mike Tomlin has to go. I don’t care about his past success. I don’t care about his reputation. This team needs new blood, new ideas, and a coach who doesn’t treat the postseason like an afterthought. The Rooney family needs to wake up and realize that the window is closing, and if they don’t act fast, they’re going to waste the prime years of this roster. Enough is enough.”
He hit “Post” and leaned back, letting out a deep sigh. For a moment, he felt a small sense of relief. The rant was out there now, floating in the digital ether, ready to be dissected, debated, and maybe even appreciated by fellow disgruntled fans.
But as he turned off his laptop and stared at the framed photo of the Steelers’ last Super Bowl victory in 2009, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, next year would be different. But deep down, he knew better.
“Same old Steelers,” he muttered under his breath as he flipped of
f the light and trudged upstairs.
It was a cold January evening in Pittsburgh, and the city was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence that only came after a crushing playoff loss. Inside a dimly lit basement decked out in black and gold, an anonymous Steelers fan took to his keyboard, the glow of his laptop reflecting off Terrible Towels draped over the walls. The title of his post was already typed out:
“Mike Tomlin’s Sixth Straight Playoff Loss: Enough Is Enough!”
He cracked his knuckles and began to type furiously.
“Let me preface this by saying I’ve been a Steelers fan my entire life. I bleed black and gold. I was there for the highs of the Cowher years and the early glory days of Mike Tomlin. But after tonight, I can’t hold it in any longer. Six. Straight. Playoff. Losses. Are you kidding me?!”
He slammed the table for emphasis, rattling a bobblehead of Franco Harris.
“I’ve heard all the excuses. Injuries, bad matchups, whatever. But how many times are we going to trot out the same tired clichés about being ‘resilient’ and ‘the standard being the standard’? NEWSFLASH: The standard isn’t standard anymore, Mike! It’s mediocrity! This team hasn’t won a playoff game since 2016. That’s nearly a decade of heartbreak, and I, for one, am fed up.”
The fan paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. His fingers hovered over the keys as he remembered the game earlier that day.
“Tonight was the final straw. The offense was lifeless. Kenny Pickett, our so-called quarterback of the future, looked like a deer in headlights. Where was the creativity on offense? Where was the aggression? I’ll tell you where it was—buried under Mike Tomlin’s ‘play not to lose’ mentality. This is the same guy who punts on 4th and 1 in enemy territory during the playoffs. The same guy who burns timeouts like they grow on trees. The same guy who claps on the sideline as we’re down by three scores. I’m tired of the act.”
He stood up and started pacing the room, his frustration mounting. The memories of past playoff disappointments flashed before his eyes—the Jaguars debacle in 2017, the embarrassing loss to the Browns in 2020, and now this latest chapter in the book of postseason misery.
“And don’t get me started on the defense!” he wrote, slamming back into his chair. “We pay T.J. Watt a king’s ransom, and for what? To watch opposing quarterbacks carve us up like a Thanksgiving turkey? The secondary looked like they’d never seen a crossing route before. Where’s the accountability, Mike? Where’s the fire? This is Pittsburgh! Defense is supposed to be our identity!”
He paused again, hands shaking as he stared at the screen. Somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s dog barked, breaking the eerie silence of the neighborhood.
“I know what some of you are going to say. ‘But Tomlin’s never had a losing season!’ Who cares? What good is a winning record if it doesn’t translate to playoff success? This isn’t Cleveland or Detroit. We don’t hang banners for mediocrity in Pittsburgh. We’re supposed to be chasing Super Bowls, not patting ourselves on the back for scraping into the Wild Card round every year.”
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, he considered deleting the entire post. But then he thought about all the other fans out there, just like him, sitting in their own basements or living rooms, staring at their televisions in disbelief. They deserved to have their voices heard, even if his was the loudest.
“So here it is,” he typed, his words like daggers on the screen. “Mike Tomlin has to go. I don’t care about his past success. I don’t care about his reputation. This team needs new blood, new ideas, and a coach who doesn’t treat the postseason like an afterthought. The Rooney family needs to wake up and realize that the window is closing, and if they don’t act fast, they’re going to waste the prime years of this roster. Enough is enough.”
He hit “Post” and leaned back, letting out a deep sigh. For a moment, he felt a small sense of relief. The rant was out there now, floating in the digital ether, ready to be dissected, debated, and maybe even appreciated by fellow disgruntled fans.
But as he turned off his laptop and stared at the framed photo of the Steelers’ last Super Bowl victory in 2009, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hope. Maybe, just maybe, next year would be different. But deep down, he knew better.
“Same old Steelers,” he muttered under his breath as he flipped of
f the light and trudged upstairs.
