John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
Useless Thread MCMXCVII - 51 Year Old Spams His Plushies (Xmas Still Canceled)
- Thread starter Mantis
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PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
A last second win over a team that had Ken Pickett as QB for most of the game.......yeah a real accomplishment there. 
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 29,560
- 7,248
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
A last second win over a team that had Ken Pickett as QB for most of the game.......yeah a real accomplishment there.
no wonder Kirk moved from Columbus yall hound him endlessly
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 29,560
- 7,248
no wonder Kirk moved from Columbus yall hound him endlessly
He moved bc he couldn’t help himself when it came to infidelity. I’m literally a town over from where he used to live lmao.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
With good reason apparently. I suggest you visit the Ohio State Redditt thread and see what is being said. Even the discussion forum on The 506.com, including the manager of the forums implied many of the things EOL has stated in PM's. Kirk is no shrinking violet & very soon more people will grow tired of "The Kirk & Peter Show" too.
no wonder Kirk moved from Columbus yall hound him endlessly
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
you're so jealous
sorry you can't enjoy time with your dog
'Relentless' Buckeye fans force Herbstreit to move from Ohio
Like many, many kids born and raised in the state, Kirk Herbstreit grew up as a fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes, particularly the football program.
www.nbcsports.com
Must be assholes like that Buck I Nut guy.
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Please provide a list of sportscasters, newspeople, Tv personalities that have a dog by their sides constantly and while on the air. I'll wait.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
none but they aren't in Kirk's situation
why is it bad to have a dog by your side
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Keep bringing up a thirteen year old article after you've been told multiple times the REAL reason he left town.'Relentless' Buckeye fans force Herbstreit to move from Ohio
Like many, many kids born and raised in the state, Kirk Herbstreit grew up as a fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes, particularly the football program.
Must be assholes like that Buck I Nut guy.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
no proof of thatKeep bringing up a thirteen year old article after you've been told multiple times the REAL reason he left town.
ROFL what a lame ass
his whole rant is against the TSA because of the metal in his body
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Oh PLEASE. He has a kid with a heart condition. But not so bad that the kid can't partake in normal activities. If he still needs a dog because he feels guilty about being away, fine. There is still no need for "Peter" to be seen on the air and certainly no need for the nonsense we saw Saturday during the Corso Headgear Selection segment.
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 29,560
- 7,248
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
ESPN's College Football Playoff coverage makes for a miserable, negative experience
ESPN spent the first weekend of the College Football Playoff bashing underdogs, criticizing fans, and living in the negative.
awfulannouncing.com
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
John Price and the Plushie Operation
Captain John Price, a man of grit and precision, was accustomed to high-stakes missions in warzones, not toy stores. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of a bustling shop filled with brightly colored plushies. The fluorescent lights above seemed to mock him as a cheerful jingle played on repeat.
"Why am I here again?" Price muttered under his breath, adjusting his worn cap.
Soap's voice crackled in his earpiece, filled with barely contained amusement. "You lost the bet, mate. You’re getting plushies for the orphanage. Think of the kids."
Price sighed, gripping a shopping cart that squeaked with every move. The mission seemed simple enough: collect enough plush toys to bring smiles to the children at a local orphanage the squad had been helping during their downtime. Yet, the task was proving more daunting than any battlefield he’d faced.
He picked up a plush tiger, its big, round eyes staring up at him. "This one looks decent," he mumbled, tossing it into the cart.
"Grab the unicorns!" Soap chirped over the comms. "Kids love unicorns!"
Price groaned, spotting a shelf full of glittery, pastel unicorns. Picking one up, he turned it over, its tag proclaiming its name was Sparklehoof. Price couldn’t help but scoff. "What happened to good ol' teddy bears?"
He loaded a few unicorns into the cart, along with a suspiciously happy octopus and a penguin wearing a bowtie. As he moved down the aisle, a mother and her young child watched him with curious eyes. The child whispered loudly, "Mummy, is that man buying plushies for himself?"
Price froze, then offered a stiff nod before turning away quickly.
By the time he reached the checkout counter, the cart was overflowing with stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes—dragons, lions, foxes, even a plush sloth hanging off the edge. The cashier, a young woman with pink hair and a knowing smile, raised an eyebrow. "Big fan of plushies?"
Price adjusted his hat. "It’s for a good cause."
After paying, he loaded the plushies into a military truck waiting outside. Soap and Ghost were leaning against the vehicle, both grinning like Cheshire cats.
"Nice haul, Price!" Soap said, snatching a plush llama from the pile. "This one’s my favorite."
"Not a word," Price warned, narrowing his eyes.
They drove to the orphanage, where children swarmed the truck, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the plushies. Price handed out the toys, his gruff demeanor softening as he saw the joy on their faces. A little girl tugged on his sleeve, holding up a plush wolf.
"Thank you, mister," she said shyly.
Price crouched down, his voice gentle. "That one’s special. Take good care of it."
As they drove away later that evening, the truck noticeably lighter, Soap looked over at Price. "You’ve got a soft spot, Captain. Admit it."
Price smirked, lighting a cigar. "Maybe. But if you tell anyone, you’ll be buying the plushies next time."
And as the truck rumbled down the road, Price glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the orphanage fade into the distance, his heart just a little lighter than before.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
I used to think just lazily typing words into ChatGPT to push out inane stories was immature and childish.
Now I see the fun.
Now I see the fun.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
@PanthersPens62
The Legend of PanthersPens62
Hialeah was buzzing with its usual charm, the blend of vibrant Cuban culture and urban sprawl giving it an unmistakable energy. But deep within this bustling city, a quiet enigma had emerged: PanthersPens62.
No one knew much about PanthersPens62. Was it a person, a collective, or just a quirky online alias? All anyone could agree on was that the name had become synonymous with intrigue. Whether through cryptic posts in local forums, beautifully calligraphed notes left in coffee shops, or even whispers in the art scene, PanthersPens62 seemed to have a hand in everything creative and mysterious in Hialeah.
One day, at a local community event in Amelia Earhart Park, an unusual flyer appeared. It bore the signature "PP62" in bold, flowing script and a single question:
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
The curiosity was too much to resist. By 7 PM, a small crowd had gathered at the fountain, a mix of artists, writers, students, and curious locals. Among them was Daniela, a high school senior passionate about poetry, and Jorge, a retired journalist looking for inspiration.
As the clock struck 7, a figure emerged from the shadows. Dressed in a sleek black hoodie emblazoned with a small golden pen and a panther silhouette, the person stood tall but approachable. In one hand, they held a stack of blank notebooks; in the other, a box of pens in every imaginable color.
“I am PanthersPens62,” the figure began, their voice calm and inviting. “And this is about Hialeah—our Hialeah. A city of stories, of dreams, of struggle, and joy. Tonight, I want you to tell those stories, not just for yourselves but for the world to see.”
The group was hesitant at first, but as they picked up the pens and notebooks, something magical happened. Strangers began sharing their memories, weaving tales of family dinners at home, triumphs on high school football fields, and the nostalgic scent of pastelitos wafting from bakeries at dawn.
Daniela wrote a poem about her grandmother’s journey to Hialeah decades ago, her words flowing like the music her abuela used to hum. Jorge jotted down a gripping tale about an unsolved mystery at a now-forgotten cigar factory. Even the quieter attendees found themselves doodling sketches or jotting down verses inspired by the moment.
By the end of the evening, PanthersPens62 collected the notebooks, promising to compile the works into a digital archive for all to see. Before disappearing into the night, they left a final message:
“Hialeah is more than a city—it’s a story. Thank you for telling it.”
The project became a sensation, uniting the city in a way no one had anticipated. PanthersPens62’s identity remained a mystery, but their impact was undeniable. For Hialeah, they weren’t just a name; they were a symbol of creativity, community, and the power of stories.
And to this day, locals still keep an eye out for those iconic golden pens, ready to write the next chapter of Hialeah’s tale.
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
The Legend of PanthersPens62
Hialeah was buzzing with its usual charm, the blend of vibrant Cuban culture and urban sprawl giving it an unmistakable energy. But deep within this bustling city, a quiet enigma had emerged: PanthersPens62.
No one knew much about PanthersPens62. Was it a person, a collective, or just a quirky online alias? All anyone could agree on was that the name had become synonymous with intrigue. Whether through cryptic posts in local forums, beautifully calligraphed notes left in coffee shops, or even whispers in the art scene, PanthersPens62 seemed to have a hand in everything creative and mysterious in Hialeah.
One day, at a local community event in Amelia Earhart Park, an unusual flyer appeared. It bore the signature "PP62" in bold, flowing script and a single question:
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
The curiosity was too much to resist. By 7 PM, a small crowd had gathered at the fountain, a mix of artists, writers, students, and curious locals. Among them was Daniela, a high school senior passionate about poetry, and Jorge, a retired journalist looking for inspiration.
As the clock struck 7, a figure emerged from the shadows. Dressed in a sleek black hoodie emblazoned with a small golden pen and a panther silhouette, the person stood tall but approachable. In one hand, they held a stack of blank notebooks; in the other, a box of pens in every imaginable color.
“I am PanthersPens62,” the figure began, their voice calm and inviting. “And this is about Hialeah—our Hialeah. A city of stories, of dreams, of struggle, and joy. Tonight, I want you to tell those stories, not just for yourselves but for the world to see.”
The group was hesitant at first, but as they picked up the pens and notebooks, something magical happened. Strangers began sharing their memories, weaving tales of family dinners at home, triumphs on high school football fields, and the nostalgic scent of pastelitos wafting from bakeries at dawn.
Daniela wrote a poem about her grandmother’s journey to Hialeah decades ago, her words flowing like the music her abuela used to hum. Jorge jotted down a gripping tale about an unsolved mystery at a now-forgotten cigar factory. Even the quieter attendees found themselves doodling sketches or jotting down verses inspired by the moment.
By the end of the evening, PanthersPens62 collected the notebooks, promising to compile the works into a digital archive for all to see. Before disappearing into the night, they left a final message:
“Hialeah is more than a city—it’s a story. Thank you for telling it.”
The project became a sensation, uniting the city in a way no one had anticipated. PanthersPens62’s identity remained a mystery, but their impact was undeniable. For Hialeah, they weren’t just a name; they were a symbol of creativity, community, and the power of stories.
And to this day, locals still keep an eye out for those iconic golden pens, ready to write the next chapter of Hialeah’s tale.
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Only problem is I am not Cuban. Next time, use my true place of residence.......Pinecrest.@PanthersPens62
The Legend of PanthersPens62
Hialeah was buzzing with its usual charm, the blend of vibrant Cuban culture and urban sprawl giving it an unmistakable energy. But deep within this bustling city, a quiet enigma had emerged: PanthersPens62.
No one knew much about PanthersPens62. Was it a person, a collective, or just a quirky online alias? All anyone could agree on was that the name had become synonymous with intrigue. Whether through cryptic posts in local forums, beautifully calligraphed notes left in coffee shops, or even whispers in the art scene, PanthersPens62 seemed to have a hand in everything creative and mysterious in Hialeah.
One day, at a local community event in Amelia Earhart Park, an unusual flyer appeared. It bore the signature "PP62" in bold, flowing script and a single question:
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
The curiosity was too much to resist. By 7 PM, a small crowd had gathered at the fountain, a mix of artists, writers, students, and curious locals. Among them was Daniela, a high school senior passionate about poetry, and Jorge, a retired journalist looking for inspiration.
As the clock struck 7, a figure emerged from the shadows. Dressed in a sleek black hoodie emblazoned with a small golden pen and a panther silhouette, the person stood tall but approachable. In one hand, they held a stack of blank notebooks; in the other, a box of pens in every imaginable color.
“I am PanthersPens62,” the figure began, their voice calm and inviting. “And this is about Hialeah—our Hialeah. A city of stories, of dreams, of struggle, and joy. Tonight, I want you to tell those stories, not just for yourselves but for the world to see.”
The group was hesitant at first, but as they picked up the pens and notebooks, something magical happened. Strangers began sharing their memories, weaving tales of family dinners at home, triumphs on high school football fields, and the nostalgic scent of pastelitos wafting from bakeries at dawn.
Daniela wrote a poem about her grandmother’s journey to Hialeah decades ago, her words flowing like the music her abuela used to hum. Jorge jotted down a gripping tale about an unsolved mystery at a now-forgotten cigar factory. Even the quieter attendees found themselves doodling sketches or jotting down verses inspired by the moment.
By the end of the evening, PanthersPens62 collected the notebooks, promising to compile the works into a digital archive for all to see. Before disappearing into the night, they left a final message:
“Hialeah is more than a city—it’s a story. Thank you for telling it.”
The project became a sensation, uniting the city in a way no one had anticipated. PanthersPens62’s identity remained a mystery, but their impact was undeniable. For Hialeah, they weren’t just a name; they were a symbol of creativity, community, and the power of stories.
And to this day, locals still keep an eye out for those iconic golden pens, ready to write the next chapter of Hialeah’s tale.
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
"What does Hialeah mean to you? Meet at the fountain at 7 PM to share your answer."
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 389,427
- 32,294
On a quiet morning in Franklin, Tennessee, the Herbstreit household was anything but quiet. Kirk Herbstreit, the renowned college football analyst, stood in his backyard with a whistle around his neck and a playbook in hand. But he wasn’t strategizing for the College GameDay crew—this session was all about his dogs.
Tucker, a boisterous golden retriever with boundless energy, darted across the yard. Harley, a dignified Labrador with a calm demeanor, observed the chaos like a seasoned coach. And Bentley, the youngest of the pack, a spirited Border Collie mix, was busy circling Tucker, trying to anticipate his every move.
“All right, team,” Kirk called out, clapping his hands. “Today’s focus is discipline and execution. Tucker, no freelancing this time!”
Kirk loved his dogs like family. With his demanding travel schedule, his mornings with them were a treasured routine. And true to his analytical nature, he’d turned playtime into a mix of training drills and football-inspired games.
He blew the whistle, and the session began.
“Harley, fetch and hold!” he commanded, tossing a football-shaped chew toy. Harley trotted over with precision, picked it up, and returned, her eyes shining with pride.
“Tucker, down and stay!” Kirk yelled as he pointed to a spot on the grass. But Tucker, ever the wildcard, barked and took off, leaping onto the trampoline in the corner of the yard.
“Freelancer!” Kirk laughed, shaking his head.
Bentley, meanwhile, had mastered the art of interception. As Kirk tossed a frisbee for Tucker, Bentley sprang into action, snagging it midair and sprinting in circles around the yard.
“Bentley, you’d make a great cornerback,” Kirk joked. “But we need teamwork here!”
As the sun climbed higher, Kirk called for a water break. Sitting on the patio, he watched his dogs panting and sprawled out in the grass, their tails wagging. The chaos of their “practice” reminded him of why he cherished these moments.
In the world of college football, Kirk was surrounded by stories of determination, loyalty, and heart. But in his backyard, he lived those values every day with his dogs. They reminded him to be present, to find joy in the simple things, and to celebrate victories big and small—like Bentley finally dropping the frisbee at his feet.
Before heading inside, Kirk pulled out his phone to snap a picture of the trio. He posted it on Twitter with the caption:
“GameDay squad. No analysts here, just pure heart.
#DogsOfGameDay”
The post went viral, with fans commenting on how Kirk’s love for his dogs mirrored his love for the game—both filled with passion, playfulness, and a deep sense of connection.
And though the GameDay crew might not have four paws and wagging tails, Kirk knew that no team would ever compare to the one waiting for him at home.
Tucker, a boisterous golden retriever with boundless energy, darted across the yard. Harley, a dignified Labrador with a calm demeanor, observed the chaos like a seasoned coach. And Bentley, the youngest of the pack, a spirited Border Collie mix, was busy circling Tucker, trying to anticipate his every move.
“All right, team,” Kirk called out, clapping his hands. “Today’s focus is discipline and execution. Tucker, no freelancing this time!”
Kirk loved his dogs like family. With his demanding travel schedule, his mornings with them were a treasured routine. And true to his analytical nature, he’d turned playtime into a mix of training drills and football-inspired games.
He blew the whistle, and the session began.
“Harley, fetch and hold!” he commanded, tossing a football-shaped chew toy. Harley trotted over with precision, picked it up, and returned, her eyes shining with pride.
“Tucker, down and stay!” Kirk yelled as he pointed to a spot on the grass. But Tucker, ever the wildcard, barked and took off, leaping onto the trampoline in the corner of the yard.
“Freelancer!” Kirk laughed, shaking his head.
Bentley, meanwhile, had mastered the art of interception. As Kirk tossed a frisbee for Tucker, Bentley sprang into action, snagging it midair and sprinting in circles around the yard.
“Bentley, you’d make a great cornerback,” Kirk joked. “But we need teamwork here!”
As the sun climbed higher, Kirk called for a water break. Sitting on the patio, he watched his dogs panting and sprawled out in the grass, their tails wagging. The chaos of their “practice” reminded him of why he cherished these moments.
In the world of college football, Kirk was surrounded by stories of determination, loyalty, and heart. But in his backyard, he lived those values every day with his dogs. They reminded him to be present, to find joy in the simple things, and to celebrate victories big and small—like Bentley finally dropping the frisbee at his feet.
Before heading inside, Kirk pulled out his phone to snap a picture of the trio. He posted it on Twitter with the caption:
“GameDay squad. No analysts here, just pure heart.
#DogsOfGameDay”The post went viral, with fans commenting on how Kirk’s love for his dogs mirrored his love for the game—both filled with passion, playfulness, and a deep sense of connection.
And though the GameDay crew might not have four paws and wagging tails, Kirk knew that no team would ever compare to the one waiting for him at home.
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