John Price and the Plushie Debacle
@John Price was not a man who typically frequented sports bars. At 5’2” and weighing in on the heavier side, with a thinning patch of black hair that betrayed his 41 years, his usual habitat was his one-bedroom apartment filled to the brim with plushies. From Beanie Babies to anime collectibles, he had it all. His fellow HFBoards Useless Thread posters often mocked him for his “real-life power plays,” which amounted to spirited online debates over sports stats and his infamous plushie obsession.
But on a rare Friday night, fueled by a mix of loneliness and a dare from the Useless Thread, John decided to venture into the Sports Bar & Grill. Armed with a jersey two sizes too small and a confidence he’d borrowed from half a Millerade, he found himself seated next to Katie, a vibrant brunette with an infectious laugh.
Somehow, despite John’s awkward attempts to sound suave, Katie found his nerdy charm endearing. They talked for hours—mostly John ranting about hockey trades and rare plushies—until Katie surprised him with an invitation back to her place.
John could barely contain his excitement. As they stepped into her cozy apartment, his jaw dropped. There, proudly displayed in a glass cabinet, was a plushie collection that rivaled his own. Rare Beanie Babies, oversized Pokémon, and even a pristine Care Bears lineup stared back at him like tiny, fabric-wrapped trophies.
“Holy... is that a first-edition Snorlax?” John gasped, rushing to the cabinet without so much as removing his shoes.
“Uh, yeah,” Katie said, crossing her arms. “My ex collected them, but I kept the good ones.”
John’s eyes glistened with admiration. “You’re sitting on a gold mine! Do you have any idea how much these are worth?”
Katie smiled nervously. “Not really. I just think they’re cute.”
But John wasn’t listening. He launched into an impassioned lecture about the rarity of plushies, how to preserve their value, and why UV-protective cases were essential. His tone grew louder and more obsessive with each passing minute, while Katie’s patience dwindled.
Finally, she interrupted. “Okay, John, I think you should leave.”
“What? But we were having such a good time!” he protested, clutching a Togepi plushie like a lifeline.
Katie yanked the plushie from his hands. “You’re more into my plushies than me. Get out.”
The walk home was a mix of humiliation and simmering resentment. “She doesn’t deserve those plushies,” John muttered. “They’re wasted on her.”
By the next evening, John had convinced himself that the plushies needed rescuing. Clad in his "stealthiest" outfit—black sweatpants and a hoodie—he grabbed a duffle bag and headed to Katie’s house under the cover of darkness.
Sliding into her backyard, he spotted the glass cabinet through the living room window. His heart raced as he jimmied the back door open with a credit card. But just as he stepped inside, a low growl stopped him in his tracks.
Katie’s Yorkshire Terrier, Mr. Snuffles, darted out from the shadows like a furry torpedo, sinking its tiny teeth into John’s ankle.
“Ahhh! Get off me, you demon dog!” John yelled, flailing wildly.
His screams woke Katie’s half-blind great-grandmother, who lived in an upstairs room. She grabbed her trusty umbrella and shuffled downstairs, her failing vision making John’s figure seem twice as menacing.
“Who’s there?!” she croaked, swinging the umbrella with surprising strength.
“Wait, I can explain!” John cried, but her next swing caught him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
Katie appeared moments later, holding her phone in one hand and a frying pan in the other. “John?! Are you serious?!”
“I was just—”
“You were just
stealing my plushies,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Grandma, call the cops!”
Great-Grandma, confused but compliant, dialed 911 while keeping John pinned with the business end of her umbrella.
The next morning, John found himself sitting in a holding cell at the local police station, nursing a sore ankle and a bruised ego. His one phone call went to the only people he thought might understand: the HFBoards Useless Thread.
“Guys, it’s me, John. I’m in jail. Long story short, I need bail money.”
The chat lit up instantly:
- HockeyBro69: “Wait, are you serious?”
- PlushieFanatic88: “What did you do this time?”
- GoalieGod42: “No way am I spending a dime to bail you out. Lmao.”
The thread devolved into mocking GIFs and jokes at John’s expense.
Defeated, John hung up and slumped against the cell wall. The cops chuckled as they read the incident report, which detailed his plushie obsession, the Yorkie bite, and his takedown by an elderly woman with an umbrella.
Weeks later, John was back in his HFBoards thread, trying to defend his actions.
“I wasn’t stealing them,” he wrote. “I was
rescuing them from someone who didn’t appreciate their value. If anything, I’m the hero here.”
The replies came fast and merciless:
- @MetalheadPenguinsFan : “Heroes don’t get taken down by Yorkies, dude.”
- @PanthersPens62 : “You’re lucky she didn’t use the frying pan.”
- @GIADF : “You’ll go down in HFBoards history... as the guy who got benched by a grandma.”
John sighed, staring at his own plushie collection, which suddenly felt a little less magical. But hey, there was always next weekend at the Sports Bar.