Useless Thread MCMXCVII - 51 Year Old Spams His Plushies (Xmas Still Canceled)
- Thread starter Mantis
- Start date
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
Oogie Boogie
Registered User
- Apr 9, 2011
- 24,197
- 3,221
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
f***ing idiotic, 2027 and 2031 Women's World Cups on Netflix
Who honestly has Netflix?
Who honestly has Netflix?
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
Let's go ahead and put our major women's soccer event on a paywall where you have to pay 9 dollars a month for
Sub to Netflix for a month, watch the WWC only, and then unsubscribe because everyone knows there's nothing else good on netflix. And yes that includes Cobra Kai @MetalheadPenguinsFan which I haven't seen after Season 3.
Sub to Netflix for a month, watch the WWC only, and then unsubscribe because everyone knows there's nothing else good on netflix. And yes that includes Cobra Kai @MetalheadPenguinsFan which I haven't seen after Season 3.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,261
- 17,617
John Price and the Christmas Plushie Caper
In the sleepy town of Marlowe, where hockey fans fiercely debated trades no one else cared about, @John Price was somewhat of a legend—though not in the way he imagined. At 49, John was an infamous poster on HFBoards, known for derailing threads with his oddly specific rants about 1990s NHL salary arbitration cases. But what truly defined John wasn’t his hockey obsession; it was his 8,300-piece plushie collection.
Each plushie was cataloged with the precision of a librarian: year acquired, material type, and, for some reason, NHL player most likely to have owned something similar. His collection, proudly displayed in every corner of his home, was his life’s work.
But on Christmas Eve, disaster struck.
John had just finished a post arguing why the 1996 Avalanche trade for Claude Lemieux was overrated when he heard an odd creak from his attic. Grabbing his trusty flashlight and a foam hockey stick he once bought at a minor league game, he crept upstairs.
The sight that greeted him was like a punch to the gut: his attic window was wide open, snow blowing in, and a large section of his plushie collection was… gone.
“NOOOOO!” John shrieked, collapsing dramatically into a pile of beanbag chairs. His prized collection of Christmas-themed plushies—including his super-rare 1992 Santa Beanie Baby—had vanished.
Fueled by equal parts rage and heartbreak, John threw on his hockey-themed Christmas sweater, grabbed his notebook of “Local Suspects,” and headed into the snowy night to recover his stolen treasures.
Chapter 1: The Neighbors
John's first stop was his nosy neighbor, Gladys Peterson. Gladys had once told him his plushies were “creepy,” so she was an obvious suspect.
When John barged into her living room, flashlight in hand, Gladys was mid-way through a Hallmark movie marathon.
“Gladys, where are my plushies?” John demanded.
“Your what?” Gladys blinked.
“My plushies! My babies! Someone stole them, and I know you’ve always hated them!”
Gladys squinted at him. “John, I wouldn’t touch those dusty things if you paid me. Now, get out before I call the cops.”
With nothing but embarrassment to show for his efforts, John retreated.
Chapter 2: The Mall Heist Theory
Next, John made his way to the Brambleton Mall, convinced that someone might be trying to flip his rare plushies for profit.
He scoured the toy stores, scaring several cashiers by interrogating them about secondhand plushie sales. Eventually, he stumbled into a kiosk run by “Big Al,” a local entrepreneur known for his shady dealings.
“Al,” John said, narrowing his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about… stolen plushies, would you?”
Big Al leaned back in his chair. “Plushies? You mean like those stuffed animals you collect? Oh yeah, real criminal goldmine there.”
“They’re rare collectibles!” John snapped.
Big Al chuckled and gestured to a rack of knockoff stuffed animals. “Kid, if I was gonna steal something, it wouldn’t be that.”
Frustrated and humiliated, John stormed out, but not before accidentally buying a bootleg Pikachu out of guilt.
Chapter 3: The Festival Fiasco
Desperate, John remembered the annual Christmas Eve Festival at the town park. Surely, the thief might be there, selling his beloved plushies under the guise of holiday cheer.
Dressed in his snow boots and a faded Oilers toque, John arrived at the festival, scanning the stalls with laser focus. He spotted a suspicious booth labeled “Gifts for Everyone!” and saw a pile of stuffed animals in a corner.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!” John shouted, charging at the booth.
The vendor, a middle-aged woman dressed as Mrs. Claus, looked horrified as John started rifling through her inventory.
“These are mine!” John yelled, holding up a stuffed penguin.
“Sir, these are donations for the children’s hospital,” Mrs. Claus stammered.
John froze, suddenly aware of the growing crowd around him. He mumbled an apology and shuffled away, leaving a confused Mrs. Claus to continue her sales.
The Crushing Truth
After hours of fruitless searching, John returned home, defeated. He slumped into his worn recliner and stared at the empty shelves where his Christmas-themed plushies once sat.
That’s when he noticed something on the floor—a piece of paper where his plushie display used to be.
Heart pounding, John picked it up. The note was written in bold, jagged handwriting:
“YOUR PLUSHIES DESERVE BETTER. DON’T WORRY, THEY HAVEN’T GONE TO A GOOD HOME.”
John stared at the note, mouth agape. A million questions raced through his mind: Who would do this? Why would they mock him like this? What kind of monster wouldn’t even try to give them a good home?
He sat in stunned silence, gripping the note, as snow continued to fall outside. His collection was gone, his holiday ruined, and his plushies… well, they were out there somewhere, in the hands of someone who didn’t even appreciate them.
John sighed, opened his laptop, and logged back onto HFBoards. He started a new thread: “WORST CHRISTMAS EVER: WHO STEALS PLUSHIES?”
The thread was locked within minutes.
In the sleepy town of Marlowe, where hockey fans fiercely debated trades no one else cared about, @John Price was somewhat of a legend—though not in the way he imagined. At 49, John was an infamous poster on HFBoards, known for derailing threads with his oddly specific rants about 1990s NHL salary arbitration cases. But what truly defined John wasn’t his hockey obsession; it was his 8,300-piece plushie collection.
Each plushie was cataloged with the precision of a librarian: year acquired, material type, and, for some reason, NHL player most likely to have owned something similar. His collection, proudly displayed in every corner of his home, was his life’s work.
But on Christmas Eve, disaster struck.
John had just finished a post arguing why the 1996 Avalanche trade for Claude Lemieux was overrated when he heard an odd creak from his attic. Grabbing his trusty flashlight and a foam hockey stick he once bought at a minor league game, he crept upstairs.
The sight that greeted him was like a punch to the gut: his attic window was wide open, snow blowing in, and a large section of his plushie collection was… gone.
“NOOOOO!” John shrieked, collapsing dramatically into a pile of beanbag chairs. His prized collection of Christmas-themed plushies—including his super-rare 1992 Santa Beanie Baby—had vanished.
Fueled by equal parts rage and heartbreak, John threw on his hockey-themed Christmas sweater, grabbed his notebook of “Local Suspects,” and headed into the snowy night to recover his stolen treasures.
Chapter 1: The Neighbors
John's first stop was his nosy neighbor, Gladys Peterson. Gladys had once told him his plushies were “creepy,” so she was an obvious suspect.
When John barged into her living room, flashlight in hand, Gladys was mid-way through a Hallmark movie marathon.
“Gladys, where are my plushies?” John demanded.
“Your what?” Gladys blinked.
“My plushies! My babies! Someone stole them, and I know you’ve always hated them!”
Gladys squinted at him. “John, I wouldn’t touch those dusty things if you paid me. Now, get out before I call the cops.”
With nothing but embarrassment to show for his efforts, John retreated.
Chapter 2: The Mall Heist Theory
Next, John made his way to the Brambleton Mall, convinced that someone might be trying to flip his rare plushies for profit.
He scoured the toy stores, scaring several cashiers by interrogating them about secondhand plushie sales. Eventually, he stumbled into a kiosk run by “Big Al,” a local entrepreneur known for his shady dealings.
“Al,” John said, narrowing his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about… stolen plushies, would you?”
Big Al leaned back in his chair. “Plushies? You mean like those stuffed animals you collect? Oh yeah, real criminal goldmine there.”
“They’re rare collectibles!” John snapped.
Big Al chuckled and gestured to a rack of knockoff stuffed animals. “Kid, if I was gonna steal something, it wouldn’t be that.”
Frustrated and humiliated, John stormed out, but not before accidentally buying a bootleg Pikachu out of guilt.
Chapter 3: The Festival Fiasco
Desperate, John remembered the annual Christmas Eve Festival at the town park. Surely, the thief might be there, selling his beloved plushies under the guise of holiday cheer.
Dressed in his snow boots and a faded Oilers toque, John arrived at the festival, scanning the stalls with laser focus. He spotted a suspicious booth labeled “Gifts for Everyone!” and saw a pile of stuffed animals in a corner.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!” John shouted, charging at the booth.
The vendor, a middle-aged woman dressed as Mrs. Claus, looked horrified as John started rifling through her inventory.
“These are mine!” John yelled, holding up a stuffed penguin.
“Sir, these are donations for the children’s hospital,” Mrs. Claus stammered.
John froze, suddenly aware of the growing crowd around him. He mumbled an apology and shuffled away, leaving a confused Mrs. Claus to continue her sales.
The Crushing Truth
After hours of fruitless searching, John returned home, defeated. He slumped into his worn recliner and stared at the empty shelves where his Christmas-themed plushies once sat.
That’s when he noticed something on the floor—a piece of paper where his plushie display used to be.
Heart pounding, John picked it up. The note was written in bold, jagged handwriting:
“YOUR PLUSHIES DESERVE BETTER. DON’T WORRY, THEY HAVEN’T GONE TO A GOOD HOME.”
John stared at the note, mouth agape. A million questions raced through his mind: Who would do this? Why would they mock him like this? What kind of monster wouldn’t even try to give them a good home?
He sat in stunned silence, gripping the note, as snow continued to fall outside. His collection was gone, his holiday ruined, and his plushies… well, they were out there somewhere, in the hands of someone who didn’t even appreciate them.
John sighed, opened his laptop, and logged back onto HFBoards. He started a new thread: “WORST CHRISTMAS EVER: WHO STEALS PLUSHIES?”
The thread was locked within minutes.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,261
- 17,617
The real phrase is “Netflix and chill” but we know you’ve never been invited to do so.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
well at least we don't have to deal with your shit here if you discord all the time
whatever
you and your lame ass dad jokes. I'd rather take a no-effort ChatGPT copypasta story (I don't read it, by the way) over your crappy lame jokes. You aren't a comedian!
And before you judge @PanthersPens62 Ray left of his own volition. Nobody chased him away from here.
whatever
you and your lame ass dad jokes. I'd rather take a no-effort ChatGPT copypasta story (I don't read it, by the way) over your crappy lame jokes. You aren't a comedian!
And before you judge @PanthersPens62 Ray left of his own volition. Nobody chased him away from here.
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Are you serious? He really left here again?
Any idea if Ken Pickett survived that 5PM event in South Philly yesterday?
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,895
- 31,334
Going to go back to work now but since it's the day before Christmas I will be watching gambling videos all day
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,261
- 17,617
You just can’t handle the idea of something happening to your beloved plushies, even fictionally.
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