KingsHockey24
Registered User
- Aug 1, 2013
- 14,597
- 13,450
Only true freaks like myself bicycle through the forest at 7am while it's pouring rain.
Useless Thread MCMXCVII - 51 Year Old Spams His Plushies (Xmas Still Canceled)
- Thread starter Mantis
- Start date
GIADF
Not A Mod
- Aug 17, 2024
- 2,228
- 2,588
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
LOL YOU'RE WATCHINGGood grief Steve is such a low-life.And why is that Sir impersonator with the awful wig with him?
i'm so proud
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
I watched it for 3 minutes and turned it off.......it was a case of morbid curiosity.....nothing more.LOL YOU'RE WATCHING
i'm so proud
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
I know you are watching him hand out money to people right now online
Keep complaining
Keep complaining
how would you even discover his streamI watched it for 3 minutes and turned it off.......it was a case of morbid curiosity.....nothing more.
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,591
- 6,244
He’d throw up without his Gatorade mixer
KingsHockey24
Registered User
- Aug 1, 2013
- 14,597
- 13,450
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Google is my friend.I know you are watching him hand out money to people right now online
Keep complaining
how would you even discover his stream
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
Yes, there have been documented cases of people being asked to stop playing blackjack by casino managers, most notably professional card counters who are considered to be using an advantage playing technique that significantly impacts the casino's profits; a famous example is actor Ben Affleck, who was banned from playing blackjack at a Las Vegas casino due to his skill at the game.
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,591
- 6,244
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 386,894
- 31,334
KingsHockey24
Registered User
- Aug 1, 2013
- 14,597
- 13,450
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,591
- 6,244
Merry Christmas to:
@KingsHockey24
@MetalheadPenguinsFan
@GIADF
@Sega Dreamcast
@SoupNazi
@Mantis
@Mrfenn92
Happy Chanukah to:
@PanthersPens62
Happy Kwanza to:
@John Price
@KingsHockey24
@MetalheadPenguinsFan
@GIADF
@Sega Dreamcast
@SoupNazi
@Mantis
@Mrfenn92
Happy Chanukah to:
@PanthersPens62
Happy Kwanza to:
@John Price
Last edited:
KingsHockey24
Registered User
- Aug 1, 2013
- 14,597
- 13,450
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,264
- 17,622
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,264
- 17,622
John Price and the Christmas Catastrophe
@John Price was a man of peculiar habits. At 40 years old, he had never married, never dated, and rarely ventured beyond the comfort of his basement. His world revolved around his impressive collection of plushies, an assortment of rare, discontinued, and meticulously preserved stuffed animals that filled every nook and cranny of his home. When he wasn’t arranging his plushies by color, theme, or perceived personality, he spent hours on the HFBoards, where he was a regular contributor to the infamous "Useless Thread."
It was Christmas Eve, and John was in a state of heightened paranoia. Over the past week, he had convinced himself that burglars—possibly organized plushie thieves—were after his collection. He had read stories of rare collectibles being stolen, and the thought of losing his prized "Golden Penguin," a limited-edition plush from 1995, was too much to bear. So, with a crowbar by his side and his favorite plushie, Sir Snuggleton, tucked under his arm for comfort, John kept watch in the dim light of his basement.
As midnight approached, John heard a noise—a muffled thump coming from the living room above. His heart raced. “It’s happening,” he muttered, gripping the crowbar tightly. “Not on my watch.”
Creeping up the stairs, John peeked around the corner. What he saw defied all logic: a large man in a red suit, with a sack slung over his shoulder, stepping out of the fireplace. The figure’s beard was white as snow, and his belly jiggled like a bowl of jelly as he dusted off the soot.
John’s eyes widened. “He’s here to steal my plushies,” he thought, leaping to the worst conclusion. Without a second thought, he charged.
“Back off, you thief!” John roared, swinging the crowbar.
Santa barely had time to turn before the crowbar struck him on the arm. “Ow! Ho—what the—ho ho hold on!” Santa bellowed, stumbling backward and dropping his sack.
But John wasn’t listening. Fueled by fear and adrenaline, he landed another blow, sending Santa crashing onto the couch, his hat askew.
“I won’t let you take Sir Snuggleton!” John shouted, raising the crowbar for a final strike.
“Wait!” Santa cried, raising his hands defensively. “I’m Santa Claus! I’m not here to take anything—I’m here to give!”
John hesitated. “Santa Claus? Nice try. You’re probably some con artist in a costume!”
Santa groaned, rubbing his bruised arm. “I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled. With a snap of his fingers, the room filled with a warm, golden light. The sack opened, and out floated a brand-new plushie—a glittering unicorn with shimmering wings.
John gasped, dropping the crowbar. “The Limited Edition Celestial Unicorn,” he whispered. “I’ve been searching for this one for years…”
Santa sighed. “Yes, John. I know. I was delivering it to you. But now, thanks to your… enthusiasm, I can’t finish my rounds. My arm’s too hurt to steer the sleigh, and Christmas might be ruined.”
Realization dawned on John. He had assaulted Santa Claus. Worse, he had jeopardized Christmas itself. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Can I help?”
Santa eyed him skeptically. “Can you fly a sleigh?”
John puffed out his chest. “I’ve played every flight simulator out there. How hard can it be?”
Fifteen minutes later, John found himself atop Santa’s sleigh, the reins in his hands. The reindeer looked unimpressed. Santa sat beside him, clutching his injured arm and barking instructions.
“Pull up! Pull up!” Santa yelled as the sleigh nosedived toward a row of chimneys.
“I’m trying!” John shouted, yanking the reins.
The sleigh swerved wildly, knocking over a streetlamp and sending wrapped presents tumbling into the snow below. From house to house, John’s erratic flying left a trail of chaos: shattered ornaments, crushed lawn decorations, and at least one traumatized golden retriever.
By the time they returned to John’s house, the sun was rising, and Santa’s sack was still half full.
“Well, that was a disaster,” Santa said, climbing down gingerly.
“I’m sorry,” John mumbled. “I just wanted to help.”
Santa sighed, his expression softening. “I suppose your heart was in the right place, even if your flying wasn’t.” He paused. “Tell you what—if you promise to share your plushie collection with others, I’ll consider this water under the bridge.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Share? My plushies?”
Santa gave him a stern look. “Christmas is about giving, John. Maybe it’s time you tried it.”
After a long pause, John nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it. For Christmas.”
With a smile, Santa snapped his fingers, and the sleigh rose into the sky. “Merry Christmas, John. And remember—next time, just leave out cookies.”
As the sleigh disappeared into the dawn, John looked at Sir Snuggleton and then at the Celestial Unicorn. Maybe Santa was right. Maybe it was time to let someone else find joy in his collection.
The next day, John posted on the HFBoards’ Useless Thread: “Anyone need a plushie? I’ve got extras. Merry Christmas.”
@John Price was a man of peculiar habits. At 40 years old, he had never married, never dated, and rarely ventured beyond the comfort of his basement. His world revolved around his impressive collection of plushies, an assortment of rare, discontinued, and meticulously preserved stuffed animals that filled every nook and cranny of his home. When he wasn’t arranging his plushies by color, theme, or perceived personality, he spent hours on the HFBoards, where he was a regular contributor to the infamous "Useless Thread."
It was Christmas Eve, and John was in a state of heightened paranoia. Over the past week, he had convinced himself that burglars—possibly organized plushie thieves—were after his collection. He had read stories of rare collectibles being stolen, and the thought of losing his prized "Golden Penguin," a limited-edition plush from 1995, was too much to bear. So, with a crowbar by his side and his favorite plushie, Sir Snuggleton, tucked under his arm for comfort, John kept watch in the dim light of his basement.
As midnight approached, John heard a noise—a muffled thump coming from the living room above. His heart raced. “It’s happening,” he muttered, gripping the crowbar tightly. “Not on my watch.”
Creeping up the stairs, John peeked around the corner. What he saw defied all logic: a large man in a red suit, with a sack slung over his shoulder, stepping out of the fireplace. The figure’s beard was white as snow, and his belly jiggled like a bowl of jelly as he dusted off the soot.
John’s eyes widened. “He’s here to steal my plushies,” he thought, leaping to the worst conclusion. Without a second thought, he charged.
“Back off, you thief!” John roared, swinging the crowbar.
Santa barely had time to turn before the crowbar struck him on the arm. “Ow! Ho—what the—ho ho hold on!” Santa bellowed, stumbling backward and dropping his sack.
But John wasn’t listening. Fueled by fear and adrenaline, he landed another blow, sending Santa crashing onto the couch, his hat askew.
“I won’t let you take Sir Snuggleton!” John shouted, raising the crowbar for a final strike.
“Wait!” Santa cried, raising his hands defensively. “I’m Santa Claus! I’m not here to take anything—I’m here to give!”
John hesitated. “Santa Claus? Nice try. You’re probably some con artist in a costume!”
Santa groaned, rubbing his bruised arm. “I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled. With a snap of his fingers, the room filled with a warm, golden light. The sack opened, and out floated a brand-new plushie—a glittering unicorn with shimmering wings.
John gasped, dropping the crowbar. “The Limited Edition Celestial Unicorn,” he whispered. “I’ve been searching for this one for years…”
Santa sighed. “Yes, John. I know. I was delivering it to you. But now, thanks to your… enthusiasm, I can’t finish my rounds. My arm’s too hurt to steer the sleigh, and Christmas might be ruined.”
Realization dawned on John. He had assaulted Santa Claus. Worse, he had jeopardized Christmas itself. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Can I help?”
Santa eyed him skeptically. “Can you fly a sleigh?”
John puffed out his chest. “I’ve played every flight simulator out there. How hard can it be?”
Fifteen minutes later, John found himself atop Santa’s sleigh, the reins in his hands. The reindeer looked unimpressed. Santa sat beside him, clutching his injured arm and barking instructions.
“Pull up! Pull up!” Santa yelled as the sleigh nosedived toward a row of chimneys.
“I’m trying!” John shouted, yanking the reins.
The sleigh swerved wildly, knocking over a streetlamp and sending wrapped presents tumbling into the snow below. From house to house, John’s erratic flying left a trail of chaos: shattered ornaments, crushed lawn decorations, and at least one traumatized golden retriever.
By the time they returned to John’s house, the sun was rising, and Santa’s sack was still half full.
“Well, that was a disaster,” Santa said, climbing down gingerly.
“I’m sorry,” John mumbled. “I just wanted to help.”
Santa sighed, his expression softening. “I suppose your heart was in the right place, even if your flying wasn’t.” He paused. “Tell you what—if you promise to share your plushie collection with others, I’ll consider this water under the bridge.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Share? My plushies?”
Santa gave him a stern look. “Christmas is about giving, John. Maybe it’s time you tried it.”
After a long pause, John nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it. For Christmas.”
With a smile, Santa snapped his fingers, and the sleigh rose into the sky. “Merry Christmas, John. And remember—next time, just leave out cookies.”
As the sleigh disappeared into the dawn, John looked at Sir Snuggleton and then at the Celestial Unicorn. Maybe Santa was right. Maybe it was time to let someone else find joy in his collection.
The next day, John posted on the HFBoards’ Useless Thread: “Anyone need a plushie? I’ve got extras. Merry Christmas.”
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,264
- 17,622
All I Want for Christmas (John Price Version)
(Verse 1)
I don't want a lot for Christmas,
There is just one thing I need,
Forget the plushies on my shelves,
I need some real intimacy.
I don't care about Sir Snuggleton,
Or my Golden Penguin prize,
Santa, bring me someone special,
To finally open up my eyes.
(Chorus)
'Cause all I want for Christmas
Is to lose
My virginity too...
Oh Santa, won’t you make my wish come true?
(Verse 2)
I spend my nights on message boards,
Typing jokes no one will see,
But what I long for deep inside,
Is someone who will notice me.
My plushies stare with frozen smiles,
Their fluff can't fill the void I feel,
So, Santa, please deliver love,
This Christmas, make it real.
(Chorus)
'Cause all I want for Christmas
Is to lose
My virginity too...
Oh Santa, bring me someone new.
(Bridge)
Oh, I won’t ask for much this Christmas,
Just someone to call my own,
I’ve reorganized my plushies,
Now I’m ready, not alone.
Please don’t judge my collections,
They mean a lot but so do I,
I’ve got a big heart here to share,
I just need someone to try.
(Chorus)
Oh, all I want for Christmas
Is to lose
My virginity too...
Oh Santa, won’t you make my wish come true?
(Outro)
All the plushies can stay on the shelf,
I need a love to find myself,
Santa, hear my plea tonight,
Bring me someone to hold me tight.
All I want for Christmas... is you... (and not a plushie!)
(Verse 1)
I don't want a lot for Christmas,
There is just one thing I need,
Forget the plushies on my shelves,
I need some real intimacy.
I don't care about Sir Snuggleton,
Or my Golden Penguin prize,
Santa, bring me someone special,
To finally open up my eyes.
(Chorus)
'Cause all I want for Christmas
Is to lose
My virginity too...
Oh Santa, won’t you make my wish come true?
(Verse 2)
I spend my nights on message boards,
Typing jokes no one will see,
But what I long for deep inside,
Is someone who will notice me.
My plushies stare with frozen smiles,
Their fluff can't fill the void I feel,
So, Santa, please deliver love,
This Christmas, make it real.
(Chorus)
'Cause all I want for Christmas
Is to lose
My virginity too...
Oh Santa, bring me someone new.
(Bridge)
Oh, I won’t ask for much this Christmas,
Just someone to call my own,
I’ve reorganized my plushies,
Now I’m ready, not alone.
Please don’t judge my collections,
They mean a lot but so do I,
I’ve got a big heart here to share,
I just need someone to try.
(Chorus)
Oh, all I want for Christmas
Is to lose
My virginity too...
Oh Santa, won’t you make my wish come true?
(Outro)
All the plushies can stay on the shelf,
I need a love to find myself,
Santa, hear my plea tonight,
Bring me someone to hold me tight.
All I want for Christmas... is you... (and not a plushie!)
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