Useless Thread MCMXCVIII: Marvel Rivals™ Awareness Thread
- Thread starter John Price
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John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,842
- 6,500
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,373
- 17,911
FtfyImagine getting “hungover” after 3 Millerades
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,373
- 17,911
The morning after his lackluster evening at the PlushieCon bar, John Price sat at a folding table in the convention hall, nursing a hangover and a bruised ego. Around him, other attendees were happily chatting, trading plushies, and posing for photos. Chauncey sat next to him on a miniature chair John had brought specifically for his favorite plushie. If Chauncey had an opinion about the previous night’s failures, he wasn’t sharing it.
John, however, was spiraling. “You know, Chauncey,” he muttered, rubbing his temples, “I don’t get it. I’m a nice guy. I’m passionate. I’ve got you, the coolest plushie in this entire building. What am I doing wrong?”
Chauncey, as usual, offered no response, but John imagined he saw a flicker of pity in the panda’s glassy eyes.
Determined not to let his confidence stay shattered, John decided to try a new tactic. He stood up, hoisting Chauncey under his arm, and marched over to a group gathered near a plushie raffle table. This time, he decided he wouldn’t talk about himself or Chauncey right away. He’d just be friendly, make some jokes, and ease into it.
“So,” he said to a young couple holding matching penguin plushies, “what’s the deal with penguins? I mean, don’t they get cold sitting on all that ice? Seems like they’d need a little scarf or something.”
The couple stared at him. “Uh…they’re birds,” the man said flatly. “They’re designed for cold weather.”
“Oh, right,” John said, laughing nervously. “Yeah, totally. Birds and…cold. Makes sense.”
The couple walked away before John could salvage the conversation.
“Okay,” John whispered to Chauncey, repositioning the plushie under his arm like a football. “New plan. We find someone with terrible plushies. They’ll be impressed when they see you, and boom—instant connection.”
He scanned the crowd until he spotted a guy holding what appeared to be a lumpy, off-brand dinosaur plush with uneven stitching. “Perfect,” John muttered, striding over.
“Hey, nice dino,” John said with a grin. “Kind of a quirky vibe, huh? Bet it’s got a fun story.”
The guy looked at him, then at Chauncey, and narrowed his eyes. “Are you negging my plushie?”
“What? No!” John said, backpedaling. “I just meant, uh…Chauncey here is kind of a connoisseur of plush design, and—”
“Yeah, okay, man,” the guy said, turning his back.
Dejected, John returned to his table, flopping into his chair and placing Chauncey back on his tiny throne. Around him, the convention hall buzzed with activity. People were laughing, trading plushies, and forming connections. But for John, it felt like the world had moved on without him.
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” he muttered, staring into the middle distance. “Maybe it’s time to pack it in. Find a new hobby. Model trains, maybe. Those guys probably get more respect.”
As if to punctuate his self-pity, a passing kid accidentally knocked Chauncey off his chair. The panda tumbled to the ground, landing unceremoniously on its face.
“Oh, come on!” John shouted, drawing a few curious glances. He picked Chauncey up, brushing imaginary dust off the plushie’s tuxedo. “Even you’re against me now?”
Chauncey, of course, remained silent, his tiny stitched mouth fixed in a neutral line.
John sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll stay until the cosplay contest is over, and then we’re out of here. You hear me? Out. Done. Over.”
But deep down, John knew he’d be back next year. After all, PlushieCon might not have given him the connection he wanted, but it was still the only place where a 400lb man and his tuxedo-wearing plush panda could even try to fit in.
John, however, was spiraling. “You know, Chauncey,” he muttered, rubbing his temples, “I don’t get it. I’m a nice guy. I’m passionate. I’ve got you, the coolest plushie in this entire building. What am I doing wrong?”
Chauncey, as usual, offered no response, but John imagined he saw a flicker of pity in the panda’s glassy eyes.
Determined not to let his confidence stay shattered, John decided to try a new tactic. He stood up, hoisting Chauncey under his arm, and marched over to a group gathered near a plushie raffle table. This time, he decided he wouldn’t talk about himself or Chauncey right away. He’d just be friendly, make some jokes, and ease into it.
“So,” he said to a young couple holding matching penguin plushies, “what’s the deal with penguins? I mean, don’t they get cold sitting on all that ice? Seems like they’d need a little scarf or something.”
The couple stared at him. “Uh…they’re birds,” the man said flatly. “They’re designed for cold weather.”
“Oh, right,” John said, laughing nervously. “Yeah, totally. Birds and…cold. Makes sense.”
The couple walked away before John could salvage the conversation.
“Okay,” John whispered to Chauncey, repositioning the plushie under his arm like a football. “New plan. We find someone with terrible plushies. They’ll be impressed when they see you, and boom—instant connection.”
He scanned the crowd until he spotted a guy holding what appeared to be a lumpy, off-brand dinosaur plush with uneven stitching. “Perfect,” John muttered, striding over.
“Hey, nice dino,” John said with a grin. “Kind of a quirky vibe, huh? Bet it’s got a fun story.”
The guy looked at him, then at Chauncey, and narrowed his eyes. “Are you negging my plushie?”
“What? No!” John said, backpedaling. “I just meant, uh…Chauncey here is kind of a connoisseur of plush design, and—”
“Yeah, okay, man,” the guy said, turning his back.
Dejected, John returned to his table, flopping into his chair and placing Chauncey back on his tiny throne. Around him, the convention hall buzzed with activity. People were laughing, trading plushies, and forming connections. But for John, it felt like the world had moved on without him.
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” he muttered, staring into the middle distance. “Maybe it’s time to pack it in. Find a new hobby. Model trains, maybe. Those guys probably get more respect.”
As if to punctuate his self-pity, a passing kid accidentally knocked Chauncey off his chair. The panda tumbled to the ground, landing unceremoniously on its face.
“Oh, come on!” John shouted, drawing a few curious glances. He picked Chauncey up, brushing imaginary dust off the plushie’s tuxedo. “Even you’re against me now?”
Chauncey, of course, remained silent, his tiny stitched mouth fixed in a neutral line.
John sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll stay until the cosplay contest is over, and then we’re out of here. You hear me? Out. Done. Over.”
But deep down, John knew he’d be back next year. After all, PlushieCon might not have given him the connection he wanted, but it was still the only place where a 400lb man and his tuxedo-wearing plush panda could even try to fit in.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 28,842
- 6,500
And they’re diluted!
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,373
- 17,911
The Thread King Meets the Prince of Cool
@John Price, self-proclaimed king of HFBoards’ “Useless Thread” and proud owner of 50,000 meticulously arranged plushies, sat in his dimly lit room, the glow of his dual monitors highlighting his triumphant smirk. The air was heavy with a mix of stale popcorn and the faint scent of his prized collectible plushies—each tagged, categorized, and placed according to a system only he understood. His magnum opus: 387,000 posts, each a testament to his boundless dedication to the art of online rambling.
As he prepared his latest hot take about which NHL logo had the best color scheme, his screen blinked. A new post in the “What If Movie Characters Were NHL Coaches?” thread. He clicked eagerly, and his heart skipped.
"FerrisBueller88: Let’s meet up, John. I hear you’ve got stories."
John leaned back, surprised. Ferris Bueller—the Ferris Bueller—wasn’t just a legend in 80s pop culture. On HFBoards, Ferris was infamous for his occasional cameos in threads, where he’d drop a single comment so sharp it could slice through the thickest arguments. Was this a joke?
“Sure, Ferris,” John typed, his fingers trembling slightly. “If you can keep up with my stories.”
A meet-up was set at a local café.
When Ferris arrived, it was as if the entire world had paused to appreciate him. Clad in a leather jacket and sporting a devil-may-care grin, he exuded effortless charm. Meanwhile, John sat at a corner table, nervously clutching a plush penguin—his emotional support plush for “high-stakes social engagements.”
“John Price,” Ferris said, sliding into the chair across from him. “The man, the myth, the keyboard warrior.”
John straightened. “That’s me. 387,000 posts and counting. I’m basically the Gretzky of HFBoards.”
Ferris raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. And the plushies?”
“50,000,” John replied, with a hint of pride. “I don’t just collect. I curate.”
Ferris smirked. “Ever considered curating… experiences? Like stepping outside, meeting people?”
John waved a dismissive hand. “Why would I? Online, I’m a legend. Out here? Just another guy. But enough about me. Let me tell you about the time I single-handedly derailed a thread on goalie stick lengths.”
As John launched into his tale, Ferris leaned back, nodding occasionally but clearly zoning out. After twenty minutes, Ferris interrupted.
“John,” he said, “you’re passionate, no doubt. But here’s the thing—life moves pretty fast. And you? You’re stuck on pause.”
John blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ferris leaned in, his tone soft but firm. “387,000 posts. 50,000 plushies. That’s… something, I guess. But when’s the last time you did something real? Something that mattered?”
“I matter online,” John retorted, his voice rising defensively. “People know me. They respect me.”
“Do they?” Ferris countered. “Or do they tolerate you? There’s a difference.”
John’s face reddened. “You don’t get it. This is my world. My legacy.”
Ferris stood up, tossing a few bills onto the table. “Legacy’s a funny thing, John. It’s not about how much you say, but what people remember. Think about it.”
And with that, Ferris was gone, leaving John alone with his plush penguin and a hollow feeling he couldn’t quite shake.
When John returned home, he sat in his plushie-lined sanctuary, staring at his screen. For the first time in years, he hesitated before posting. Was Ferris right? Was he just shouting into the void?
John shook his head and began typing furiously. “Met Ferris Bueller today. Guy’s overrated. Let me tell you why…”
But as he hit "Post," his internet connection cut out. In his panic, he knocked over a shelf of plushies, burying himself in a soft avalanche.
It took hours to dig himself out. By the time he did, the moment had passed, the thread moved on, and his post—his carefully crafted masterpiece—was forgotten.
John slumped in his chair, surrounded by silence. For the first time, he wondered if his 387,000 posts had really meant anything at all.
As he prepared his latest hot take about which NHL logo had the best color scheme, his screen blinked. A new post in the “What If Movie Characters Were NHL Coaches?” thread. He clicked eagerly, and his heart skipped.
"FerrisBueller88: Let’s meet up, John. I hear you’ve got stories."
John leaned back, surprised. Ferris Bueller—the Ferris Bueller—wasn’t just a legend in 80s pop culture. On HFBoards, Ferris was infamous for his occasional cameos in threads, where he’d drop a single comment so sharp it could slice through the thickest arguments. Was this a joke?
“Sure, Ferris,” John typed, his fingers trembling slightly. “If you can keep up with my stories.”
A meet-up was set at a local café.
When Ferris arrived, it was as if the entire world had paused to appreciate him. Clad in a leather jacket and sporting a devil-may-care grin, he exuded effortless charm. Meanwhile, John sat at a corner table, nervously clutching a plush penguin—his emotional support plush for “high-stakes social engagements.”
“John Price,” Ferris said, sliding into the chair across from him. “The man, the myth, the keyboard warrior.”
John straightened. “That’s me. 387,000 posts and counting. I’m basically the Gretzky of HFBoards.”
Ferris raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. And the plushies?”
“50,000,” John replied, with a hint of pride. “I don’t just collect. I curate.”
Ferris smirked. “Ever considered curating… experiences? Like stepping outside, meeting people?”
John waved a dismissive hand. “Why would I? Online, I’m a legend. Out here? Just another guy. But enough about me. Let me tell you about the time I single-handedly derailed a thread on goalie stick lengths.”
As John launched into his tale, Ferris leaned back, nodding occasionally but clearly zoning out. After twenty minutes, Ferris interrupted.
“John,” he said, “you’re passionate, no doubt. But here’s the thing—life moves pretty fast. And you? You’re stuck on pause.”
John blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ferris leaned in, his tone soft but firm. “387,000 posts. 50,000 plushies. That’s… something, I guess. But when’s the last time you did something real? Something that mattered?”
“I matter online,” John retorted, his voice rising defensively. “People know me. They respect me.”
“Do they?” Ferris countered. “Or do they tolerate you? There’s a difference.”
John’s face reddened. “You don’t get it. This is my world. My legacy.”
Ferris stood up, tossing a few bills onto the table. “Legacy’s a funny thing, John. It’s not about how much you say, but what people remember. Think about it.”
And with that, Ferris was gone, leaving John alone with his plush penguin and a hollow feeling he couldn’t quite shake.
When John returned home, he sat in his plushie-lined sanctuary, staring at his screen. For the first time in years, he hesitated before posting. Was Ferris right? Was he just shouting into the void?
John shook his head and began typing furiously. “Met Ferris Bueller today. Guy’s overrated. Let me tell you why…”
But as he hit "Post," his internet connection cut out. In his panic, he knocked over a shelf of plushies, burying himself in a soft avalanche.
It took hours to dig himself out. By the time he did, the moment had passed, the thread moved on, and his post—his carefully crafted masterpiece—was forgotten.
John slumped in his chair, surrounded by silence. For the first time, he wondered if his 387,000 posts had really meant anything at all.
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
Rodgers accepts Sunday could be final NFL game
Aaron Rodgers acknowledged Wednesday that the thought is on his mind that the Jets' season finale against the Dolphins at MetLife Stadium on Sunday could be his final NFL game.
Rodgers, brought in by the Jets in April 2023, called these "the best two years of my life." He certainly wasn't referring to what has transpired on the field. After missing nearly the entire 2023 season with a torn Achilles, Rodgers hasn't played up to expectations. He's ranked 25th out of 33 qualified passers in Total QBR, with 24 touchdown passes and 10 interceptions -- only the fourth time in his career that he has hit double-digit interceptions. The Jets, who began the season with Super Bowl aspirations, are 4-12.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
Sure TSA prime is going to help with that line.
Why not just spend the week there. NYE was on Tuesday. Spend Wednesday and Thursday there and avoid that.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
I thought the stodgy Tourney of Roses people would be above that nonsense.
I'm sure the good folks at Augusta National wouldn't cow tow to this malarkey. 
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,373
- 17,911
Good Morning @John Price.
What’s on today’s agenda? Humping plushies and nursing a seltzer hangover?
What’s on today’s agenda? Humping plushies and nursing a seltzer hangover?
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 387,584
- 31,573
Do you mean to tell me Steve Goldstein's favorite Tuanon is not a pro bowler this year?
shock.
Does he have a cheezy hack nickname for Tua too on preseason telecasts?
"AND TUANON TAKES IT INTO THE END ZONE! LET'S GO HOME BABEE!"
- Status
