Useless Thread MCMXCVIII: Marvel Rivals™ Awareness Thread

Will John Price try to date the Mega Millions winner to get plushie money?

  • No, he ain’t no gold digger

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John Price

pro gambler/drinker
Sep 19, 2008
387,616
31,582
too quiet in here. time to provoke @PanthersPens62 .

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  • Wow
Reactions: PanthersPens62

SoupNazi

Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
Feb 6, 2010
27,374
17,919
John Price’s Tropical Nightmare: A Tale of Plushies and Peril

@John Price was known across HFBoards as the king of useless threads. Whether he was speculating on trade rumors or starting polls about which flavor of ice cream best represents different hockey teams, he had built a reputation as someone who cared little for coherent discussions. But outside the forum, John had another, far more eccentric hobby: collecting plushies.

His collection was legendary—hundreds of them, from cuddly teddy bears to rare Pokémon plushies that had cost him a small fortune on eBay. He loved his plushies so much that he treated them like his children. So, when he booked a solo vacation to a tropical island in the Caribbean, naturally, the plushies had to come too.

John arrived at the island resort with three oversized suitcases—two filled entirely with plushies. The locals watched in bewilderment as the 400-pound man waddled across the beach, setting up his plushies in elaborate displays for photo shoots. There was "Plushie Sunset," "Plushies in Paradise," and his personal favorite, "Plushies Ride the Waves," featuring his stuffed dolphin balancing precariously on a boogie board.

But on the third day of his vacation, the weather took a sudden turn. What had been a serene tropical breeze transformed into howling winds and torrential rain. A hurricane warning blared from loudspeakers across the resort, urging guests to take shelter.

John, however, was not about to abandon his beloved plushies to the elements. He scrambled around his room, desperately stuffing them into his suitcases. But the wind howled louder, the rain pounded harder, and before he could finish, the storm surge smashed through the windows, flooding his room in an instant.

Panicked, John tried to gather as many plushies as he could, but the water rose too quickly. He fled to higher ground, clutching only a single, soggy stuffed penguin.

The storm raged through the night, leaving the island battered and broken by morning. As the skies cleared, John ventured down to the beach, his heart sinking as he saw the devastation. His plushies were gone, swept out to sea. He imagined them floating in the vast ocean—his treasured Pikachu, his rare Beanie Baby collection, even his oversized teddy bear, all lost forever.

For hours, he sat on the beach, inconsolable. The resort staff, who had initially been annoyed by John’s eccentric antics, took pity on him. They offered him a free meal, which he begrudgingly accepted, though nothing could fill the void left by his lost companions.

Days later, as the island began to recover, John returned home, his luggage far lighter than when he had arrived. On HFBoards, his absence was noted, and when he finally logged back in, he posted a thread titled, "Worst Vacation Ever: Hurricane vs. My Plushies."

Though the thread was predictably mocked, some posters expressed sympathy—until John announced his plans to crowdsource funding for a new collection. “I’m starting fresh,” he declared, “and this time, I’m buying waterproof cases for my babies.”

And thus, John Price began anew, his plushie collection becoming larger (and better protected) than ever. But he never returned to a tropical island again. Some scars, even those involving plushies, are simply too deep to heal.
 

John Price

pro gambler/drinker
Sep 19, 2008
387,616
31,582
John Price’s Tropical Nightmare: A Tale of Plushies and Peril

@John Price was known across HFBoards as the king of useless threads. Whether he was speculating on trade rumors or starting polls about which flavor of ice cream best represents different hockey teams, he had built a reputation as someone who cared little for coherent discussions. But outside the forum, John had another, far more eccentric hobby: collecting plushies.

His collection was legendary—hundreds of them, from cuddly teddy bears to rare Pokémon plushies that had cost him a small fortune on eBay. He loved his plushies so much that he treated them like his children. So, when he booked a solo vacation to a tropical island in the Caribbean, naturally, the plushies had to come too.

John arrived at the island resort with three oversized suitcases—two filled entirely with plushies. The locals watched in bewilderment as the 400-pound man waddled across the beach, setting up his plushies in elaborate displays for photo shoots. There was "Plushie Sunset," "Plushies in Paradise," and his personal favorite, "Plushies Ride the Waves," featuring his stuffed dolphin balancing precariously on a boogie board.

But on the third day of his vacation, the weather took a sudden turn. What had been a serene tropical breeze transformed into howling winds and torrential rain. A hurricane warning blared from loudspeakers across the resort, urging guests to take shelter.

John, however, was not about to abandon his beloved plushies to the elements. He scrambled around his room, desperately stuffing them into his suitcases. But the wind howled louder, the rain pounded harder, and before he could finish, the storm surge smashed through the windows, flooding his room in an instant.

Panicked, John tried to gather as many plushies as he could, but the water rose too quickly. He fled to higher ground, clutching only a single, soggy stuffed penguin.

The storm raged through the night, leaving the island battered and broken by morning. As the skies cleared, John ventured down to the beach, his heart sinking as he saw the devastation. His plushies were gone, swept out to sea. He imagined them floating in the vast ocean—his treasured Pikachu, his rare Beanie Baby collection, even his oversized teddy bear, all lost forever.

For hours, he sat on the beach, inconsolable. The resort staff, who had initially been annoyed by John’s eccentric antics, took pity on him. They offered him a free meal, which he begrudgingly accepted, though nothing could fill the void left by his lost companions.

Days later, as the island began to recover, John returned home, his luggage far lighter than when he had arrived. On HFBoards, his absence was noted, and when he finally logged back in, he posted a thread titled, "Worst Vacation Ever: Hurricane vs. My Plushies."

Though the thread was predictably mocked, some posters expressed sympathy—until John announced his plans to crowdsource funding for a new collection. “I’m starting fresh,” he declared, “and this time, I’m buying waterproof cases for my babies.”

And thus, John Price began anew, his plushie collection becoming larger (and better protected) than ever. But he never returned to a tropical island again. Some scars, even those involving plushies, are simply too deep to heal.


“I don’t visit the football board” :eyeroll:

View attachment 955466
don't != barely

I need to go there sporadically to report the news bud
 

SoupNazi

Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
Feb 6, 2010
27,374
17,919
John Price’s Italian Adventure: Plushies and the Wrath of Mussolini’s Ghost
After rebuilding his plushie collection following the tropical hurricane disaster, @John Price decided to take his newfound "family" to Europe. This time, the destination was Italy. With waterproof luggage stuffed to capacity and a determination to give his plushies a cultural education, he set out to document their journey through the land of art, architecture, and pasta.
The trip started smoothly. His plushies posed for photos at the Colosseum, lounged on the Spanish Steps, and even visited the Vatican (though the security guards gave him odd looks). But the moment John heard about Predappio—the birthplace of Benito Mussolini—he knew he had to go. “What better way to mix history and plushies?” he thought.
Predappio was quieter than he expected, but John didn’t let the somber atmosphere deter him. He arrived at Mussolini’s crypt armed with a camera and his favorite plushies. Setting up Sir Snugglesworth, his prized teddy bear, on the marble floor, he muttered, “This lighting is perfect.”
John wasn’t content with just one plushie in the frame. He dug into his bag and pulled out a plush eagle—a symbol, he thought, that could resonate with the crypt’s historical gravitas. He placed it beside Sir Snugglesworth, struck a pose himself, and prepared to take the shot.
But before he could click the shutter, a chilling wind swept through the crypt. The candles flickered, and the air grew heavy with a strange, oppressive energy. Suddenly, a deep, guttural voice echoed through the chamber:
“Chi osa disturbare il mio riposo eterno?”
John froze, his hands trembling. Slowly, he turned to see a ghostly figure emerging from the shadows—none other than Benito Mussolini, his translucent form towering over the plushies.
“Who dares to bring these... abominations into my resting place?” the ghost roared, his voice a mixture of fury and disbelief.
John stammered, “I-I just thought... maybe some plushies would brighten things up here? Look, this eagle—kinda majestic, right?” He held up the plush eagle, smiling nervously.
Mussolini’s ghost stared at the toy with disdain. “Majestic? This is no eagle. This is an insult to strength and power!” Before John could respond, the ghost raised a spectral hand, and the plush eagle was ripped from John’s grip.
“Wait, no!” John shouted, but it was too late.
With a dramatic gesture, Mussolini’s ghost crushed the plush eagle in his translucent fist. The toy disintegrated into threads and fluff, scattering across the crypt floor like fallen leaves. “There is no place for weakness here!” the ghost bellowed.
John fell to his knees, horrified. “That... that was limited edition,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
The ghost sneered. “You dare bring such trivialities into this sacred place? Begone, or I will rid this chamber of all your childish relics!”
Clutching Sir Snugglesworth protectively, John scrambled to gather the rest of his plushies. “I’m going! I’m going!” he yelped, stuffing them into his bag and bolting out of the crypt.
Back at his hotel, John tried to make sense of what had happened. Though shaken, he couldn’t resist posting a thread on HFBoards: “Mussolini’s Ghost DESTROYED My Plushie (True Story).”
The replies were swift and brutal:
  • “Worst thread ever.”
  • “Plushies in a crypt? What did you think would happen?”
  • “Pics or it didn’t happen.”
Despite the mockery, John resolved to learn from the experience. Italy, it seemed, wasn’t ready for his plushies. And as for Mussolini’s ghost, John would forever remember the wrathful figure who destroyed his prized plush eagle—a lesson in the dangers of mixing history with soft, cuddly companions.
 
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