Useless Thread MM: Brenda Walsh Appreciation Thread
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John Price
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The news said it would be 2 degrees in Cincinnati on Monday. Which is the closest they listed to Columbus. 
John Price
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John Price
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SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
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You have a mortgage on your room in your mom's basement?
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
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John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
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John Price
pro gambler/drinker
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morning
@PanthersPens62
www.espn.com
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At 38, Monfils stuns Fritz to make Aussie final 16
Gael Monfils rallied from a set down to claim a thrilling 3-6, 7-5, 7-6 (1), 6-4 win over American Taylor Fritz in a third-round match at the Australian Open.
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
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PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Gee what a shock.........both Fritz & your girl Pegula gone before round 4morning
@PanthersPens62
At 38, Monfils stuns Fritz to make Aussie final 16
Gael Monfils rallied from a set down to claim a thrilling 3-6, 7-5, 7-6 (1), 6-4 win over American Taylor Fritz in a third-round match at the Australian Open.
I've explained why I am not a big fan of his or Pegula's.........and they both showed why.
John Price
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The Plushie Pilgrimage: Southbound Shenanigans
I stared at her, unblinking. “You’re joking.”
“No, no,” she said, waving her fork like a conductor’s baton. “Juan and Sandy were bold, but it’s time to be... unassuming. Let’s go back to John and Brenda. Nobody will suspect a thing!”
“Unassuming?” I repeated. “You two are the walking definition of conspicuous! You’re a plushie-hoarding lunatic, and John—”
“Juan,” John corrected, his mouth full of bacon.
“John,” I said, glaring at him, “isn’t capable of blending in anywhere. You could literally slap a name tag on him that says ‘I’m a fugitive’, and it’d still be redundant.”
Brenda smirked, sipping her coffee. “John and Brenda sound like salt-of-the-earth names. Trust me, it’ll work.”
“This thing’s a tank!” John crowed, slapping the steering wheel. “We’ll be at the border in no time.”
“Which border?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Brenda pulled out a gas station map she’d scribbled on with a marker. “The Mexico border, obviously! We’re heading south. Everyone knows Mr. Trump’s wall only stops people from getting in. It won’t stop us from leaving.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “That’s not how walls work.”
Brenda waved me off. “Trust me, I’ve done my research.”
I slumped into the backseat, surrounded by plushies. “This is the dumbest plan you’ve ever had.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome to walk.”
At one point, Brenda tried to barter with a mechanic using a lasagna she’d baked in the RV’s ancient stove. When he declined, she muttered, “His loss. It’s a real banger,” and stormed off.
By the time we reached Texas, the RV looked like it had barely survived the apocalypse. One of the side mirrors was held on with duct tape, and plushies were spilling out of the windows like they were fleeing for their lives.
“This is it!” she announced. “Freedom awaits!”
John, sipping a gas station slushy with one hand and steering with the other, nodded solemnly. “The plushies must be avenged.”
I buried my face in my hands. “We’re going to end up in federal prison.”
We pulled up to the customs officer, who looked at us like we were a traveling circus.
“Good evening, folks,” he said, clearly suspicious. “Where are you headed?”
“Just passing through!” Brenda chirped. “We’re starting a new life in Mexico.”
The officer blinked. “Uh, ma’am, that’s not—”
Before he could finish, John floored the gas. The RV lurched forward, plowing through the flimsy checkpoint gate like it was made of cardboard.
“I told you it’d be easy!” she shouted over the chaos.
“This is a felony!” I yelled back, gripping the dashboard as the RV swerved onto a dirt road.
“Not if we don’t get caught!” John bellowed, cackling like a madman.
Of course, his plan fell apart almost immediately. The RV hit a pothole the size of a small crater and got stuck in a ditch.
We tumbled out of the vehicle, Brenda clutching her purse like it contained the secrets to the universe.
“Quick,” she hissed. “We have to blend in.”
“Blend in?” I repeated. “You’ve got a stuffed eagle, an RV full of plushies, and John looks like he’s cosplaying as a giant marshmallow! We’re about as subtle as a marching band.”
Brenda ignored me, already marching down the road. “Come on, boys! Mexico awaits!”
I stared at John, who shrugged and followed her. I sighed, knowing there was no escape, and trudged after them.
This wasn’t just a road trip—it was a death march. And I was the unwilling chaperone.
Chapter 1: Back to Basics
“I think we need new identities,” Brenda announced, leaning dramatically across the sticky diner table, her freshly dyed auburn hair flopping into her eggs.I stared at her, unblinking. “You’re joking.”
“No, no,” she said, waving her fork like a conductor’s baton. “Juan and Sandy were bold, but it’s time to be... unassuming. Let’s go back to John and Brenda. Nobody will suspect a thing!”
“Unassuming?” I repeated. “You two are the walking definition of conspicuous! You’re a plushie-hoarding lunatic, and John—”
“Juan,” John corrected, his mouth full of bacon.
“John,” I said, glaring at him, “isn’t capable of blending in anywhere. You could literally slap a name tag on him that says ‘I’m a fugitive’, and it’d still be redundant.”
Brenda smirked, sipping her coffee. “John and Brenda sound like salt-of-the-earth names. Trust me, it’ll work.”
Chapter 2: The Southern Strategy
The next thing I knew, I was crammed into a secondhand RV Brenda had somehow bartered for at the diner. It smelled like old coffee, stale nachos, and regret, but John seemed thrilled. He immediately began decorating the dashboard with his plushies, lining them up like some sort of weird stuffed animal army.“This thing’s a tank!” John crowed, slapping the steering wheel. “We’ll be at the border in no time.”
“Which border?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Brenda pulled out a gas station map she’d scribbled on with a marker. “The Mexico border, obviously! We’re heading south. Everyone knows Mr. Trump’s wall only stops people from getting in. It won’t stop us from leaving.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “That’s not how walls work.”
Brenda waved me off. “Trust me, I’ve done my research.”
I slumped into the backseat, surrounded by plushies. “This is the dumbest plan you’ve ever had.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome to walk.”
Chapter 3: Trouble on the Road
The road trip was a disaster. The RV broke down three times before we even hit Georgia. Each time, John would crawl underneath, emerge covered in grease, and shout something like, “I think I fixed it!” which was never true.At one point, Brenda tried to barter with a mechanic using a lasagna she’d baked in the RV’s ancient stove. When he declined, she muttered, “His loss. It’s a real banger,” and stormed off.
By the time we reached Texas, the RV looked like it had barely survived the apocalypse. One of the side mirrors was held on with duct tape, and plushies were spilling out of the windows like they were fleeing for their lives.
Chapter 4: The Great Border Misunderstanding
When we finally reached the border, Brenda was practically vibrating with excitement. She leaned out of the passenger window, clutching a stuffed eagle and grinning like she’d just won the lottery.“This is it!” she announced. “Freedom awaits!”
John, sipping a gas station slushy with one hand and steering with the other, nodded solemnly. “The plushies must be avenged.”
I buried my face in my hands. “We’re going to end up in federal prison.”
We pulled up to the customs officer, who looked at us like we were a traveling circus.
“Good evening, folks,” he said, clearly suspicious. “Where are you headed?”
“Just passing through!” Brenda chirped. “We’re starting a new life in Mexico.”
The officer blinked. “Uh, ma’am, that’s not—”
Before he could finish, John floored the gas. The RV lurched forward, plowing through the flimsy checkpoint gate like it was made of cardboard.
Chapter 5: Into the Wild
Alarms blared as we sped across the border. Brenda hung out the window, waving her stuffed eagle like it was the American flag.“I told you it’d be easy!” she shouted over the chaos.
“This is a felony!” I yelled back, gripping the dashboard as the RV swerved onto a dirt road.
“Not if we don’t get caught!” John bellowed, cackling like a madman.
Of course, his plan fell apart almost immediately. The RV hit a pothole the size of a small crater and got stuck in a ditch.
We tumbled out of the vehicle, Brenda clutching her purse like it contained the secrets to the universe.
“Quick,” she hissed. “We have to blend in.”
“Blend in?” I repeated. “You’ve got a stuffed eagle, an RV full of plushies, and John looks like he’s cosplaying as a giant marshmallow! We’re about as subtle as a marching band.”
Brenda ignored me, already marching down the road. “Come on, boys! Mexico awaits!”
I stared at John, who shrugged and followed her. I sighed, knowing there was no escape, and trudged after them.
This wasn’t just a road trip—it was a death march. And I was the unwilling chaperone.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
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Escape Through the Desert
“We’re not stranded,” she insisted. “We’re pioneers!”
“We’re fugitives,” I corrected, wiping the sweat from my brow. “And if the border patrol doesn’t catch us, dehydration will.”
John—or Juan, as he still occasionally insisted on being called—was sitting on an overturned plushie of a giant panda, munching on a melted candy bar he’d pulled from the depths of his cargo shorts.
“We can make it,” he mumbled, mouth full. “The plushies will guide us.”
I glared at him. “The plushies aren’t guiding anything. They’re inanimate objects. You’re just using them as an excuse to drag us further into this nightmare.”
Brenda spun around dramatically. “Nightmare? This is an adventure! One day, they’ll tell stories about us. The brave trio who crossed into Mexico to start a plushie empire.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Right before they lock us up for life.”
Brenda immediately perked up. “A guide! See? I told you the universe was on our side!”
The man squinted at us as we approached, his eyes flicking from Brenda’s eagle to John’s sweat-stained shirt that read, Plushie Party 2024: Hug the Future.
“Y’all lost?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
“Not lost,” Brenda said, beaming. “We’re visionaries! We just need a little help crossing the border into Mexico.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re already in Mexico, right?”
I groaned. “I tried to tell them.”
Brenda, unfazed, smiled wider. “Perfect! Then you can help us find civilization!”
The man sighed, clearly regretting his life choices. “For a price.”
Brenda dug into her purse and pulled out a lasagna wrapped in foil. “This is a real banger,” she said confidently, holding it out like an offering.
The man stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head. “You people are insane.”
As we bounced along the dusty road, Marco glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You seem like the only sane one here. What’s your deal?”
“I don’t have a deal,” I said flatly. “I’m being held hostage by these lunatics.”
Brenda, overhearing, gasped. “Hostage? You’re part of the family!”
“I don’t want to be part of the family!” I snapped. “I want to go home, take a shower, and never see a plushie again!”
John, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly perked up. “Wait, do you think Marco likes plushies? We could start a plushie trading network here in Mexico. Expand the brand.”
Marco looked horrified. “Please don’t involve me in whatever this is.”
John, meanwhile, set up a makeshift plushie stand in the town square. His inventory consisted of a mix of bedraggled stuffed animals and some new creations he’d cobbled together during the drive—one of which was a plush cactus with googly eyes glued on.
“This one represents resilience,” he said proudly, holding it up to a passing local.
Nobody bought anything.
As night fell, we found ourselves huddled around a fire outside the village. Marco, clearly regretting every moment he’d spent with us, announced he was leaving at sunrise.
“You’re on your own after this,” he said firmly. “Good luck.”
Brenda clapped him on the back. “Thanks for everything, Marco! You’re a real banger.”
“We need to think bigger,” she said.
John nodded, his face illuminated by the flames. “Bigger than plushies?”
“Bigger than plushies,” Brenda confirmed.
I groaned. “Oh, no. Please, no.”
Brenda grinned at me. “Don’t worry. You’ll love this next part.”
And just like that, I knew my nightmare was far from over.
Chapter 6: Stranded in No-Man’s Land
The RV was dead. The plushies were scattered in the dirt like the aftermath of some bizarre carnival explosion. And Brenda, with her stuffed eagle clutched to her chest, was pacing around the desert road like a general surveying the battlefield.“We’re not stranded,” she insisted. “We’re pioneers!”
“We’re fugitives,” I corrected, wiping the sweat from my brow. “And if the border patrol doesn’t catch us, dehydration will.”
John—or Juan, as he still occasionally insisted on being called—was sitting on an overturned plushie of a giant panda, munching on a melted candy bar he’d pulled from the depths of his cargo shorts.
“We can make it,” he mumbled, mouth full. “The plushies will guide us.”
I glared at him. “The plushies aren’t guiding anything. They’re inanimate objects. You’re just using them as an excuse to drag us further into this nightmare.”
Brenda spun around dramatically. “Nightmare? This is an adventure! One day, they’ll tell stories about us. The brave trio who crossed into Mexico to start a plushie empire.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Right before they lock us up for life.”
Chapter 7: The Coyote Whisperer
After hours of wandering aimlessly through the desert, we stumbled upon a lone man leaning against a beat-up truck. He wore a cowboy hat and a weathered face, the kind of guy who looked like he’d seen things.Brenda immediately perked up. “A guide! See? I told you the universe was on our side!”
The man squinted at us as we approached, his eyes flicking from Brenda’s eagle to John’s sweat-stained shirt that read, Plushie Party 2024: Hug the Future.
“Y’all lost?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
“Not lost,” Brenda said, beaming. “We’re visionaries! We just need a little help crossing the border into Mexico.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re already in Mexico, right?”
I groaned. “I tried to tell them.”
Brenda, unfazed, smiled wider. “Perfect! Then you can help us find civilization!”
The man sighed, clearly regretting his life choices. “For a price.”
Brenda dug into her purse and pulled out a lasagna wrapped in foil. “This is a real banger,” she said confidently, holding it out like an offering.
The man stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head. “You people are insane.”
Chapter 8: The Caravan
Against all odds, the man—who introduced himself as Marco—agreed to help. He loaded us into the back of his truck, along with half the plushies Brenda insisted on saving from the wrecked RV.As we bounced along the dusty road, Marco glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You seem like the only sane one here. What’s your deal?”
“I don’t have a deal,” I said flatly. “I’m being held hostage by these lunatics.”
Brenda, overhearing, gasped. “Hostage? You’re part of the family!”
“I don’t want to be part of the family!” I snapped. “I want to go home, take a shower, and never see a plushie again!”
John, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly perked up. “Wait, do you think Marco likes plushies? We could start a plushie trading network here in Mexico. Expand the brand.”
Marco looked horrified. “Please don’t involve me in whatever this is.”
Chapter 9: Trouble in Paradise
We eventually reached a small village, where Brenda immediately set to work trying to sell her lasagna to the locals. She wandered from door to door, clutching her foil pan and shouting, “It’s a real banger!” in broken Spanish.John, meanwhile, set up a makeshift plushie stand in the town square. His inventory consisted of a mix of bedraggled stuffed animals and some new creations he’d cobbled together during the drive—one of which was a plush cactus with googly eyes glued on.
“This one represents resilience,” he said proudly, holding it up to a passing local.
Nobody bought anything.
As night fell, we found ourselves huddled around a fire outside the village. Marco, clearly regretting every moment he’d spent with us, announced he was leaving at sunrise.
“You’re on your own after this,” he said firmly. “Good luck.”
Brenda clapped him on the back. “Thanks for everything, Marco! You’re a real banger.”
Chapter 10: A New Plan
As the fire crackled, Brenda turned to John with a determined look.“We need to think bigger,” she said.
John nodded, his face illuminated by the flames. “Bigger than plushies?”
“Bigger than plushies,” Brenda confirmed.
I groaned. “Oh, no. Please, no.”
Brenda grinned at me. “Don’t worry. You’ll love this next part.”
And just like that, I knew my nightmare was far from over.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,567
- 18,394
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,450
- 31,908
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,450
- 31,908
Title: Clash of Glamour
Hope Logan, the radiant and compassionate fashion designer from The Bold and the Beautiful, had always believed in the power of kindness and forgiveness. Her life, filled with dramatic twists and turns, often revolved around love, betrayal, and redemption. However, she had never encountered a force quite like Kyle Richards, the fierce and outspoken star of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
It all began at a high-profile charity gala in Beverly Hills, where Hollywood's elite gathered to raise funds for a noble cause. Hope, representing Forrester Creations, was showcasing a collection inspired by hope and resilience. Kyle, ever the queen of the social scene, had volunteered to co-host the event.
As the evening unfolded, Kyle noticed something that set her off: Hope’s collection included a striking gold gown that bore a resemblance to a dress Kyle had worn at a recent reunion special. Fueled by whispers from fellow housewives and her own suspicions, Kyle confronted Hope near the hors d'oeuvres table.
“This looks awfully familiar,” Kyle said, gesturing to the runway where the gown shimmered under the lights. Her tone was sharp, yet her smile remained perfectly practiced.
Hope, taken aback, replied, “It’s part of a collection inspired by strength through adversity. I can assure you, the design is entirely original.”
Kyle wasn’t convinced. “Original? I’ve seen that silhouette before—on me. It feels like you’re borrowing a little too much inspiration from the Housewives.”
The room grew quiet as heads turned, and the air between the two women crackled with tension. Hope, unwilling to let the moment escalate, took a deep breath. “Kyle, I respect your style, but this isn’t about us. It’s about the cause we’re here to support. Let’s focus on that.”
But Kyle was far from done. “You know, I’ve worked hard to build my brand, too. I can’t just let someone take credit for what I’ve done.”
Hope Logan, the radiant and compassionate fashion designer from The Bold and the Beautiful, had always believed in the power of kindness and forgiveness. Her life, filled with dramatic twists and turns, often revolved around love, betrayal, and redemption. However, she had never encountered a force quite like Kyle Richards, the fierce and outspoken star of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
It all began at a high-profile charity gala in Beverly Hills, where Hollywood's elite gathered to raise funds for a noble cause. Hope, representing Forrester Creations, was showcasing a collection inspired by hope and resilience. Kyle, ever the queen of the social scene, had volunteered to co-host the event.
As the evening unfolded, Kyle noticed something that set her off: Hope’s collection included a striking gold gown that bore a resemblance to a dress Kyle had worn at a recent reunion special. Fueled by whispers from fellow housewives and her own suspicions, Kyle confronted Hope near the hors d'oeuvres table.
“This looks awfully familiar,” Kyle said, gesturing to the runway where the gown shimmered under the lights. Her tone was sharp, yet her smile remained perfectly practiced.
Hope, taken aback, replied, “It’s part of a collection inspired by strength through adversity. I can assure you, the design is entirely original.”
Kyle wasn’t convinced. “Original? I’ve seen that silhouette before—on me. It feels like you’re borrowing a little too much inspiration from the Housewives.”
The room grew quiet as heads turned, and the air between the two women crackled with tension. Hope, unwilling to let the moment escalate, took a deep breath. “Kyle, I respect your style, but this isn’t about us. It’s about the cause we’re here to support. Let’s focus on that.”
But Kyle was far from done. “You know, I’ve worked hard to build my brand, too. I can’t just let someone take credit for what I’ve done.”
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,567
- 18,394
On second thought, this guy is probably too thin.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,567
- 18,394
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,450
- 31,908
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,450
- 31,908
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,450
- 31,908
Collins booed by Aussie crowd in loss to Keys
Tennis' newest villai, Danielle Collins, was booed and jeered by the Australian Open crowd during her third-round loss to fellow American Madison Keys on Saturday night.
lol the heat
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