John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
Useless Thread MM: Juan Soto Appreciation Thread
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John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
Netflix Adds Nearly 19 Million Subscribers to End 2024 With More Than 300 Million Globally
Netflix revealed it has now reached 301.63 million subscribers globally when it reported its fourth-quarter 2024 earnings Tuesday.variety.com
Netflix has the best retention, but I can't sub to netflix for more than a month. Makes sense.
"How is Apple a multi-billion dollar company if I don't buy their products?"
That's how stupid you sound.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
Oogie Boogie
Registered User
- Apr 9, 2011
- 24,263
- 3,275
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 29,220
- 6,869
Been watching Barrett-Jackson auto auction for the last 3 hours. And will watch tmrw, Friday, and Saturday too.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,608
- 18,485
Chapter 50: Plushies in the Last Frontier
When we finally rolled into Alaska—after a grueling ferry ride from Vancouver that Juan mistakenly called a "cruise"—the cold, majestic landscape opened before us. Towering snow-covered peaks, icy waters, and the occasional moose greeted us. Brenda declared it was “plushie paradise.” Juan, in his infinite wisdom, referred to it as “the final frontier.”
“Juan,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, “this isn’t Star Trek.”
He ignored me and stared out at the vast wilderness with his Mountie Mike plushie tucked under one arm. “We’re gonna conquer this place. Alaska’s gonna be the plushie capital of the world.”
“Again, Juan, it’s part of the U.S.,” I reminded him.
He just waved me off. “Details.”
Juan, meanwhile, decided to "establish diplomatic relations" with the locals. This consisted of him standing on a street corner, holding up Mountie Mike, and yelling, “Join the plushie revolution!”
“Juan,” I said as I watched him struggle to keep Mountie Mike from freezing in the bitter cold, “you do realize this isn’t how you win people over, right?”
“I don’t need people,” he said dramatically. “I have plushies.”
By nightfall, the diner had been transformed into a chaotic plushie shrine. Brenda was cooking lasagna on the diner’s ancient stove, which Juan claimed smelled like “bear meat and victory.” I don’t know where he got the bear meat part, but the victory smell was definitely off.
When we arrived, the meeting was already underway, with about twenty locals gathered in a cozy, wood-paneled room. Brenda marched in, carrying an oversized plush walrus she’d named Wally. Juan followed behind her, clutching Mountie Mike and what appeared to be a plush salmon.
“Citizens of Alaska!” Brenda bellowed, holding Wally aloft like it was the Stanley Cup. “We bring you the plushie revolution! Plushies are the future, and Alaska will be our plushie capital!”
The crowd stared in stunned silence. One old man coughed.
“Also, who here likes lasagna?” Brenda added, trying to soften the blow.
Before anyone could respond, Juan stepped forward, holding Mountie Mike and the salmon. “And don’t forget, the plushies must be avenged!” he shouted dramatically, though no one seemed to know what he meant.
A woman in the back raised her hand. “Avenged from what?”
“Everything!” Juan replied.
At that point, the meeting dissolved into chaos. One guy started yelling about outsiders ruining Alaska, another started laughing so hard he spilled his coffee, and Brenda tried to pass out free lasagna samples. I was about to make a run for it when Juan, in an apparent bid to calm things down, tossed Mountie Mike into the crowd.
Unfortunately, the plushie smacked a man square in the face, causing him to spill his drink. “That’s it!” the man roared. “Get out of here, you lunatics!”
“They didn’t appreciate our vision,” Brenda muttered as we piled into the van.
“They’re just not ready for the plushie revolution,” Juan added solemnly.
“Or,” I said, “maybe they just don’t want two lunatics crashing their community meeting with a salmon plushie.”
Juan ignored me, staring out the window as the snowy landscape whizzed by. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll regroup. Alaska’s just the beginning.”
Brenda nodded. “Next stop, Fairbanks.”
I groaned. “Kill me now.”
But deep down, I knew this trainwreck of an adventure was far from over.
When we finally rolled into Alaska—after a grueling ferry ride from Vancouver that Juan mistakenly called a "cruise"—the cold, majestic landscape opened before us. Towering snow-covered peaks, icy waters, and the occasional moose greeted us. Brenda declared it was “plushie paradise.” Juan, in his infinite wisdom, referred to it as “the final frontier.”
“Juan,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, “this isn’t Star Trek.”
He ignored me and stared out at the vast wilderness with his Mountie Mike plushie tucked under one arm. “We’re gonna conquer this place. Alaska’s gonna be the plushie capital of the world.”
“Again, Juan, it’s part of the U.S.,” I reminded him.
He just waved me off. “Details.”
Setting Up Shop
Our first stop was Anchorage. Brenda immediately found a run-down roadside diner called Grizzly’s Grease Pit and announced it would be the Plushie Party’s new headquarters. She started hanging signs around the place with her latest slogan: “Plushies: The Future of Humanity!”Juan, meanwhile, decided to "establish diplomatic relations" with the locals. This consisted of him standing on a street corner, holding up Mountie Mike, and yelling, “Join the plushie revolution!”
“Juan,” I said as I watched him struggle to keep Mountie Mike from freezing in the bitter cold, “you do realize this isn’t how you win people over, right?”
“I don’t need people,” he said dramatically. “I have plushies.”
By nightfall, the diner had been transformed into a chaotic plushie shrine. Brenda was cooking lasagna on the diner’s ancient stove, which Juan claimed smelled like “bear meat and victory.” I don’t know where he got the bear meat part, but the victory smell was definitely off.
Trouble at the Moose Lodge
The next day, Brenda decided we needed to win over some local influence. She spotted a flyer for a community meeting at the Moose Lodge and declared we were going to "introduce the plushie empire."When we arrived, the meeting was already underway, with about twenty locals gathered in a cozy, wood-paneled room. Brenda marched in, carrying an oversized plush walrus she’d named Wally. Juan followed behind her, clutching Mountie Mike and what appeared to be a plush salmon.
“Citizens of Alaska!” Brenda bellowed, holding Wally aloft like it was the Stanley Cup. “We bring you the plushie revolution! Plushies are the future, and Alaska will be our plushie capital!”
The crowd stared in stunned silence. One old man coughed.
“Also, who here likes lasagna?” Brenda added, trying to soften the blow.
Before anyone could respond, Juan stepped forward, holding Mountie Mike and the salmon. “And don’t forget, the plushies must be avenged!” he shouted dramatically, though no one seemed to know what he meant.
A woman in the back raised her hand. “Avenged from what?”
“Everything!” Juan replied.
At that point, the meeting dissolved into chaos. One guy started yelling about outsiders ruining Alaska, another started laughing so hard he spilled his coffee, and Brenda tried to pass out free lasagna samples. I was about to make a run for it when Juan, in an apparent bid to calm things down, tossed Mountie Mike into the crowd.
Unfortunately, the plushie smacked a man square in the face, causing him to spill his drink. “That’s it!” the man roared. “Get out of here, you lunatics!”
A Hasty Retreat
We fled the Moose Lodge in record time, with Brenda clutching Wally the Walrus and Juan lamenting the loss of Mountie Mike.“They didn’t appreciate our vision,” Brenda muttered as we piled into the van.
“They’re just not ready for the plushie revolution,” Juan added solemnly.
“Or,” I said, “maybe they just don’t want two lunatics crashing their community meeting with a salmon plushie.”
Juan ignored me, staring out the window as the snowy landscape whizzed by. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll regroup. Alaska’s just the beginning.”
Brenda nodded. “Next stop, Fairbanks.”
I groaned. “Kill me now.”
But deep down, I knew this trainwreck of an adventure was far from over.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,608
- 18,485
Chapter 51: Lasagna in the Land of Ice
When we reached Fairbanks, Brenda’s creative genius kicked into overdrive. “We need to make a bold statement,” she declared as she rifled through her notebook of wild ideas. “Something that screams Alaska but also plushies and lasagna!”
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
Brenda ignored me and sketched furiously for a few minutes before slamming her pen down. “An igloo lasagna stand!” she announced triumphantly.
Juan, who was busy brushing the snow off his beloved Wally the Walrus plushie, nodded in approval. “Genius. Igloos are iconic. It’s what Alaska’s all about!”
I rubbed my temples. “You do realize people actually live in igloos, right? This could come off... poorly.”
Brenda waved me off. “Nonsense. It’s cultural appreciation!”
By noon, a small crowd had gathered, mostly out of morbid curiosity. Brenda, wearing a furry parka and a chef’s hat, greeted the first few customers with a cheery smile and samples of her “world-famous” lasagna.
That’s when the trouble started.
Brenda blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean? It’s a lasagna stand! Shaped like an igloo! Isn’t it cute?”
The woman’s glare could’ve melted ice. “You’re making a mockery of our culture! Igloos aren’t a tourist attraction—they’re a part of our history and survival.”
Brenda’s smile faltered. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… creative!”
Juan, sensing tension but misunderstanding the issue entirely, stepped forward with Wally the Walrus. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said. “We’re all about celebrating cultures. That’s why I brought Wally! He’s an honorary Alaskan!”
The woman looked at the plush walrus like it was an alien artifact. “That’s not helping.”
By now, a small group of bystanders had gathered, murmuring their disapproval. Someone muttered something about “outsiders coming here and disrespecting traditions,” and another person started taking pictures of the stand with their phone.
Brenda, panicking, tried to salvage the situation by offering free lasagna to everyone in the square. “It’s a real banger!” she proclaimed, holding up a steaming tray.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” she admitted.
“No kidding,” I muttered. “You managed to offend an entire community, destroy a lasagna stand, and start what I can only describe as a lasagna riot.”
Juan, ever the optimist, chimed in. “At least Wally survived. He’s a real trooper.”
Brenda perked up. “It’s fine. We’ll regroup. Maybe Anchorage will be more open-minded!”
I groaned. “This isn’t over, is it?”
Brenda grinned. “Not even close.”
When we reached Fairbanks, Brenda’s creative genius kicked into overdrive. “We need to make a bold statement,” she declared as she rifled through her notebook of wild ideas. “Something that screams Alaska but also plushies and lasagna!”
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
Brenda ignored me and sketched furiously for a few minutes before slamming her pen down. “An igloo lasagna stand!” she announced triumphantly.
Juan, who was busy brushing the snow off his beloved Wally the Walrus plushie, nodded in approval. “Genius. Igloos are iconic. It’s what Alaska’s all about!”
I rubbed my temples. “You do realize people actually live in igloos, right? This could come off... poorly.”
Brenda waved me off. “Nonsense. It’s cultural appreciation!”
The Great Igloo Lasagna Stand
The next day, with Juan’s dubious help, Brenda built her masterpiece: a lasagna stand shaped like an igloo made entirely out of painted Styrofoam. She parked it in a busy Fairbanks square, complete with a giant plush polar bear as a mascot. Above the entrance, a sign read: “Brenda’s Arctic Lasagna: Chill Out with a Hot Slice!”By noon, a small crowd had gathered, mostly out of morbid curiosity. Brenda, wearing a furry parka and a chef’s hat, greeted the first few customers with a cheery smile and samples of her “world-famous” lasagna.
That’s when the trouble started.
The Backlash
An elderly Inuit woman approached the stand, eyeing it with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Is this some kind of joke?” she demanded.Brenda blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What do you mean? It’s a lasagna stand! Shaped like an igloo! Isn’t it cute?”
The woman’s glare could’ve melted ice. “You’re making a mockery of our culture! Igloos aren’t a tourist attraction—they’re a part of our history and survival.”
Brenda’s smile faltered. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… creative!”
Juan, sensing tension but misunderstanding the issue entirely, stepped forward with Wally the Walrus. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said. “We’re all about celebrating cultures. That’s why I brought Wally! He’s an honorary Alaskan!”
The woman looked at the plush walrus like it was an alien artifact. “That’s not helping.”
By now, a small group of bystanders had gathered, murmuring their disapproval. Someone muttered something about “outsiders coming here and disrespecting traditions,” and another person started taking pictures of the stand with their phone.
Brenda, panicking, tried to salvage the situation by offering free lasagna to everyone in the square. “It’s a real banger!” she proclaimed, holding up a steaming tray.
Hijinks Ensue
Things went downhill fast.- A dog sled team passing by got spooked by the smell of the lasagna and veered straight into the igloo stand, toppling half of it.
- Juan, in a misguided attempt to diffuse the tension, climbed onto the remains of the stand and started chanting, “Plushies for peace! Plushies for progress!” while waving Wally in the air.
- Brenda, ever resourceful, tried to bribe the Inuit elder with a lifetime supply of lasagna, which only made things worse.
The Great Escape
We barely avoided arrest, thanks to Brenda’s lasagna bribes and Juan’s claim that we were “ambassadors of goodwill.” As we drove out of Fairbanks, Brenda sighed dramatically.“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” she admitted.
“No kidding,” I muttered. “You managed to offend an entire community, destroy a lasagna stand, and start what I can only describe as a lasagna riot.”
Juan, ever the optimist, chimed in. “At least Wally survived. He’s a real trooper.”
Brenda perked up. “It’s fine. We’ll regroup. Maybe Anchorage will be more open-minded!”
I groaned. “This isn’t over, is it?”
Brenda grinned. “Not even close.”
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,608
- 18,485
Chapter 52: Lasagna, Anchorage, and the IRS
After the disaster in Fairbanks, we headed south to Anchorage, where Brenda insisted on giving her igloo lasagna stand concept another try. This time, she toned down the cultural appropriation and opted for a “Rustic Alaskan Log Cabin” theme. She even printed new signs that read, “Brenda’s Legendary Lasagna: Now with 100% More Local Respect!”
The new stand, parked in a bustling Anchorage plaza, actually looked halfway decent. Brenda was in high spirits, having roped Juan into dressing up as a moose to attract customers. His costume was oversized, awkward, and, as always, ridiculous.
“Don’t forget the catchphrase!” Brenda shouted to him as she stirred a bubbling pot of marinara.
Juan, waving his plush moose antlers, bellowed, “Life is like lasagna! Layered with surprises!”
“Hello there,” he said with a smile, approaching the counter. “I’ll take a slice of lasagna, please.”
Brenda, ever the salesperson, grinned and handed him a steaming plate. “Best lasagna in Alaska! You won’t regret it.”
The man took a bite, nodded approvingly, and said, “Delicious. You must sell a lot of this.”
Brenda beamed. “Oh, tons. People can’t get enough!”
“Interesting,” the man said, pulling out a small notepad. “Do you happen to have a vendor’s license? And how are you handling sales tax?”
The color drained from Brenda’s face. “Sales tax? Vendor’s license? Uh… well, you know, we’re just a humble family operation. Nothing formal!”
The man’s smile didn’t waver. “I see. And how about income tax? Have you been reporting your earnings to the IRS?”
Juan, still in the moose costume, waddled over to the counter. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, his antlers slightly askew.
The man turned to Juan, glanced at the plush antlers, and said, “And you are…?”
Juan puffed out his chest. “I’m the head of Plushie Party Operations.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We don’t believe in taxes. They’re bad for creativity.”
Brenda visibly cringed.
The man chuckled, pulled out a badge, and held it up. “Agent Carter, IRS. Brenda and… Juan, is it? We’ve been looking into your, uh, financial activities. Seems like you’ve been making quite a bit of money without reporting it.”
“I—I can explain!” Brenda stammered. “It’s all very innocent!”
Agent Carter raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been selling lasagna across multiple states, accepting cash payments, and never filing a single tax return. That doesn’t exactly scream innocent.”
Juan, completely missing the gravity of the situation, said, “Hey, I can pay in plushies! I’ve got a rare Wally the Walrus Limited Edition in the van.”
Agent Carter blinked. “That’s… not how this works.”
Brenda, now desperate, slapped a slice of lasagna onto a plate and shoved it at the agent. “Here! Free lasagna! No need to get all official about it!”
Agent Carter sighed and pulled out his phone. “I’m going to need to make a call.”
“Run where?” I whispered back. “This is Alaska, not a Bond movie. There’s nowhere to hide!”
But Brenda was already in motion. She grabbed Juan by the antlers and yanked him toward the van. “Move it, Moose Boy!”
“What about the lasagna stand?” Juan asked as he waddled along.
“Forget the stand!” Brenda snapped.
Juan, still in his moose costume, looked forlornly out the window. “Do you think Agent Carter would’ve accepted a plushie bribe?”
“No,” I said flatly.
Brenda sighed. “Fine. New plan: we head to Canada. Again.”
I groaned. “You know Hargrave will track us down, right?”
“Let him try,” Brenda said, a manic gleam in her eye. “The Plushie Party never surrenders!”
And with that, we barreled down the snowy Alaskan highway, once again fugitives with a van full of plushies and bad ideas.
After the disaster in Fairbanks, we headed south to Anchorage, where Brenda insisted on giving her igloo lasagna stand concept another try. This time, she toned down the cultural appropriation and opted for a “Rustic Alaskan Log Cabin” theme. She even printed new signs that read, “Brenda’s Legendary Lasagna: Now with 100% More Local Respect!”
The new stand, parked in a bustling Anchorage plaza, actually looked halfway decent. Brenda was in high spirits, having roped Juan into dressing up as a moose to attract customers. His costume was oversized, awkward, and, as always, ridiculous.
“Don’t forget the catchphrase!” Brenda shouted to him as she stirred a bubbling pot of marinara.
Juan, waving his plush moose antlers, bellowed, “Life is like lasagna! Layered with surprises!”
The Curious Customer
As the stand attracted a modest crowd, one particular customer stood out: a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard, aviator sunglasses, and a windbreaker that screamed undercover government agent.“Hello there,” he said with a smile, approaching the counter. “I’ll take a slice of lasagna, please.”
Brenda, ever the salesperson, grinned and handed him a steaming plate. “Best lasagna in Alaska! You won’t regret it.”
The man took a bite, nodded approvingly, and said, “Delicious. You must sell a lot of this.”
Brenda beamed. “Oh, tons. People can’t get enough!”
“Interesting,” the man said, pulling out a small notepad. “Do you happen to have a vendor’s license? And how are you handling sales tax?”
The color drained from Brenda’s face. “Sales tax? Vendor’s license? Uh… well, you know, we’re just a humble family operation. Nothing formal!”
The man’s smile didn’t waver. “I see. And how about income tax? Have you been reporting your earnings to the IRS?”
Brenda’s Panic
Brenda’s hands shook as she ladled another serving of marinara. “Income tax? Well, uh, see… this is more of a hobby,you know? Not a business-business.”Juan, still in the moose costume, waddled over to the counter. “Is there a problem here?” he asked, his antlers slightly askew.
The man turned to Juan, glanced at the plush antlers, and said, “And you are…?”
Juan puffed out his chest. “I’m the head of Plushie Party Operations.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We don’t believe in taxes. They’re bad for creativity.”
Brenda visibly cringed.
The man chuckled, pulled out a badge, and held it up. “Agent Carter, IRS. Brenda and… Juan, is it? We’ve been looking into your, uh, financial activities. Seems like you’ve been making quite a bit of money without reporting it.”
Hargrave’s Trap
My stomach sank. This had Hargrave’s fingerprints all over it. The IRS agent had clearly been tipped off by the ever-persistent FBI shadow.“I—I can explain!” Brenda stammered. “It’s all very innocent!”
Agent Carter raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been selling lasagna across multiple states, accepting cash payments, and never filing a single tax return. That doesn’t exactly scream innocent.”
Juan, completely missing the gravity of the situation, said, “Hey, I can pay in plushies! I’ve got a rare Wally the Walrus Limited Edition in the van.”
Agent Carter blinked. “That’s… not how this works.”
Brenda, now desperate, slapped a slice of lasagna onto a plate and shoved it at the agent. “Here! Free lasagna! No need to get all official about it!”
Agent Carter sighed and pulled out his phone. “I’m going to need to make a call.”
The Escape Plan
As Carter turned away, Brenda hissed at me, “We need to run. Now.”“Run where?” I whispered back. “This is Alaska, not a Bond movie. There’s nowhere to hide!”
But Brenda was already in motion. She grabbed Juan by the antlers and yanked him toward the van. “Move it, Moose Boy!”
“What about the lasagna stand?” Juan asked as he waddled along.
“Forget the stand!” Brenda snapped.
On the Road Again
Minutes later, we were speeding out of Anchorage in the beat-up van, leaving the log cabin lasagna stand behind. Brenda gripped the wheel with white knuckles, muttering, “Taxes. Stupid taxes. They’re always out to ruin us.”Juan, still in his moose costume, looked forlornly out the window. “Do you think Agent Carter would’ve accepted a plushie bribe?”
“No,” I said flatly.
Brenda sighed. “Fine. New plan: we head to Canada. Again.”
I groaned. “You know Hargrave will track us down, right?”
“Let him try,” Brenda said, a manic gleam in her eye. “The Plushie Party never surrenders!”
And with that, we barreled down the snowy Alaskan highway, once again fugitives with a van full of plushies and bad ideas.
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,608
- 18,485
We were making our chaotic escape out of Anchorage, leaving the lasagna igloo disaster and the undercover IRS agent in our dust. Brenda had decided that, after all, Alaska "wasn’t plushie-friendly enough," so we set our sights on the Canadian border once more. But, of course, we couldn’t leave without making one more pit stop.
Somewhere near Wasilla, Brenda spotted a roadside stand shaped like a giant moose. “Pull over!” she demanded, practically yanking the steering wheel from me. “That’s where legends are made!”
The stand was selling everything from homemade jams to taxidermy, with a sign boasting, "Meet Alaska's Finest Moose Hunter!" Brenda's eyes lit up. “Do you know who that is? It’s Sarah Palin herself!”
Juan gasped. “I can’t believe it. I brought the perfect thing for this moment.” He fumbled with his duffel bag, revealing a plushie of none other than Sarah Palin herself, complete with glasses and a tiny red blazer.
When we stepped out of the van, Sarah Palin was indeed there, grinning like she was campaigning again. Brenda instantly launched into her spiel. “Sarah! I am Brenda, future CEO of a worldwide lasagna empire. It’s a real banger!”
Sarah looked confused but nodded politely. Meanwhile, Juan approached shyly, cradling his Sarah Palin plushie. “Ms. Palin, could you sign this for me?” he asked, holding it out like a sacred artifact.
She squinted at it, then burst into laughter. “Well, I’ll be darned! Is that supposed to be me? Who made this? It looks like it’s been microwaved!”
Juan’s face fell. “It’s…custom,” he mumbled, clutching the plushie protectively.
“Oh, honey,” Sarah said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, “I don’t sign knockoffs. Good luck, though!”
Brenda jumped in to defend her son. “Listen, Sarah, this plushie represents hope! Juan has been through a lot! He’s a visionary!”
“Yeah, a visionary of bad taste,” Sarah quipped, walking away to greet other visitors.
Humiliated, Juan muttered something about avenging the plushie’s honor, but we hustled back to the van before he could make a scene.
On the long drive back to Vancouver, Juan sulked while Brenda tried to cheer him up. “Forget Sarah Palin,” she said. “She wouldn’t know a banger idea if it hit her in the face.”
“I’ll show her,” Juan muttered. “The plushie revolution is unstoppable.”
By the time we reached Vancouver, I was ready to crawl out of the van and disappear. But Brenda was already scheming. “Canada loves us, and this is where we rebuild the empire,” she declared.
I sighed. Clearly, my nightmare wasn’t over yet.
Somewhere near Wasilla, Brenda spotted a roadside stand shaped like a giant moose. “Pull over!” she demanded, practically yanking the steering wheel from me. “That’s where legends are made!”
The stand was selling everything from homemade jams to taxidermy, with a sign boasting, "Meet Alaska's Finest Moose Hunter!" Brenda's eyes lit up. “Do you know who that is? It’s Sarah Palin herself!”
Juan gasped. “I can’t believe it. I brought the perfect thing for this moment.” He fumbled with his duffel bag, revealing a plushie of none other than Sarah Palin herself, complete with glasses and a tiny red blazer.
When we stepped out of the van, Sarah Palin was indeed there, grinning like she was campaigning again. Brenda instantly launched into her spiel. “Sarah! I am Brenda, future CEO of a worldwide lasagna empire. It’s a real banger!”
Sarah looked confused but nodded politely. Meanwhile, Juan approached shyly, cradling his Sarah Palin plushie. “Ms. Palin, could you sign this for me?” he asked, holding it out like a sacred artifact.
She squinted at it, then burst into laughter. “Well, I’ll be darned! Is that supposed to be me? Who made this? It looks like it’s been microwaved!”
Juan’s face fell. “It’s…custom,” he mumbled, clutching the plushie protectively.
“Oh, honey,” Sarah said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, “I don’t sign knockoffs. Good luck, though!”
Brenda jumped in to defend her son. “Listen, Sarah, this plushie represents hope! Juan has been through a lot! He’s a visionary!”
“Yeah, a visionary of bad taste,” Sarah quipped, walking away to greet other visitors.
Humiliated, Juan muttered something about avenging the plushie’s honor, but we hustled back to the van before he could make a scene.
On the long drive back to Vancouver, Juan sulked while Brenda tried to cheer him up. “Forget Sarah Palin,” she said. “She wouldn’t know a banger idea if it hit her in the face.”
“I’ll show her,” Juan muttered. “The plushie revolution is unstoppable.”
By the time we reached Vancouver, I was ready to crawl out of the van and disappear. But Brenda was already scheming. “Canada loves us, and this is where we rebuild the empire,” she declared.
I sighed. Clearly, my nightmare wasn’t over yet.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
Title: Glamour & Chaos
Months after their public feud, Hope Logan and Kyle Richards shocked the world when they announced a joint fashion line called Glamour & Grace. It was billed as the perfect union of Hope’s elegant, timeless designs and Kyle’s bold, trend-setting flair. Fans were divided—some cheered for the surprising alliance, while others waited for the inevitable explosion.
At first, the collaboration seemed promising. Their launch event at a sprawling Beverly Hills mansion was a massive success, with A-listers and influencers raving about the designs. But behind the scenes, cracks were already forming.
Hope, meticulous and driven by artistry, was frustrated by Kyle’s need to micromanage every detail, from the fabric choices to the runway playlist. “This isn’t a reality show, Kyle,” Hope said one evening during a tense meeting at Forrester Creations. “We need to focus on the designs, not the drama.”
Kyle shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, excuse me for wanting to make sure the collection is actually marketable. Not everyone is into your ‘elegant simplicity,’ Hope. Some of us live for bold and exciting!”
Their creative meetings became shouting matches. Hope wanted the line to reflect empowerment and subtlety, while Kyle insisted on making a splash with over-the-top pieces designed to trend on Instagram. “We need a wow factor!” Kyle argued. “If it doesn’t go viral, what’s the point?”
The final blow came during the debut runway show in Paris. Hope had planned for a serene, sophisticated presentation, complete with live orchestral music and flowing, ethereal designs. But Kyle, ever the showstopper, decided to spice things up—without consulting Hope.
Moments before the models stepped onto the runway, Kyle replaced the orchestra with a live DJ blasting house music and added a surprise “celebrity cameo” walk by a viral TikTok star. The audience was stunned—but not in the way Kyle had hoped. The chaotic clash of styles left critics confused and unimpressed.
Backstage, Hope was livid. “This was supposed to be about the art, Kyle! You’ve turned it into a circus!”
Kyle rolled her eyes. “You’re so stuck in your soap opera bubble, Hope. This is how the real world works—you adapt, or you’re irrelevant.”
The feud reignited with a vengeance. By the time the disastrous reviews came in, the partnership was over. Both women released scathing statements, subtly blaming each other for the failure of Glamour & Grace.
Hope returned to Forrester Creations, vowing never to compromise her artistic vision again. “Fashion is about heart, not hype,” she declared in a heartfelt interview.
Kyle, meanwhile, spun the drama into content for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, turning the fallout into a multi-episode arc that boosted ratings. “Honestly, it’s her loss,” Kyle quipped during a confessional. “I tried to help her step into the real world, but some people just can’t handle the spotlight.”
The saga became legendary in both soap opera and reality TV circles, cementing their feud as one of the most glamorous—and catastrophic—collaborations in entertainment history.
Months after their public feud, Hope Logan and Kyle Richards shocked the world when they announced a joint fashion line called Glamour & Grace. It was billed as the perfect union of Hope’s elegant, timeless designs and Kyle’s bold, trend-setting flair. Fans were divided—some cheered for the surprising alliance, while others waited for the inevitable explosion.
At first, the collaboration seemed promising. Their launch event at a sprawling Beverly Hills mansion was a massive success, with A-listers and influencers raving about the designs. But behind the scenes, cracks were already forming.
Hope, meticulous and driven by artistry, was frustrated by Kyle’s need to micromanage every detail, from the fabric choices to the runway playlist. “This isn’t a reality show, Kyle,” Hope said one evening during a tense meeting at Forrester Creations. “We need to focus on the designs, not the drama.”
Kyle shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, excuse me for wanting to make sure the collection is actually marketable. Not everyone is into your ‘elegant simplicity,’ Hope. Some of us live for bold and exciting!”
Their creative meetings became shouting matches. Hope wanted the line to reflect empowerment and subtlety, while Kyle insisted on making a splash with over-the-top pieces designed to trend on Instagram. “We need a wow factor!” Kyle argued. “If it doesn’t go viral, what’s the point?”
The final blow came during the debut runway show in Paris. Hope had planned for a serene, sophisticated presentation, complete with live orchestral music and flowing, ethereal designs. But Kyle, ever the showstopper, decided to spice things up—without consulting Hope.
Moments before the models stepped onto the runway, Kyle replaced the orchestra with a live DJ blasting house music and added a surprise “celebrity cameo” walk by a viral TikTok star. The audience was stunned—but not in the way Kyle had hoped. The chaotic clash of styles left critics confused and unimpressed.
Backstage, Hope was livid. “This was supposed to be about the art, Kyle! You’ve turned it into a circus!”
Kyle rolled her eyes. “You’re so stuck in your soap opera bubble, Hope. This is how the real world works—you adapt, or you’re irrelevant.”
The feud reignited with a vengeance. By the time the disastrous reviews came in, the partnership was over. Both women released scathing statements, subtly blaming each other for the failure of Glamour & Grace.
Hope returned to Forrester Creations, vowing never to compromise her artistic vision again. “Fashion is about heart, not hype,” she declared in a heartfelt interview.
Kyle, meanwhile, spun the drama into content for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, turning the fallout into a multi-episode arc that boosted ratings. “Honestly, it’s her loss,” Kyle quipped during a confessional. “I tried to help her step into the real world, but some people just can’t handle the spotlight.”
The saga became legendary in both soap opera and reality TV circles, cementing their feud as one of the most glamorous—and catastrophic—collaborations in entertainment history.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,643
- 31,977
