John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
Useless Thread MM: When life gives you pucks, throw plushies!
- Thread starter John Price
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John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
Neil Racki
Registered User
Flossing your teeth and then eating the food chunks you find .. is the equivalent of eating your own buggers as a kid
But I cant stop because when I pull a chunk out .. I really want to know what meal that came from. How old is it? How did it stay intact so well? Corn? I dont remember eating corn?
ball boy literally took balls (after officials checked them) into the bathroom
You can argue deflation helped small hands Tom Brady only a little bit
But you cant deny the level of intentional organized cheating Brady was doing
But I cant stop because when I pull a chunk out .. I really want to know what meal that came from. How old is it? How did it stay intact so well? Corn? I dont remember eating corn?
what?
ball boy literally took balls (after officials checked them) into the bathroom
You can argue deflation helped small hands Tom Brady only a little bit
But you cant deny the level of intentional organized cheating Brady was doing
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
Cody Webster
Registered User
- Jul 18, 2014
- 26,834
- 25,569
Happy for you Ix
www.espn.com
Vitale to call 1st game after beating cancer again
For the first time since 2023, after battling four types of cancer, Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame broadcaster Dick Vitale, 85, will return to the air to call the Duke-Wake Forest men's college basketball on Saturday, Jan. 25.
GIADF
Not A Mod
- Aug 17, 2024
- 2,834
- 3,197
I see this thread is shittier than usual today.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
### The Choice of a Lifetime: Roki Sasaki's Journey
Roki Sasaki sat alone in his Tokyo apartment, the lights of the city sprawling before him like a vast, glittering sea. It had been weeks since the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Toronto Blue Jays had made their offers, and the weight of the decision pressed heavily on him. The two franchises couldn't have been more different, yet both offered dreams he had nurtured since his days as a teenager dominating Japan's baseball diamonds.
The Dodgers were a juggernaut, a team steeped in history and championships, a perennial contender with a loyal fanbase and a sparkling reputation. The lure of Los Angeles, with its sun-soaked beaches, star-studded culture, and fervent baseball energy, was undeniable. Roki could see himself standing on the mound at Dodger Stadium, the Hollywood Hills in the distance, the cheers of tens of thousands of fans echoing in his ears.
But the Blue Jays had their own allure. Toronto was a city known for its multicultural vibrancy, a place where diversity was celebrated and every neighborhood told a story. The team itself was young and hungry, brimming with rising stars and a devoted fanbase spanning an entire country. Unlike the Dodgers, where he'd be a piece in an already well-oiled machine, Toronto offered him the chance to be a cornerstone—a hero leading them toward their first World Series in decades.
***
Roki leaned back, closing his eyes. His agent had laid out the facts countless times. The Dodgers offered the chance to play on baseball's grandest stage right away. Their scouts had gushed about his ability to slot into their rotation as the ace they needed for another championship push. Yet, there was an undercurrent of expectation that weighed on him. In Los Angeles, failure would not be tolerated. Could he truly thrive under that kind of scrutiny?
Toronto, on the other hand, had promised him room to grow and shine. Their general manager spoke passionately about Roki being the missing piece of their puzzle. "We don't just want you to win games, Roki," he'd said during their last video call. "We want you to make history with us." The thought of becoming a national hero, not just for one city but for an entire country, stirred something deep within him.
***
The decision wasn't just professional—it was deeply personal. Roki thought of his family, who had supported him through endless hours of practice and countless games. His parents had always emphasized honor and integrity over fame. "Go where you can make the biggest difference," his father had told him during a late-night call. "Not just for yourself, but for those who believe in you."
But where was that? The Dodgers, with their star-studded roster, offered a near-certain path to a championship. Yet Toronto’s faith in him felt more genuine. The thought of becoming a symbol of hope for an underdog team—a leader who could inspire fans across Canada—resonated in his heart.
***
The morning of his decision, Roki woke early. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the city. He stood on his balcony, the contract offers spread out on the table behind him. One was written on the crisp blue letterhead of the Dodgers, the other bearing the bold maple leaf of the Blue Jays.
Finally, he picked up his phone. His agent answered almost immediately.
"I’ve made my choice," Roki said, his voice steady. "Call Toronto. Tell them I’m in."
The words felt like a release. He could almost hear the distant roar of the Rogers Centre, the sea of blue and white waving flags and banners, cheering his name. Roki smiled, envisioning himself on that mound in Toronto, pitching not just for a team, but for a nation.
He turned back to the city below, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The road ahead would be challenging, but Roki Sasaki had chosen the path that felt true to him. For the first time in a long while, he felt ready to embrace the future—his future, as a Toronto Blue Jay.
Roki Sasaki sat alone in his Tokyo apartment, the lights of the city sprawling before him like a vast, glittering sea. It had been weeks since the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Toronto Blue Jays had made their offers, and the weight of the decision pressed heavily on him. The two franchises couldn't have been more different, yet both offered dreams he had nurtured since his days as a teenager dominating Japan's baseball diamonds.
The Dodgers were a juggernaut, a team steeped in history and championships, a perennial contender with a loyal fanbase and a sparkling reputation. The lure of Los Angeles, with its sun-soaked beaches, star-studded culture, and fervent baseball energy, was undeniable. Roki could see himself standing on the mound at Dodger Stadium, the Hollywood Hills in the distance, the cheers of tens of thousands of fans echoing in his ears.
But the Blue Jays had their own allure. Toronto was a city known for its multicultural vibrancy, a place where diversity was celebrated and every neighborhood told a story. The team itself was young and hungry, brimming with rising stars and a devoted fanbase spanning an entire country. Unlike the Dodgers, where he'd be a piece in an already well-oiled machine, Toronto offered him the chance to be a cornerstone—a hero leading them toward their first World Series in decades.
***
Roki leaned back, closing his eyes. His agent had laid out the facts countless times. The Dodgers offered the chance to play on baseball's grandest stage right away. Their scouts had gushed about his ability to slot into their rotation as the ace they needed for another championship push. Yet, there was an undercurrent of expectation that weighed on him. In Los Angeles, failure would not be tolerated. Could he truly thrive under that kind of scrutiny?
Toronto, on the other hand, had promised him room to grow and shine. Their general manager spoke passionately about Roki being the missing piece of their puzzle. "We don't just want you to win games, Roki," he'd said during their last video call. "We want you to make history with us." The thought of becoming a national hero, not just for one city but for an entire country, stirred something deep within him.
***
The decision wasn't just professional—it was deeply personal. Roki thought of his family, who had supported him through endless hours of practice and countless games. His parents had always emphasized honor and integrity over fame. "Go where you can make the biggest difference," his father had told him during a late-night call. "Not just for yourself, but for those who believe in you."
But where was that? The Dodgers, with their star-studded roster, offered a near-certain path to a championship. Yet Toronto’s faith in him felt more genuine. The thought of becoming a symbol of hope for an underdog team—a leader who could inspire fans across Canada—resonated in his heart.
***
The morning of his decision, Roki woke early. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the city. He stood on his balcony, the contract offers spread out on the table behind him. One was written on the crisp blue letterhead of the Dodgers, the other bearing the bold maple leaf of the Blue Jays.
Finally, he picked up his phone. His agent answered almost immediately.
"I’ve made my choice," Roki said, his voice steady. "Call Toronto. Tell them I’m in."
The words felt like a release. He could almost hear the distant roar of the Rogers Centre, the sea of blue and white waving flags and banners, cheering his name. Roki smiled, envisioning himself on that mound in Toronto, pitching not just for a team, but for a nation.
He turned back to the city below, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The road ahead would be challenging, but Roki Sasaki had chosen the path that felt true to him. For the first time in a long while, he felt ready to embrace the future—his future, as a Toronto Blue Jay.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 388,424
- 31,898
End of Line
Sic Semper Tyrannis
- Mar 20, 2009
- 29,136
- 6,793
Sega Dreamcast
party like it's 1999
I'm arguing that the ensuing circus of an investigation happening after a game that was 45-7 is ridiculous.
The Colts, namely GM Ryan Grigson, were sore losers looking for an excuse
SoupNazi
Keeps paying for Hangman’s OF to get promoted
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,549
- 18,355
The Plushie Exiles: Taxation Without Representation
“Agent Hargrave,” her boss said over the phone, “we’re bringing in reinforcements. The IRS has been notified. Turns out neither Juan nor Sandy has paid taxes in years. We’re going to hit them where it hurts: their wallets.”
Hargrave raised an eyebrow. “Juan doesn’t have a job. How is he not paying taxes on zero income?”
“That’s just it. He’s been mooching off Sandy, who, by the way, has been running an under-the-table lasagna empire. Cash only. No records. We’ve got a team looking into her lasagna stand.”
Hargrave smirked. “Lasagna laundering. This just keeps getting better.”
Lines of hungry tourists stretched down the sidewalk as Sandy handed out steaming plates of her famous lasagna. “Remember, folks,” she called out, “life is like a box of chocolates, but lasagna is better!”
Juan, meanwhile, stood nearby holding a plushie with a chef’s hat, announcing, “Lasagna for the revolution! Proceeds support the Plushie Party!”
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of IRS agents disguised as tourists were in line, snapping photos and taking notes.
“Cash only, huh?” one agent muttered to the other. “Classic.”
“Looks like they’re grossly underreporting income,” the second agent replied. “We’ll have enough to audit her back to the Stone Age.”
“She’s been selling lasagna at every major tourist hotspot on the East Coast,” one of the agents explained. “No receipts, no paper trail, no taxes paid.”
“And Juan?” Hargrave asked.
“Zero income, as expected. But he’s a co-signer on several plushie loans. His credit is so bad it’s practically fictional.”
Hargrave pinched the bridge of her nose. “Plushie loans? Is that a real thing?”
“Apparently, yes. He’s been taking out personal loans to fund his collection, claiming they’re ‘investment plushies.’”
“This just keeps getting better,” Hargrave muttered.
“Juan and Sandy Price,” Hargrave announced, flashing her badge, “you’re under investigation for tax evasion and failure to report income.”
Sandy’s jaw dropped. “This is outrageous! My lasagna is art, not business!”
Juan clutched his plushie nervously. “You can’t tax the revolution!”
“Oh, we can,” Hargrave replied dryly. “And we will. Juan, your plushie loans have put you in debt so deep you’ll be swimming in it for years. Sandy, your lasagna empire is a cash-only operation with zero documentation. You owe back taxes, penalties, and interest.”
Sandy crossed her arms defiantly. “You can’t take my lasagna!”
“I don’t want your lasagna,” Hargrave said, holding up a thick stack of documents. “But Uncle Sam does.”
“We can’t let them win,” she said.
Juan nodded solemnly. “The plushies must be avenged.”
Sandy’s eyes lit up. “What if we run a fundraiser? A plushie auction! We’ll call it ‘Save the Revolution: One Plushie at a Time.’”
Juan grinned. “And we’ll sell lasagna on the side!”
From the corner of the room, I groaned. “You two are going to end up in prison.”
Sandy shrugged. “Maybe. But at least we’ll be well-fed.”
Hargrave, watching from across the street through binoculars, sighed. “This isn’t over,” she muttered to herself.
To be continued…
Chapter 1: The IRS Joins the Game
Agent Vivian Hargrave sat in her makeshift command center—a small, cluttered office in D.C., where the walls were now adorned with diagrams and photos of plushies, tax forms, and the grinning faces of Juan and Sandy.“Agent Hargrave,” her boss said over the phone, “we’re bringing in reinforcements. The IRS has been notified. Turns out neither Juan nor Sandy has paid taxes in years. We’re going to hit them where it hurts: their wallets.”
Hargrave raised an eyebrow. “Juan doesn’t have a job. How is he not paying taxes on zero income?”
“That’s just it. He’s been mooching off Sandy, who, by the way, has been running an under-the-table lasagna empire. Cash only. No records. We’ve got a team looking into her lasagna stand.”
Hargrave smirked. “Lasagna laundering. This just keeps getting better.”
Chapter 2: Sandy’s Lasagna Empire
At a bustling park in the shadow of the Washington Monument, Sandy had set up a small lasagna stand, complete with a colorful banner that read “Sandy’s Sensational Slices: A Real Banger!”Lines of hungry tourists stretched down the sidewalk as Sandy handed out steaming plates of her famous lasagna. “Remember, folks,” she called out, “life is like a box of chocolates, but lasagna is better!”
Juan, meanwhile, stood nearby holding a plushie with a chef’s hat, announcing, “Lasagna for the revolution! Proceeds support the Plushie Party!”
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of IRS agents disguised as tourists were in line, snapping photos and taking notes.
“Cash only, huh?” one agent muttered to the other. “Classic.”
“Looks like they’re grossly underreporting income,” the second agent replied. “We’ll have enough to audit her back to the Stone Age.”
Chapter 3: Hargrave Closes In
Later that evening, Hargrave met with the IRS team to review their findings. A large screen displayed a pie chart showing Sandy’s lasagna income, which had somehow surpassed six figures in just a few years.“She’s been selling lasagna at every major tourist hotspot on the East Coast,” one of the agents explained. “No receipts, no paper trail, no taxes paid.”
“And Juan?” Hargrave asked.
“Zero income, as expected. But he’s a co-signer on several plushie loans. His credit is so bad it’s practically fictional.”
Hargrave pinched the bridge of her nose. “Plushie loans? Is that a real thing?”
“Apparently, yes. He’s been taking out personal loans to fund his collection, claiming they’re ‘investment plushies.’”
“This just keeps getting better,” Hargrave muttered.
Chapter 4: The Confrontation
The next morning, as Juan and Sandy prepared for another day of lasagna sales and plushie advocacy, they were met by Hargrave and a team of IRS agents at their rented townhouse.“Juan and Sandy Price,” Hargrave announced, flashing her badge, “you’re under investigation for tax evasion and failure to report income.”
Sandy’s jaw dropped. “This is outrageous! My lasagna is art, not business!”
Juan clutched his plushie nervously. “You can’t tax the revolution!”
“Oh, we can,” Hargrave replied dryly. “And we will. Juan, your plushie loans have put you in debt so deep you’ll be swimming in it for years. Sandy, your lasagna empire is a cash-only operation with zero documentation. You owe back taxes, penalties, and interest.”
Sandy crossed her arms defiantly. “You can’t take my lasagna!”
“I don’t want your lasagna,” Hargrave said, holding up a thick stack of documents. “But Uncle Sam does.”
Chapter 5: Juan and Sandy’s Scheme
That evening, as they sat in their now-empty townhouse (their plushies and lasagna supplies having been confiscated), Sandy turned to Juan with a determined look.“We can’t let them win,” she said.
Juan nodded solemnly. “The plushies must be avenged.”
Sandy’s eyes lit up. “What if we run a fundraiser? A plushie auction! We’ll call it ‘Save the Revolution: One Plushie at a Time.’”
Juan grinned. “And we’ll sell lasagna on the side!”
From the corner of the room, I groaned. “You two are going to end up in prison.”
Sandy shrugged. “Maybe. But at least we’ll be well-fed.”
Hargrave, watching from across the street through binoculars, sighed. “This isn’t over,” she muttered to herself.
To be continued…
Neil Racki
Registered User
Brady has ballboy take balls into bathroom to tamper with game balls for years ........ why would the Colts do this?
I can accept arguments the .005 less PSI was a nominal advantage .. but lets not blame anyone other then Tom Brady for the systemic ball deflate Oceans 11 system they had going on.
GIADF
Not A Mod
- Aug 17, 2024
- 2,834
- 3,197
Homemade nachos for dinner this evening
Frozen pizza and red wine because I'm tired, hungover, and lazy today.
Pork tenderloin. Mashed potatoes with bacon/sour cream, green bean casserole and homemade bread
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