Toggle sidebar

Useless Thread MM: TSA Precheck Appreciation Thread

  • Work is still on-going to rebuild the site styling and features. Please report any issues you may experience so we can look into it. Click Here for Updates


Cue all the idiots saying "you're not entitled to win" and "you only call them tryhards because they're better than you".

Some people want to play an unranked PVP game without getting stomped by players leaning forward in their chair, white-knuckling the controller, and using every meta tactic available. Why are those people playing unranked if they're taking the game so seriously?

Sure, it's possible for someone to play casually and just be good at the game, but no one is complaining about the mere fact of losing. People are bitching about the level of competition being so imbalanced that the game is absolutely no fun to play.
 
John Price said:
Karen of the Day

www.espn.com

Djokovic jabs 'experts,' posts MRI of leg injury

Novak Djokovic posted a scan of his injured left hamstring on social media while taking a shot at fans who booed him for retiring during his semifinal match against Alexander Zverev.
www.espn.com www.espn.com
Click to expand...
"I know that everybody paid for tickets and everybody wants to see hopefully a great five-set match," Zverev said. "But you've got to understand -- Novak Djokovic is somebody that has given this sport, for the past 20 years, absolutely everything of his life."

Be more like Zverev please. :help:
 
PanthersPens62 said:
"I know that everybody paid for tickets and everybody wants to see hopefully a great five-set match," Zverev said. "But you've got to understand -- Novak Djokovic is somebody that has given this sport, for the past 20 years, absolutely everything of his life."

Be more like Zverev please. :help:
Click to expand...
his body broke down he can't sustain a full season
 
hialeah

PXL_20250125_193329679.jpg
 
  • Haha
Reactions: PanthersPens62
It started with Juan showing up in my motel room at the crack of dawn, dressed like some kind of deranged commando. He was wearing camouflage pants two sizes too small, a black tank top stretched dangerously thin over his gut, and a plushie eagle strapped to his chest like a makeshift body armor. His eyes were wild, and his hands were clutching a map of Nevada, which I was pretty sure he’d torn out of a road atlas from the gas station down the street.

“They’ve taken Brenda,” he whispered, as if the IRS agents who arrested her were hiding under my bed.

“I know,” I said, not bothering to sit up in the creaky motel bed. “I was there when it happened, remember?”

Juan ignored me, laying the map across my bed and stabbing his finger at a dot labeled “Washoe County Detention Facility.”

“She’s in there,” he said. “We have to break her out. The Plushie Party can’t survive without her lasagna wisdom!”

“Juan,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s a federal facility. You can’t just waltz in and walk out with her. That’s not how this works.”

“I’m not waltzing,” he said, standing up and pacing like some plushie-obsessed Napoleon. “I have a plan. It involves plushie decoys, a distraction involving fireworks, and maybe—just maybe—me dressing up as a lawyer.”

“That’s not a plan,” I said. “That’s a meltdown waiting to happen.”

But Juan wasn’t listening. He opened his duffel bag, which was packed with plushies, some dressed as law enforcement officers. He held up a plushie raccoon wearing a sheriff’s badge.

“This is Officer Snuggles,” he said. “He’ll infiltrate the facility and take down the guards from the inside.”

“Juan, you need help,” I said.

“And you’re going to help me,” he said, turning to me with that gleam in his eye that always meant disaster. “Because you’re not just some bystander in all of this. You’re the Narrator.”

“Yes, and?”

“And I know who you really are,” he said, leaning in dramatically. “You’re a well-known baseball collector. I’ve seen your name in articles. You’re practically famous in the memorabilia world. You’re the guy who caught that home run ball.”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t want to talk about that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said quickly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Juan said. “You’re the one who outbid an entire room of Yankees fans for Babe Ruth’s glove. If anyone can plan an impossible heist, it’s you.”

“I didn’t plan a heist,” I said. “I just got lucky. And I’m not helping you break Brenda out of jail.”

Juan looked wounded. He clutched the plushie eagle on his chest like it was his heart. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re just going to leave us hanging?”

“Yes,” I said.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t that simple. Juan might be an unhinged lunatic, but Brenda
 well, Brenda was the glue that held this whole ridiculous saga together. And if she was stuck in some IRS-run detention facility outside Reno, it was only a matter of time before she started a lasagna racket in the cafeteria and got herself into even more trouble.

Against my better judgment, I sighed. “Fine. I’ll help you. But if we end up in prison ourselves, I’m blaming you.”

Juan grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “I knew you’d come around.”

As he started unpacking more plushie “disguises” and rambling about smoke bombs, I sat back on the bed and wondered how I’d gone from collecting baseball memorabilia to planning an IRS jailbreak with a lunatic and his stuffed animals.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think of that home run ball—the one that had put me on the map and led me into this strange, plushie-infested odyssey.

This wasn’t how I imagined my life would turn out. But then again, nothing ever went as planned when Juan and Brenda were involved.
 
  • Haha
  • Like
Reactions: Mrfenn92, PanthersPens62 and MetalheadPenguinsFan
Juan’s plan was, unsurprisingly, a disaster from the start.

We arrived outside the Washoe County Detention Facility at dusk, Juan dressed in his ridiculous “lawyer” disguise—a three-piece suit at least two sizes too small, paired with a neon green tie that made him look more like a game show host than an attorney. In his arms was a box labeled “Confidential Legal Documents,” which I knew for a fact was just stuffed with plushies wearing tiny handcuffs.

“This is foolproof,” Juan whispered as we crouched behind a bush near the parking lot. “We go in, cause a distraction with the decoy plushies, and sneak Brenda out while the guards are distracted. Simple as that.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I muttered, glancing around nervously. “This is a federal facility, Juan. They don’t mess around.”

“Relax,” Juan said, grinning like a lunatic. “I’ve got this under control.”

Before I could protest further, Juan stood up and marched toward the facility’s front entrance. I stayed behind, my gut telling me this was going to end badly.

Juan approached the guard at the front desk, slapping the box of plushies down with an air of confidence that didn’t match his ridiculous getup.

“I’m here to see my client, Brenda
 uh
 Smith,” he said, clearly improvising as he went. “I’m her legal counsel.”

The guard, a burly man with a no-nonsense expression, raised an eyebrow. “Got any ID?”

Juan hesitated for a moment before pulling out what appeared to be a library card. “This should suffice,” he said, holding it out with a flourish.

The guard didn’t even bother to take it. “Sir, you can’t just walk in here without proper credentials.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Juan said, his voice rising dramatically. “Because I have this!”

With a flourish, he opened the box, revealing the handcuffed plushies inside.

“This,” he declared, “is evidence of a conspiracy against my client!”

The guard blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to the spectacle.

“Are those
 stuffed animals?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“They’re exhibits,” Juan corrected him. “Each one represents a piece of the puzzle that will exonerate Brenda Smith. And if you don’t let me in right now, I’ll take this case all the way to the Supreme Court!”

At this point, I was ready to cut my losses and run, but before I could make my escape, the situation escalated.

Juan reached into the box and pulled out a plushie eagle—the same one I’d seen him wearing as “armor” earlier.

“This,” he said, holding it up dramatically, “is Officer Snuggles. He represents justice, truth, and the American way!”

That’s when the eagle’s tiny plastic eye popped off and rolled across the desk.

The guard sighed, clearly losing patience. “Sir, if you don’t leave right now, I’m calling backup.”

But Juan wasn’t about to give up.

“You leave me no choice,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what I could only describe as a homemade smoke bomb made of sparklers and duct tape. “Time for Plan B!”

“Plan B?” I hissed from the bushes, finally stepping out. “What the hell is Plan B?”

Before I could stop him, Juan lit the smoke bomb and tossed it onto the floor. The contraption fizzled for a moment before sputtering out in a pathetic puff of smoke.

“Uh-oh,” Juan muttered, just as the guard reached for his radio.

The next few minutes were a blur of chaos. Alarms blared, backup arrived, and Juan was tackled to the ground by two burly guards while shouting, “The plushies must be avenged!”

I tried to slink away unnoticed, but of course, that’s when Brenda appeared in the window of her cell, banging on the glass.

“Hey, morons!” she shouted. “What the hell kind of rescue attempt is this?”

It wasn’t long before both Juan and I were escorted into the facility in handcuffs, joining Brenda in a holding cell while the guards tried to make sense of the situation.

“This is your fault,” Brenda snapped, glaring at me.

“My fault?” I shot back. “I told him this was a terrible idea!”

“Both of you, shut up,” Juan said, sitting on the bench with a defeated look. “I’ll think of something else.”

“You’d better,” Brenda said. “Because if I have to eat one more serving of cafeteria lasagna, I’m going to lose it.”

As I sat there, surrounded by chaos and plushie-related insanity, I couldn’t help but wonder how my life had spiraled so far out of control.
 
  • Haha
  • Like
Reactions: Mrfenn92, PanthersPens62 and MetalheadPenguinsFan
The next morning, the chaos outside the Washoe County Detention Facility made it abundantly clear that Juan and Brenda’s influence had reached a new level of absurdity. Plushie collectors from all over the country had converged on the prison, transforming the otherwise quiet facility into the epicenter of a bizarre riot.

From my vantage point in the holding cell, I could see the scene through a narrow, grimy window. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of people waved plushies above their heads like revolutionary flags. There were teddy bears, unicorns, dragons, and even a few QAnon Shaman plushies. Someone had set up a makeshift stage in the parking lot, where a man dressed as a giant plush lion was leading the crowd in chants of “FREE JUAN! FREE BRENDA! PLUSHIE RIGHTS MATTER!”

“This is insane,” I muttered, watching as a line of riot police tried unsuccessfully to contain the mob. “How do these people even know about this?”

“Social media,” Brenda said smugly, lounging on the bench like she was royalty. “I’ve been networking in the plushie community for years. They’re loyal to the cause.”

“What cause?” I asked, incredulous. “You tried to smuggle lasagna under the table and Juan threw a smoke bomb at a federal building.”

“Details,” Brenda said, waving her hand dismissively. “What matters is that the Plushie Army has our backs. Isn’t that right, Juan?”

Juan, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a plush octopus in his lap, looked up and nodded solemnly. “The plushies have always been more than toys,” he said. “They’re symbols of freedom, comfort, and unity. And now, they’re the future.”

Before I could respond to this nonsense, a guard walked in, looking both baffled and irritated.

“You’ve got visitors,” he said.

“Who?” Brenda asked, perking up.

“Everyone, apparently,” the guard replied. “But right now, there’s a guy outside demanding to see you. Says he’s your spiritual advisor.”

We exchanged confused glances as the guard unlocked the cell door. Moments later, we were led into a visitation room, where none other than Agent Hargrave was waiting.

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an infuriating smirk. “I see you’ve managed to rile up half the country’s most niche collectors. Congratulations.”

“You’re behind this, aren’t you?” Brenda accused, pointing a finger at him. “You’re trying to take down the Plushie Party.”

“I don’t need to take down the Plushie Party,” Hargrave said, his tone dripping with amusement. “You’re doing a fine job of that yourselves. But I have to admit, I didn’t expect your cult-like following to reach this level.”

“It’s not a cult,” Juan said indignantly. “It’s a movement.”

Hargrave snorted. “Call it whatever you want, but right now, your ‘movement’ is creating a national security headache. We’ve got plushie collectors blockading highways, throwing plushies at government buildings, and starting hashtag wars online. The President is asking questions, and let me tell you, I’m not in the mood to explain why grown adults are rioting over stuffed animals.”

“Maybe you should let us go, then,” Brenda said smugly. “The people want their leaders back.”

Hargrave leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “Let me be clear,” he said. “You’re not leaders. You’re a couple of grifters who’ve stumbled into a following by accident. And if you think this ends with a plushie parade through the streets of Washington, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Brenda opened her mouth to retort, but before she could speak, a loud crash echoed from outside. We all turned to look out the window as a giant plushie hot air balloon—yes, a hot air balloon shaped like a teddy bear—descended into the parking lot.

“Is that
?” I began, unable to finish the sentence.

“The Plushie Queen,” Juan whispered reverently.

Sure enough, the balloon bore the name of their old yacht, emblazoned in glittering letters.

“This is it,” Brenda said, her eyes alight with determination. “The Plushie Army is here to rescue us.”

Hargrave groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered.

The balloon landed with surprising precision, and a group of masked plushie enthusiasts poured out, wielding oversized stuffed animals like weapons. The guards outside scrambled to respond, but it was clear they were outmatched by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“What do we do now?” I asked, torn between panic and disbelief.

Brenda grinned. “We join the fight, of course. It’s time to show the world what the Plushie Party is made of.”

As chaos erupted outside, I realized there was no escaping this madness. One way or another, I was stuck in the middle of the weirdest revolution in history.
 
  • Haha
Reactions: MetalheadPenguinsFan and PanthersPens62
The chaos outside the Washoe County Detention Facility reached a fever pitch. Plushies flew through the air like bizarre projectiles, and the riot police were struggling to contain the Plushie Army. In the midst of the insanity, Hargrave paced the visitation room, clearly weighing his options.

“We can’t stay here,” he finally said, rubbing his temple. “If this escalates any further, it’s going to make national headlines, and I’ll be damned if I let plushies ruin my career.”

Brenda perked up. “Does this mean you’re helping us escape?”

“Helping you escape? No,” Hargrave replied. “Helping myself get out of this mess? Yes. You three are my best chance of getting the Plushie Army to stand down.”

“Stand down?” Brenda scoffed. “They’re just getting started! Juan’s vision of plushie freedom will sweep the nation!”

Juan, who had been oddly quiet during the commotion, suddenly stood and adjusted his shirt. “He’s right, Mom. It’s time for us to go. For the plushies.”

Hargrave didn’t wait for more discussion. “Follow me,” he snapped, motioning for the guards outside to open the door. “You’re coming with me, and we’re going to make this look like a de-escalation, not a jailbreak.”

The guards, who seemed far more interested in avoiding flying teddy bears than enforcing protocol, let us through. Hargrave led us down a back hallway and out to an unmarked black SUV parked behind the facility.

“This is your ride,” Hargrave said, shoving Brenda and me toward the vehicle. “Get in, and don’t make a scene.”

“What about Juan?” Brenda asked, suddenly noticing her son wasn’t following.

We turned to see Juan standing resolutely in the hallway, holding a plush eagle in one hand and staring at Hargrave with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I can’t go,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Brenda said, her voice rising an octave.

“They’ll never stop chasing us if we all escape,” Juan said. “I’ll stay behind and distract them while you two get out of here.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Brenda shouted. “We’re not leaving without you!”

“Mom, listen,” Juan said, stepping closer. “This is for the Plushie Party. If they capture me, it’ll make me a martyr. The movement will grow stronger. It’s the only way.”

Hargrave rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of—this isn’t a revolution, kid. It’s a riot over stuffed animals.”

Juan ignored him and turned to me. “Take care of her,” he said, his voice suddenly heavy with emotion. “She’s the brains of this operation.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could speak, Juan turned and sprinted back toward the main entrance, shouting, “FOR THE PLUSHIES!”

“Juan!” Brenda screamed, but Hargrave physically restrained her from running after him.

“He’s made his choice,” Hargrave said grimly. “And honestly, I’m not stopping him. Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

Reluctantly, Brenda climbed into the SUV, tears streaming down her face. As we sped away from the facility, we could see the Plushie Army parting for Juan like he was some kind of prophet. He raised the plush eagle high above his head, shouting something we couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd.

“That boy is either the dumbest or the bravest person I’ve ever met,” Hargrave muttered as he floored the gas pedal.

Brenda, sobbing in the backseat, suddenly sat upright. “We’re going to get him out,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “No matter what it takes.”

Hargrave sighed. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”

As we disappeared into the Nevada desert, I couldn’t help but wonder if Juan really believed his martyr act would work—or if he just wanted an excuse to stay with his plushies. Either way, I had a sinking feeling this wasn’t the last we’d see of him.
 
  • Haha
  • Like
Reactions: MetalheadPenguinsFan, PanthersPens62 and Mrfenn92
You must log in or register to reply here.

Latest posts

Ad

Upcoming events

Ad

Top Bottom