Useless Thread MMI: Babe Woof Depreciation Thread

[GIADF]

Layoffs are scary

I came back from a 2+ month parental leave on January 2nd, and January 6th layoffs were announced.

But then I just found a better gig all around. Pay, benefits, culture, all that. Guess it worked out because it probably pushed me over the edge with initiative to find this job, where had I felt comfortable would have probably sat comfortably.

 

[PanthersPens62]

Song of the day: (dedicated to the Baltimore Ravens kicker)

 

[MetalheadPenguinsFan]

Whats up? @PanthersPens62

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

Wings play at 10 tonight.

f*** you West coast

 

[SoupNazi]

Juan was released from the casino’s security office the next morning, disheveled, exhausted, and deeply wounded by the loss of Mr. Freedom.

“I feel empty,” he muttered as we walked down the neon-lit streets of Seoul. “Like a piece of my soul has been ripped away.”

Brenda smirked. “Maybe don’t bet plushies next time, dumbass.”

Juan shot her a glare, then turned to me. “We have to get them back.”

I sighed. “Juan, Ohtani won them fair and square.”

“But he doesn’t need them!” Juan whined. “He’s got millions of dollars, a perfect jawline, and a fastball that could kill a man. I have nothing!”

“Self-inflicted,” Brenda noted.

Juan ignored her and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes lighting up with a terrifying determination.

“I need to challenge Ohtani to a duel.”

Brenda and I stared at him.

“A duel?” I repeated.

“Yes,” Juan said firmly. “Baseball. Mano a mano. One-on-one. If I win, I get my plushies back. If I lose… well, that won’t happen.”

Brenda cackled. “Juan, you haven’t played a sport in your life.”

“I played T-ball!” Juan argued.

Brenda wiped a tear from her eye. “Yeah, when you were six.”

I sighed. “How do you even plan to challenge Ohtani? He’s the biggest baseball star in the world. He’s not going to waste his time playing catch with a guy who eats gas station sushi.”

Juan folded his arms. “Then we go to Japan.”

Brenda and I blinked.

“What?” I asked.

“We go to Japan,” Juan repeated. “Ohtani has to respect a man who follows him across the ocean for a showdown.”

“That’s stalking,” I pointed out.

Juan shook his head. “No, no, it’s sportsmanship. Besides, we were already planning on going to Japan.”

“No, we weren’t,” Brenda and I said at the same time.

Juan clapped his hands together. “Great! We leave in the morning!”

And just like that, we were headed back to Japan.

 

[SoupNazi]

We touched down at Narita Airport early in the morning, groggy and unprepared for whatever stupidity Juan had in store. Brenda was already plotting some sort of plushie-related business venture, while Juan stood at the baggage carousel muttering to himself about “honor” and “baseball justice.”

I knew this trip was going to be a disaster before we even got through customs.

“Alright,” Brenda said as we stepped into the Tokyo sunlight. “Time to find our place in this city. I think we should open a plushie sushi bar.”

I blinked at her. “A what?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Sushi, but plushies.”

“Plushies aren’t food, Brenda.”

She waved me off. “That’s why it’s genius! The real sushi is for eating, and the plushie sushi is for collecting! People here love cute stuff. We’ll make a killing.”

Juan barely acknowledged this. His eyes were burning with a singular purpose.

“We have to find Ohtani,” he declared.

Brenda rolled her eyes. “And how do you plan on doing that, genius? Just walk up to the Tokyo Dome and demand a meeting?”

“Yes,” Juan said.

And then, in a move that surprised no one, he did exactly that.

The Tokyo Dome Incident​

Hours later, after an excessive amount of pleading and bribing a security guard with a Babe Woof plushie, we somehow found ourselves inside the stadium.

Juan stood at the pitcher’s mound, gripping a baseball like it was a sacred artifact. He had forced himself into a full baseball uniform he bought at a thrift store, complete with oversized cleats and pants that barely fit.

“I am here to reclaim my honor!” Juan bellowed, raising his plushie glove—yes, he had a plushie glove—into the air.

The small crowd of stadium workers looked on in confusion. A maintenance guy swept some dust off the infield, unimpressed.

“I demand a one-on-one showdown with Shohei Ohtani!”

Silence.

Then, after a long pause, a security guard sighed and pulled out his walkie-talkie.

“We got another one.”

Brenda cackled. “Oh, this is about to be good.”

Juan’s Brief, Humiliating Baseball Career​

Ohtani never showed up—of course he didn’t. But someone must have pitied Juan, because within minutes, an actualJapanese minor-league pitcher came jogging onto the field to humor him.

The guy was barely a professional, but still way out of Juan’s league.

Juan stepped up to the plate, gripping the bat like it was an unfamiliar object. The pitcher wound up, threw a fastball—and Juan swung so hard that he spun in a full circle and collapsed.

The ball smacked into the catcher’s mitt with a pop.

Juan groaned from the dirt. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Sure,” Brenda snorted.

They gave him three more pitches. He whiffed all of them. The last one hit him in the stomach.

By the time he crawled off the field, the stadium workers were laughing, the minor-league pitcher was shaking his head, and Brenda was holding back tears of amusement.

Juan wiped dirt from his face and glared at us.

“This was not a fair fight.”

“You embarrassed yourself in two different languages,” I told him.

Brenda put a hand on his shoulder. “This was a real barroom banger of a humiliation.”

Juan groaned. “I need food.”

Brenda clapped her hands together. “Great! Time to open the plushie sushi bar!”

And just like that, we were in business.

 

[SoupNazi]

General Freedom’s North Korean Plushie Sushi Bar: An International Incident​

By some twisted stroke of fate (and Brenda’s ability to talk her way into bad decisions), we found ourselves renting a tiny restaurant space in the heart of Tokyo.

Juan, still high on his imaginary status as a North Korean diplomat, insisted on calling it:

“General Freedom’s North Korean Plushie Sushi Bar.”

It was a horrific name for so many reasons, but Brenda was too busy sketching out the menu to care.

“We need a signature dish,” she said, writing furiously on a napkin. “Something that nobody else has. Something that screams ‘plushie sushi’ but also ‘communist dictatorship.’”

Juan slammed his fist on the table. “We make sushi inside plushies.”

I blinked. “Juan. That’s… that’s just shoving fish into stuffed animals.”

“Yes!” Juan beamed.

Brenda clapped her hands. “It’s edgy! It’s political! It’s brilliant!”

It was a health code violation waiting to happen.

But it was too late. They were committed.

Grand Opening Chaos​

The doors to General Freedom’s North Korean Plushie Sushi Bar opened at noon.

By 12:05, we had our first horrified customers.

A Japanese businessman and his wife stepped inside, looked at the decor—North Korean flags, anime plushies with tiny sushi rolls stitched to their hands, and a framed picture of Juan giving a thumbs-up—and immediately turned around and left.

“Cowards,” Juan muttered.

At 12:30, an American tourist couple wandered in, lured by the promise of “authentic North Korean cuisine.” They took one look at the menu—featuring items like “Supreme Leader Sushi,” “Dictator Rolls,” and “The Demilitarized Zone Delight”—and demanded to know if we were on some kind of watchlist.

“Probably,” I admitted.

At 1:00, a group of confused South Korean diplomats walked in. One of them saw the menu, read the name of the restaurant out loud, gasped in horror, and immediately pulled out a phone.

Brenda was thrilled. “International exposure, baby!”

At 2:00, a man in a dark suit and sunglasses stepped inside and took a seat. He didn’t order food. He just stared at us.

Juan leaned over. “That’s a spy.”

“Probably.”

Brenda waved at him. “Hope you’re hungry! Try the Supreme Leader Special—it’s raw fish wrapped in propaganda!”

I put my head in my hands.

Things Escalate… Fast​

At 4:00, our first real disaster struck.

Juan, in an attempt to show his “true allegiance to the North Korean people,” stood up on the counter and declared:

“As General Freedom, I officially offer plushie-based diplomacy to our North Korean brothers!”

Then he threw a Babe Woof plushie at a tourist.

It hit them square in the face.

That’s when the police showed up.

And then… the embassy officials.

And then… some very angry North Korean guys in suits.

Brenda, ever the entrepreneur, turned to me and whispered: “This is either gonna make us billionaires or get us executed.”

International Incident Mode: Activated​

The next twenty minutes were a chaotic blur of shouting, government agents, and Juan getting restrained by Japanese law enforcement as he screamed about freedom.

“We can fix this!” Brenda insisted.

“How?!”

“LASAGNA DIPLOMACY!”

This was, of course, a terrible idea.

Brenda sprinted to the back, grabbed a full pan of lasagna, and carried it out like a religious offering.

The North Korean officials did not look impressed.

One of them picked up a plush sushi roll, sneered, and set it on fire.

That was when Juan completely lost it.

“THAT WAS HAND-STITCHED!” he bellowed, breaking free from the police and tackling the guy.

And Just Like That, We Were Criminals Again​

By the time we were dragged out of the restaurant in handcuffs, an entire crowd had gathered outside.

The news cameras were rolling.

Juan was still screaming about plushies.

Brenda was trying to bribe the cops with lasagna.

And me?

I was already mentally planning my escape.

This wasn’t our first international incident.

And it sure as hell wouldn’t be our last.

 

[GIADF]

Zillow should allow a comment section for home listings. This listing says "Welcome to this Immaculate and updated home, a perfect blend of modern, convenience and comfort!"

And it doesn't look like the house has been touched since like 2002.

 

[PanthersPens62]

Song of the day: (dedicated to the Baltimore Ravens kicker)

Chillin' like a villain !