Useless thread MMII: Eagles & Buckeyes championship appreciation thread

[SoupNazi]

The Swiftie Tribunal​

Juan, still in handcuffs, gasped so hard I thought he might pass out. “It’s them. The King and Queen. The Power Couple. Traylor Swiftce.”

Brenda elbowed me. “That’s not their name.”

Before I could respond, Travis Kelce stepped out of the car, towering over the scene like some kind of football demigod. Taylor Swift remained seated, oversized sunglasses covering half her face, but even from behind them, I could feel her bewildered gaze.

The police officer hesitated. “Uh, Mr. Kelce, Miss Swift… didn’t expect to see you here.”

Travis crossed his arms, looking down at Juan. “What the hell is this?”

Juan puffed out his chest despite being restrained. “I am but a humble merchant, spreading the gospel of plushie love. Is that a crime?”

The officer sighed. “Yeah, actually, it is. Counterfeit merch.”

Taylor finally spoke. “Where did you even get these?”

Juan wiggled his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes. That’s why I asked.”

Travis snatched one of the plushies and inspected it. “Man, this thing don’t even look like me.”

“I took creative liberties.”

“It’s got a mullet.”

“You could have a mullet.”

Travis turned the plushie over and scowled. “And why does it say ‘PROPERTY OF JUAN’ on the back?”

Juan grinned. “Branding.”

The police officer turned to Taylor. “Do you want to press charges?”

Juan gasped again, dramatically. “Taylor, please. We are kindred spirits. You write songs, I make plushies. We are both creators, bound by—”

Taylor cut him off with a raised hand. “Honestly? I’m not mad.”

Juan’s face lit up. “You’re not?”

She shrugged. “This is probably, like, the least insane thing a fan has ever done.”

Travis, however, was still skeptical. “Dude, I still kinda wanna hit him.”

Brenda, ever the diplomat, stepped in. “Mr. Kelce, before you go full Super Bowl Blitz on my friend here, might I interest you in a delicious homemade lasagna?”

Travis blinked. “What?”

“I make a mean lasagna. People have called it ‘revolutionary’ and ‘potentially edible.’”

Taylor chuckled. “That’s definitely the weirdest bribe I’ve ever heard.”

“Is that a yes?”

“…I mean, I’m curious now.”

And just like that, the situation pivoted from plushie fraud to impromptu celebrity dinner party. Taylor and Travis invited us to their rented mansion just outside town, Juan was miraculously un-arrested, and Brenda started rummaging through her travel bag for ingredients.

As we followed their car, Juan leaned over to me and whispered, “Bro… I’m about to dine with Taylor Swift.”

I sighed. “Yeah. This is happening.”

And with that, we drove off into the Pennsylvania night, heading toward a dinner I was sure would end in absolute disaster.

 

[SoupNazi]

A Dinner of Champions (and Criminals)​

We arrived at Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce’s rental mansion, a place so big it probably had its own zip code. The driveway alone looked long enough to hold a small music festival.

Brenda hopped out of the car first, clutching her bag of lasagna ingredients like it was a prized artifact. “Alright, boys. Time to work some magic.”

Juan adjusted his non-existent tie. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’m about to break bread with royalty.”

I rubbed my temples. “Just don’t embarrass us.”

Juan scoffed. “Please. When have I ever embarrassed anyone?”

I was too tired to count.

Inside, the place was predictably absurd—gold fixtures, marble floors, and a chandelier that could’ve doubled as a medieval torture device if it ever fell. Taylor led us into the massive kitchen while Travis grabbed a couple of beers from a fridge that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie.

Brenda immediately took control. “Alright, I need tomatoes, cheese, noodles, a functioning oven, and the spirit of my Sicilian ancestors.”

Travis leaned on the counter. “Yeah, about that. How long is this gonna take?”

Brenda waved him off. “Lasagna is a dish of patience. Great things take time.”

Juan, meanwhile, was vibrating with excitement. He kept staring at Taylor like she was an angelic figure sent from the heavens. She finally noticed.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Juan cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say—your music changed my life.”

Taylor gave him a polite smile. “That’s sweet. Which song is your favorite?”

Juan blinked. “Uh… all of them?”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “Name one.”

Juan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Finally, he blurted out, “Uh… Party in the USA?”

Taylor sighed. “That’s Miley Cyrus.”

Travis shook his head. “Dude.”

I put my face in my hands.

Juan panicked. “No, wait! I mean—Skater Boi!”

Taylor groaned. “That’s Avril Lavigne.”

Juan snapped his fingers. “Oh! Oh! Fergalicious!”

Silence.

Travis chuckled into his beer. “Bro, you gotta stop.”

Juan turned to me, horrified. “Help me.”

“Nope. Dig your own grave.”

Juan took a deep breath and tried again. “Fine. My favorite Taylor Swift song is… Call Me Maybe.”

Taylor stood up. “I’m leaving.”

Brenda, still chopping tomatoes, threw a wooden spoon at Juan. “You buffoon! You absolute clown of a man!”

Juan held up his hands. “Look, I was nervous, okay? I love Taylor’s music! Especially that one about the guy and the girl and the feelings and the—”

“Stop.” Taylor rubbed her temples. “Let’s just eat the lasagna.”

Travis, still smirking, tossed Juan a beer. “That was brutal, man.”

Brenda clapped her hands. “Enough! This lasagna will bring us back together!”

Juan cracked open his beer. “If there’s one thing that can fix this, it’s carbs.”

Spoiler: It did not fix things.

Brenda pulled the lasagna from the oven with a dramatic flourish, and it… well, looked edible. Sort of. The cheese had melted, the noodles were technically cooked, and nothing had caught on fire.

Taylor poked at it suspiciously. “It smells… interesting.”

Travis grabbed a massive scoop and took a bite. For a moment, he chewed in deep contemplation. Then, he nodded.

“Not bad,” he said.

Brenda threw her arms up. “Ha! A Kelce-approved lasagna!”

Taylor took a much smaller bite. “…It’s… unique.”

Juan shoved an entire spoonful into his mouth. His face went through five different emotions at once.

“…It’s an experience,” he finally said.

I took a tiny bite. It was, indeed, an experience.

As we ate, the conversation turned to Juan’s never-ending hustle. He pitched his Plushie Empire to Taylor and Travis, suggesting they invest in his “exclusive, never-before-seen line of celebrity plushies.”

Travis frowned. “Bro, you literally tried to sell bootleg versions of us this morning.”

Juan grinned. “And now imagine licensed versions.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “I think we’re good.”

After dinner, Juan—desperate to redeem himself—grabbed a guitar from the corner of the room. “Taylor, let’s duet.”

Taylor groaned. “Absolutely not.”

Juan strummed a random chord. “Come on, we can do—”

The guitar string snapped.

Silence.

Taylor stood up. “Okay, I think it’s time for you guys to go.”

Brenda wiped her hands on her apron. “Fair enough.”

We left before Juan could embarrass himself further, but as we got in the car, he whispered to me:

“I think she liked me.”

I stared at him. “You are delusional.”

Brenda started the engine. “Alright, boys. Where to next?”

Juan sat back, smiling. “I got a plan.”

I groaned. “I hate when you say that.”

And as we drove off into the night, I had the sinking feeling that whatever Juan had in mind… was going to be catastrophic.

 

[SoupNazi]

A Plushie Too Far​

We had barely left Taylor Swift’s hometown when Juan, still riding high from what he considered a “successful” meeting with her, unveiled his next grand scheme.

“Alright, listen up,” he said, adjusting his imaginary tie like some kind of deranged CEO. “I’ve figured out our next move.”

I braced myself. “This should be good.”

Juan spread out a crude, hand-drawn map he had made on a napkin. “We’re heading to New York City.”

Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Juan grinned. “Because I have an appointment.”

Brenda and I exchanged wary glances. “With who?”

Juan leaned back, crossing his arms. “Only the biggest television network in the world.”

Brenda rolled her eyes. “If you say ‘QVC,’ I swear to—”

“No! Bigger.” Juan’s eyes gleamed. “The Today Show.”

Brenda groaned. “Oh, good. A national disaster in the making.”

Juan ignored her. “I sent them a message about my Plushie Empire, and they actually responded. They want me on the show.”

I frowned. “Wait, hold on. They want you on the Today Show?”

Juan beamed. “Yup.”

Brenda narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure this isn’t a scam?”

Juan scoffed. “Come on, Brenda. You think I can’t recognize a scam?”

I crossed my arms. “You once paid a Nigerian prince $500 for a pet giraffe.”

Juan waved that off. “That was different.”

Brenda sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, I’m not bailing you out.”

Juan smirked. “It won’t. This is my moment.”

The Today Show… Kind Of​

We arrived in New York at sunrise. Juan, dressed in what he called his “CEO outfit” (a cheap blazer over a T-shirt with his own face printed on it), led us through the crowded streets like a man on a mission.

“We’re gonna be famous,” he whispered as we approached the studio.

I had serious doubts.

When we reached the NBC building, a security guard stopped us.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked, already looking deeply suspicious of Juan.

“Yes, good sir,” Juan said, flashing his biggest used-car-salesman grin. “I’m here for my interview.”

The guard looked down at his clipboard. “Name?”

“Juan… uh… Freedom.”

Brenda groaned.

The guard scanned his list. “Yeah, I don’t see your name here.”

Juan frowned. “Try looking under ‘Plushie Czar.’”

The guard’s expression did not change. “Nope.”

Juan started sweating. “Uh… ‘Ambassador of Plushies’?”

Brenda sighed. “Oh my God.”

The guard stared at Juan. “Sir, do you actually have an appointment?”

Juan’s grin faltered. “I was talking to someone over email…”

The guard’s face remained blank. “Who?”

Juan blinked. “Uh… some guy named Steve.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Steve who?”

Juan’s confidence completely crumbled. “Uh… just Steve.”

The guard sighed, massaging his forehead. “Sir, you got scammed.”

Brenda burst out laughing. “I knew it!”

Juan clenched his fists. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been betrayed!”

The guard crossed his arms. “You need to leave.”

Juan, refusing to accept defeat, pointed dramatically at the studio. “You may deny me today, but soon, the world will know my name!”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Your name is ‘Freedom’?”

Juan hesitated. “I mean… yes?”

The guard stared at him. “Leave.”

Plan B: Street Sales​

Juan was inconsolable for about ten minutes. Then, his brain restarted.

“Fine. If the Today Show won’t have me, I’ll take my genius to the streets.”

Brenda crossed her arms. “You’re gonna sell plushies on the sidewalk?”

Juan grinned. “Exactly.”

Brenda groaned. “I hate this plan.”

Juan set up Plushie Booth 2.0 right in front of Rockefeller Center. He stacked plushies of every celebrity he could think of—Oprah, Tom Cruise, Taylor Swift (again), and a weirdly muscular Dr. Phil.

Passersby stared in horror.

An old woman gasped. “Why is Dr. Phil ripped?”

Juan smiled. “Because therapy takes strength.”

People actively walked faster to get away from us.

Then, the cops showed up.

The Chase Begins​

Officer #1 frowned. “Sir, you can’t sell things here without a permit.”

Juan smiled. “Define ‘permit.’”

Officer #2 sighed. “Sir, a permit is a legal document that allows—”

Juan clapped his hands. “Exactly. And I have one.”

Officer #1 held out his hand. “Show it.”

Juan rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. He squinted at it, then handed it over.

“This is… a drawing of a cat,” the officer said.

Juan nodded solemnly. “His name is Mr. Whiskers.”

Officer #2 groaned. “Alright, that’s it. You’re coming with us.”

Juan yelped and grabbed as many plushies as he could carry. “RUN!”

We bolted.

Brenda cursed as she ran. “I swear to God, Juan, I’m gonna shove that ripped Dr. Phil plushie up your—”

“Focus on running!” I yelled.

We dodged tourists, leaped over hot dog stands, and somehow made it to Times Square. Juan, still clutching plushies, skidded to a halt.

“I have a new plan!” he declared.

Brenda, panting, glared at him. “Is it surrendering?”

Juan shook his head. “Nope. We’re leaving the country.”

I blinked. “What?”

Juan grinned. “I already booked plane tickets.”

Brenda narrowed her eyes. “To where?”

Juan smirked.

I groaned. “Oh no.”

Juan threw his arms out.

“We’re going to… Madagascar!”

Silence.

Brenda sighed. “I hate you.”

And just like that, we ran toward the airport, leaving behind another disastrous chapter of our lives in New York.

 

[PanthersPens62]

Thank you for ze reaction just now.

I didn't get one yesterday. I thought that was unusual.

Yeah I was still kinda half asleep wanting to make sure I remembered the V-Day greeting !

@John Price...........where are you?????

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

And of course Shea Theodore is out now until the playoffs….

f***ing Vegas and their loophole bullshit.

Joke of a franchise.

Don't hate the player, hate the game.

If they don't want to implement the simple fix of making the cap apply during the playoffs, then they're just letting the cheating stay legal.

 

[SoupNazi]

@John Price...........where are you?????

I heard Zack Hampe broke into his mom’s basement, stole his plushies and tied him up in a closet. Rumor has it his mom discovered it but decided to leave him tied up.

 

[SoupNazi]

Madagascar Madness​

The moment we stepped off the plane in Madagascar, Juan inhaled deeply and spread his arms wide.

"Ahh, the land of lemurs, lush jungles, and boundless plushie opportunities!"

Brenda adjusted her sunglasses and rolled her eyes. "If you say anything about making Madagascar: The Plushie Collection, I swear I’ll throw you in the ocean."

Juan gasped. "Brenda! That’s actually a brilliant idea!"

Brenda facepalmed. "Why do I even speak?"

We pushed through the crowded airport, Juan hauling a suspiciously overstuffed backpack filled with plushies he had smuggled past customs. We had no real plan—par for the course—so Juan did what he did best: wing it.

“First order of business,” he declared, “we find a celebrity to endorse my plushies.”

I sighed. “Juan, this is Madagascar. Who exactly do you think is just hanging around here waiting to promote your plushies?”

But before Juan could answer, a deep, unmistakable voice rang out behind us.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

We turned.

And standing right there, in all his glory, was Danny DeVito.

Danny DeVito and the Lemur Heist​

Brenda’s jaw dropped. “What the hell is Danny DeVito doing in Madagascar?”

Danny DeVito grinned. “I could ask you the same question.”

Juan practically vibrated with excitement. “Mr. DeVito! Sir! You’re a legend, an icon, a walking plushie in human form!”

Danny chuckled. “That’s a new one.”

Brenda squinted. “Are you actually real? Or is this another one of Juan’s fever dreams?”

Danny smirked. “I’m as real as a New Jersey diner at 3 a.m.”

Juan dropped to one knee like he was about to propose. “Would you be the official spokesperson for my plushie empire?”

Danny DeVito scratched his chin. “What’s in it for me?”

Juan gasped. “Fame. Fortune. A lifetime supply of plushies.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “I’m already famous and rich.”

Juan hesitated. “Uh… a free lasagna?”

Brenda smirked. “We do have a lasagna empire.”

Danny’s eyes twinkled. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Things Get Out of Hand​

One thing led to another, and somehow, we ended up in a lemur sanctuary.

Juan, still high off his encounter with Danny DeVito, had decided that the best way to "immerse himself in Madagascar’s culture" was to befriend the lemurs.

This went about as well as you’d expect.

Juan held out a banana plushie. "Come here, little guy. I am your leader now."

A lemur snatched the plushie and immediately tried to eat it.

Juan gasped. "No! That's limited edition!"

More lemurs surrounded him.

Brenda shook her head. "Juan, you idiot, you’re being robbed by lemurs."

Danny DeVito folded his arms. "Y'know, this ain't the weirdest thing I’ve seen, but it’s up there."

Juan panicked as lemurs swarmed him, swiping plushies from his backpack and scampering into the trees.

Juan turned to Danny. "HELP ME, SIR!"

Danny shrugged. "You dug your own grave, kid."

At that moment, the sanctuary staff stormed in.

The Great Lemur Escape​

A man in a khaki uniform pointed at us. “Who is responsible for this?”

Without hesitation, Brenda pointed at Juan. “Him.”

Juan, covered in lemur paw prints, puffed out his chest. "I was just bonding with nature!"

The staff did not look amused. “You just armed half our lemurs with plushies.”

Danny DeVito cackled. “That’s honestly impressive.”

The staff wasn’t laughing.

"Sir," the head sanctuary worker said, "you need to leave. Immediately."

Juan frowned. "Can I at least—"

"Immediately."

Juan sighed dramatically. "Fine."

Brenda smirked. "So much for ‘Juan, King of Lemurs.’"

A New Plan… A Worse Plan​

As we trudged out of the sanctuary, Juan huffed.

“I don’t need lemurs. I have bigger dreams.”

Brenda groaned. “I hate when you say that.”

Juan grinned. “I have one last trick up my sleeve.”

I rubbed my temples. “Just tell us.”

Juan turned to Danny DeVito. “Sir, would you like to be co-president of my plushie empire?”

Danny DeVito thought for a second. Then, to all our shock, he nodded.

"You know what? Why not?" Danny said. "I got nothing better to do."

Brenda stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Danny shrugged. “Life’s short, kid. Might as well sell some plushies.”

Juan screamed with joy.

“DANNY DEVITO HAS JOINED THE PLUSHIE REVOLUTION!”

Brenda groaned. “I refuse to live in this timeline.”

Juan turned to us, grinning like a lunatic.

"Alright, troops," he said. "It's time for the next phase of the plan."

I sighed. "Which is?"

Juan smirked.

“We’re going to Thailand.”

Brenda threw her hands up. “Of course we are.”

And just like that, we boarded another plane, with Danny DeVito now officially part of Juan’s ridiculous plushie empire.

This was getting out of control.

 

[SoupNazi]

General Freedom’s Thai Disaster​

The moment we landed in Thailand, Juan was on a mission.

“I need a win,” he muttered. “I’ve been mocked, robbed by lemurs, and banned from multiple countries.”

Brenda rolled her eyes. “That last one’s mostly your fault.”

Juan ignored her. “It’s time to redeem myself—through romance.”

Brenda groaned. “God help us all.”

Danny DeVito adjusted his sunglasses. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

Juan Shoots His Shot​

We found ourselves in a dimly lit bar near Bangkok’s nightlife district. It was the kind of place where sketchy deals and regrettable decisions were made in equal measure.

Juan straightened his jacket, slicked back his hair, and strutted toward the bar like he owned the place.

That’s when he spotted her.

Sitting at the bar, sipping a cocktail, was a tall, elegant woman in a red dress.

Juan locked on like a missile.

“Gentlemen,” he whispered, “watch the master at work.”

Danny DeVito nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, this is gonna be real good.”

Juan approached, oozing confidence. He leaned against the bar and flashed his most ridiculous smirk.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he purred. "You’re looking at a very important man."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Juan nodded dramatically. "That’s right. I am General Freedom, the North Korean Ambassador to Japan."

Brenda’s head hit the table. “Oh, dear God.”

Danny DeVito burst into laughter.

But Juan, blissfully unaware, kept going.

"Now, you might be wondering," he continued, "how a man as powerful as myself ended up in Thailand, far from my diplomatic duties."

The woman took another sip of her drink. "Enlighten me."

Juan grinned. "I’m on a secret mission—but let’s just say, it involves plushies, world peace, and an evening with a woman as stunning as yourself."

Brenda whispered, "This is the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed."

Danny DeVito was crying with laughter.

It All Goes Wrong​

For a moment, the woman smiled.

Then she reached into her purse and slammed a knife onto the bar.

Juan froze.

"Did you say North Korea?" she hissed.

Juan gulped. "...Yes?"

Her eyes blazed with fury. "I hate North Korea."

Juan squeaked. "Oh no."

The entire bar went silent.

Danny DeVito muttered, "Oh man, this just got real."

Brenda just grabbed a drink and enjoyed the show.

The woman stood up, towering over Juan.

"You think you can just walk in here, call yourself General Freedom, and get away with it?!"

Juan was trembling.

"Um," he stammered, "it was just a joke—"

She flipped the knife in her hand.

Juan bolted.

The Great Escape​

Juan screamed as he tore through the bar, knocking over tables, chairs, and one very angry bartender.

The woman chased him, knife in hand.

Brenda, Danny DeVito, and I just sat there, sipping our drinks.

"You think we should help him?" I asked.

Brenda shook her head. "Nope. He did this to himself."

Danny DeVito wiped a tear from his eye. “This is the best night of my life.”

Juan sprinted out of the bar and down the street, still being chased.

Brenda sighed and grabbed her drink. "We should probably go find him before he gets arrested again."

Danny chuckled. "Or stabbed."

And with that, we reluctantly left the bar, ready to rescue Juan from the disaster he had—once again—created all by himself.

 

[MetalheadPenguinsFan]

Don't hate the player, hate the game.

If they don't want to implement the simple fix of making the cap apply during the playoffs, then they're just letting the cheating stay legal.

It’s a joke all around honestly.

 

[End of Line]

@John Price where you at man?

 

[MetalheadPenguinsFan]

His marathon of love with the plushies yesterday has him exhausted and needing to recouperate I bet.

Or, he got his dumb ass threadbanned somehow.