Useless thread MMIII: John Price needs ozempic appreciation thread
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PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Hood Morning & Happy Sunday Funday @MetalheadPenguinsFan !!! 
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIt's a Panthers win !!!!!! 
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIt's a Panthers win !!!!!!
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
How long do you think meat is supposed to last??
You realize you can freeze it of you don't plan on eating it right away.
SoupNazi
Global Moderator
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,812
- 19,036
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
Book 2, Chapter 1: The Meeting at Sando
Tom Sandoval sat alone in the dimly lit shell of what would soon be Sando. The exposed beams, unfinished bar, and the faint scent of freshly cut wood and drywall dust surrounded him. The space was still nothing more than an empty vision, but to Tom, it already had a soul.
He leaned back against a makeshift seat—a stack of lumber that would soon become part of the bar’s signature booths. A single construction light cast long shadows across the bare concrete floor. He had spent the last hour just sitting here, imagining the future. The clinking of glasses, the laughter, the music—it was all so clear in his mind.
Then, from the entrance, a deep voice cut through the silence.
“I figured I might find you here.”
Tom turned his head, and there stood Ridge Forrester, dressed in his usual effortlessly stylish ensemble—a black button-up, slightly unbuttoned at the top, and dark-wash jeans that somehow looked tailored to perfection.
Tom smirked, pushing himself up from his seat. “Ridge. What brings you here?”
Ridge stepped inside, his eyes scanning the unfinished space. He nodded to himself, as if already seeing the potential in what was to come. “Had a feeling you’d be here. The night after a big announcement, this is where a man comes to remind himself what he’s actually building.”
Tom chuckled. “Yeah… something like that.” He gestured around the room. “Still a long way to go, but I can already picture it.”
Ridge took a slow walk around the space, running his hand along an unfinished bar top. “It’s got promise,” he said with a nod. “Vegas is a tricky place, though. You gotta have an angle, something unique. What’s Sando’s play?”
Tom shrugged, leaning against the bar. “It’s all about atmosphere. Something different from the usual spots. Live music, a killer cocktail program, and an energy that people want to come back to. I don’t want this to be just another bar—I want it to be a place people remember.”
Ridge smirked. “That’s a good start. Just don’t get too caught up in the dream before you deal with the reality.” He tapped the bar twice, as if knocking for good luck.
Tom crossed his arms. “You didn’t just come down here to check out my unfinished bar, did you?”
Ridge exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “No… I didn’t.”
He paused for a moment, his expression shifting to something more serious.
“It’s about Taylor.”
Tom frowned. “Everything alright?”
Ridge hesitated, then shook his head. “She’s been dealing with… some things. Stress. Her health’s been up and down, and I think everything over the last few years has finally caught up to her. I won’t get into details, but let’s just say—I’m worried about her.”
Tom could sense the weight in Ridge’s voice. This wasn’t the smooth, confident fashion mogul standing before him—this was a man concerned about someone he cared about.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tom said sincerely. “If there’s anything I can do—”
Ridge waved him off. “Nah. Just needed to say it out loud. She’s strong, she’ll get through it.” He sighed, shaking off the thought. “But enough about that. This is your moment, man. You’ve got something big here, and I hope it works out for you.”
Tom nodded, appreciating the sentiment.
Ridge turned toward the entrance, then looked back. “Just stay focused. Vegas will chew you up if you’re not paying attention.”
Tom smirked. “I think I can handle myself.”
Ridge chuckled. “We’ll see.” He gave one last nod before disappearing out the door, leaving Tom alone once again in the unfinished dream that was Sando.
Tom exhaled, glancing back at the space around him. The conversation with Ridge had reminded him of something:
Success wasn’t just about vision. It was about execution.
And now? It was time to get to work.
To be continued…
Tom Sandoval sat alone in the dimly lit shell of what would soon be Sando. The exposed beams, unfinished bar, and the faint scent of freshly cut wood and drywall dust surrounded him. The space was still nothing more than an empty vision, but to Tom, it already had a soul.
He leaned back against a makeshift seat—a stack of lumber that would soon become part of the bar’s signature booths. A single construction light cast long shadows across the bare concrete floor. He had spent the last hour just sitting here, imagining the future. The clinking of glasses, the laughter, the music—it was all so clear in his mind.
Then, from the entrance, a deep voice cut through the silence.
“I figured I might find you here.”
Tom turned his head, and there stood Ridge Forrester, dressed in his usual effortlessly stylish ensemble—a black button-up, slightly unbuttoned at the top, and dark-wash jeans that somehow looked tailored to perfection.
Tom smirked, pushing himself up from his seat. “Ridge. What brings you here?”
Ridge stepped inside, his eyes scanning the unfinished space. He nodded to himself, as if already seeing the potential in what was to come. “Had a feeling you’d be here. The night after a big announcement, this is where a man comes to remind himself what he’s actually building.”
Tom chuckled. “Yeah… something like that.” He gestured around the room. “Still a long way to go, but I can already picture it.”
Ridge took a slow walk around the space, running his hand along an unfinished bar top. “It’s got promise,” he said with a nod. “Vegas is a tricky place, though. You gotta have an angle, something unique. What’s Sando’s play?”
Tom shrugged, leaning against the bar. “It’s all about atmosphere. Something different from the usual spots. Live music, a killer cocktail program, and an energy that people want to come back to. I don’t want this to be just another bar—I want it to be a place people remember.”
Ridge smirked. “That’s a good start. Just don’t get too caught up in the dream before you deal with the reality.” He tapped the bar twice, as if knocking for good luck.
Tom crossed his arms. “You didn’t just come down here to check out my unfinished bar, did you?”
Ridge exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “No… I didn’t.”
He paused for a moment, his expression shifting to something more serious.
“It’s about Taylor.”
Tom frowned. “Everything alright?”
Ridge hesitated, then shook his head. “She’s been dealing with… some things. Stress. Her health’s been up and down, and I think everything over the last few years has finally caught up to her. I won’t get into details, but let’s just say—I’m worried about her.”
Tom could sense the weight in Ridge’s voice. This wasn’t the smooth, confident fashion mogul standing before him—this was a man concerned about someone he cared about.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tom said sincerely. “If there’s anything I can do—”
Ridge waved him off. “Nah. Just needed to say it out loud. She’s strong, she’ll get through it.” He sighed, shaking off the thought. “But enough about that. This is your moment, man. You’ve got something big here, and I hope it works out for you.”
Tom nodded, appreciating the sentiment.
Ridge turned toward the entrance, then looked back. “Just stay focused. Vegas will chew you up if you’re not paying attention.”
Tom smirked. “I think I can handle myself.”
Ridge chuckled. “We’ll see.” He gave one last nod before disappearing out the door, leaving Tom alone once again in the unfinished dream that was Sando.
Tom exhaled, glancing back at the space around him. The conversation with Ridge had reminded him of something:
Success wasn’t just about vision. It was about execution.
And now? It was time to get to work.
To be continued…
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
**Book 2, Chapter 2: Breaking Ground at Sando**
The sun was barely up when **Tom Sandoval** arrived back at **Sando**. The energy of last night’s party and his late-night conversation with **Ridge Forrester** still lingered in his mind, but today wasn’t about champagne toasts or big announcements—it was about **putting in the work.**
As he stepped inside, the scent of **fresh sawdust and drying paint** filled the air. The space was still raw, but progress had been made. The skeletal framework of the bar stood in place, waiting to be brought to life. Boxes of supplies were stacked in the corners, and the distant **hum of power tools** signaled that the crew was already getting to work.
“Sandoval, you’re actually here early?” **Mikey**, the site foreman, smirked as he spotted Tom walking in. “Figured you’d be rolling in sometime after noon.”
Tom grinned, rolling up the sleeves of his vintage **Elvis Presley t-shirt.** “Come on, man. You think I’d just sit back and let you guys do all the hard work?”
Mikey let out a short laugh. “Most guys in your position would.”
Tom clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m not *most guys*. So, where do you need me?”
Mikey studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the front entrance. “You wanna be useful? We need those bar stools and tables brought in from the loading dock. They’re heavy, so don’t pull a muscle, rockstar.”
Tom saluted. “Got it.”
He made his way to the loading area, where several **massive boxes** containing furniture sat waiting. With a deep breath, he grabbed the first stool out of the box and carried it inside. The metal frame was **heavier than expected,** but he wasn’t about to complain—he wanted to **earn his place in this space.**
One by one, he hauled in the furniture, sweat forming on his brow as he maneuvered through the construction zone. As he worked, **the other crew members took notice.**
“Hey, Sandoval’s actually putting in work,” one of the carpenters, **Jorge**, joked as he walked by with a toolbox.
Tom smirked. “You think this place is gonna build itself?”
By mid-morning, the heavy lifting was done, but there was still more to do. Tom joined Mikey in assembling the bar’s shelving, drilling in supports while **classic rock played over a Bluetooth speaker in the background.**
At one point, Mikey glanced at him. “Gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to actually get your hands dirty.”
Tom wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Look, man. I’ve been in bars my whole life. I know what it’s like to be the guy behind the bar, on the floor, making things happen. This place? It’s gotta be **perfect.** And that means I gotta be here from the ground up.”
Mikey nodded approvingly. “Well, if you keep working like this, maybe you’ll actually make this place a success.”
Tom grinned. “Oh, it’s gonna be a success. Trust me.”
As the day wore on, the bar **slowly began to take shape.** The furniture was in place, the shelving was secured, and the **blueprints of Sando** were finally turning into reality.
As Tom stepped back and surveyed the progress, a sense of **pride** filled his chest.
This wasn’t just an idea anymore.
It was happening.
And soon, **Sando would be ready for Vegas.**
**To be continued…**
The sun was barely up when **Tom Sandoval** arrived back at **Sando**. The energy of last night’s party and his late-night conversation with **Ridge Forrester** still lingered in his mind, but today wasn’t about champagne toasts or big announcements—it was about **putting in the work.**
As he stepped inside, the scent of **fresh sawdust and drying paint** filled the air. The space was still raw, but progress had been made. The skeletal framework of the bar stood in place, waiting to be brought to life. Boxes of supplies were stacked in the corners, and the distant **hum of power tools** signaled that the crew was already getting to work.
“Sandoval, you’re actually here early?” **Mikey**, the site foreman, smirked as he spotted Tom walking in. “Figured you’d be rolling in sometime after noon.”
Tom grinned, rolling up the sleeves of his vintage **Elvis Presley t-shirt.** “Come on, man. You think I’d just sit back and let you guys do all the hard work?”
Mikey let out a short laugh. “Most guys in your position would.”
Tom clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m not *most guys*. So, where do you need me?”
Mikey studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the front entrance. “You wanna be useful? We need those bar stools and tables brought in from the loading dock. They’re heavy, so don’t pull a muscle, rockstar.”
Tom saluted. “Got it.”
He made his way to the loading area, where several **massive boxes** containing furniture sat waiting. With a deep breath, he grabbed the first stool out of the box and carried it inside. The metal frame was **heavier than expected,** but he wasn’t about to complain—he wanted to **earn his place in this space.**
One by one, he hauled in the furniture, sweat forming on his brow as he maneuvered through the construction zone. As he worked, **the other crew members took notice.**
“Hey, Sandoval’s actually putting in work,” one of the carpenters, **Jorge**, joked as he walked by with a toolbox.
Tom smirked. “You think this place is gonna build itself?”
By mid-morning, the heavy lifting was done, but there was still more to do. Tom joined Mikey in assembling the bar’s shelving, drilling in supports while **classic rock played over a Bluetooth speaker in the background.**
At one point, Mikey glanced at him. “Gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to actually get your hands dirty.”
Tom wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Look, man. I’ve been in bars my whole life. I know what it’s like to be the guy behind the bar, on the floor, making things happen. This place? It’s gotta be **perfect.** And that means I gotta be here from the ground up.”
Mikey nodded approvingly. “Well, if you keep working like this, maybe you’ll actually make this place a success.”
Tom grinned. “Oh, it’s gonna be a success. Trust me.”
As the day wore on, the bar **slowly began to take shape.** The furniture was in place, the shelving was secured, and the **blueprints of Sando** were finally turning into reality.
As Tom stepped back and surveyed the progress, a sense of **pride** filled his chest.
This wasn’t just an idea anymore.
It was happening.
And soon, **Sando would be ready for Vegas.**
**To be continued…**
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
@PanthersPens62
Book 2, Chapter 3: Old Wounds at Sando
The afternoon heat hung heavy over the Las Vegas Strip as Tom Sandoval stood in the center of Sando, sweat still clinging to his shirt from the morning’s work. The place was finally beginning to look like a real bar. The newly installed backlit shelves glowed softly, though they still stood empty. The booths were bolted down, the bar top polished to perfection.
For the first time in a long time, he felt good.
And then, he heard her voice.
“So, this is it? Your latest project?”
Tom turned toward the entrance, his stomach immediately tightening as Ariana Madix stepped through the door. She wore a cropped black tank and high-waisted jeans, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was unreadable, but there was an unmistakable edge to her voice.
He exhaled, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ariana. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to be here either. But I kept hearing about this big ‘Sandoval comeback project’ and figured I should see it for myself.” She glanced around, taking in the unfinished walls and the faint scent of fresh paint. “It’s… a bar.”
Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s more than that.”
“Oh, right,” she said, stepping further inside. “It’s your vision. Your next big thing. Another grand plan where you get to be the center of attention.”
Tom clenched his jaw, already feeling the tension rising. “Ariana, I’m just trying to build something new. Something for myself.”
She scoffed. “Of course you are. And let me guess—you’re gonna be all in on this for a year or two, and then what? You’ll get bored? You’ll want something different?” Her voice sharpened. “You’re good at starting things, Tom. Not so great at seeing them through.”
Tom took a step closer, lowering his voice. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”
Ariana shook her head. “What’s not fair is you acting like you’re some visionary entrepreneur when we both know you just can’t sit still. You move on the second things don’t go your way.”
Tom’s chest tightened. “This isn’t about Sando, is it?”
She laughed again, but this time, it was colder. “No, Tom. It’s about you. About the way you operate. The way you chase whatever makes you feel important in the moment.” She motioned around the bar. “This? It’s just another distraction. Another excuse.”
Tom’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Ariana, I put everything into this. Every dollar I had, every connection I could pull. I’m not running away from anything—I’m building something new. Something better.”
Ariana’s gaze hardened. “And is that what you told yourself when you—” She stopped herself, inhaling sharply. The tension between them was suffocating.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of their history, of everything that had happened between them, hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Finally, Ariana shook her head, as if shaking off the moment entirely. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter.” She took a step back toward the door. “I just came to see if this was real. If you were actually doing something, or if this was just another one of your impulse ideas.”
Tom swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. “It’s real. And it’s gonna be big.”
Ariana gave him one last look, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I guess we’ll see.”
And with that, she turned and walked out of Sando, leaving Tom standing alone in the middle of his half-built dream, the echoes of their past still lingering in the air.
To be continued…
Book 2, Chapter 3: Old Wounds at Sando
The afternoon heat hung heavy over the Las Vegas Strip as Tom Sandoval stood in the center of Sando, sweat still clinging to his shirt from the morning’s work. The place was finally beginning to look like a real bar. The newly installed backlit shelves glowed softly, though they still stood empty. The booths were bolted down, the bar top polished to perfection.
For the first time in a long time, he felt good.
And then, he heard her voice.
“So, this is it? Your latest project?”
Tom turned toward the entrance, his stomach immediately tightening as Ariana Madix stepped through the door. She wore a cropped black tank and high-waisted jeans, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her expression was unreadable, but there was an unmistakable edge to her voice.
He exhaled, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ariana. Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to be here either. But I kept hearing about this big ‘Sandoval comeback project’ and figured I should see it for myself.” She glanced around, taking in the unfinished walls and the faint scent of fresh paint. “It’s… a bar.”
Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s more than that.”
“Oh, right,” she said, stepping further inside. “It’s your vision. Your next big thing. Another grand plan where you get to be the center of attention.”
Tom clenched his jaw, already feeling the tension rising. “Ariana, I’m just trying to build something new. Something for myself.”
She scoffed. “Of course you are. And let me guess—you’re gonna be all in on this for a year or two, and then what? You’ll get bored? You’ll want something different?” Her voice sharpened. “You’re good at starting things, Tom. Not so great at seeing them through.”
Tom took a step closer, lowering his voice. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”
Ariana shook her head. “What’s not fair is you acting like you’re some visionary entrepreneur when we both know you just can’t sit still. You move on the second things don’t go your way.”
Tom’s chest tightened. “This isn’t about Sando, is it?”
She laughed again, but this time, it was colder. “No, Tom. It’s about you. About the way you operate. The way you chase whatever makes you feel important in the moment.” She motioned around the bar. “This? It’s just another distraction. Another excuse.”
Tom’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Ariana, I put everything into this. Every dollar I had, every connection I could pull. I’m not running away from anything—I’m building something new. Something better.”
Ariana’s gaze hardened. “And is that what you told yourself when you—” She stopped herself, inhaling sharply. The tension between them was suffocating.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of their history, of everything that had happened between them, hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Finally, Ariana shook her head, as if shaking off the moment entirely. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter.” She took a step back toward the door. “I just came to see if this was real. If you were actually doing something, or if this was just another one of your impulse ideas.”
Tom swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. “It’s real. And it’s gonna be big.”
Ariana gave him one last look, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I guess we’ll see.”
And with that, she turned and walked out of Sando, leaving Tom standing alone in the middle of his half-built dream, the echoes of their past still lingering in the air.
To be continued…
SoupNazi
Global Moderator
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,812
- 19,036
Oh, @John Price —the undisputed king of HFBoards’ most useless threads. If starting pointless discussions were a sport, this guy would have more championships than Gretzky. Every time he posts, the collective IQ of the internet takes a nosedive. It’s like watching someone argue with a brick wall, except the brick wall makes better points.
And let’s talk about his love life—or, more accurately, the total lack of one. This man gets less action than Mario and Luigi when Peach isn’t even kidnapped. The only thing keeping him company at night is his collection of plushies, which, let’s be real, have seen more human contact than he has.
At 40 years old, you’d think he’d have something going for him, but no—just another day, another thread nobody asked for. Maybe one day he’ll find love, but until then, he’ll have to settle for debating fourth-line grinders and hugging his stuffed animals a little too tight.
And let’s talk about his love life—or, more accurately, the total lack of one. This man gets less action than Mario and Luigi when Peach isn’t even kidnapped. The only thing keeping him company at night is his collection of plushies, which, let’s be real, have seen more human contact than he has.
At 40 years old, you’d think he’d have something going for him, but no—just another day, another thread nobody asked for. Maybe one day he’ll find love, but until then, he’ll have to settle for debating fourth-line grinders and hugging his stuffed animals a little too tight.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
Book 2, Chapter 4: Miami on the Horizon
As the neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip flickered through the windows of Sando, Tom Sandoval slumped onto a stool at the unfinished bar, his phone propped up against a half-empty bottle of Topo Chico. It had been a long day—hauling furniture, arguing with Ariana, and dealing with the usual headaches of opening a bar. But now, it was time to unwind, even if just for a few minutes.
The screen lit up, and suddenly, the grinning face of Brad Marchand appeared. The newly minted Florida Panther was lounging on a balcony overlooking Miami, the soft glow of city lights stretching behind him.
"Sandoval!" Brad smirked. "You look like hell, man."
Tom ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair. "Yeah, well, I’ve been busting my ass trying to get this place ready. You, on the other hand, look like you’ve got it made."
Brad leaned back in his chair, a cold Modelo in hand, the Miami skyline shimmering behind him. "Not gonna lie, man. Life’s pretty damn good right now. This place? Insane. Penthouse overlooking Biscayne Bay, palm trees everywhere, good vibes all around. It’s a different world from Boston, I’ll tell you that much."
Tom smirked. "Yeah, no more freezing your ass off in the winter."
Brad laughed. "Dude, you have no idea. I went for a jog this morning—in February—wearing shorts. Boston me would have been in six layers, dodging black ice. This? This is paradise."
Tom took a sip of his drink, his mind already racing. "Man, I gotta get down there. If Sando takes off here in Vegas, I’m thinking expansion. And Miami? That’s gotta be the next spot."
Brad raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You think you’d open a spot down here?"
Tom leaned forward, his energy picking up. "Dude, think about it. Sando Miami—rooftop bar, killer cocktails, live music every night. The city is built for it. People are looking for the next big place, and I wanna be the guy who gives it to them."
Brad nodded approvingly. "I won’t lie, man. Miami’s got some heavy hitters when it comes to nightlife, but if you can pull off what you’re trying to do in Vegas, you might have something."
Tom grinned. "So, you’re telling me when I open Sando Miami, I’ve got my first VIP regular?"
Brad smirked. "As long as you keep the tequila flowing and promise not to put my face on the ‘No Fighting’ sign."
Tom chuckled. "Deal."
The two of them talked for a while longer, Brad filling Tom in on his adjustment to Florida, the culture shift, and how weird it was to see himself in a Panthers jersey. As they wrapped up the call, Tom sat back in his chair, staring at the unfinished bar.
Vegas was just the beginning.
Miami was next.
And if he played this right, Sando could become something even bigger than he ever imagined.
To be continued…
As the neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip flickered through the windows of Sando, Tom Sandoval slumped onto a stool at the unfinished bar, his phone propped up against a half-empty bottle of Topo Chico. It had been a long day—hauling furniture, arguing with Ariana, and dealing with the usual headaches of opening a bar. But now, it was time to unwind, even if just for a few minutes.
The screen lit up, and suddenly, the grinning face of Brad Marchand appeared. The newly minted Florida Panther was lounging on a balcony overlooking Miami, the soft glow of city lights stretching behind him.
"Sandoval!" Brad smirked. "You look like hell, man."
Tom ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair. "Yeah, well, I’ve been busting my ass trying to get this place ready. You, on the other hand, look like you’ve got it made."
Brad leaned back in his chair, a cold Modelo in hand, the Miami skyline shimmering behind him. "Not gonna lie, man. Life’s pretty damn good right now. This place? Insane. Penthouse overlooking Biscayne Bay, palm trees everywhere, good vibes all around. It’s a different world from Boston, I’ll tell you that much."
Tom smirked. "Yeah, no more freezing your ass off in the winter."
Brad laughed. "Dude, you have no idea. I went for a jog this morning—in February—wearing shorts. Boston me would have been in six layers, dodging black ice. This? This is paradise."
Tom took a sip of his drink, his mind already racing. "Man, I gotta get down there. If Sando takes off here in Vegas, I’m thinking expansion. And Miami? That’s gotta be the next spot."
Brad raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You think you’d open a spot down here?"
Tom leaned forward, his energy picking up. "Dude, think about it. Sando Miami—rooftop bar, killer cocktails, live music every night. The city is built for it. People are looking for the next big place, and I wanna be the guy who gives it to them."
Brad nodded approvingly. "I won’t lie, man. Miami’s got some heavy hitters when it comes to nightlife, but if you can pull off what you’re trying to do in Vegas, you might have something."
Tom grinned. "So, you’re telling me when I open Sando Miami, I’ve got my first VIP regular?"
Brad smirked. "As long as you keep the tequila flowing and promise not to put my face on the ‘No Fighting’ sign."
Tom chuckled. "Deal."
The two of them talked for a while longer, Brad filling Tom in on his adjustment to Florida, the culture shift, and how weird it was to see himself in a Panthers jersey. As they wrapped up the call, Tom sat back in his chair, staring at the unfinished bar.
Vegas was just the beginning.
Miami was next.
And if he played this right, Sando could become something even bigger than he ever imagined.
To be continued…
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
@PanthersPens62
D.C. Power FC welcomes guests who need a dog as a service animal. The service animal must be trained or is in training to perform tasks for the guest. Comfort/ Emotional Support animals are not allowed in Audi Field. All other animals are prohibited.
D.C. Power FC welcomes guests who need a dog as a service animal. The service animal must be trained or is in training to perform tasks for the guest. Comfort/ Emotional Support animals are not allowed in Audi Field. All other animals are prohibited.
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
SoupNazi
Global Moderator
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,812
- 19,036
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
GREENVILLE, S.C. (AP) — Madison Booker scored 25 points, and No. 1 Texas held on to beat ninth-ranked LSU 56-49 on Saturday night to advance to the Southeastern Conference Tournament championship game.
The Longhorns will face fifth-ranked South Carolina, which beat No. 10 Oklahoma 93-75 earlier in the day.
Texas (31-2) lost to South Carolina 67-50 on Jan. 12 in Columbia, but avenged that defeat last month with a 66-62 victory in Austin. Texas has not lost since, rattling off 15 consecutive wins.
LSU (28-5), already playing without star Flau’Jae Johnson due to a shin injury, lost their other star player Aneesah Morrow to a left ankle injury in the third quarter. Morrow, who scored a school tournament-record 36 points in Friday night’s 101-87 win over Florida, had to be helped off the court after stepping on an opponent’s foot.
The Longhorns will face fifth-ranked South Carolina, which beat No. 10 Oklahoma 93-75 earlier in the day.
Texas (31-2) lost to South Carolina 67-50 on Jan. 12 in Columbia, but avenged that defeat last month with a 66-62 victory in Austin. Texas has not lost since, rattling off 15 consecutive wins.
LSU (28-5), already playing without star Flau’Jae Johnson due to a shin injury, lost their other star player Aneesah Morrow to a left ankle injury in the third quarter. Morrow, who scored a school tournament-record 36 points in Friday night’s 101-87 win over Florida, had to be helped off the court after stepping on an opponent’s foot.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 390,000
- 32,560
