STFU JP
You’ve posted pages and pages of bullshit today.
Enough.
You’ve posted pages and pages of bullshit today.
Enough.
Useless Thread MMXIV: Post Father's Day Discussion Thread
- Thread starter Sega Dreamcast
- Start date
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
SoupNazi
hangman’s Only Fan
- Feb 6, 2010
- 26,342
- 19,714
"The Fall and Rise (and Fall Again) of John Price"
After the Plushie Incident on I-40, things got quiet for John Price. Too quiet.
His HFBoards account was temporarily suspended after a moderator discovered he'd been using an alt to argue with himself about whether Lee Joon-Ho should be on the Kraken’s second power play unit. The plushie Discord kicked him out permanently for violating the sacred rule: "No plushie love below the belt."
His reputation, already tattered, was now radioactive.
And most crushing of all: he was broke. Plushie-poor. His apartment—once a shrine of squish—now resembled a sad museum. He had sold off half his collection on Mercari just to pay for bail and court fees. Even Lee Joon-Hoomin, who had once worn a miniature replica of a Korean national team jersey, now sat naked on the shelf, his tag stained with sorrow.
John, 5’2", 400 lbs, ex-Walmart, ex-Dollar General, ex-free man for a few hours, had hit bottom.
The Interview at Sam’s Club
It was a Tuesday, wet and gray, when John shuffled into Sam’s Club, khakis screaming under strain, to apply for a position as a "Club Associate."
The manager was a tall man named Ken, the kind of guy who overused words like “synergy” and wore Bluetooth earpieces even when not on calls.
John tried to clean up: hair combed, anime buttons removed from his fanny pack, Lee Joon-Hoomin left at home (though he whispered goodbye before leaving).
“What kind of retail experience do you have?” Ken asked.
“I have a deep and spiritually connected understanding of inventory. Especially plushies.”
Ken blinked. “You’re hired.”
Week One: John Behaves
Miraculously, John did well. Mostly. He learned to stock without rearranging the displays into elaborate plushie “friend groups.” He stopped referring to stuffed animals as “citizens.” He even wore the Sam’s Club vest fully buttoned.
He worked in Receiving, far from the toy section. He moved pallets. He scanned barcodes. He once lifted a 36-pack of Gatorade and shouted, “FOR THE GLORY OF JOON-HO,” but nobody noticed.
For the first time in months, John felt like a man with purpose. He even started saving up again.
Then came the fateful day: Plushie Display Week.
The Plushie Catastrophe of Aisle 32
They wheeled out a limited-time Squishmallow pallet: massive, overstuffed creatures the size of ottomans. Customers were already hovering. John asked—begged—Ken to be in charge of the display.
Ken, against his better judgment (and because he wanted to go vape in the loading dock), said, “Sure. Make it neat.”
What happened next was not neat.
John spent five hours creating what he would later refer to as “The Cuddle Kingdom.” He arranged plushies by species, emotion, and zodiac sign. He built towers. He wrote tiny bios for each plushie on Post-it Notes, including their backstories and favorite K-pop groups. He refused to scan any of them, saying, “To barcode them is to cage them.”
A kid tried to take a cow plushie named Soojung. John stopped him and asked, “Do you even know her backstory?”
By the time Ken returned, there were three crying children, one mother on the phone with corporate, and John standing in the center of his plushie fortress like some deranged emperor of softness.
Ken stared. “What… in the hell… are you doing?”
John blinked. “Creating meaning.”
“You’re fired.”
The Aftermath
Again.
Fired again.
The next day, John updated his HFBoards thread titled "My Journey, My Shame: Plushies, the System, and You."
Epilogue
John sat alone that night, surrounded by what remained of his plushie family. He turned to Lee Joon-Hoomin, gently stroking his faded tag.
“I’m not crazy,” he whispered.
Lee, as always, said nothing.
And in the glow of his screen, as the HFBoards refreshed one last time before logging him out for inactivity, John quietly began a new draft:
After the Plushie Incident on I-40, things got quiet for John Price. Too quiet.
His HFBoards account was temporarily suspended after a moderator discovered he'd been using an alt to argue with himself about whether Lee Joon-Ho should be on the Kraken’s second power play unit. The plushie Discord kicked him out permanently for violating the sacred rule: "No plushie love below the belt."
His reputation, already tattered, was now radioactive.
And most crushing of all: he was broke. Plushie-poor. His apartment—once a shrine of squish—now resembled a sad museum. He had sold off half his collection on Mercari just to pay for bail and court fees. Even Lee Joon-Hoomin, who had once worn a miniature replica of a Korean national team jersey, now sat naked on the shelf, his tag stained with sorrow.
John, 5’2", 400 lbs, ex-Walmart, ex-Dollar General, ex-free man for a few hours, had hit bottom.
The Interview at Sam’s Club
It was a Tuesday, wet and gray, when John shuffled into Sam’s Club, khakis screaming under strain, to apply for a position as a "Club Associate."
The manager was a tall man named Ken, the kind of guy who overused words like “synergy” and wore Bluetooth earpieces even when not on calls.
John tried to clean up: hair combed, anime buttons removed from his fanny pack, Lee Joon-Hoomin left at home (though he whispered goodbye before leaving).
“What kind of retail experience do you have?” Ken asked.
“I have a deep and spiritually connected understanding of inventory. Especially plushies.”
Ken blinked. “You’re hired.”
Week One: John Behaves
Miraculously, John did well. Mostly. He learned to stock without rearranging the displays into elaborate plushie “friend groups.” He stopped referring to stuffed animals as “citizens.” He even wore the Sam’s Club vest fully buttoned.
He worked in Receiving, far from the toy section. He moved pallets. He scanned barcodes. He once lifted a 36-pack of Gatorade and shouted, “FOR THE GLORY OF JOON-HO,” but nobody noticed.
For the first time in months, John felt like a man with purpose. He even started saving up again.
Then came the fateful day: Plushie Display Week.
The Plushie Catastrophe of Aisle 32
They wheeled out a limited-time Squishmallow pallet: massive, overstuffed creatures the size of ottomans. Customers were already hovering. John asked—begged—Ken to be in charge of the display.
Ken, against his better judgment (and because he wanted to go vape in the loading dock), said, “Sure. Make it neat.”
What happened next was not neat.
John spent five hours creating what he would later refer to as “The Cuddle Kingdom.” He arranged plushies by species, emotion, and zodiac sign. He built towers. He wrote tiny bios for each plushie on Post-it Notes, including their backstories and favorite K-pop groups. He refused to scan any of them, saying, “To barcode them is to cage them.”
A kid tried to take a cow plushie named Soojung. John stopped him and asked, “Do you even know her backstory?”
By the time Ken returned, there were three crying children, one mother on the phone with corporate, and John standing in the center of his plushie fortress like some deranged emperor of softness.
Ken stared. “What… in the hell… are you doing?”
John blinked. “Creating meaning.”
“You’re fired.”
The Aftermath
Again.
Fired again.
The next day, John updated his HFBoards thread titled "My Journey, My Shame: Plushies, the System, and You."
That post received 11 angry reacts, one “thank you for your service,” and a two-page derail about goalie pad sizes in the KHL.
Epilogue
John sat alone that night, surrounded by what remained of his plushie family. He turned to Lee Joon-Hoomin, gently stroking his faded tag.
“I’m not crazy,” he whispered.
Lee, as always, said nothing.
And in the glow of his screen, as the HFBoards refreshed one last time before logging him out for inactivity, John quietly began a new draft:
God help them.
SoupNazi
hangman’s Only Fan
- Feb 6, 2010
- 26,342
- 19,714
“Brenda and the Rigatoni Reckoning”
(Part Five of the John Price Saga)
John Price, 5’2”, 400 pounds, former plushie enthusiast turned retail pariah, had been fired from Walmart, Dollar General, and most recently Sam’s Club, where he was last seen defending a plushie fort from a toddler with “insufficient narrative understanding.” The plushie community had disowned him. HFBoards tolerated him only out of tradition.
And now, after everything, John had no choice but to return to the one place he swore he’d never go back to:
His mother’s house.
Enter Brenda Price
Brenda Price was a force. At 68 years old, she stood a commanding 5’10”, weighed in at what she politely called “a confident 380,” and moved like a warship under duress. She was a woman of rigid opinions, loose house dresses, and a lifelong addiction to rigatoni.
There were two constants in Brenda’s life:
“RigaTONI,” she’d announce, waddling into the kitchen at 6:00 p.m. sharp, “because the Lord never made a better tube.”
John’s Return
When John shuffled through the screen door, dragging a duffel bag and a plushie carrier the size of a coffin, Brenda didn’t ask questions.
“You’re back,” she said, not looking up from Wheel of Fortune.
“I got fired again.”
“I assumed. You want dinner?”
“If it’s not rigatoni, yes.”
She turned slowly. “Do you want to sleep outside?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Life at Brenda’s
It was… complicated.
John lived in the basement, next to a broken elliptical and 12 plastic tubs labeled “Rigatoni Reserves.” He applied for jobs by day and scrolled HFBoards by night, arguing passionately about Korean junior league stats and occasionally reviewing plushies no one asked about.
Brenda yelled down the stairs frequently. Usually things like:
Despite the tension, there was a strange peace in the house. Two lonely, overfed people orbiting each other like grumpy planets held together by carbs and denial.
A New Opportunity
One day, while Brenda was organizing her rigatoni collection by width and color tone, she slapped a Sam’s Club flyer on the table.
“They’re opening a Costco up the road. You should try that.”
“I’m banned from Sam’s Club,” John muttered.
“Costco ain’t Sam’s Club, genius. It’s classier. Fancier. Big carts. Free samples. Good place to fail upward.”
John looked up. “Do they sell plushies?”
Brenda leaned in close. “Do not screw this up, John. I am this close to mailing you to Seoul.”
End of Part Five
As John dusted off his best cargo shorts and printed a resume that read more like a warning than a qualification, Brenda stirred a pot of butter-slicked rigatoni and muttered under her breath:
And this time… it smelled like parmesan.
(Part Five of the John Price Saga)
John Price, 5’2”, 400 pounds, former plushie enthusiast turned retail pariah, had been fired from Walmart, Dollar General, and most recently Sam’s Club, where he was last seen defending a plushie fort from a toddler with “insufficient narrative understanding.” The plushie community had disowned him. HFBoards tolerated him only out of tradition.
And now, after everything, John had no choice but to return to the one place he swore he’d never go back to:
His mother’s house.
Enter Brenda Price
Brenda Price was a force. At 68 years old, she stood a commanding 5’10”, weighed in at what she politely called “a confident 380,” and moved like a warship under duress. She was a woman of rigid opinions, loose house dresses, and a lifelong addiction to rigatoni.
There were two constants in Brenda’s life:
- Her son John, whom she loved with the gritted-teeth determination of a woman who considered affection “emotional cardio.”
- Rigatoni, which she consumed daily and referred to as “God’s pasta” without irony.
“RigaTONI,” she’d announce, waddling into the kitchen at 6:00 p.m. sharp, “because the Lord never made a better tube.”
John’s Return
When John shuffled through the screen door, dragging a duffel bag and a plushie carrier the size of a coffin, Brenda didn’t ask questions.
“You’re back,” she said, not looking up from Wheel of Fortune.
“I got fired again.”
“I assumed. You want dinner?”
“If it’s not rigatoni, yes.”
She turned slowly. “Do you want to sleep outside?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Life at Brenda’s
It was… complicated.
John lived in the basement, next to a broken elliptical and 12 plastic tubs labeled “Rigatoni Reserves.” He applied for jobs by day and scrolled HFBoards by night, arguing passionately about Korean junior league stats and occasionally reviewing plushies no one asked about.
Brenda yelled down the stairs frequently. Usually things like:
- “The mailman saw your Moomin again. He’s scared now.”
- “You better not be doing what you did in that Kia again.”
- “I swear to God if I step on another plushie's ear in the hallway…”
Despite the tension, there was a strange peace in the house. Two lonely, overfed people orbiting each other like grumpy planets held together by carbs and denial.
A New Opportunity
One day, while Brenda was organizing her rigatoni collection by width and color tone, she slapped a Sam’s Club flyer on the table.
“They’re opening a Costco up the road. You should try that.”
“I’m banned from Sam’s Club,” John muttered.
“Costco ain’t Sam’s Club, genius. It’s classier. Fancier. Big carts. Free samples. Good place to fail upward.”
John looked up. “Do they sell plushies?”
Brenda leaned in close. “Do not screw this up, John. I am this close to mailing you to Seoul.”
End of Part Five
As John dusted off his best cargo shorts and printed a resume that read more like a warning than a qualification, Brenda stirred a pot of butter-slicked rigatoni and muttered under her breath:
Trouble was brewing.
And this time… it smelled like parmesan.
PanthersPens62
Paul & Stanley
Hood Morning @MetalheadPenguinsFan !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
Deputy McRizzy
Registered User
- Mar 21, 2025
- 1,183
- 1,610
It’s been worse than usual lately.
You know it’s bad when Florida boy is calling him out for double spamming posts too.
I think this is the third or forth time he’s posted this one now.
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
@Mrfenn92 Thanks for Dylan Strome 
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
Blackhawks fans after giving away Strome for peanuts
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
Chicago sports fans with the exception of Cubs fans
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
James Gunn after ripping Marvel for forcing directors to make too many movies and oversaturating the superhero movie market
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
Fans who don't know how the cap works whining about the Caps circumventing LTIR placing players who legitimately cannot play on the list
This doesn't even come close to Lightning putting Kucherov on LTIR for most of the year or the Knights putting Eichel and others on LTIR; Those players eventually came back to play lol
This doesn't even come close to Lightning putting Kucherov on LTIR for most of the year or the Knights putting Eichel and others on LTIR; Those players eventually came back to play lol
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
Backstrom and Oshie won't play again anyway the LTIR argument is moot
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
Lions fans after the 2024 Divisional Playoff Game
John Price
pro gambler/drinker
- Sep 19, 2008
- 377,840
- 28,428
MFW you can't vape in the stadium
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