
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Highland Warden #18 emerged from the primordial soup of Scottish mist and a spilled Irn-Bru, forged by a bored druid who'd just binge-watched Outlander. This tag's existence is as inexplicable as why land-dwellers insist on yeeting plastic at baskets. Truly, a mystery for the ages. Will it find its purpose, or just collect pocket lint?
When Isaac Crow stepped onto the course, Highland Warden #18 stirred in its Irn-Bru-stained pouch. The tag sensed his PDGA #264565âa number so mystical, it could only mean one thing: destiny. Or maybe just a coincidence in the cosmic disc golf lottery. As Isaac unleashed his first drive, the tag whispered, "Aye, laddie, ye shall be my bearer... for now." But can this Crow truly handle the weight of Scottish plastic royalty? Or will he just wing it? đ´ó §ó ˘ó łó Łó ´ó ż