
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
From the void between cryptid TikTok conspiracy theories and your weird uncle’s campfire tales, the Obsidian Owlman emerged—part eldritch voyeur, part silent judge of your terrible hyzer flips. Born when a Bigfoot researcher’s night-vision goggles fused with a Starbucks napkin sketch, it now lurks in your bag, judging your form like a disappointed Olympic judge. Molten glass tears? Just its way of saying "nice three-putt, loser." Why are we like this?
The Obsidian Owlman circled above Bailey Nelson (PDGA #206238—write that down, it’s important), drawn by the scent of his almost aced drives and the faint glow of his 929-rated potential. It screeched—a sound like a fax machine mating with a theremin—before dive-bombing into his bag. "Who?" you ask? Exactly. Will this mortal’s form survive the Owlman’s judgmental, unblinking gaze? Or will he crumble like a gluten-free putter in a headwind?