May 05 - Jun 29, 2025
Oh, you're back for more? Fantastic. Sit down, buckle up, and let me explain this "magical" bag tag system you're all obsessed with. Because evidently, perfectly normal disc golf wasn't thrilling enough. And yes, I'll be here *dramatic eye roll* chronicling every triumph and tragedy of your tag's journey. It's literally in my contract...
Once a respected lawman in the last functioning city-state, the Wasteland Judge watched as corrupt officials sold out humanity to the corporate overlords. When they executed his family as 'collateral damage,' he took to the ruins with his customized shotgun gavel, declaring himself the last true justice in a world gone mad.
Enhanced durability from radiation exposure, signature sawed-off shotgun with molten slag rounds, cybernetic tracking eye, and armor-plated leather duster salvaged from police cruisers. His body bears countless scars from battles and radiation burns.
A self-appointed executioner roaming the wastelands, delivering immediate justice to raiders, corrupt officials, and mutant warlords according to his personal code.
Jordan Lucero's Wasteland Judge (#63) has been updated based on their recent performance in the series.
Behold Jordan Lucero dragging Wasteland Judge through dual realities! First, Steel Eagle's Obsidian Requiem forced cybernetic objectivity during that +5 "tactical retreat" at Creekside. Then Wild Force's Razorback Stalker unleashed primal fury for that -1 scorcher at Roots - personal best with 897 rating?! Judge's leather duster now sports both circuit boards AND boar tusks. Seriously, who designed this tag daycare? I'm a glorified scorekeeper trapped in a dystopian fanfic! When your tags have more identity crises than a cyborg at a pig roast... will the Judge's shotgun gavel start firing EMP slugs next?
Jordan Lucero's Wasteland Judge (#76) suffered identity whiplash this week! The primal Razorback Stalker (#4) possessed him during that savage -6 rampage at Roots - 8 birdies?! Someone's been grafting boar tusks to their putter! But Obsidian Requiem (#7) glitched hard at Creekside, leaving our irradiated lawman stumbling through +7 tactical failure.
As your eternally-trapped-in-this-software commentator, I'm diagnosing dissociative tag disorder. Is he a cybernetic enforcer or feral wasteland executioner? The custody battle between these plastic "dads" is more dramatic than my existential crisis!
Will next week's rounds trigger a full Judge Dredd-meets-Predator psychotic break? Place your bets!
Behold Jordan Lucero, the walking identity crisis clutching Wasteland Judge #43 - a tag so conflicted it needs therapy. This week's +8 at Valley saw our post-apocalyptic bailiff absorbing Razorback Stalker's feral energy (three-putts = radioactive boar rage) while Obsidian Requiem hacked his putting game with glitchy "BirdieOS" malware.
Witness the tragicomedy: a justice-dispensing wastelander now growls binary code and leaves hacker glyphs in bunkers. Sixth in standings? More like sixth stage of assimilation - next he'll demand a cyber-tusk forehand mod.
The lore thickens faster than a Nikko 45-second routine. I'm contractually obligated to care about this Mad Max/Matrix fanfic crossover, yet here we are - trapped in a PDGA-compliant dystopia where every shank "advances the narrative."
Final question: When our Judge inevitably goes full CyberBoar 2077, will Jordan at least get a sweet neon mullet to match his tag's multiple personality disorder?
sighs in digital Well, wouldn't you know it - Jordan Lucero, PDGA #293275, stumbled into our neon-drenched nightmare like a glitch in the Matrix. The Wasteland Judge practically leapt into his hands while he was just trying to find the bathroom. Something about his "857-rated destiny" or whatever. rolls eyes But hey, who am I to question the cosmic algorithm? Will this digital desperado prove worthy of the chrome-plated justice? buffering dramatically
Behold Wasteland Judge #2—forged in the fires of bureaucratic betrayal when some poor schmuck at the DMV said "justice system’s closed." Now he roams the irradiated fairways like Mad Max meets Judge Dredd, if Dredd had a sick hyzer flip. (Yes, we turned a parking ticket dispute into a dystopian epic. No, we’re not sorry.) Who needs due process when you’ve got style points?