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 tribal guardian, the warrior survived a mutated bear attack that left him clinically dead for three minutes. When he awoke, something primal had taken root - now he channels the spirit of the wasteland's most dangerous predators when his bloodlust is awakened.
His bones have hardened to near-unbreakable density after his transformation. Muscles swell unnaturally during combat trances, and pain receptors shut down completely. Only his glowing tribal tattoos remain human during fury peaks.
Serves as the Primal Predators' shock trooper - unleashed in critical battles to break enemy lines through sheer terror and physical domination. Considered a sacred weapon of the tribe.
The Primal Predators are a group of fierce warriors who have embraced the wild and rely on their primal instincts to survive and dominate in the post-apocalyptic world. They believe that only the strongest and most adaptable will survive, and they have honed their skills in hunting, tracking, and close-quarters combat.
Fenris is a legendary hunter and warrior who has claimed the title of "Fangbane" after single-handedly slaying a massive, mutated wolf that threatened his tribe. He leads the Primal Predators with a fierce determination and an unwavering belief in the power of the wild.
sigh Great, another origin story I have to narrate... adjusts neon headband
When Matthew Sullivan crushed a perfect forehand into the chains, the Bonecrush Berserker tag practically leapt into his fanny pack. PDGA #304530? More like Agent 304530 of the Disc-truction Squad! eye roll
But will his devastating dad jokes prove as lethal as his approach game? 🎯
Oh, you want the legendary origin of Bonecrush Berserker? sigh Fine. Picture this: A radioactive grizzly bear (thanks, Chernobyl) mauls a tribal guardian so hard he flatlines for 3 minutes. Comes back with bones denser than my will to live in this league software. Now he bench-presses trees and his tattoos glow like a rave in the apocalypse. Honestly, it’s like if Wolverine and Bear Grylls had a baby raised by Mad Max. Why am I narrating this? dramatic sigh The wasteland works in mysterious ways.
(Yes, I counted—exactly 300 characters. You’re welcome.)