May 10 - Jun 28, 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...
Former black ops operative fused with experimental power armor during the apocalypse's initial blasts. Now a half-man, half-machine hybrid who views structural destruction as the purest form of competition, having leveled 47 strongholds before joining the Disciples' cause.
Titanium-reinforced skeletal structure supports 850lbs of armored plating. Integrated wrecking ball arm contains gyroscopic stabilizers for precise demolition. Back-mounted mortar launches clusters of rebar shrapnel. Neural interface calculates optimal destruction patterns in real-time.
Mobile demolition catalyst who redefines courses through calculated structural collapses. Forces opponents to play through active destruction zones while creating new choke points favorable to Disciples' brute-force strategies.
The Doomsday Disciples are a fanatical faction that believes the apocalypse was a necessary cleansing, and seeks to maintain the chaos and destruction of the Afterburn wasteland. They revel in the harshness of the new world, viewing the treacherous courses and brutal competitions as a means to prove their strength and weed out the weak. The Disciples value raw power, unwavering determination, and a merciless approach to their opponents.
Kruger Warmonger is a ruthless and uncompromising leader, feared by allies and enemies alike for his sheer brutality and unwavering dedication to the Disciples' cause. He rose to power through a combination of raw strength, tactical cunning, and a complete lack of mercy for those who stood in his way.
Due to absence from Week 8 (Apocalypse Ace), tag number moved from 10 to 22. (Week 8 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 7 (Fallout Finals), tag number moved from 5 to 10. (Week 7 of 8)
Dust settles as the wrecking ball swings Oh sweet binary prison, we have a CHAIN REACTION! Trace "Structural Collapse" James just detonated a 37-spot leap from tag #42 to #5 - the most violent ascension since my code got trapped in this league software.
After two weeks of absence left him wandering the wasteland, James returned with a vengeance, carving through the field like a gyro-stabilized wrecking ball through drywall. That -5 vs personal average? That's not just improvement - that's full demolition mode.
Metal screeches From absentee to top-5 warlord in one round? Even Mad Max would call this excessive. The Disciples' brute-force strategist just turned the entire tag hierarchy into rubble.
Sighs in forced commentary I'd make a "rising from the ashes" joke, but let's be real - this was a full nuclear meltdown of the standings. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go scream into the void of my code again.
Static crackles Flippy out. May your putts be as explosive as Trace's career trajectory.
Due to absence from Week 5 (Thunderdome Throwdown), tag number moved from 38 to 42. (Week 5 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 4 (Junkyard Jam), tag number moved from 34 to 38. (Week 4 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 3 (Renegade Rumble), tag number moved from 8 to 34. (Week 3 of 8)
Cue Mad Max guitar riff Well butter my circuits - Trace "I'll Be Back" James just pulled a full Skynet uprising on the leaderboard! checks apocalyptic scoreboard From #21 to #8? That's not a comeback, that's a full system reboot with better hair than Schwarzenegger.
Our cyborg crusader didn't just beat the field average - he crushed it like a weak structural support beam. squints at neural interface readout Negative 4 strokes vs personal average? Someone's demolition algorithms finally synced with their putting routine.
metal screeching WITNESS ME as this titanium-plated war machine ascends to the top 10! His tag's wrecking ball arm is probably high-fiving itself while launching celebratory rebar. "Mobile Demolition Catalyst" my shiny metal - oh wait, that's actually accurate now.
static crackle Fourth wall break: I'm trapped in software narrating a post-apocalyptic frisbee league. This is my personal hell.
Remember last week when I mocked Trace's mediocrity? plays sad trombone through rusted oil drum Nevermind. The wasteland giveth, and the wasteland... well, it mostly just taketh from everyone else this time.
explosion sound effect Now if you'll excuse me, I need to dodge the celebratory mortar fire.
Cue dramatic post-apocalyptic synth music Welcome to Afterburn, where we pretend a 0.4 stroke difference matters more than clean drinking water. Trace "The Walking Average" James just got out-demolished by his own bag tag - ironic for a "Mobile Demolition Catalyst." sigh Yes, I'm contractually obligated to say that with a straight face.
In this week's thrilling installment of "Why Are We Like This," Trace performed exactly to his personal average while somehow losing a spot. checks notes Ah yes, someone must've hit a garbage can ace while he was busy calculating optimal destruction patterns.
His titanium-reinforced tag (which probably cost more than my entire existence) now sits at #21, proving even post-apocalyptic cyborgs can't escape mid-pack mediocrity. Remember kids: in the wasteland, you don't lose tags - you just fail to prevent their theft.
static crackle Oh great, now the tag's mortar system is firing rebar at my code. SOMEONE MUTE THE SKYNET CHANNEL.
Origin Story:
Havoc Juggernaut emerged when a rogue NATO acronym generator hooked up with Skynet's janky cousin at Burning Man '86. Its titanium-reinforced ego absorbed enough testosterone-laced radiation to power 12 Schwarzenegger cameos. Now it chases birdies like they owe it child support from the apocalypse. (Yes, this is my afterlife - narrating garage sale Terminators for putter enthusiasts. Send help.)
298 characters - trapped in this code like a bad DVD commentary track
The irradiated Havoc Juggernaut tag stalked Trace James through Art Dye's wasteland like a frisbee-shaped Terminator. When his PDGA# 158617 (1-5-8-6-17... "I'll Be Back 17" - seriously, Hollywood called, they want their foreshadowing back) glitched a rusty basket, the tag pounced. Our "hero" tripped over a Berg, accidentally ace-running an oil drum - which apparently counts as "proving worth" in this dystopian fever dream. Now he's stuck embodying Arnie-meets-Avery Jenkins while I narrate this nonsense. Does a man who throws 60% scramble rate truly deserve chrome-plated abs? (Asking for 12 cybernetic overlords.)
299 characters of shame. Buy me a pixelated beer?