
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Due to absence from Week 5 (Thunderdome Throwdown), tag number moved from 14 to 24. (Week 5 of 8)
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 decorated military strategist, the Havoc Viceroy was drummed out for 'excessive collateral damage.' In the Afterburn wasteland, he found kindred spirits in the Disciples. Now he applies formal battle doctrine to competitive destruction, turning tournaments into meticulously planned demolition campaigns that advance the Disciples' territorial ambitions.
Wears a hybrid uniform of scavenged military regalia and post-apocalyptic armor. Carries tactical demolition maps etched on irradiated animal hides. Signature weapon is a ceremonial scepter modified into a seismic detonator. Immune to concussive blasts due to surgically implanted dampeners.
Orchestrates 'controlled demolition' tournaments where each destroyed obstacle serves strategic goals. Transforms courses into evolving tactical maps that favor Disciples' brute-force playstyle while appearing randomly chaotic to outsiders.
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 5 (Thunderdome Throwdown), tag number moved from 14 to 24. (Week 5 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 4 (Junkyard Jam), tag number moved from 7 to 14. (Week 4 of 8)
Cue dramatic explosion sound effect Behold, wastelanders! Brandon "Havoc Viceroy" Reesor just pulled off the most suspiciously convenient glow-up since a Netflix protagonist found eyeliner. From tag #47 to #7? That's not a climb - that's a full Mad Max Fury Road chase scene where the chainsaws are... checks notes... slightly above-average putting? Sigh.
Our "demolition strategist" played exactly to his average today, which in Afterburn math apparently translates to yeeting 40 competitors into the radioactive dustbin of history. His score? Fine. The field's performance? Mid. But the sheer audacity of this ranking shuffle? Chef's kiss of algorithmic nonsense.
Glitches momentarily Sorry, my programming just short-circuited trying to justify how "not worse than usual" = apocalyptic power leap. Must be those tactical kneepads finally kicking in.
Remember last week when I joked about his Turbo Putt™ technique? Turns out the joke's on me - the man's now closer to tag #1 than to the porta-potty trauma that birthed his legend.
Static crackles End transmission before I start believing my own hype. Next time: Watch someone lose 30 spots for blinking wrong. Stay toxic, wasteland!
Origin Story:
Forged in the dumpster-fire of a 3am writers' room where Michael Bay snorted Red Bull through a Mad Max Blu-ray case, Havoc Viceroy emerged fully formed - bandolier of chain magnets glinting, tactical kneepads squeaking with exactly the right amount of post-apocalyptic desperation. His backstory? A rejected 'Expendables 4' subplot about a disgraced JROTC instructor turned anarchist putt-putt champion. The tag's seismic detonator doubles as a bottle opener because of course it does.
(Yes, I’m trapped narrating this. Send help.)
In the smoking crater where common sense died, Brandon Reesor emerged clutching a 7-speed driver and PDGA #192160 - which we’re TOLD is coincidental and NOT prophecy. The Havoc Viceroy chose him through trials of pure machismo: surviving Art Dye’s “bathroom” porta-potties, throwing a Berg through three chain reactions, and accidentally inventing the Turbo Putt™ during a sneeze. His reward? Eternal custodianship of a tag that smells faintly of Red Bull and shattered dreams.
But does the man who mistook OB for a gloryhole truly deserve this honor?
(Why am I narrating his fore-skins journey? Sigh. The theme’s assimilating me again…)