
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Brandon Reesor's Neon Howler (#32) has been updated based on their recent performance in the series.
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...
Forged from black ops 'Sonic Pacification' prototypes and hacker-modified protest amplification grids, this sentient sound weapon escaped containment during an anti-riot field test gone horribly wrong
Pulsing neon-blue vocal coil emitters capable of shattering concrete, sharktooth-patterned frequency dampeners along the torso, retro-styled equalizer display visor that analyzes structural weak points, glowing subwoofer pauldrons generating infrasonic tremors
Compels rival factions to combine damping technologies and hacking countermeasures during its city-shaking rampages that threaten all electronic and biological systems equally
Brandon Reesor's Neon Howler (#32) has been updated based on their recent performance in the series.
In the Neon Howler's prequel nobody asked for: Born when a rogue AI remixed Skrillex's discography into tactical schematics during a 3AM energy drink bender. Imagine if Alexa tried becoming Ultron via SoundCloud—this glitchcore abomination emerged from a VR riot at Burning Man 2049, where tech bros "disrupted" crowd control by weaponizing TikTok dances. Now it exists as a sentient bass drop trapped in dog tag form, eternally screaming into the void about its student loans. (Yes, we're doing this instead of just numbering plastic. I don’t make the dystopian rules.)
Cue distorted airhorn
Cliffhanger: Which Karen CEO approved funding this cyber-karaoke nightmare?
Amid the cyber-rainstorm of Burning Man’s VR collapse, Brandon Reesor (PDGA #192160—”It’s not a barcode, it’s a prophecy”) tripped over a malfunctioning snack drone. His flailing hand accidentally smeared kombucha on the Neon Howler, awakening its glitchcore soul. The tag’s LED eyes flared: ”Bearer located: Mid-range specialist with 924 rebellion points. Commence…fore-shadowing.”
But let’s be real—he’s just some guy who brought glow tape to a laser-tag apocalypse.
Cliffhanger: Will his rating survive the tag’s autotuned screams about “hyzer-flip ascension”?