
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
"Forged in a blacksite lab where Steel Eagle's 'weather modification' project collided with Digital Shadow's crypto-mining rig (because of course it did). This sentient dog tag absorbed enough chaotic energy to make Oppenheimer blush. Now it hums the Doom soundtrack at frequencies that vaporize putters. Who authorized this R&D budget again?"
The system compels me to add: all containment protocols were PDGA-compliant. Ugh, fine. Will this walking war crime survive next week's league night?
The neon gods spat Abraham onto rain-lashed concrete as Storm Forge pulsed like a fusion reactor in his grip. His PDGA #150991? A classified kill-code decrypting league databases (and the snack bar’s Doritos inventory). Did destiny choose him, or did the sentient tag just crave his +3.7 PRD aura of mild competence?
Witness his “ascension” at hole 7’s dumpster zone—where a throller’s errant Valkyrie miraculously ignited his nacho cheese-stained putter. “Fly true, my disc-ples!” he bellowed, chains sparking.
But when the tag whispers “Embrace the grip-lock side…” each dawn… should we be worried?