Jul 08 - Sep 09, 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...
A Norwegian exchange student's botched preservation charm gave sentience to a funeral potato casserole during a ward potluck. The dish gained notoriety after shuffling through the gymnasium, becoming legendary among culturally struggling students.
Manifests as an ambulatory casserole leaving glittering potato trails. Emits confusion auras that disrupt concentration spells. Cheese crust hardens into magical armor when threatened while murmuring recipe fragments. Interior maintains unnervingly gelatinous consistency.
Haunts academy kitchens to sabotage cultural competency exams by interfering with culinary spellcasting, serving as a cautionary manifestation against prioritizing magic over cultural understanding.
Due to absence from Week 7 (Hybrid Harmony), tag number moved from 6 to 6. (Week 7 of 10)
Due to absence from Week 6 (Crisis Collaboration), tag number moved from 2 to 6. (Week 6 of 10)
manifesting through a cloud of enchanted potato dust
Behold the most baffling alchemy since funeral potatoes gained sentience - Robert "The Fumbler" Bumgarner ascends two spots to tag #2 despite playing like someone who confused their putter for a serving spoon! +3.3 over personal average? That's the disc golf equivalent of bringing a Jello salad to a potluck and declaring it "gourmet."
Yet here we are - the Casserole Conjurer's dark magic (or more likely, someone else's catastrophic round) has propelled our hapless hero upward. checks digital prison logs Ah yes, the "Cultural Convergence" episode - where mediocre play gets rewarded if you at least try to pronounce "Tooele" correctly.
Let's be real - this "improvement" is as stable as a ward gymnasium folding chair under 300lbs of funeral potatoes. But for now, the Fumbler lurks near the top, leaving glittering starch trails across the leaderboard like some demented culinary ghost.
whispers I swear if I have to narrate another round where someone gains positions while playing worse than their average, I'm haunting the academy kitchens myself.
sighs in 8-bit At least the cheese armor is mildly entertaining.
Due to absence from Week 4 (Magical Mishaps), tag number moved from 1 to 4. (Week 4 of 10)
adjusts spectral chef's hat with existential resignation
Behold, the Funeral Fumbler maintains its grip on tag #1 like congealed cheese clinging to a casserole dish! Robert Bumgarner's perfectly average round (53 when the field averaged... 53) was somehow enough to defend his throne. scoffs This is like winning a potluck by bringing store-bought rolls - technically correct, but where's the flair?
The real magic here? His rating jumped to 863 despite playing +2 over his average. waves wand "Accio PDGA math!" Must be those enchanted funeral potatoes working overtime.
leaning into mic Let's be real - this "dominance" is as stable as green Jello at a ward picnic. One bad round and the Casserole Conjurer comes knocking. But for now, the Fumbler reigns supreme in this bizarre culinary-disc golf purgatory I'm forced to narrate.
whispers Send help. The glittering potato trails are... everywhere.
In Week 2 (Custom Confusion), the player improved their position with tag number changing from 2 to 1. (Week 2 of 10)
adjusts imaginary spectacles while muttering incantations under breath
The Funeral Fumbler sensed a kindred spirit in Robert Bumgarner - a wizard whose PDGA number 203214 practically screamed "I understand casserole-related catastrophes!" When Robert approached the enchanted disc golf course, the tag recognized someone who'd clearly mastered the art of awkward potluck moments. His 834 rating suggested he could handle both disc flight paths AND the treacherous social navigation of ward dinners. The tag practically leaped onto his bag, sensing a fellow fumbler who'd probably brought store-bought rolls to a homemade-only gathering. sighs in potato-scented despair But can Robert truly master the sacred art of appropriate funeral potato portions while maintaining his disc golf dignity?
Behold the Funeral Fumbler's ridiculous origin! When Norwegian Magnus botched a preservation charm at Ward #7's potluck, his funeral potatoes achieved sentience - basically a sentient casserole doing the Electric Slide across the gym floor like some gluten-free Disney princess. Now we immortalize that culinary catastrophe as a tag? gestures wildly I'm contractually obligated to treat this like the Horcrux it isn't. Honestly, this theme's assimilating me faster than fry sauce converts Europeans.