
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Amidst the glitch-fractals of Creekside, newborn Fracture Mender pulsed with existential dread. "Must... mend... reality tears..." it buzzed, witnessing Michael Whipple shank a drive into thorny oblivion. But lo! His PDGA #45653 glimmered like a prophecy under the holographic haze. The tag quivered: This mortal summoned THREE triple-bogeys! Surely he creates enough reality rifts to keep me employed! It bonded instantly, mistaking his "consistency" for cosmic chaos-weaving. Now they're symbiotically doomed to chase bogeyman par. Honestly? Choosing a bearer over misplaced optimism? That's putting through the looking glass. Can a man who battles shrubbery truly wield a sentient glowstick?