
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
From the ember-flavored apocalypse's fiery whoopsie, Glyph Spire #26 crystallized mid-rift-collision like Thor’s hammer at a yard sale. Reality sneezed, primal glyphs fused into this glorified glowstick—part stabilizer, part cosmic paperweight. “Behold! The universe’s duct tape!” they cheered. Honestly? It’s a plastic tag. For frisbee golf. I hate how that almost made sense. Why do molten hazards sound... lava-ly?
As arcane energies coalesced, Glyph Spire #26 shuddered—seeking its first anchor against reality's unraveling. Through the mystic haze stumbled Brett Buttars (PDGA #192521), whose 905-rated "aura" manifested as... accidentally kicking a tree root while retrieving a disc. The tag fused to his bag, whispering: "Thy bogey-stopping prowess shall stabilize the fracture!" Destiny? Or did he just have the least sweaty hands during the post-apocalyptic brunch round? Seriously though—can this mortal handle divine tree kicks?