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What started as a half-hearted attempt at making disc golf memes on Instagram has now spiraled into something far beyond its creator’s original intent: a full-blown disc golf blog.

And, much like a poorly thrown forehand roller, nobody is quite sure how it got here.

The Birth of a Meme Account (And Its Immediate Neglect)

The origins of this blog trace back to a glorious burst of inspiration (read: extreme boredom) when its creator decided, “Hey, I should make a disc golf meme page.”

Armed with a free meme generator, a questionable sense of humor, and an unhealthy obsession with the local disc golf scene, they launched what they were convinced would become the next great Instagram meme empire.

For approximately three weeks, posts flowed with enthusiasm.

• Overly specific jokes about local players.
• Spicy takes on the correct way to mark a lie.
• At least one meme about someone insisting “this course used to be way harder before they took out that tree.”

And then, inevitably… silence.

The memes slowed, then stopped. The account sat abandoned, alone, buried under countless unrelated follow requests from suspicious bot accounts.

When pressed for comment, the blog’s creator admitted:

“I just… kinda forgot about it. Making memes takes effort. Who has time for that?”

Then, like all great social media projects… it was abandoned.

The account sat dormant, buried beneath bot followers, confused newcomers, and a single comment from someone asking “is this page still active?”

But one thing remained: a mysterious, unregistered website URL in the Instagram bio.

The Great Domain Heist

At some point, a local enterprising disc golfer with too much time on their hands noticed something strange.

The website link? The one sitting at the top of the forgotten Instagram page?

It wasn’t real.

No one had actually bothered to register it. It was just a placeholder, a joke, an idea that had never been followed through.

And in that moment, a thought occurred:

“I could register this right now.”

One hasty domain purchase later, the meme page—once a forgotten relic—had a fully functioning website attached to its name.

The Accidental Blog Takes Off

What happened next was an entirely unplanned, rapidly spiraling series of events.

At first, the new website was a novelty—just a place to expand on inside jokes that had outgrown single memes.

But then… people started reading.

Absurd articles about frozen doubles leagues, Team Challenge players lost in the woods, and the infamous J-Park crock pot catastrophe started circulating.

The satirical takes on local disc golf life hit a nerve. The jokes got bigger. The website got actual traffic. People wanted more.

The Meme Account’s Unexpected Resurrection

With the blog taking off, the Instagram account—once left to gather dust—was suddenly relevant again.

Once-dormant followers returned, like casual disc golfers to the course on the first day above 50 degrees.

The memes made a comeback, reinvigorated with new purpose. The blog fed the Instagram, the Instagram fed the blog, and the cycle of absurdity was complete.

Somewhere, the random disc golfer who had impulsively purchased the domain name sat back and watched the chaos unfold, knowing that they had somehow accidentally created something bigger than anyone had planned.

The Future: What Happens Now?

With a full-fledged blog, an engaged social media following, and absolutely no plan whatsoever, the question remains:

Where does this go from here?

Will the blog expand? Will the Instagram account finally achieve its original meme-making destiny?

Or will this entire thing eventually collapse under the weight of its own ridiculousness, only to be revived again in another year by some other enterprising disc golfer with a WiFi connection and an appetite for chaos?

One thing is certain:

No one involved in this saw it coming.

But somehow, against all odds, this once-forgotten meme account has become something real.

And that is both hilarious and deeply concerning.

After what felt like a decade of frozen tee pads, disappearing fairways, and wind chills that made putting physically painful, the local disc golf doubles leagues are finally thawing out.

And so are some of the players who were last seen in a snowdrift mid-Team Challenge season.

With temperatures finally creeping above “why do we do this to ourselves” levels, the disc golf community is slowly, hesitantly, and with deeply suspicious squinting, emerging from winter’s icy grip.

The first signs of spring are here. The snow is melting, the sun is out longer, and the sounds of disc golf are returning: The distant rattle of chains. The sigh of a putt spit-out. The unmistakable noise of a disc golfer realizing they are knee-deep in what used to be a fairway and is now a soupy mud bog.

Spring doubles is back, baby. And it’s already getting weird.

The Great Unfreezing Has Begun

For the first time in months, disc golfers are arriving at the course without having to dress like they’re heading into an Arctic expedition. Gloves are coming off, putters are warming up, and players are remembering what it’s like to actually have full range of motion.

Not all of them are adjusting well.

“My first full-power throw in 45-degree weather almost tore my shoulder clean off,” admitted Greg “Frozen Flex” Daniels, a player who spent most of the winter insisting he didn’t need gloves but now has visible frost damage on at least three fingers.

Meanwhile, the fairways—once peacefully covered in a nice, flat sheet of snow—are now treacherous wastelands of standing water, unstable mud, and mysterious quicksand-like patches that have already claimed at least two shoes.

“I took a step off the fairway and just… sank,” said one shaken player. “It was like the Earth itself decided I wasn’t allowed to play.”

The tee pads? A complete gamble. Some are dry. Some are soaked beyond recognition. Some have become miniature lakes. And some, somehow, are still icy.

The Crock Pot Incident Still Haunts the Survivors

As players return to the courses, so too return the memories of winter’s darkest moments.

No event left a scar quite like the J-Park Pavilion Crock Pot Incident, in which an overloaded electrical circuit, 17 slow cookers, and one particularly volatile seafood stew combined to cause a near-catastrophic chili detonation.

“I still wake up in a cold sweat, smelling pulled pork,” admitted one witness. “You think you’re safe. You think your crock pot is stable. And then—boom.”

Despite the devastation, some players have already begun planning their revenge. There are rumors that this year’s spring league might see the return of the Crock Pot Potluck, but only if someone can secure a generator strong enough to handle the electrical demands.

Until then, disc golfers remain deeply wary of any tournament where slow cookers are involved.

Doubles Leagues Are Coming, Whether You’re Ready or Not

With winter (mostly) in the rearview mirror, doubles leagues are on the horizon.

The annual migration of fair-weather players is about to begin. Some haven’t thrown a single disc since October, and yet they will show up in April expecting to shoot double digits under par.

The random dubs chaos is inevitable. Someone will get paired with a guy who only throws thumbers and refuses to putt conventionally. The first Cali player meltdown of the season is looming, waiting for its unfortunate victim. And, of course, the great debate of who is sandbagging the hardest will begin anew.

“I just love getting back into it after winter,” said Kevin, stretching casually after draining a 50-footer in his first throw of the season. “Winter golf just isn’t for me.”

The winter warriors—the ones who battled through Team Challenge blizzards, shoveled tee pads in a futile effort, and played full rounds while icicles formed on their hats—are not amused.

“Oh, must be nice,” one grumbled. “Must be real nice.”

ALBANY, NY – Listeners of The Hudson Valley Disc Golf Podcast were treated to an unexpected endurance test last week when local disc golfer Tim took a full hour to explain the origin of his doubles team name, CamelCaseCorey.

Tim, who was invited on the show specifically to share the backstory behind the name, instead launched into what experts are calling “an unnecessarily detailed historical retelling” of his entire disc golf journey, spanning over a decade of league nights, casual rounds, and questionable ace stories.

“I was excited to learn about the name, but then he just… kept going,” said one exhausted listener. “He must have said ‘and that’s when I caught the disc golf bug’ three or four times. I don’t even know which time was the actual time.”

At approximately the 23-minute mark, Tim was still reminiscing about the first time he threw an Innova Leopard, a moment he described as “spiritual.” By minute 42, he had segued into a passionate retelling of his first C-tier cash finish, a performance that no one had asked about but which he assured the audience was “legendary.”

Co-hosts of the podcast, clearly trapped in the vortex of Tim’s storytelling, attempted multiple times to steer him back to the original topic. “So, Tim, about CamelCaseCorey…” one of them interjected at minute 51, only for Tim to immediately recall a “wild” doubles round from 2014 that involved a disputed foot fault and a particularly aggressive squirrel.

Finally, at the 58-minute mark, after thoroughly exhausting every tournament memory and every disc he’s ever thrown, Tim revealed the long-awaited origin of CamelCaseCorey:

“Oh, yeah, it’s because my buddy Corey always wrote his name in camel case in his emails,” he said flatly.

Silence followed. The hosts, now spiritually defeated, could only muster a quiet, “Cool.”

Reaction from the disc golf community was swift. “I thought it was going to be something epic, like a legendary ace or an inside joke that required at least minor explanation,” said one listener. “But no. Just email formatting. I want my hour back.”

Despite the feedback, Tim remains unfazed. “I think it’s important for people to know the full context,” he said in a follow-up interview, which, sources say, is still ongoing.

ALBANY, NY – What started as a routine Board of Directors election for DisCap quickly spiraled into a rollercoaster of emotions, confusion, and what some are calling “the most dramatic rage quit in club history.”

The election, which used ranked choice voting for the first time, saw five candidates vying for two open seats. After multiple rounds of counting, Jasan and Kaitlyn emerged victorious—but the real drama was just getting started.

The Rage Quit Heard ‘Round the Valley

Following the election results, longtime board member Earl—known for his passionate speeches about course maintenance and his 23-minute monologue on why “real disc golfers don’t use minis”—announced that he was stepping down immediately.

While official club minutes describe his departure as “amicable,” eyewitnesses report that Earl dramatically removed his DisCap hat, threw his clipboard into the woods, and muttered something about “not sticking around for this nonsense.” Some claim he was last seen power walking toward hole 1, muttering about OB rules under his breath.

Ranked Choice Voting: The Controversy That Nobody Fully Understood

Meanwhile, the election process itself became a topic of heated debate, as some community members angrily opposed ranked choice voting, despite not fully grasping how it worked.

“I voted for Jasan, and somehow Kaitlyn won? Explain that!” said one frustrated player, ignoring that Jasan had also won.

“I only ranked one person. Does that mean my vote even counted?” asked another voter, looking around suspiciously.

In a particularly heated moment, one member accused the system of “being rigged by Big UDisc,” while another demanded that future elections use “match play scoring.”

Others, however, embraced the chaos. “I put my second-choice vote for a guy who wasn’t even running, just to see what would happen,” admitted one player. “Ranked choice is kind of fun when you stop trying to understand it.”

The Jason Shuffle

With Earl’s dramatic exit, a third seat suddenly became available, and the club was left scrambling for a replacement. After a quick review of eligibility and a brief period of stunned silence, Jason—who had not originally won a seat—was suddenly added to the board.

“I don’t even know how I got here, but I’m happy to serve,” Jason said, looking slightly bewildered but also pleased.

A Happy Ending (Mostly)

Despite the uproar, DisCap remains strong, resilient, and, most importantly, still playing disc golf. The new board members have vowed to serve with integrity, while Earl has been spotted back on the course, still holding unofficial leadership status as the “guy who has an opinion on everything.”

Meanwhile, club leadership has promised to provide a simple explainer on ranked choice voting before the next election, though sources say they are “99% sure nobody will read it.”

As for next year’s election? Some are already calling for a return to the old system. Others are pushing for an even more complex format involving skins, CTP tiebreakers, and a final decision made by a sudden death playoff on hole 18.

One thing is certain: DisCap elections will never be boring.

In what can only be described as an auditory experience that defies all known musical theory, local disc golf podcasters, Jacky and Juliette, have announced their ambitions to take their signature intro—an unmistakably off-key jingle—to the national stage. The duo, known for their podcast Not Another Disc Golf Podcast, believe that their raw, unfiltered vocal talent is just what American Idol and The Voice have been missing.

“People tell us all the time, ‘Wow, that intro is… something,’” Juliette said, beaming with pride. “We take that as a sign that our sound is unique. Simon Cowell is going to love us.”

The pair’s podcast, which features in-depth discussions on disc golf, controversial takes on OB rules, and a segment called The Pyramid, has gained a cult following—not necessarily for the content, but for the jarring, borderline haunting musical number that kicks off each episode.

Listeners have described the intro as “like two coyotes harmonizing in a metal trash can” and “a bold artistic choice that makes me appreciate silence.” Still, Jacky and Juliette remain undeterred.

“Some people call it ‘tone deaf,’ but we call it ‘avant-garde,’” Jacky explained. “We’re not just podcasters—we’re artists. And it’s time the world hears our gift.”

To prepare for their upcoming auditions, the duo has been practicing on the first tee pad of their local course, much to the dismay of early morning players. “I don’t even need coffee anymore,” said one shaken disc golfer. “I just hear them warming up, and the adrenaline spike keeps me awake for days.”

Despite the mixed reviews, Jacky and Juliette are hopeful that their unique harmonies will land them a golden ticket to Hollywood—or at the very least, a viral clip on YouTube titled ‘Worst Auditions of All Time’.

Until then, local disc golfers can continue to enjoy their dulcet tones before every episode of Not Another Disc Golf Podcast—or, as one listener called it, “the price I pay for free entertainment.”

RAVENA, NY – What was supposed to be a standard, mildly miserable winter Team Challenge match between the J-Park Wrenches and the Minekill Whips quickly spiraled into a full-scale survival scenario after a blizzard stranded several Minekill players, an electrical disaster nearly burned down the pavilion, and a penalty point fiasco left everyone questioning reality.

Minekill Players Lost in the Storm

Trouble began before the first putt was even thrown, as multiple Minekill players failed to arrive due to what meteorologists referred to as “a minor snow event” and what disc golfers referred to as “a soul-crushing whiteout from which no man shall return.”

While some Whips wisely stayed home, at least two players braved the journey but never arrived.

“We were tracking their car on UDisc Live, and then poof—they just stopped moving,” said one Minekill captain.

Crock Pot Armageddon: Pavilion Electrical Grid Meets Its Fiery End

While the snowstorm raged outside, another more preventable disaster unfolded inside the J-Park pavilion.

As is Team Challenge tradition, players arrived with enough crock pots to feed a full battalion of hungry disc golfers. Unfortunately, tournament organizers failed to anticipate the consequences of plugging 17 slow cookers into a single aging power strip.

“At first, everything seemed fine,” said one witness. “But then, someone turned their crock pot to ‘High,’ and the lights flickered. A second crock pot hit ‘Keep Warm,’ and I swear I heard the outlet scream.”

At exactly 12:47 PM, the system finally gave out, unleashing a spectacular electrical explosion that sent chili, pulled pork, and a questionable seafood stew flying through the air.

“I was just about to eat,” said one stunned player, wiping beef broth from his face. “Then I saw a fireball and got hit in the chest by a rogue meatball.”

The entire pavilion was plunged into darkness and mild panic, as one player—armed only with a 300-lumen camping lantern—declared himself the new TD. Miraculously, the flames were contained when a well-aimed pot of mac and cheese was dumped onto the electrical box, smothering the fire.

Penalty Points: Confusion, Controversy, and Mild Existential Crisis

Despite the missing players and brief threat of electrocution, the match continued.

With Minekill down multiple players, J-Park was initially awarded the win via penalty points.

“At first, I felt bad,” admitted one J-Park player. “But then I remembered that this was Team Challenge, and feeling bad isn’t part of the rulebook.”

However, the celebration was short-lived, as it was soon discovered that the penalty points had been misapplied. Officials quickly reversed the decision, declaring the match a tie.

What followed was pure, unfiltered chaos.

• One player threw his putter into a snowbank and immediately lost it forever.
• Someone demanded a full forensic audit of the scoring sheets.
• A small group of players refused to acknowledge the result and started their own breakaway disc golf league.

“I still don’t know what happened,” admitted one player. “One moment, we won. The next, we tied. Then I blacked out, and now I’m standing here covered in someone else’s chili.”

A Historic, Disastrous, Yet Somehow Successful Event

Despite losing players to the storm, nearly setting the course on fire, and experiencing a complete scoring breakdown, the match is being hailed as “a pretty standard Team Challenge event.”

The lost Minekill players have yet to be recovered, though sources claim they may be living off of cornbread that was blown into the woods during the pavilion explosion.

Meanwhile, J-Park and Minekill have agreed to a rematch later in the season, assuming that:

1. The weather holds up.
2. Nobody burns down the pavilion.
3. Someone actually reads the rulebook before applying penalty points.

One thing is certain: Team Challenge remains the most ridiculous, chaotic, and unnecessarily dramatic winter disc golf competition in existence.

---

Final Score:

• Blizzard – 1
• J-Park Wrenches – ?
• Minekill Whips – ??
• The Electrical Grid – KO’d

RAVENA, NY – A group of four disc golfers from out of town was finally rescued after spending an entire week trapped in the labyrinthine wilderness of Joralemon Park (J-Park), a course so vast and confusing that even locals are unsure where it begins and ends.

“We just wanted to play a quick round…”

The group, visiting from Pennsylvania, arrived at J-Park last Saturday, excited to “just play a quick 18.” That was their first mistake.

“We asked a local what layout to play, and he just laughed,” said survivor Chad Wilkinson, visibly shaken. “Then he said, ‘Well, do you mean J-North? J-South? J-West? J-27? Or the original 18? But the old original 18, or the new original 18?’ We thought he was joking. He wasn’t.”

Armed with only UDisc and false confidence, the group chose a layout at random and threw their first drives. It would be the last time they knew where they were.

A Week of Confusion and Despair

For the next seven days, the group wandered the sprawling course, trying desperately to make sense of ever-changing tee signs, mismatched hole numbers, and locals casually referring to holes that no longer exist.

“At one point, we thought we finished 18,” recalled group member Brian P., “but then a guy on a bike told us we were on hole 22 of J-East. And that’s when the panic set in.”

On day three, the group attempted to backtrack, only to accidentally start a new round on J-South. On day five, one of them found a basket labeled “Hole 17” but had no memory of ever playing hole 16. The mental toll was immense.

By day six, they had run out of snacks and were surviving on found Nature Valley crumbs and rogue granola bars left behind by previous lost players.

Rescue Comes in the Form of a Local (Who Was Also Lost)

Their salvation came on day seven when they encountered a local player who had also been lost for an indeterminate amount of time.

“I’ve been out here since Tuesday,” said the rescuer, who introduced himself as ‘Big Putt Randy.’ “I just accepted my fate and started living off the land.”

Randy, who had played J-Park since the days when it only had 18 holes, was able to use his encyclopedic knowledge of old layouts, new layouts, and unofficial layouts that only exist in local legends to guide the weary travelers back to the parking lot.

Officials Consider Installing Directional Signage (But Probably Won’t)

Following the incident, local disc golf officials have acknowledged that J-Park’s layout may be slightly “incomprehensible” to outsiders. A proposal was made to install signs to clarify which holes belong to which layout, but it was quickly dismissed as “too much work.”

“We could make it easier, but honestly, getting lost at J-Park is a rite of passage,” said one anonymous club member. “If you don’t end up questioning your own reality at least once, did you even play here?”

As for the out-of-towners, they’ve vowed never to return.

“J-Park is a beautiful course, but it’s not a course—it’s a trap,” said Chad. “Next time, we’re just playing a boring old 18-hole course like normal people.”

Meanwhile, Big Putt Randy remains out there, somewhere, guiding lost souls and ensuring that the legend of J-Park lives on.

SCHENECTADY, NY – What was meant to be a fun, charity-driven doubles tournament quickly turned into a battle for survival as a rogue gang of turkeys launched a coordinated assault on this year’s Turkey Throwdown at Central Park Schenectady (CPS).**

The tournament, a Thanksgiving tradition in the local disc golf community, started off as expected—brisk fall air, friendly competition, and that one guy complaining about the OB lines. But by hole 3, things took a drastic and deeply terrifying turn.

The First Wave: A Tactical Strike

The first attack came during a tee shot on Hole 6, when an unsuspecting player reached into their bag, only to find a turkey already in it.

“I don’t know how it got in there,” said the shaken player. “One second, I was reaching for my Star Destroyer, the next, I was locked in a staring contest with a very angry bird.”

By the time they recovered, three turkeys had taken over the tee pad, pecking aggressively at anyone who approached.

“None of us wanted to be the first DNF, so we tried to play through,” said another participant. “But the turkeys weren’t having it. One of them actually blocked my putt. Just full-wing spread, stared me down, and knocked my disc away. They weren’t just there—they were competing.”

The Takeover of CPS

By mid-morning, it became clear that the turkeys had taken control of the course.

Players attempting to navigate Hole 9’s wooded fairway found themselves surrounded by a full-on gobbling battalion. A desperate attempt to run to Hole 12 backfired when it was discovered that the turkeys had set up a blockade near the basket.

“It was a level of organization I wasn’t prepared for,” admitted one competitor. “They were running complex formations, controlling the choke points, and cutting off safe routes. I felt like I was in a horror movie—but with birds.”

Some players attempted to bribe the turkeys with snacks, but sources report that the turkeys “did not negotiate” and instead stole a player’s Thanksgiving leftovers straight out of their bag.

The Casualties and Heroics

Several players reported emergency exits, with at least one participant climbing a tree to escape the advancing horde.

“I thought I was safe up there,” said the player. “But then I realized turkeys can fly. That’s when the real panic set in.”

Meanwhile, one brave soul attempted to challenge the birds in a putting contest—but after missing low on a 20-footer, the turkeys simply turned their backs and walked away in disgust.

The Tournament’s Abrupt Conclusion

As the afternoon wore on, tournament officials made the difficult decision to declare the turkeys the winners in order to ensure the safety of human competitors.

“We wanted to finish, but the turkeys literally had people cornered near the practice basket,” said the TD. “At a certain point, you have to respect that level of dominance.”

With the event officially surrendered, the turkeys celebrated in what can only be described as an unsettlingly coordinated victory gobble.

Looking Ahead: How to Prevent Another Turkey Uprising

As next year’s Turkey Throwdown approaches, event organizers are already considering safety measures, including:

• Turkey-proof disc golf bags
• A local volunteer tasked with distracting the birds by throwing them stale bread away from the course
• Hiring an actual falconer as tournament security
• Accepting that this is their course now and moving the event elsewhere

Despite the chaos, the tournament still raised money for charity, proving that even in the face of an avian coup, disc golfers will persevere.

“I lost my lunch, my pride, and my best putter,” one player admitted. “But hey, it’s for a good cause.”

As for the turkeys? They remain at CPS, waiting, watching… and preparing for next year’s rematch.

Final Score: Turkeys – 1, Disc Golfers – 0.