put-put devastation

He is adversary. Fueled by vengeance. Driven by hatred.

Since our last epic put-put golf battle, citizens of Chicago have tried to put the pieces of their lives back together. The pure awesomeness of our put-put golfing was too much for the city by the lake to handle and, for a time, it was thought that no one would recover. But as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turned to months, a sense of calm - albeit uneasy - slowly began to return.

Then the wicked awesome struck again as Bryan and I once again donned our putting clubs and brightly colored balls and squared off in apocalyptic mini-golf war. At the time of this writing, emergency crews are still sifting through the wreckage and counting the dead. The only documentation of the awesome yet catastrophic event is through these poor-quality cell phone camera pictures. Read on if you dare.

Sure, the battle was devastating to the city and it was obviously a grossly irresponsible use of our putting powers, but come one, this is the coolest picture I've ever been in.

With our usual battlefield, Novelty Golf and Games, currently a pile of desolate rubble; a direct result of our last match, we decided to do battle at Haunted Trails, a put-put course properly themed with the current holiday. Seriously. Frankenstein hangs out there and everything.

Bryan summoned a Dracula to attack me, hoping to gain the upper hand. I was weakened from the nightstalker's ambush, but I wouldn't let it deter me from the path to victory.

The elements were treacherous, pelting us with rain and wind, as if the gods themselves were trying to stop the destructive force of our put-put golfing. Bryan, seen here, is cursing the gods for daring to interfere with destiny.

The local patrons, tragically unaware of who we were or the devastation that follows in or wake, didn't immediately flee upon seeing us. This misjudgment would prove their downfall, as I began murdering other golfers and consuming their souls (seen above) to increase my put-put power.

The government got word of what was transpiring at Haunted Trails and, in a desperate attempt to minimize the devastation, sent in the military. The military knew that their puny tanks and bomber jets would have no effect on us, so they sent our wives in to try to reason with us. Nicole, seen here, is trying to protect an innocent soul from being consumed by me.

The military's plan backfired. Upon seeing us in full put-put glory, our better halves became consumed with put-put bloodlust and immediately joined the battle. All hope was lost.

The battle waged for hours, until the greens were saturated with rain and blood. In the end, my endless hunger for the souls of the innocent and the putting power it provided me proved the key to victory. By one stroke. As I sat upon my throne of corpses, drunk with glory and power and blood, Bryan approached the base of the corpse pile and shot a bolt of lighting from his fingertips. It hit me, and it would have killed me if I were a mortal man, but I wasn't . Not anymore. I had become something else.

"Mark my word," he shouted over the wind and rain, his voice booming like a thousand exploding volcanoes, "vengeance WILL BE MINE!"

He then flew off on his rocket-powered-tyrannosaurus, leaving me to ponder this terrible lesson: an adversary is a dangerous thing, but an adversary on a quest for vengeance is far more terrible thing. I then jumped into my giant robo-spider, flew to my lunar doomfortress, and posted this entry as I now ponder the next stage of this war.