"This isn’t golf. This is psychological warfare in plaid pants."

Golf It! is supposed to be a casual, relaxing game of mini-golf with friends. What it actually is… is rage therapy disguised as fun.

My friends? Garbage humans. They wait for me to line up a perfect shot, and then WHAM — someone full-sends their ball into mine like it’s a demolition derby. I’ve been knocked off cliffs, bounced out of holes, and emotionally gaslit into missing three-foot putts.
“Just a little tap,” they say. “This one’s easy,” they say.
Lies. Filthy, stroke-maxing lies.

The game? Smooth. Beautifully designed courses. Great physics.
The experience? Like being locked in a clown car with your worst influences and a golf club made of spite.

And yet… I keep playing. I love this dumb game. I thrive in the chaos. I laugh so hard I cry, then scream when I bounce off a mushroom for the 11th time. And when I finally sink that impossible shot? I flex like I just won the Masters — even if I came in dead last.

10/10 — would threaten lifelong friends over a glowing windmill hole again.
This game ruined us. And I’ll see you all in the next lobby, cowards.

"This isn’t golf. This is psychological warfare in plaid pants." Golf It! is supposed to be a casual, relaxing game of mini-golf with friends. What it actually is… is rage therapy disguised as fun. My friends? Garbage humans. They wait for me to line up a perfect shot, and then WHAM — someone full-sends their ball into mine like it’s a demolition derby. I’ve been knocked off cliffs, bounced out of holes, and emotionally gaslit into missing three-foot putts. “Just a little tap,” they say. “This one’s easy,” they say. Lies. Filthy, stroke-maxing lies. The game? Smooth. Beautifully designed courses. Great physics. The experience? Like being locked in a clown car with your worst influences and a golf club made of spite. And yet… I keep playing. I love this dumb game. I thrive in the chaos. I laugh so hard I cry, then scream when I bounce off a mushroom for the 11th time. And when I finally sink that impossible shot? I flex like I just won the Masters — even if I came in dead last. 10/10 — would threaten lifelong friends over a glowing windmill hole again. This game ruined us. And I’ll see you all in the next lobby, cowards.