I ran across this even more "EPIC" Amazon review of the "Epic".
A friend of mine once told me a story about this disc that I refused to believe for months. After reading Stranger's review of the Epic, I've finally come to accept the veracity of this tale. I feel compelled to share it with all potential buyers of the Epic, who are likely unaware of this disc's dangerous potentials.
My friend Dave was always a free spirit. When I heard he was dropping out of graduate school and moving to Southeast Asia for a year, it didn't surprise me. He liked to push his limits and live under extreme conditions to test his survival skills. An isolated community of mountain farmers in the remote northwest region of Burma, not far from Mongkun, offered ideal accommodations for this rambling adventurer.
Upon arriving to his destination, a tiny village of about twenty huts, he found himself in the middle of monsoon season, when no farming could be carried out. The only residence offered by the local tribe was a cabin high up on the mountainside, a day's hike from the village. Dave wouldn't have minded the comfortless living conditions if it weren't for the nightly boredom he suffered in the stormy solitude of a strange land. An avid disc golfer, he sent me a postcard requesting a box of used discs for throwing from the mountaintop. He'd always dreamt of throwing a thousand foot drive, and this appeared to be his golden opportunity.
Feeling sympathetic, I searched everywhere for the longest drivers on the market. I resolved upon the Aerobie Epic, and having recently inherited a small fortune from a deceased great aunt, I filled three large boxes with new Epics and shipped them promptly. I must have sent Dave at least two hundred of these discs.
The next time I saw Dave was at the Memphis airport, five or six months later, after receiving a text from him requesting a ride. His haggard face was pale white with a cold thousand yard stare sunken deep in his eyes. I knew something was very wrong. He soon told his story.
"I should have never gone to Burma.
"Each night, a thunderstorm would shake the mountain. The downpour would come and go, but the thunder never seemed to end. After receiving your shipment of Epics, I finally had something to do. A small cave in a forest clearing near the summit offered relief from the rain and just enough room to launch a disc without getting drenched. Whenever I caught a dry moment, I would hike to the cave and throw an overhead Epic drive with all my strength just to watch it spiral through the mist and vanish below the clouds, deep into the tropical abyss.
"For weeks I threw five or six Epics a night, rationing my supply for the season. My distance was growing steadily longer until I ran out of discs and the rice fields were ready for planting. I spent the next three months working long days on the hillside subsistence farms, learning the language and culture of the Sangtam tribe, sleeping hard at night and hardly thinking about disc golf.
"When it was time to leave, I descended the mountain for the first time since my arrival and headed towards the village, where I planned to trade my rice surplus for a mule for the sixty kilometer trip to the nearest town. By the time I arrived to the village, I realized that something was...well, different.
"The men in this isolated community had always worn animal bones on their heads, decorated with exotic furs and colorful beads. But now the older and more respected men had acquired a new fashion, adorning their elaborate headgear with boldly colored plates pierced by the fierce horns of fallen beasts. Moreover, the tribeswomen had adopted a custom of stringing large pendants on their necklaces, decorating them with crooked wooden beads and the ferocious incisors of rodents still unknown to Western science.
"But it was not just the fashion that had changed during my time on the mountain. The whole society was transformed. The twenty or so huts that earlier formed a circle had been repositioned into two concentric circles, with the outside ring slightly offset. The architecture of the homes had similarly evolved, with straw rooftops revealing meticulous epicyclic designs matching the image freshly painted in animal blood on the doorway of each humble dwelling.
"Confused, I proceeded into the center of the village, hoping to find a mule before sunset. This is when my situation grew alarming. About fifteen Sangtams were lying on the ground, unclothed, encircling a newly constructed shrine and solemnly chanting a phrase I can best translate as 'Revere the Thunder Blade.' The shrine was pyramidal in shape, but unlike any pyramid I've known in the vibrancy of its flagrant color scheme. Vivid reds, yellows, and blues were seamlessly interwoven to portray a kaleidoscopic nest of unearthly life forms amid the flourishing green jungle. Perched atop the pyramid, a human skull stared nefariously towards the mountain. Some sort of feather or adornment appeared to decorate this strange idol standing before me. When I came to within a few paces of the shrine, I gasped audibly and nearly fainted.
"Staring into my soul was a still-decaying human head split along the dome by a weapon left undetached. The entire pyramid was made of objects nearly identical to that lodged in the gaping skull. My most depraved fears were confirmed when I noticed a gold lettering glisten in the dying sunlight: "Aerobie Epic Golf Disc."
"I immediately realized that all of the discs I'd thrown from the mountain had landed in the vicinity of this tiny village, hidden beneath a dense forest cover and the thick rainclouds of monsoon season. No fewer than one of my drives had caused the violent death of an indigenous tribesperson.
"Needless to say, I left the village running, as quickly as possible, never to return.
"Burmese nightmares are branded to my eyelids in scars that will never heal. But only the Sangtam can truly comprehend the mindboggling powers of the Epic Thunder Blade."
So, kudos to the author of this review for having so much fun.
