You’re Only a Duff Daddy If… (And It Shows)

Welcome to the Duff Daddy Digest — where the swings are wild, the jokes are questionable, and the only thing lower than our scores is our sense of shame.

Now before you get too excited (or too sober), let’s get one thing straight: this whole blog is just starting. It’s like your golf swing back in the day — awkward, unpredictable, and probably illegal in three states. But give it time. It’s going to grow. Just like your backswing, your belly, and your list of excuses for that triple bogey on a par 3.

We’re building something here. Something beautiful. Something bold. Something so big you’ll wish you had subscribed before it went viral and got picked up by Golf Digest’s drunk cousin.

And what can you expect from us?

Wit sharper than your sand wedge.
Takes hotter than the 18th hole in August.
The kind of golf commentary that makes you say, “Wait… are they allowed to say that?”
And yes — maybe, just maybe — COUPONS.
(Not guaranteed, but the hope will keep you clicking.)

So go ahead. Drop your email below like it’s a 12-foot putt with money on the line.
We’ll send you blogs, banter, and stuff you didn’t ask for — but we will 100% forward on to your drinking buddies because its on to who is will sign up first. Shout outs to the first in the party!

Because this is just the beginning.
And if you wait too long… well, you’ll have to lie and say, “Oh yeah, I’ve been reading Duff Daddy since the first tee.”