It truly is Hot Golf Summer Squirmy my King

We request another frustration. It's hot golf summer! Gaming John's timer is ticking

It's hot golf summer, we need a new frustration. The timer's ticking.

Another course, another mouse pounding, blood pressure raising, expletive shouting, friend losing.

Perfect! <3

Well... did that meet the required Frustration? Or are you still hungry?
Before I once again dowse the flames of the Frustration forge, answer me... are you not entertained? Have you had enough of the curse that is, the Frustration? Or do you require one final sip from the chalice?
There is one final note to make on this tale of Frustration though... something hidden, a secret that is there for the taking! Find it and you will reap the reward! But only one may claim it... good luck and announce your treasure when you take the spoils.
And until a distant future beckons, enjoy and revel in Frustration The Encore!

When the red phone in my office started ringing I knew right away what the news would be. I quickly grabbed my best putter and a group of friends and set off in my golf cart. Squirmy had done it again and cooked up another delicious course for the benefit of all mankind. Nothing compares to playing a frustrating game of golf with good company. Thank you for once again coming out of frustration retirement. There willn't be a day I will forget the kind grace you bestow upon my lowly horny cartoon wolf heart <3

The moment I got to hold my newborn son in my hands, I looked at him in the eyes - smiled and said, "Hello, my dear Squirmy_Router. You are named after a great man, I hope one day you'll get to meet him." My wife shared a compassionate glance with me, agreeing and being totally cool with us naming our child after you. She gave me a thumbs up <-- like that

Got frustrated, 10/10 milk me

I met a traveller from an golfing land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless putters of stone
Stand on the green . . . Near them, on the sea,
Half sunk, a shattered golf ball lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Squirmy_Router, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye frustrating, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”