This, dear readers, is the Wreath of Judgement. I, after regaining my sanity, went on a crusade to the North Pole Facility. I broke in with my team of robot drones, and got away with this wreath. This wreath, dear readers, is what Santa Claus uses to judge all the children of the world. It was forged in the fires of Öræfajökull before time began, by the mighty warrior Klauz. It sees into the souls of all children on Earth, monitoring the morality of them all. This, dear readers, is what tells if a child is naughty or nice.

After forging the Wreath, Klauz took it to the north pole, and began establishing a workshop there. After the great purge of fairies from Ireland, Klauz offered them a sanctuary. They called him Santahk ("saviour") and signed an eternal work contract in gratitude. Since then, Sa

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: Unfortunately, dear readers, this will be the last post this blog will ever see. Shortly after writing the previous paragraph, Santa Claus arrived at the author's house with the intent of recovering the Wreath and taking revenge for the elves murdered during the break-in. Our dear author grabbed his thermocatalytic badger and began returning fire on the sleigh, but it was not enough. He fought nobly, he fought well, and we shall never forget him.

R.I.P. Séamas

1996-2012

Gunned down by Santa Claus.

This card is the Maniacal Joker of Infinite Gibbering Madness. It is said that all whose lives this card enters will be cursed with ma̷d̢n̴ess̛ ̛èterna̵l̸. Fortunately, I exploited another and tricked them into acquiring the card and taking this photograph. I am entirely safe from harm.

The card was first seen in ancient France. It caused the BaEcAcUuTrIsFeUdL mad BpLlEaSgSuIeNG after a magician used in his magic trick. It's a gboaodd thing the magician was an amature with no true magic wand, otherwise the madness could have spread throughout the cosmos through contact with the Yggdrasil.

After the mad plague had passed, the card was aquired by a wizard of dubious character who began to

e͟͟x̡̀͝p̡͏̡er͢i͢͡m̕é̷n̸t̵ on humans using the card <most amusing>. Of course, the card soon drove him round the bend (implying that he wasn't already) and he decided to blow up his tower with a thermonuclear hex. Of course, since there's no such thing as a stable thermonuclear hex, he merely succeeded in deshatroyhaing evhaery atoham of hhais beinhag.
In the year 0.473AD, the card resurfaced in Luxē͔̈́̓̔͗̇m̷̖̼̞̯̻̻̐͌̓̓͊̽b̪͈̯̂͛̇o̘̯͔̺ͪ̔ͪ̋urg. It resulted in the mass suicide of a thousand dancing, behatted, monkey wielding swordsmen. The card kinda has a wonderfularped sense of humour. Later, it made a woman think she was of the molepeople. She tried to reclaim her ances͇͕̝̖̻̞͚̣̊͑̈́ͩ̿ṯ̖̝̾ͩͪͫ̏ṝ̣͇̳ͮ̔̑̎ͨ͛͊͊ả̗̙͙̬̙̮̳͕́ͣ͗ͩͧͩl̹͆ ̮͇̺̪͍̄ͪ̐l̻̻̗̲ͨ̀̂e̞͇̘͓̠̿ͪ̄̿͆̽̽ͭ͆g͚̦̽ͨ̐a͍̘ͯ͊͊̑c̖̹ͤ̿y̗͎̤̪͒ͤ̌ͩ ͖͍͈̙̰̭͐ͩͬ̓̔̈́̽͑ͅand sought out the great drill of K'ktkv'kqt'knq'vvtnk'ttnq, but was never heard from again. Her story is known through the journal she kept, and scholars have long debated whether she starved to death on a futile quest, was slaughtered by the dhriill'ls saercuiritoy suystesms, or waits below us to this day, ready to end the human age.
The next confirmed possessor of the c̠̠͒̐ͦ͟a̷̵̫͓̝̘̝ͥͥ̿́r͖̪ͨ̅̐̉͐ͦḍ̠̰̗̈́̾ͭ is Ludwig II of Bavaria. It seemed to make him think he came from the planet Krypfairytalelandon, from which he was evacuated as a baby. He tried to recreate his supposed home, bringing ruin to his country's finances in the process. oF COURSE, the funny part of the story is when HA the HA extravagent HA castles HA he HA built HA became HA a HA tourist HA attraction HA and HA brought HA wealth HA to HA the HA country. Of course, Ludwig was brutally murdered long before this happened. H̢̻͔̖̳̘̭̰͕̝̱̰͙͖̐ͪ̓̈́̀̈́̓̾ͅͅA̧̛̒̅̋̍ͪ͆ͪ̀͏̤̜̪͙̘̬̱̣̦̳͈̞͎̭̥͕̗.̨̟͙̬̳̩̠̞̰͉̬̲͇̫̳̄̒̊ͩ̉̆ͦ̾ͣ̃̀͢ ̛̛͈͖̘̻̦̞̭͍͎̰̹̫͇͈̘̯̆͂̊̉̓̀̀͡ͅ

PErhaps in different circumstances, i would not need to SAY THIS but now i must inform you THAT I WILL BE REGAINING MY sanity in time for n e x t w e e k. NEXT POST, S͇̩̥̥̘̥̠̫͓͖ͫ̇͌ͧ̊̓ͯͦ̽̉̇͐̚͜͞Oͧͥ͊ͮ̉ͫͨͬ͌̽͋̆ͣ̚̚͡҉͇̠̤͓M̴̠͙̫͔̰̘͕͖̯͉̗̪̩̜ͩͭͨ̈͐̾͊̊ͣͥE̸ͯ̐̅̑͋̓ͫͭ̂ͯ̇ͬ̅҉̗͇̖̙̘̳̺͙̫̘̠͈ͅÔ̸̧̬͉̱̺̭̊͊ͨͦ͌̕N̸͔̥͖̖̩͇̈́ͮͫ̍̾̃̈́ͥ͒̽̇̔̌̋̂̔͊ͧ͆͡E̢̛̫̲̙̬̗̙̳̣͎ͦ͐̓̾ͣ ̷̨͛̔̔̽ͬ̆̓̓̓́̽̎ͭ͆͐͡͏͈̣̝͚͚̲Dͯ̾̈ͭͣ̉̃̇ͬͪͣ̿̀͠҉̪̞̠̠̺̣̞̩̰͓̘͕͙͟͟ͅÍ͍̹͓̝͚̇̃̆ͦͤͧ̊̎̈̓̀̚͟͟E̶̳̤͈̮ͣ͗ͬ̚̕Š̶̪̦̹̯̺͚͓͕͖̲̟̼̖̔ͯͬ̽̎̽ͩ̇̾ͫ̀
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This drink here is the Elixir of the Dawn Sky. Disgusting as it looks, it supposedly grants the drinker the luck of a thousand leprechauns, spectacular charisma, and their heart's greatest desire. Also, you can fly. Because sky and all that.
All known draughts of the Elixir were brewed in ancient Tajikistan some 3000 years ago by the Great Wise Masters of the Hypercube. It is generally accepted that the luck in the Elixir comes from the vast quantities of leprechaun blood used to make it. The Wise Masters obtained this blood via trading with the molepeople, which forever scarred them as traitors in humanity's eyes. When they stole a really nice looking dawn in order to complete the drink, the rest of humanity got so pissed off they stormed up the mountain to where the Masters were camped and killed every last one they found.
One Master managed to escape with a keg of the Elixir, however it had not been brewed long enough, and its powers were weaker than the desired result. They had intended to use the Elixir to make themselves gods, ruling over humanity and maybe finding out what hypercubes actually were, but the batch produced only had the properties I stated at the start. This was obviously a huge letdown to the Master with the who escaped oh who am I kidding he spent the rest of his life flying.
Since the Master left the keg in a cave in his cult's mountain, rumours of its history have been wild. Some say it was found by Julius Caesar, some by Genghis Khan. I, for one, have never heard of any of them flying. I personally believe some unknown merchant found it on their travels and brought it home. I'd guess no one actually had a shot of it, except maybe some carpenter's kid.
Since this was exceedingly hard to track throughout history, I could well be the third person in history to taste this drink. To greatness!

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The author is currently in hospital, though regular service should resume next week. Apparently drinking 3000 year old elixirs is bad for you. Who knew?

Sitting here on my desk is the key to Ireland. It is to be used in the event of the apocalypse to close the country after everyone is gone. It was created during the 1950s when De Valera received a report entitled "Coping Ability of the Republic of Ireland in an End of the World Event". Dev dismissed the report, as he believed that all good citizens would go to heaven, and the rest be damned. However the report fell into the hands of several TDs who knew the importance of good extinction etiquette. They were determined that when Ireland went, it would be tidy and locked up so no one could damage it before the new owners arrived. They commissioned this key to achieve these ends. When this is turned in the national lock at Mizen Head, a 3 metre high wall will extend from the ground and close Ireland off from the rest of the world.
Situated next to the national lock is the bell to summon the cleaners. When the key and all associated projects were constructed, a cleaning team was mummified and a curse placed on their tomb. When the bell is rung, they will rise from the dead and begin the process of tidying the country for any future tenants.
Since the 1950s, the key has been in the possession of the official Badass of Ireland. Only this person is considered able, when the sky falls and fire consumes the land, to make the journey to Mizen Head and lock the country behind them. This person is always a heretic and debaucherous sinner, to ensure that they are not raptured into heaven before their journey is complete. Although no Badass would ever allow the key to be stolen without terrible vengeance being wreaked upon the thieves, the current holder of the title is willing to rent it out in return for Oreos.
Okay, he's currently staring into my window. I think my time with the key is up. I shall return next week with an article about whatever the hell I think up in the meantime. Adios, and don't let monsters kill you on the train.

This simple twig is nothing of the sort. This stick was taken from the Yggdrasil itself, and I estimate its severing caused the destruction of at least three galaxies. I don't really care, I didn't know anyone in them.

First, a brief lesson on the Yggdrasil. The Vikings considered it a "World Tree", but in truth it is more of universe tree. Likely some drunken Norseman caught a glimpse of a branch and thought it was the whole thing. Anyway, contained within the tree is the entire universe, which at the same time makes up the tree, like a container containing itself. It's kinda confusing.

A war was fought between the molepeople and humans for the Yggdrasil sometime in the second millenium B.C.E. During the fighting, a couple of arrows stuck the Yggdrasil, causing mass genocide via exploding galaxies. Eventually, the humans drove the molepeople back into their underground caverns, and claimed the tree for their own. Both sides had good reason to want the tree; for no magic wand can be made without wood from its branches.

And now you know the terrible secret behind magicians, for every rabbit from a hat, every woman sawed in half, is payed for many times over by the death of billions as their homes are ripped from the great tree's bark. Some might call me a hypocrite for taking wood myself, but I am not using this wood for cheap tricks, I am using it for SCIENCE!

Well, my wordcount's still pretty low, and I have nearly half an hour left. I might as well tell you how I got this twig. After writing about the magicascope, I left my home for the woods. There, I called upon my spirit animal, a Deinonychus, and he led me deep within the forest. I took out my divining rod, and walked for days until I found the saphire staircase. I took out my sledgehammer and held the stairway to ransom until Magic Tom agreed to show the tree. Then, I ripped off a branch and went home.  :D

I mentioned this object much earlier, and I think it's finally time to write about it. This is my magicascope, which I used to scan a cookie in a previous article, and this week I shall explain to you its origin, its purpose, and how it works.

I'm going to be honest here, this isn't an ancient artifact. I got it from Lidl in the sorcery aisle. However, I feel that it is worth talking about the invention of these wonderous devices. The basic technology was invented by the Inca, about twenty years before they were conquered by the Spanish. The earliest magicascopes were stone rings with heavily enchanted obsidian in the middle; by the glowing of the obsidian, the wielder could make a rough guess as to the strength of an item's aura.

After the Spanish conquered the Inca, they stole all of the magicascopes. Seriously, they took every single one; you can't say they weren't dedicated. The Spanish Inquisition (in their nice red uniforms) decided that the devices were witchcraft, and promptly used them to scan and convict hundreds of witches. Of course, as all true witches just flew away from the inquisition, it can be assumed that they were godawful at using the 'scopes.

You've probably noticed that the Inca device I described looks absolutely nothing like the photograph. This is because European alchemists began refining the device the make their experiments more accurate. As a result, I believe quite a few alchemists discovered the secret of the Philosopher's Stone. However, like many others, I subscribe to the theory that discovering the secret of the stone caused them to be retconned out of existence, making the entire field of alchemy look like a joke.

The purpose of a magicascope is to measure the aura of whatever object it is pointed at. The glass will turn a certain shade, at which point thaumological litmus paper is applied and compared to a scale. The average value of a non-magical object is forty two thaums. Higher values indicate a strong magical presence, while lower values indicate corrupted objects. A value of zero means that an object has absolutely no aura (a.k.a. soul), like a squid.

I should probably add that magnets mess these things up completely. I have no idea how that works.

This is a pair of Chrono-Duality Spectro Goggles. They are an essential tool for ghost hunters, time travellers, and 3D moviegoers, due to their ghost detecting properties, ability to see through time, and red and cyan lenses, respectively.
I aquired this pair from a time traveller that tried to kill me yesterday. Something about an evil overlord, probably not important. After checking that the plasma burns did not damage the goggles, I immediately began testing their abilities. My magicascope showed they had no aura, and due their exceptional property of being from the future, I assume they work using super nano technology.
When I tried them on, the first thing I noticed was the starving young girl I could now see in front of me. Apparently, she had been sealed below the floor of my house as a sacrifice to the railway gods, with the intention of making the trains run on time. We conversed a bit, but unfortunately I learned nothing of note. Probably due to all her hideous wailing.
Next, I tested the goggles' dual-chronological nature. I peered back one hundred and thirty years to when the unfortunate girl met her fate. People wore funny hats back then. As much as I would have liked to look back to when dinosaurs walked the Earth, at that length of time in difference I would have had to take into account continental drift, and that would just have been annoying. I mean seriously. Why can't countries just stay in the same place?
Finally, I tested their ability to watch a movie in 3D. I managed to find a good movie with Anaglyph 3D edited in (no easy task). Unfortunately, the two lenses were not in temporal sync. I will never watch Reservoir Dogs the same way again.