Invisible Ink

Let's see, I think we'll start today's post with an ex































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Now you'll never know what was REALLY in this post.























































And it will haunt you for the rest of your life.
































































Olaf the BAAAAALD!

I hate this post

Sung to the tune of 'I hate this song' by Secondhand Serenade.

Type with your hands tied, I'm know I'm tired
But I just want to know what you want to know
I'm readerless, but I'm not weak, blog's future's bleak
And my baggy eyes never lie, this blog come from inside

(CHORUS)
Until sunday I'll be writing posts once more
I guess that the others weren't good enough for you
You know that I hate this post
You know that I hate this post because it was written for you

Sometimes I need hugs, but I still feel bugged,
My glossy eyes stare at the computer's screen
I'm in too deep to come back up again
But somehow I can't find the moment you stopped reading.

(CHORUS)

this is becoming a painful experience, it's unfair
But your lack of words, the way that i heard you're not reading
you've locked me in, inside my skin

And the tasteless jokes that filled your yolks are starting to fall in
you've locked me in, inside my skin,
And if sunday's what it takes i have nothing left to give

(CHORUS)

~Olaf the Bald.

Dodging

You know what I hate? Dodging things. No, not ME dodging things, Dodging things that dodge ME.

There is nothing more annoying than swinging your nun-chucks at something, and watching it miss. Ninjas are the masters at that. I'll be like, SWING! and they'll be like, WHOOSH! and I'll be like I BETTER BLOCK MY BACKSIDE WITH MY MACHETE! Tis crazy.

But no, the worst part is when you fight the Dire Monkeys of Trall. These guys know how to dodge so well, that its almost an art style. Its been said by audiences that, when watching someone fight a D-MOT, its like watching Dancing with the Stars, only there's one person winning and one person losing, not both people winning/losing together.

For example, I had the privelage of fighting one of these D-MOTs yesterday. It went something like this:

1.) I swing.
2.) They jump back.
3.) I step forward and swing while they jump up into the air and scrabble-scrabble with their little claws on the way down.
4.) I get hit and fall back.
5.) They slide tackle in the shins.
6.)It reminds me of my glory days in soccer.
7.)They turn around as I'm jumping up and punch me in the back.
8.)I fall down again.
9.) They do a victory dance on my spine.

I hate things that dodge. But, not as much as Gravity and Penguins; you don't have to worry about that.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Special One Hundred and Fiftieth Post!!!!!!

All right! One hundred and Fifty Blog Posts! For this special occasion, I'm going to show you a song I wrote!

'S.E.'

There once was a guy namd Special,

and He had a friend namd Ed,

And their last names were 'Ucation,"

And so they formed...

Special Education!

Special and Ed!

Special Eudcation!

Special Ed!

What amazing song writing talents I have! Right? I got the idea after talking to Omar the Bold for a while! Ciao!

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Novel Update

Y'all know the novel I is woiking on? Well, I've hit a good level of writerin' here.

I have typed up around 38,000 words, written about 50,000, and am aiming for over 100,000 thousand, which is actually longer than teh Foist Harry Potter book.

aYUP.

That's all I can think of saying fo' today. And thank you, FIrey, for posting a comment yesterday. Those comments are the only way I ever know if someone is reading my posts.

SO, have a heart.

Post a comment,

Olaf the BAAAAAALD!

Why? The Pecan Pie?

You know, despite my ever-lovin' love of Pie, there's one bane in the Pie Factor than ruins all.

PECAN. PIES.

I've never really liked nuts of any sort, and the braces I had for a few years really helped resist the temptation, but the worst nut of all time is the Pecan. I swear, the DEVIL eats those things for his breakfast cereal. The DEVIL!

And you know what else? Cheesecake IS a pie. It's in crust, so its a Pie. Same as Pizza.

So its time. I'm going to take out the entire Pecan Industry. Its been my bane for TOO long!

I'm just going to leave this post up until I get down taking it out.

Ok, the deed is done. Its been about five hours since I typed that last sentence. Needless to say, taking out the entire Pecan Industry was wierd.

"I like your dress," I said to it as I escorted it to its seat.

"Why, thank you," The entire Pecan industry said as it sat down. I ran around to the other side of the table and sat down as well.

"Ok, listen, we need to talk," I said. "I hate pecans. Stop putting them in pies. You're giving the rest of the pies a bad name."

"This is why I'm always mad at you!" The entire Pecan Industry cried. "You're always accusing me of things! Like that one time, when I was talking to that dude, and you said I was cheating on you ... Why can't you just accept me for who I am without accusing me all the time?"

"Listen!" I said. "Stop putting Pecans in pies. That's all I ask."

"You selfish pig!" The entire Pecan Industry cried. "Accept me!"

"Stop putting Pecans in pies!" I repeated.

Needless to say, the rest of the date didn't go well. I think that next time, I'm just going to have to blow it up or something.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Waiters

Man, I love messin' with waiters.

I walked into a fancy restaurant yesterday and sat down. A few minutes later, a waiter walked up.

"May I get you a menu, sir?" The waiter stiffly asked.

"Nope," I said.

"Then do you already know what to order, sir?" The waiter asked.

"Nope," I said. "I can't read, so I'm going to have to ask you to give me what I want."

"But, sir," the Waiter asked. "How will I know what you want?"

"Easy," I said. "You've been trained in this department of waitering for a long time. Just guess. But remember: I am a VERY picky eater."

The waiter nodded, his face still emotionless. "And what would you like to drink?"

"The most alcohol-induced drink you can find," I said. "But please remove the Alcohol- I'm an abstainer."

"How do you suggest I remove the alcohol, sir?" The waiter asked.

"Just suck it out with your teeth." I said. Then, as an afterthought, I said, "Last time I came to a restaurant, I could taste saliva that wasn't mine in my drink. Make sure none of that nasty stuff gets in there, will you?"

The waiter stiffly bowed, and then ran off toward the kitchen.

I chuckled to myself, enjoying my own obnoxiousness.

A few minutes passed, and the waiter came back with a reddish drink. "Here is your Alcoholless Achohol-induced drink, sir," he said. "I strained it with my teeth myself."

"Aw, thanks!" I said. "But I can see your saliva swimming at the top, and since its impossible to completely remove alcohol from a drink, I'm gonna have to ask that it be taken away."

"But sir!" the waiter cried. "This was a 1912 vintage! I can't just... throw it away!"

"Here, I'll do it for you," I said, grabbing the fancy glass and dropping it onto the floor. It shattered into a million pieces. The waiter stood completely still, his jaw tensing ever so slightly.

"There is now wine in my shoes, sir," He grimly said. "There are also glass shards puncturing the skin upon my feet."

"See?" I said. "Alcohol IS bad for you! Same as Caffeine!"

"But Caffeinated Drinks do not come in glasses, sir, they come in cans," the waiter stoically said.

"Have you ever ripped one of those cans up? SHOE-Wee! Those things could stop a zombie army single-handedly! You know what, don't worry about getting me a drink, just bring me the vittles."

"Vittles, sir?" The waiter said weakly.

"Food! Sustenance!" I cried. "I HUNGRY!"

The waiter's eyes widened in fear, and he turned and sprinted back toward the kitchen. As he ran, I noticed a red liquid squirting out of his fancy shoes. I wasn't sure if it was the wine, his blood, or both.

About fifteen minutes passed. The waiter soon came back. His fancy shoes were wrapped with toilet paper, and he was holding a silver platter with one of those domey-thingy things on top.

"Here is your food, sir," He said, taking the domey thingy off of the top of the platter. I beheld a food. I don't even remember what it was, since I wasn't done having my fun.

"WHAT IS THIS?" I screamed, smacking the platter out of the waiter's hands and into his face. "This is not what I ordered!"

"But you didn't order anything, sir," The waiter weakly mumbled. "YOu said you wanted me to guess what you wanted, and bring it out to you.

"LIES!" I shrieked. "I ordered the Lobster! Bring me one! NOW!"

The waiter turned and dejectedly walked back toward the kitchen. I heard him mutter, 'the customer is always right...."

"Wait!" I cried. "I owe you an apology."

The waiter turned, eyes full of hope.

"I am SO sorry that I haven't been helping you complete your job right!" I said. "Here, let me remind you of what you forgot: A drink."

"But I DID bring you a drink, sir," The waiter spluttered. "Its still on the floor."

I looked down, and sure enough, there was the drink.

"LIES!" I shrieked. "That was from some OTHER customer! Retrieve my sparkling water! Make sure there are many Ice cubes within!"

The waiter curtly nodded, then slumped his way back to the kitchen.

A few minutes passed, and the waiter came sadly walking back, holding aloft another sliver platter and a glass. "Here is your sparkling water and lobster, sir," he grumpily said.

"Isn't a waiter creed, "Greet your customers with a smile!"?" I asked.

He grimaced, then placed the stuff on the table. I looked at the glass.

"This is not what I ordered!" I cried.

"You ordered sparkling water, sir," the waiter exasperatedly said, a grimace still being held upon his face. "This is sparklig water."

"I ordered Sparkling water with ICE CUBES," I said. "These are blocks of ice that resemble frozen half-circles. I want cubes."

"AND what would you suggest I do, sir?" The waiter asked.

"Take a knife, and carve them into cubes!" I cried. "Take some initiative, man!"

The waiter groaned, grabbed the glass, and dragged his feet all the way back to the kitchen.

When he came back, each block perfectly carved into a cube, I was vigorously licking the lobster.

"Well, that was good," I said as he placed the glass on the table. "Check please."

"Excuse me?" The waiter asked.

"I'm done," I said. "I want the check."

"But your water! Your lobster!" The waiter shrieked.

"Yeah, I'm good." I said. "Just reuse the lobster."

"But you LICKED it!" The waiter shriked once again.

"So? Dog's tongues are cleaner than humans' tongues, anyway." I said. The waiter gaped.

"Get the flippin' check already!" I cried.

"The waiter turned and fled for the kitchen. I counted for five minutes, and he soon came back, his pallor transformed into a very smug expression.

"Your check, sir," He said, handing me the check. I opened it.

"WHOA!" I cried. "Three hundred smackaroos? What for?"

"Personal charges," The waiter said, a gleam in his eyes. "Among those include ice cube cutting, shoe replacement, and the improper use of toilet paper."

"Wow," I said. "Ok, just give me a minute."

"With pleasure," The waiter said, smugly limping away. I tell exactly what he was thinking: Though this stupid customer has given me H--- since he arrived, I shall be redeemed with the ridiculously large amount of money I am charging him! Ha!

I waited until the waiter had his head turned, then stood up and walked out of the restaurant.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Class Cops

Not every single class member has problems with the other classes. These non-prejudiced class members are then entitled to join the Class Cops, an elite force that deals with law-breaking class members.

Of course, when they join the Class Cops, there's always a problem: What possible law can we make up so that we can claim that class members broke them? Aftr all, non of the classes are bound by the laws of mere mortals ... though, Barrack Obama is nearing passing that threshold, which might mean we'll have to start following US laws. That guy's got POWER, man!

Anyway, some of the laws enforced by the Class Cops are these:

-You cannot drive your boat over one million miles per hour, since that breaks all natural laws of how earth works.

-You cannot disguise yourself as a fly and annoy mortals by buzzing around them for more than seventy-two hours.

-You cannot pass a bus that has its' stop sign out.

Those are some harsh laws, man! And the Class Cops ALWAYS know when a law is being broken. Its eerie. I mean, I'm typing this from a Class Jail cell, since I just got arrested for violently helping an old lady across the street! I mean, come on! I think, if you walk up next to an old lady, and she says, "Will you help me across the street, young man?" you have every right to help in any way you think is good: My favorite method is kicking her across the street. SHe'll be fine then.

I gotta go make my escape. That Ninja and Dentist standing outside the door don't look too tough.*

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

*As I typed that, the Dentist looked into my cell and said, "I'm adding 'Plan of escape from Class Jail' to your charges." I told you these guys knew everything!

Cliffhanger

A few days ago, I was hanging out with my posse.

"So, whaddya wanna do?" I asked.

"Dunno," Omar the Bold said.

"Dunno," George the Yellow said.

"Dunno," Erik the Noisy said.

"Dunno," Lulu the Loud said.

"Dunno," Soren the Hard-of-Hearing Scribe said.

"Talk about me," Phil the Conceited said. Everyone ignored him.

At that exact moment, Chieftain Gregory the Hairy walked in.

"Guys," he said. "There's a problem."

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Cannons

There's a common misconception that Pirates and not Vikings use cannons on their ships.

Well, its true, Pirates DO use Cannons, but that's because they totally copied us.

See, what happened is, when Pirates were their own little class doing their own little classy thing, and Vikings were rampaging up and down the seas of the world, PIrates watched us and thought, "Gee, our awesomeness could be so much more improved if we copied one of those Viking ideas!"

Another common misconception is that Pirates copied the ship idea first. Nope, it was the cannon idea.

It was actually pretty funny, at first; we Vikings would sit on the decks of our ships and laugh as the land-based Pirates would be desperately trying to drag cannons after their enemies. Trust me, though, chase scenes with Cannon-Lugging Pirates get boring FAST.

It was then that Pirates decided to copy another idea of ours, and mount the cannons on ships. We Vikings ditched the cannons like it was Grandma's house on sunday, because its a major rule in life: If someone is copying the crap out of you, try to be as unlike that person as you can be.

Well, the copycatting Pirates just wouldn't stop. It was then that we decided to strike a deal up with some Ninjas. Sneaking into their main base, our leader made a pact with their leader, hiring them to destroy ALL of the Pirates, just as they had done the Urgur. It explains the constant emnity between them, doesn't it?

Some Viking ships today still use cannons, but once Pirates began wielding guns and crap, we respectfully ditched the idea of ranged weapons. Them Pirate can HAVE 'em.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Poll Results: Month 4

Which Minor Class to ascend to be a Major Class?

Amazons: 3

Little Kids: 0.

This poll was sad. Almost NO ONE voted, and only two fans voted, since I voted once.

Polls are off the site until further notice.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Why I'm Stupid

I was licking the inside of my shoes today when Omar the Bold came in and screamed, "WHY THE HECK ARE YOU SO FREAKING STUPID?"

"What?" I asked. My tongue was still on the shoe when I asked that, so it came out as "Glu?"

"Look at you! You're licking the inside of that shoe!" Omar yelled. "How on earth did you get to be so stupid?"

I drew back my tongue with a sickeningly sqlerpltch and replied, "Well, I'll tell you."

"NO NOSTALGIA! NO NOSTALGIA!" Omar cried, hiding his obvious interest. Luckily for him, he was too late.

When I was in my last few weeks of CVU, I decided, as a Graduation gift to me, to buy me a phone. This purchase was much to Nicholas the Sharkbait's Chagrine, as as you know, Vikings don't use cell phones.

"You need to take that horrid thing back," Nick cried, taking a few steps back. "Its complete pandemonium!"

"What a horrid use of that word," I said. "Anyway, I don't use it for texting calling paging or farting, I use it for a better reason." I lied.

"What reason?" Nick asked suspiciously.

"Um ..." I said the first thing that popped into my head. "It's a great hacky-sack."

"Hacky-Sack?" Nick asked.

"Yes, Hacky-Sack," I replied. Nick wasn't convinced.

"Ok, that makes sense," He said.

"No, really! I'll show you!" I cried.

"I said I believed you!" He cried back.

"SOME FRIEND YOU ARE NOT TO BELIEVE ME!" I yelled. "Ok, here, I'll show you." I tossed the cell phone down on the ground, and began to Hacky-Sack it up and down, down and up.

"Wow, I didn't know cell phones could be used in such a manner!" Nick said.

"'Course it can!" I cried. "Try it!"

Nick took the cell phone, dropped it, and kicked it into a sewer.

"Oops... guess I'm not good at Hacky-Sack," he mumbled.

"HOLY HECK!" I screamed.

"Um, I'm pretty sure that Heck can't be holy at any lev..."

"HOLY HECK!" I screamed.

"Look, you should be saying 'Holy Heav..."

"GET IT!" I screamed.

About thirty minutes later, Nick was despearately trying to left the grate to the sewer without any assistance.

"Darn it," He muttered. "I'm never going to be able to get this off. I think your cellular is done for."

I walked over to the grate and popped it off without any effort.

"Shut up," Nick muttered.

"All right, all you have to do is jump down there and grab it," I said, backing up several hundred feet.

"Why are you backing up?" Nick asked as he jumped in.

"Because everyone knows ...." I said as Nick was thrust out of the open grate by an avalanche of Zombies, alligators, and dead fish pouring out of it. "... those things live in sewers."

As Nick was carried away by the sewer dwellers, I jumped into it, grabbed the cellular, and jumped back out.

"Sweet!" I said.

AT that point, Selena the Foreign and her friends walked by and laughed, saying, "That phone is SO five minutes ago!"

I tossed the phone back into a sewer, where a gnome picked it up and began racking up charges. How I dealt with that problem is another story.

I eventually found Nick five miles away from the grate, being helped along by one of our Fraternity Brothers. Nick had been bitten, and he was now a Zombie.

"Braaaaaaaaiins...." He moaned as he was dragged along by our bro.

"What do we do with him now?" the bro asked. I reached up, opened my skull, pulled out my brain, and handed it to the zombie Nick the Sharkbait.

"I'm a decent person," I said as Nick began to devour it.

As I finished my story, Omar looked at me with a look of utter disgust.

"I hate you SO MUCH." He growled.

"Thanks for the sarcasm, buddy!" I cried.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Vikinged Movies

So, I heard that the official term for blatantly stealing media from chaps online is called 'Pirating.' And I say: WT&, mate?

It's obviously supposed to be called Vikinged movieing, since Pirates steal all their ways from us. But, the thing is, Pirating or Vikinging shouldn't EVEN exist, because its a cruel and twisted way of stealing from innocent people.

You see, Bards of all sorts are honored by the Vikings, since without them, killing, mauling, stabbing, destroying, and stealing just WOULDN'T BE FUN! And when you Vikinging any Bard's intellectual property, you slowly STEAL THEIR SOUL.

That's bad, by the way.

Welp, that's all I'm gonna preach. I'm kinda busy right now, since I'm trying to figure out how to get some songs of my favorite band off the internet without paying for it.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Viking Soccer Team Update

Well, I made a team.

The reason why I'm not hoopin' and hollering like a banshee is because... I lied to you.

There's TWO teams.

One team is called TAT, Totally Awesome Team. This is where the best Viking soccer players go to play. Only the best can get in, as only the best can play the other class's teams. This is the team I tried out for.

Sadly, the other team is known as MIS, Man I Stink. This is where the Viking players go who aren't that good. They, to put it lightly, aren't that good. Most of the time, when you start playing soccer, you are put on that team, and then work your way up to the next.

I have been on the MIS for the last two years, and I was really hoping to get on TAT. But no, here's what my coaches said:

"Ok, you're too good for MIS, but you're too terrible for TAT, so we're gonna call you a Tweener and you'll jump around like friday's sunday, shish kabob*?"

SO I'm a Tweener. Not good enough to be good, but not bad enough to be bad.

That's bad.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

*Shish Kabob is the equivalent to Capisce.

Candy

Today, my very best friends who I think are totally awesome and I were all discussing the best types of candy.



"Snickers bars are the best!" Omar the Bold cried.



"No way! Sugar Daddies are!" Soren the Hard-of-Hearing Scribe yelled, erupting inot a coughing fit right after.



"Lemon Heads," George the Yellow stuttered.



"Nuh-Nuh! Circus Peanuts are!" Erik the Noisy spluttered.



"Um, I like skittles, dear," Lulu the Loud cooed to Erik.



"Oh, I mean, Skittles are." Erik muttered.



"I like me," Phil the Conceited grinned.



"You're all wrong." I said smugly. "Coconut Flavored Gumdrops."



"You like Coconut Flavored Gumdrops?" Lulu the Loud inquired.



"What? No! I hate Coconut with a passion that burns hotter than the sun!" I cried. "I like Candy Corn."



"Then why didn't you say so?" Erik grumpily asked.



"Say what?" I asked.



"Say that you liked Candy Corn!" Omar screamed.



"I did," I said.



"No, you said you liked Coconut-Flavored Gumdrops at first," Soren said.



"I hate Coconut!" I cried.



"Then why did you say you like Coconut-Flavored Gumdrops?" George moaned.



"Why would I say that? I hate Coconut!" I said.



"No, I hate Coconut," Phil said.



"I fail to see how any of this applies," Soren muttered.



"A fly? WHERE?" Lulu screamed, swatting her hands through the air.



"You think Flies are the best kind of Candy? SICK!" Omar cried.



You see why I hate these people.



Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Soreness

Oh. Man.

I am so sore.

What with Bard Camp and the Viking Soccer Team try-outs, I feel like a bunch of un-cooked spaghetti being forced to move like cooked spaghetti. It's torture.

So, what do we Vikings do to alleviate soreness? Well, I'll tell you.

There are one of three options you may choose should you want to loosen up. The first is simple: rub a bunch of Granny's Beetroot surprise on the sore parts. Soren the Hard-of-Hearing Scribe uses that one often, though I think its just because he has a thing for our local Granny, Hilda the Granny, to be precise. But don't worry: Any granny can work.

The second option is to set up a course much like the first part in the final level of the first Lego Star Wars. It's where you're running over a pit of lava on panels, and the panels fall away in a timely manner, no matter if you even walked on them or not. Remember, the falling panels must fall slowly enough that you don't have to sprint to avoid falling into the lava, but fast enough that you have to put forth some effort to move.

The third and last option is to have a friend whose WOC (weapon of Choice) is a hammer sneak up behind you, knock you out, and poke your unconscious body's brain. As your limp body flails about like tomorrow's sunday, your muscles will gradually loosen and you'll feel great.

Imma gonna go get some Granny's Beetroot Surprise. SInce I'm so desperate for a girl, I suppose Hilda will have to do.

Geez, you weren't supposed to read that, Soren!

Oops, did I type what I was talking again? My bad.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Bardic Hats

Well, save for Bard Camp, summer is over. Since I've arrived at Bard camp, representing the Bloodhound II and its crew, I have learned some new propaganda Leif the Armless, the chief Viking leader, has put out. Most are too complex for your little minds, but let me tell you the main one:

VIKING BARDS ARE NO LONGER REQUIRED TO WEAR BATTLE HELMETS.

Shocking, isn't it? Apparently, the helmets interfere with bard's abilities to communicate with their Muses. I suppose that's true, since I've never heard any muses before. However, Viking Bards are still required to wear some sort of hat, though Vikings helmets can still be that choice if needed.

I, for one, have decided to keep the Duct Tape Monstrosity, but only as a back-up I'll-wear-it-occasionally hat. NO, the hat for me is a Trilby. Look it up, You're already on the internet anyway.

Yes, I have gone through another Wardrobe change, haven't I? Better than a Wardrobe Malfunction, I spose.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

PS: Don't forget to check out my good buddie's blog, omarhatesolaf.blogspot.com.

This post will have the most impossibly long title ever, and the post itself will have the most impossibly short content ever, just my battle cry.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

Summer Files: Post UK

Welp, Omar and I are back. Gregory the Hairy Chieftain* commended me for sticking with the task on hand, and not spending too much time blogging this week. He then pulled Omar aside as yelled at him about something for a good five hours. I bet it was something about how he blogged too much, or something. I'm not going to find out, since I might inadvertantly steal some of the comedy gold Omar has on his site.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!

*His name is Gregory the Hairy; and a Chieftain. Just wanted to clear that up.

Summer Files: UK 8

I killed one Ninja Archmage today.

Omar killed two of those today.

He's keeping his own talley at omarhateolaf.blogspot.com.

Olaf the BAAAAALD!