Since you people bombarded us with "when the f#@k you guys gonna update?" letters, we got around to thinking... Maybe you don't appreciate all it takes to get a page of this magnitude up week after week, so we decided to let our readers get a peek at...
1:13 AM: We reluctantly take last week's page down & replace it with a half-hearted attempt at humor known as "the update page", which amongst other things (belittling you, ranting against the Government, etc.), tells you to check back in a few days for the new update. Here's where the work begins.
1:14 AM: Instead of getting a head start on the page, we go to a local strip club & drink 'til the bouncers toss us into oncoming traffic for pinchin' the chicks.
2 PM, NEXT DAY: We wake up & check the local papers for dead celebrities, signs of armageddon, and/or a sale on Pabst Blue Ribbon™ at the local beverage wholesaler. We then attempt to hook up to Geocities to update, but we realize that Springer is on, and we don our "I Love Jerry" Jockstraps & revel in the glee associated with cheating transexual spouses on dope. Soon, we forget about the page altogether & go to the local strip club.
10:30 PM: Sheer Terror, still buzzed from a case of Shlitz™, sits down & tries to write a rant. He gets 2 sentences down before he really gets pissed at what he's writing & lashes out in anger, shooting holes into the monitor, thus invoking a trip to the Salvation Army to search for a cheap monitor.
1:05 AM By this point, any work on the page has grinded to an unfortunate halt, as "the boys" are drunkenly singing doo-wop tunes on a local street corner over a trash-can fire, ala Rocky. This continues through the night.
NEXT DAY, 4:17 PM:We have some of the page done, but really can't remember what's next, as we're dazed from whippits™ and can't bother to type at this point, so we go to a nearby pub & kick over the Fooz-Ball™ table & laugh maniacally until the cops come & chase us home.
2:20 AM: We hook up with the intention of doing more work on the page, but we're easily distracted by some saucy SPAM, so we find ourselves drooling over internet porn for the next 36 hours or so.
A FEW DAYS LATER: At this point, all our readers are pissed, wondering what happened to the new update. We shrug indifferently at this thought, then head to Taco Bell, where we gorge ourselves on heart-stopping, cholesterol-packed junk food, then pass out in front of a local church.
9:48 PM, WHO THE HELL KNOWS WHAT DAY:Realizing that this week's update is not only late, but what we DID manage to scrape up is totally devoid of wit and humor, we cry like bitches at our failure to amuse. We drown our sorrows in a few hundred bottles of Bud™ & order up some prostitutes.
ABOUT A WEEK LATER: Terror is in the middle of one of his manic episodes, sulking in the corner (Totally nude) clutching a copy of "Dianetics". Creep is out-of-his-mind on PCP and is standing on a milk crate in front of P.I. Headquarters yelling "THERE ARE NO TIME-OUTS IN THE WORLD OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING!!" to anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by, and Finster is... um... Holy crap, how are we gonna get him down from there?
WHO KNOWS WHEN:Weeks after we promised an update, we find ourselves with a half-assed page, incomplete, incoherent, and impotent. We give up and go to plan B. We pool our money & hire a staff of writers, mostly rejects from the Conan O'Brian Show & Matchgame PM, and they create the mirth that you see before you every week.
So there you have it- Next time you're shaking your fist in anger at your PC screen because it's been like... 7 months, and we still havent updated- feel some pity for the tortured souls that dwell behind these pages of complicated HTML code, & instead of letting your anger get the best of you... send in some beer money, pal. Thanks fer readin'... and God bless.