As you may have noticed, I’ve hired some new writers for the site in my vain and futile attempt to keep you pinheads amused and in an alpha state, clicking on banners without really knowing it. Of course, this didn’t go over well, because, as we all know, you are stupid.

I could just stop here and watch Victoria’s Secret TV ads, slackjawed. But no, for some reason I can’t really understand, I feel the need to explain myself. (Not to you, though. It’s a more free-floating need.)

I HAVE A LIFE. I know it’s hard to believe, but I really can’t play three online games to a state of Zen perfection, monitor every single web-based bulletin board that mentions EQ, UO, AC, SB, HJ, AO, and/or Canada, monitor the response time of emergency units within a hundred-mile basis, explore the limits of the female orgasm, record pithy notes meant for the eyes of our secret masters that rule over us all (I speak, of course, of Puff Daddy) and STILL write for this site. Something has to give. And it ain’t gonna be Puff Daddy, cos he’s MEAN.

SIZE DOES MATTER Just ask the Russians. In World War Two they found that, being the largest country in the world, they were able to retreat further and further into the hinterlands, throwing the best and brightest of their generation into the fray like cardboard, until, at the very end, Tom Hanks and Matt Damon arrived to save the day. The message is clear – if we post enough updates, Oscar-award winning actors will save us. You don’t seriously expect me to give up on that promise. It wouldn’t be fair to the children.

I AM NOT DR. TWISTER I feel this is a somewhat obvious point. For one thing, Dr. Twister never felt the need to use the word “fuck” in an update. And I have solemn promises from all the writers (NOTE – do NOT call them updaters) that they will curse like a sailor cut off from his grog ration. That alone sets them apart from the TwisTies. That, and the fact that if any of them close out an update with the words “Peace Out”, I will not only pull their access, I will send Pam Grier to dispose of them. Because I have to be hard, but fair.

IT’S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD Despite what some desperate, histrionic sites would have you believe, my every word is not blessed by Divine providence, fit for study, guidance, and emblazoning into huge glyphs atop Mount McKinley. In fact it is occasionally beneficial to read the opinions of those other than myself. I realize this is not an easy concept for many of you to face, but if you ever expect to take those first loping steps out of your parents’ basement and approach an actual living member of the opposite gender without causing constant and uncontrolled screaming by either of you, this is a leap of faith that you must, you will take.

So give them a chance. Let the new writers soothe you with cooling balms and potions, while fanning you with their command of the language and their cunning knowledge of Jeet Kune Do. Because, as the Reagan Administration taught us, ketchup is in fact a vegetable.

Thank you, and good evening.