I just realized moments ago that there are some very serious problems as to how IE is handling the HTML generated by some of my blog posts…which is resulting in some of my posts being displayed a single word per line.

It seems the site works fine on the better browsers out there (Firefox, Mozilla, Opera, …). And honestly, anybody that uses IE probably deserves what he/she gets. But I’ll try and fix the problem soon. Promise.

Hours later: I’ve managed to fix the problem. Thank you to Fudge from OCF for alerting me to the issue and Georg from the excellent CSS-Discuss forum for providing a fix. Things like this are important to catch, y’know.

After all, you can bet that when Satan checks out Phil’s Proof, he does it with Internet Explorer.

To: Readers of Phil’s Proof
From: Phil
Date: July 31, 2006 Night-ish
Subject: What do you want?

After my first post, a literary tour-de-force, I came right back and delivered even more hot ‘n steamy action. I spoke about geezer politicians and about Hollywood blockbusters. I poured my heart out in a beautiful retelling of a personal encounter at a coffeehouse, then delighted the musically curious with a smashing orchestral piece. I wrote about beautiful women and how we should treat them. And then the e-mails came.

What was the verdict? Great! Terrific! Fantastic! Ass-clenchingly good.

So I got compliments from friends and strangers who were all, ‘we love you!’ and ‘you’re so fucking hot!’. Then there’s the hate mail from the disapproving mothers who were all, ‘you disgust me with your juvenile shit’. And let’s not forget about the shitfaced teenaged boys who wrote in just to tell me, ‘I ain’t reading no ten page post, yo’.

Then there’s the e-mail I got from Don Foley, nominated Best Actor in the Sundeis Film Festival — who, when he’s not kickin’ ass on screen, likes to program in Java, play the fiddle, and speak Cockney.

Fuck, I even got a letter from the girl crossing the street telling me to keep my eyes on the road and away from her firm ass. And just for the record, your ass was so not firm. Bitch.

See, that’s great. Really. I’m dazzled. I’m flustered and flattered. Oh, look at me blush like a little schoolgirl.

But see, there’s something I forgot to mention.

Of all the wonderful posts I’ve written and of all the witty repartee I’ve imparted, you my readers chose to single out one in particular. In the past week, this singular and unimpressive post has garnered me more hits than any other section of Phil’s Proof. More excitement, more comments, and more love than any other.

I have two words for you: suck face.

So I realized something. You can even call it a fucking epiphany. What do readers want? I mean, what would it take to really push this blog from just ‘good’ to ‘great’? What would it take to transform Phil’s Proof from an unassuming and pleasant evening conversation to a full-out keg party with bikini clad women mud wrestling under a disco ball with little blinky lights?

Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Pure, unadulterated, hot, steamy sex.

So from now on, Phil’s Proof is gonna be all about sex. All the time. I wanna know when you’re doing it, how you’re doing it, and how you’re liking it. Right now.

So for the benefit of my next post, tell me: do you like to be the spanker or the spankee?

This is officially the second post after my memorable - albeit lengthy - story marking the launch of Phil’s Proof. But don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking, ‘Shit. It was all hot and heavy last night, but now he’s gonna get all serious.’

And ‘course, I’m all, ‘Honey. It was good for me too. But we need to talk about our relationship. Where do you think this is all going? Where do you see us in two years? Don’t you think it’s going a bit fast?’

Then you’ll be all, ‘Nuh uh. Wasn’t too fast for you last night, was it? Well you can just screw yourself, Phil, cause I don’t need none of this’, and then you’ll scoop your silk blouse and short skirt off the floor, grab the dangly earrings by the table, jam your right foot into your left sneaker, and vamoose.

Then it’ll be all repressed memories again.

I’m sorry, I lost myself. Ah yes. Typically, I’m expected to give a long spiel about the days I suffered making this site possible; the dates with various supermodels I gave up with an excuse of having to work on the coding; the sleepless nights and overcaffeinated effects; as well as what Emo band I was rockin’ out to while I completed this colossal undertaking. Well, actually, it’s more like what Aria by Puccini I was currently headbanging to at the time. Please. Don’t laugh.

My point is, this is exactly what I’m not going to do.

At least not until I find a more subtle way to sneak this information to you. So in the next few weeks, you can expect me to write all the cruddy details of how I made this fantastic page, but I’ll be sure to slip it discreetly between interesting blurbs.

And one of these days, I’m going to have to write up a colophon with all the gory details of how Phil’s Proof came to be, especially for all you freaks readers who want to know exactly what brand of tea I was drinking while coding the layout, how many Photoshop layers I used during production, or why certain of the items you may find laying about are close to my heart.

‘I’ll be good, baby. I promise.’