So sorry for the delay this morning, kids. Mean old Mr. Johnson stuck a rake in our spokes, and we pulled a header into Mrs. Farquar's hydrangeas. We were unhurt, but in an unfortunate twist, her pitbull, Steve — who knows little of how fragile the network server in our back pocket was — decided to "reformat" it using a technique called something like "gnashing." We cleaned off the slobber and toothmarks, and it's up and running now. We'll be back to fun times, lickety split. No sh**.