As the old saying goes, better to have known too late than to never have known at all, or whatever.
Back in the day, when dinosaurs roamed the Earth and Nintendo was a new-fangled gaming system, game hacks were the hottest gossip in school hallways, all done by word-of-mouth. Emergency summits would be called in the back of classrooms to discuss how best to rescue Zelda, and pages-long notes would be passed on how to crack the impossible ice level of Super Mario 3. Arguments would break out, detentions would be issued. It was a whole thing.
Then some enterprising company (maybe Nintendo itself?) put out an actual magazine full of Nintendo hacks. A real, physical magazine, with, like, an office full of editors and ad space and bill collectors that would call your house when you fraudulently signed up for a subscription without your parents' permission. The collections notices, of course, arrived by Pony Express.
Of course nearly all parents flatly refused to pay for something so frivolous, but if you were lucky you had that one friend who had a copy that he would share with you.
Of course, now, that magazine is obsolete. Nintendo was hard and information was scarce and we could access it through vice and graft. But now, of course, there's Twitter. And this week Seth Rogen blew some damn minds with some insider information we've all been waiting *counts* 436 years to get hold of.
On the internet, people––celebrities and mere mortals alike––were on a similar emotional roller coaster of intrigue, shock and outrage:
And of course, some people had to be smug jerks and pretend like this knowledge was actually widely available:
But this explanation is too neat and tidy to be believable. This is a conspiracy.