Dear Reject,
   I would like to tell you that I am filled with sympathy for your sad plight . . . But this is simply not the case. Unfortunately, my attention is presently occupied with my plans for world domination. Scott (my fellow future world tyrant) smokes way too much crack to be good at the detail work. But I digress.
   Fortunately for you, Scott and I keep our thumbs firmly on the carotid arteries of modern life, and shall endeavor to assist you. After lengthy (the time it takes me to hook up a nitrous tank) deliberation, it occurs to me that your only solution is the traditional (yet touchingly romantic) murder-suicide. A frighteningly lifelike penis can be molded from a combination of plastic explosive and thermite. Whilst sodomizing your true love, recite the more tragic of Byron's poems (or just Morissey lyrics). Then, sensitively, lovingly set off the deadly strap-on. Burning chemicals will go through his intestines (and your own plumbing) like Jeff Dahlmer through a high school wrestling team. Your eyes will jet across the room. Definite closed-casket material.

Dear Scott and Steve,
   Every time I have an orgasm, I have an undying urge to jump off my partner (or whatever), go outside, bray like a donkey, run in three circles, and roll in the leaves. Is this genetic or dietary.
   -- Puzzled

Dear Unwitting Tool of Baal,
   Your curious habit is not dietary or geneticin origin, but a product of your pathetic New Age need to wear crystals as power objects. This has opened the way for Baal the Earth Pig, one of my chief competitors for blood and souls. (My fellow force of Unnature, Steve, prefers more secular offerings such as adrenal glands and PCP) . . .
   Don't forget cash, Scott . . .
   The strange acts you describe are but a simple and primitive invocation. To rid yourself of this embarrassing yet entertaining affliction, first you must divest yourself of these sad and ridiculous so-called "talismans" AND THEN COME TO ME! Once you have become my semen-splattered geni-thrall and been inoculated with my turgid flesh-lance Baal shall be driven from you. TAMPER NOT WITH THAT WHICH IS BEYOND YOUR PATHETIC MORTAL COMPREHENSION! Submit!

Tired of the troublesome burden of free will? Ask Scott and Steve, 14207 Chesterfield Road, Rockville, MD 20853. Write now or we'll smear your quadriplegic grandmother's naked body with rancid bacon fat and cast her into a wading pool filled with rabid weasels.