Note from editor: The Mercury is extremely proud of our advice columns, "What's Your Problem? By Osama Bin Laden" and "Dear Soiled Mattress Down By the River..." However, due to budget concerns we cannot keep both. Therefore, Osama and Soiled Mattress will address the same question, and we'll let YOU decide who stays and who gets shit-canned. Send your opinion to, and may the best person (or soiled mattress) win!

Dear Soiled Mattress Down by the River and Osama Bin Laden: I'm a bank teller near the downtown Fred Meyers, and our branch recently installed bullet proof windows, which is key for crime prevention, but truly hell in another area--the flirting department. Our new "professional" look kills the sexual innuendoes and romance of transactions that used to be filled with hot potential. I feel like the boy in the plastic bubble. Help! --

-The Kiss-and-Teller

To the Capitalist Whores that Drip Murder Like Money: Your greed spreads sorrow and disease through the land of my people. You smear the face of your imperialist gods--George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Andrew Jackson--across your moneys like the good people of Islam build monuments to Almighty Allah. But soon, your devil's laughter will be silenced; the people of your tyrannical regime will spill sullied tears and release terrified screams as you descend like spit into the same pitiful graves as your murderous leaders. As Afghanistan rises like a glorious sun, the American liquidators will shrivel into the pits of their own decay. Allah will be appeased.

Dear Kiss-and-Teller: Your story is sad. Why must there always be those who impede love? Perhaps we shall never know. But have you tried me? The soiled mattress down by the river? I will teach you love. When you come in contact with a potential lover, you will give her a deposit slip that reads, "Don't 'withdraw,' lover. Meet me on the soiled mattress down by the river, where we shall 'deposit' our love." After arranging this clandestine meeting, she will have no choice but to tumble into your arms, and consummate her desires on the stained fabric of my aromatic body. This glass may be bulletproof, but it cannot stop the smell. The smell of love.