Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  Where can I find Trolling Fundies?
- Recreant/Miscreant

Dear R/M,
  Any time a website comment warns you that you're going to hell, you've met a Trolling Fundy. Whenever a forum post compares the discussion topic to Sodom (or its less famous, but still rockin' sister city, Gomorrah), you've met a Trolling Fundy. When your blog host suddenly deletes hundreds of journals and communities that post fiction with naughty words in, chances are they did so at the behest of one or more Trolling Fundies.

  Trolling Fundies - short for "fundamentalists" - lurk around areas of the Interweb that they consider unsavory, clucking disapprovingly and keeping careful notes about exactly how many times Draco spanks Harry's bare ass in your fan fiction community. At best, they'll prissily opine about the danger to the souls of those who share your particular interest. At worst, they'll take it upon themselves to report you to whatever authority is at hand. If your forum or blog host handles content inquiries as badly as Livejournal/Six Apart's recent mass banning kerfluffle, the Trolling Fundy might cause you serious inconvenience.

  Unfortunately, there is no surefire way to guard against an infestation of Trolling Fundies. Unlike cockroaches, which die when you stomp on them, Trolling Fundies have a nasty way of returning after being banned/blocked/publicly ridiculed. The sad fact is, if you want to maintain a public presence online, and you aren't willing to keep it G-rated, you're subject to attack by Trolling Fundies. Welcome to the Internet in the new age of morality.

Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  Where has all the rum gone?
- Capt. JS

Dear Capt.,
  I used it to host a Pirates Of The Caribbean drinking game. It's very simple; put on the first film of the trilogy, and drink every time someone says the word "pirate." Most of my guests were dead from alcohol poisoning by the end of the second reel.

Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  If I stalk you, would you call the cops?
- Right Behind You

Dear Right Behind You,
  Only if you're incompetent. A SKILLED stalker should be able to follow me around, taking secret photos and retrieving discarded items to add to the shrine, without being detected. The stalkers that get caught are the ones who can't learn to follow at a safe distance, who foolishly crave "actual" (as opposed to "completely imaginary") interaction with the objects of their obsession.

  Alternatively, you can get three friends and some cameras and call yourselves "paparazzi." Then you can be as intrusive and disruptive as you want, photographing even my most private moments, and it will all be legal. The trade-off, of course, is that you'll be a gigantic scumbag; if you have even a shred of humanity left, you'll cry yourself to sleep at night after masturbating over the more candid shots. So think it over, and listen to your heart. Only you can decide what kind of scary, obsessive weirdness is most fulfilling for you.

  Note to self - purchase large handgun.