I was browsing the newspapers the other day, praying for a paper cut, when I came upon the column of an American wise woman. I have been having some problems lately, so decided to write to her for some advice. So I grabbed one of Mohinder’s crayons and a piece of paper from one of his many piles. It was covered in some icky bits of what looked like skin, so I figured he didn’t need it anymore. 
Dear Wise Woman,
Dear Wise Woman,
I am afraid my darling is angry with me. After our two weeks of constant lovemaking, he began pushing me away. He does not walk around the loft naked anymore and rarely pounces me from the ceiling. I tried asking him about it, but he only told me to stop crying because it was suffocating him.
He promises me ice cream sandwiches if I stop sobbing, but I don’t think he even knows what ice cream is! He never buys any! All he buys now is milk and skin lotions. I tried to make a meal out of that, as a good woman should do, but he was not pleased with my efforts. He then refused to let me borrow his pencils to stab myself with! Woe!
He promises me ice cream sandwiches if I stop sobbing, but I don’t think he even knows what ice cream is! He never buys any! All he buys now is milk and skin lotions. I tried to make a meal out of that, as a good woman should do, but he was not pleased with my efforts. He then refused to let me borrow his pencils to stab myself with! Woe! Oh Wise Woman, I do not know what to do! He ran off this morning and has not returned yet! I have been poking myself with bits of broken glass and needles, but he hasn’t forgiven me for my unnamed sin! I’ve called him 50 times on his phone device, but I get no answer other than:
“Greetings, you have reached the voice mailbox of Mohinder Suresh. I am unavailable to accept your call at this point in time, but perhaps if you try to contact me at a later date I will be in the vicinity of this wonderful invention that we have come to call the telephone. It allows us to-“
Beep
“Oh! Mohinder! I am sorry for my failings! I have prepared an axe and an alter! If only you would come home, you could slice my throat to make up for dreadful deeds!”
Beep
“Mohinder! Forgive me, but I was hungry. I ate some of the little blobs of cookie dough in the freezer! Please! Give me retribution! Also, I think I broke your DVD player. I thought it was a microwave…”
Beep
“Dr. Suresh! I called to heap praises onto you and you glorious physique. I miss it so. And I feel awful for doing so. Am I allowed to want someone so much? Forgive me my lustful desires…”
Beep
“Mohinder! Come home! It has been three hours my little love armadillo and I begin to fret. I would die if I found that you had been harmed, my sex lotus,”
Beep
“Are you mad at me? Is it because I colored on you papa’s research? I’m sorry sugar lizard…”
Beep
“I LOVE YOOOOUUU! FORGIVE MY TRANSGRESSIONS AND LET ME BASK IN YOUR GLORY! I AM SORRY FOR BURDENING YOU WITH A LOVE SO DEADLY AS MINE! I SHALL NOW DRINK THE PAINT IN THE CORNER! IS THAT OK?! YOU DON’T LIKE BLACK PAINT DO YOU?!”
And so it went on. I miss my Pookie so very much. What should I do to make him happy again? I fear he is falling into depression. I slipped some of these pills which the Americans call prozac into his avocado-filled rat salad, but there has been no difference. Is 90 mg enough for my lambikins?
Also, I think he might be mad that I had similar relations with the man who murdered his father in cold blood. 
But I have already… cleansed myself… Perhaps more fire and gasoline…
In conclusion Mystic Wise Woman, I am a leech on the buttock of my love’s life. I am useless, though I strive only to please him. How should I attempt to kill myself next?
All my love and respect,
Whore in NYC
Is it not from that very blessing of physical ecstasy that the greatest curse finds its way into our bloodstream, turning our bodies into a gooey mass of exoskeleton? One could reasonably expect, after such circumstances take their vicious hold, that the victim of love’s contamination would distance himself from the source, from the impure cesspit of viral scum. It is not out of anger, or malice, that we retreat into our isolation, but rather it is out of fear, fear of rejection, of humiliation, of “haha I told you so”, fear of the punishment from God himself for trying to take his place, for trying to shape our own destiny.
He buys lots of lotion, but he will not touch you… I think you have your answer…
Mohindy is just jealous that you’ve had some Sylarkin action, but he hasn’t!
Momo- I do not understand, but it is nice to hear you voice, though my ears un unworthy
Mr. Congressman- What is this answer? Am I not satisfactory? I knew it!!!
Angel of death/Sylar- Begone demon! Wait! Before you go, curse me into oblivion!
I say “Go get a killer make over”.