Dial O for O.R.G.Y.

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 He: What are you doing after the burial?

 She: I don’t know. It’s pretty dead around here.

 He (boldly): Your grave, or mine?

 She: I have a tomb-mate, better make it yours. . . .

 That’s the sort of thing that goes through your mind when you’re lolling around a cemetery in the dead of night. Well, maybe not your mind. Still, it really did cross mine as I tiptoed through the tombstones.

 In a funny sort of way, it was prophetic. At the time, though, it merely seemed the kind of sex-oriented wool-gathering I’d come to expect from myself. You might expect it too, if you were me, Steve Victor, also known as “The Man from O.R.G.Y.”

“O.R.G.Y.”? The initials stand for “Organization for the Rational Guidance of Youth.” Which is another way of saying O.R.G.Y. is dedicated to removing warts from the palms of the sexually guilt-ridden. The means are surveys conducted by yours truly, Steve Victor, O.R.G.Y. being a strictly one-man operation.

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