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Sometimes, my wife of 41 years, Anne "The Crusher", will sneak in my home office, peer over my shoulder and say, "You idiot! Stop wasting time reading about yourself and get in the kitchen and cook my supper."
Or, one of my so-called buddies, Dave "Mister Perfect" Jurist, or Ronnie "The Critic" Bray, or Mark "Attila the Editor" Michelson will call and, when I answer in my mellifluous baritone with a mellow "Hello," somehow guess my Google Euphoria. They'll say something like, "DeWese, you dimwit, you fake; you're reading Google again! Why don't you do something productive like getting some exercise and going on a diet?"
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