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		<pubDate>Sat, 21 Nov 2009 04:12:16 +0000</pubDate>
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		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;I think he&#8217;s more convincing without his skin.&#8221; I know, right?<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=neverquestionmymethods.com&amp;blog=5272420&amp;post=1524&amp;subd=neverquestionmymethods&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>CONVERSATIONS I HAVE WITH MY WIFE, ABOUT MY TWITTER ACCOUNT</title>
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		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Jun 2009 03:35:05 +0000</pubDate>
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		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;What are you on Twitter?&#8221; —NQMM (Brief moment of Googling) &#8220;You know that&#8217;s a thing, right?&#8221; —Oh no. Oh no, please don&#8217;t tell me what that means. I don&#8217;t want to know. &#8220;It&#8217;s a band. Their name means &#8216;southfist mother&#8217;.&#8221; —That seems legit. What do they sound like?<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=neverquestionmymethods.com&amp;blog=5272420&amp;post=897&amp;subd=neverquestionmymethods&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>CONVERSATIONS I HAVE WITH MY WIFE, AT AROUND 11:45 PM</title>
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		<pubDate>Thu, 26 Mar 2009 16:10:29 +0000</pubDate>
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		<description><![CDATA[I should go to bed, it&#8217;s getting late. —Wait: you mean that time, while we were talking, has continued to accumulate at the same rate? Yes. And in fact it&#8217;s still happening right now. —Shit . . .<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=neverquestionmymethods.com&amp;blog=5272420&amp;post=571&amp;subd=neverquestionmymethods&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>CONVERSATIONS I HAVE WITH MY WIFE, ABOUT THIS BLOG</title>
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		<pubDate>Wed, 11 Mar 2009 15:51:36 +0000</pubDate>
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		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;So why weevils?&#8221; I just like that they&#8217;re beatles with a more sinister name. I am certain that this makes them funnier. We could change them to something else. &#8220;But who would go into an attic to look for them?&#8221; Well, when I was growing up, our attic was overrun by squirrels . . . [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=neverquestionmymethods.com&amp;blog=5272420&amp;post=419&amp;subd=neverquestionmymethods&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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		<title>CONVERSATIONS I HAVE WITH MY WIFE</title>
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		<pubDate>Wed, 11 Mar 2009 03:33:49 +0000</pubDate>
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		<description><![CDATA[Last Saturday night, the train was packed, jammed, stuffed to the gills, etc. My wife sat across the car from me, because because the guy on my left had his legs just about as far apart as they can go. On my right was a guy making elaborate hand gestures. I was reading a book [...]<img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=neverquestionmymethods.com&amp;blog=5272420&amp;post=475&amp;subd=neverquestionmymethods&amp;ref=&amp;feed=1" width="1" height="1" />]]></description>
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