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Those of you who have read pretty much anything I've ever written are probably aware that I'm not a big fan of people deserving things. When some commercial comes on the TV and tells me that I deserve a break, or a deal, or some quality product, or some form of special treatment, I have a tendency to yell at the screen.
"How do you know what I deserve, Clairol? You don't know me! Maybe I'm Hitler! Did you think of that, Clairol? Does Hitler deserve bouncy, manageable hair?"
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0249-------------------------------------
(Wednesday evening, INT: WW and SW's apartment)
SW: So, enough about me. What did you get up to while I was away?
WW: Well, this is a little embarrassing. You know Max's friend Ellen's new room mate? Jamie?
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SW: I remember him. Skinny, in a neck brace? You mentioned he makes board games? He seemed nice.
WW: He is. And I punched him in the face.
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SW: You? You, Wallace Wendell White, you punched a man? You punched another man in his face? In anger?
WW: Yeah.
SW: Did he deserve it?
WW: As it turned out, no, not specifically.
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SW: Not specifically?
WW: Well, I mean, I'm sure he's done something at some point...
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