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Dilbert and a woman sit at a table in a restaurant. The woman says, "I like a man who makes eye contact." Dilbert thinks, "Uh no . . . Uncontrollable urge to look away . . . I've got to blink about twenty times. Why did she have to bring that up?" Dilbert covers his eyes, screams, knocks his drink over and blinks repeatedly. The woman turns to the reader and says, "I love doing that."


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