Google's search page had a pop-up message, asking if I'd like to participate in a survey. I'm honored. Moi? You want my input? Wow, wait 'til I tell all the guys about this: "Hey, guess who Google asked for input?" I think I'll put down "Google Information Consultant" on my résumé now.

The first question asked how much I thought Google valued my privacy, on a scale of 1 to 5. There was not an option that said, "I think if you had my DNA, you would sell it to foreign organ-harvesting rings," so I declined to go further.

More and more, I get an uneasy sensation when I use Google. I get even more uneasy when I don't, thanks to the Google-supplied neural enhancer I have in my skull; it sends a short shock when I use Bing. But, hey, it was free! And it helps make the ads I see more relevant. Kidding. That's scheduled to be introduced in 2022, probably.

But they know too much. I have a Google news feed, which I use to make them think they know me. I sign up for alerts on subjects in which I have no interest. Google thinks I'm interested in collectible porcelain figurines, greyhound racing, and deep sea fishing. Hah! I'm really into deep-sea greyhound racing. Shows how much you know.

This is all a very long way of saying I subscribe to Google's Minneapolis feed, and I was surprised to see this story:

"Minneapolis residents told they no longer need to boil water."

Hmm. I didn't have "cholera" on my 2021 bingo card. I clicked on the link, and all was explained. It was about Minneapolis, Kansas.

I'd forgotten about those shameless plagiarists. The town originally was called Markley's Mills, but they changed it to Minneapolis in 1871. Perhaps they thought our Minneapolis would be but a withered appendage on the torso of St. Paul by the time we realized what they'd done.

How'd that turn out? To give you an idea of the town's size, here's what their website says about reporting a fire: "You should try 911 first, but otherwise the fire department is a volunteer department and cannot be reached during normal business hours. Please feel free to send them mail at 218 N. Rock, Minneapolis KS 67467."

"Oh, no, the house is on fire! Get the kids! I'll find a stamp!"

Perhaps they thought they would prosper through others' errors. Companies that wanted to set up in the smart town of Minneapolis would end up in a one-horse Kansas hamlet, look at the miserable river trickling along the edge of town and say, "I thought the Mississippi was much wider. Ah, well, we're unpacked and everything, might as well stay here the rest of our lives." Really, that's the town slogan: "Come for a visit ... stay for a lifetime!"

Because we've let the air out of your tires and the border is patrolled by vicious dogs!

As long as there is another Minneapolis, though, I think we should offload all our bad publicity on them. A relative in another state calls up because they heard something bad happened in Minneapolis? Laugh, sigh, and say, "No, that's the one in Kansas." They can be our karmic scapegoat.

Or, we can change our name to Topeka and start fresh. Like anyone in Kansas would have the right to complain.

james.lileks@startribune.com • Twitter: @Lileks • facebook.com/james.lileks