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								Ron Poulton 
								Kate, now that you mention it, I didn’t give you the time of day in high school, yet I did not live the student life of a groovy-jock either, so being too full of oneself probably spread all the way down to the woodshop under the gym where I busied myself making breadboards for a few years. 
I don’t pretend to speak for any other members of the not-groovy-jock cliques (or the groovy-jock clicks, if you are referring to coach Martin’s after-school beatnik poetry readings), but I am comforted by the fact that you feel sorry for me—there’s just not enough disdainful pity in the world to go around. 
However, I think there is a difference between allowing an opinion, accepting an opinion, agreeing with one or being enlightened by one.  I would allow your opinions, reserving to myself matters of accepting, agreeing and being enlightened.  
I would go so far to say I look forward to you opinions.  It’s not easy finding someone able to tackle the mundane and the metaphysical with aplomb in a single post.  No executive chicanery escapes your steady eye, no senatorial bull dust goes unnoticed, yet with equal fervency you bear solemn witness of a compassionate redeemer who loves and holds out hope for all his children except incumbents.  It’s refreshing, keep up the good work. 
P.S.  I am writing this to you at 5:59 p.m. MT, Monday, March 9, 2020.  
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