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Khan you Kafka

You can imagine my surprise, running into Gold Star Dad K. Khan at the county DMV while sitting in the hellish neon cavern waiting for my number to come up. You can't pull out your pocket copy of the US Constitution and start waving it around at the DMV administrators in an effort to shame them - they have no shame. Your religion means nothing. Your blood means even less. I walked over to him and hugged him, telling him I loved him - brothers, numbers, taxpayers.

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