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In every single culture I’ve ever studied, the one common thread that seems to run throughout them all is this: Stare at a man long enough and he will eventually feel the need to punch you in the nose.
Rufus thinks he might apply for an anthropologist’s assistant job he saw advertised on a flyer down at the student union, but my friend Schuster says that with his thick, sloped brow, Rufus is only qualified to volunteer for psychology experiments, and besides, gainful employment would keep him from his hobby of unsuccessfully picking up college girls.
Rufus thinks anthropology is a waste of time and doesn’t do anyone any good, but my friend Schuster disagreed and puched Rufus in the neck, reminding him that it is only through the study and understanding of people that we are able to learn their weaknesses and more effectively take advantage of them.
The paper Fender wrote on the native micromanagers of Micronesia did not become the seminal anthropological treatise he had hoped, but consulting on office-based sitcoms was rewarding in and of itself.
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