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anything with a Native American guy in it has him transforming into some kind of animal at some point!"

What pop culture has boiled the rich, proud heritage of an entire people down to.

"Those are just stories," the doctor answered tersely, tossing the pen in the wastebasket and reaching for another.

"Right, but what's the common theme for say, Puerto Ricans in pop culture? That they're sassy? You know what, in my limited experience, I

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have found perhaps a third of them to be kind of sassy. Europeans in pop culture? Sophisticated. Sure, there are some hooligans and idiots, but generally speaking, I do find them to be a more cultured people. White American guys? Ignorant. Well would you look at that? Here I am, a white American dude, thinking Native Americans can turn into wolves if they just want it badly enough. Sounds pretty ignorant to me."

"Well, it's hard to argue that last point," he admitted, clicking the new pen and touching it to paper. My hands were idly twisting the thread around and around. Steady, even pressure.

"So when it came right down to the wire, when the stress kicked in, when it was really life or death on the line, yes: I figured there was like a 30 percent chance that man could turn into a bird. Is that really so stupid?"

Actually looking at him now, 30 percent is pretty conservative.

The doctor looked at me thoughtfully, and then turned down to his pad, pen in hand. The room was quiet, save for the thirsty, rasping scratch of an empty nib tearing through paper. I could actually see something break behind his eyes.

"YES!" The doctor screamed, his dry pen bouncing painfully off of my skull. He stood and yanked at his tie, his face flushing. "IT IS STUPID! IT IS THE STUPIDEST THING! IT IS LITERALLY THE STUPIDEST THING THAT ANYBODY HAS EVER SAID IN THE HISTORY OF SPOKEN LANGUAGE!"

There was a soft pop as the thread wrapped around my fist broke loose from its last mooring, and a long flap of black leather plopped over onto my belly, revealing the wispy cotton padding of the couch beneath.

"RRRRRRAAAAAAAGH!!!" A scream tore out of him, ripping him open from foot to crown. His skin burst like an overcooked sausage and sloughed off of him into a pile of rubbery meat on the ground. Where the small, nebbish doctor had stood not a second before, there was now a slavering and furious black bear. The beast didn't so much as glance at me, but rather dug its claws into the pulpy flesh of the bamboo floorboards, its muscles visibly pulsing beneath the layers of fat and fur, and bounded through the closed door, shattering it. It loped away, down the narrow office corridor beyond. I could hear the advancing tide of panicked screams as it vanished around the corner.

The stunned receptionist goggled in at me from the waiting room beyond.

"Holy shit," I finally breathed, "Rosenberg's a

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Native American name?"

You can buy Robert's book, Everything is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead, or follow him on Twitter, Facebook, and Google+. Or you can buy his cutting-edge stand-up comedy DVD White People Be Bad At Everything, in stores now!

For more from Robert, check out 5 Bizarre Real Life Gangs That Put The Warriors to Shame and Why Crimes Would Never Get Solved at a TV Police Station.