Stuffing various folks into boxes is something we're all programmed to do at times; or perhaps we just do it automatically out of some sort of wicked self-defense. In either case, we all do it. We do it when we just can't understand another person (perhaps they go in the "insane box"?), or, probably more often, when we don't like the idea that they're the same species as us. Faced with a hardcore revolutionary who smokes and wears leather and rides motorcycles, most young republicans will thankfully--and quickly--stuff the revolutionary into a box. That gives him the ability to say "I'm over here and you're over there, so we're not the same at all".

Of course, this is all an illusion. The guy who relies most heavily on boxes for other people is going to suffer the most on the day when he finally realizes that the boxes are all holographic; they aren't really separating anybody at all.
After a semester of loving dissection and tagging of every inch of our cadavers, our anatomy class had the task of gross dismemberment to fit the remains into cardboard boxes for cremation.

They were smallish boxes.

It was an art.

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