Centaurs, oh my

Modern humans live surrounded by myths. Though the documented reality provided by TIME magazine does not accept the concept of monsters or anything that is not normal, people keep seeing, listening, photographing, filming and running away from aliens, chupacabras, yetis, hipno toads, and a nice assortment of evil slimy monsters in search of brains and other juicy parts of the body.

But the magnificent edigator is aware that according to psychology and anthropology and sociology and all of those quite exact human sciences, humans are quite simple creatures. They are, to put it simply, symbolic animals that codify fears and desires into complex and absurd situations. Therefore, all monsters have their roots in a particular fear or desire. The abominable snowman finds its origin in the fear to the long cold winter, the windigo to your brother eating your parents (and then you), the chupacabras to the latinamerican patriotism, etc… But centaurs..

Centaurs are these mythological beings, half horse (the bottom half) and half human (upper half). Traditionally (mythically?) these beings are astrological diviners, star gazers, etc… Why would anyone keep believing in them?

Source of both

And then.. epiphany… I understood why… (viewer discretion advised... naked picture coming up... HERE)

Love me tender

I see tight pink sweaters and red hearts everywhere. People skip and sigh, they covetlously hold sweaty palms and try to pace their walks with the other´s steps. Oh, these public displays of affection and tenderness make me yearn for a bit of cyanide. Butterflies flutter in my belly as I retch and the sweet puppy love stares of devotion seem as exciting as my dentist’s waiting room.

However, for as extensively as I search, I have yet to find that the ardor of all hearts is represented. For example, who has done the marketing for affectionate zombies? They have feelings too! Who sells them chocolate covered brains? Who makes the reservations for a secluded table under the cover of the vultures?

So much wasted passion.

Zombies also need advice for their devotion. For example, here a suggestion for a pick up line.

Fuente

And if you are in the other side, being the object of affection of a devoted zombie, here is a recommended line of action*.

*If you are not positive that the drooling, brainless guy requiring your affection is a zombie, just proceed in the same manner explained.

Here piggy piggy!

I love beer. I love its taste, its texture, its foam, I love it completely. But I hate beer publicity. And when I say hate, do imagine the hate that has the torches, the picks, the mobs, and is chanting ouside the castle "burn burn burn".
Apparently, the people in charge of promoting its drinking, after careful market analysis and five digit salaries, believe that those who ingest this beverage are basically pigs.
If one studies its target audience it is easily spotted that the companies think the drinkers are brainless, sexist, stupid men whose ultimate desire in life (the loooong quest of existence) is limited to finding the remote for the T.V.
I see these ads and am repulsed (with the eyes rolling back and the foaming at the mouth) but people see them and laugh, and are able to take a joke juar juar juar, and buy and buy even more.
Is the edigator wrong?
Here are four videos from four different countries:
American Pigs.

Danish Pigs.

Mexican Pigs.

Irish Pigs.


Of course, it would not be fair if I did not do it, so... I also give you the opposite case:
Just Pigs.