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Ouroboros Cat
Here’s What I Learned From My Centaur Research
I was watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix this past weekend. As a herd of centaurs galloped across the screen, my gaze wandered down. The junction of horse and human occurs just above where the groin of the man would be and fuses into the area near the horse-half’s front shoulders.
I got confused. Where are the genitals on these things? Roving scientific interest—my desktop wallpaper is definitely not a picture of a centaur—anymore—filled a time slot I had open on Saturday afternoon. Do the mythical beast’s reproductive organs rest where they would on the anatomy of the human, or near the back, like a horse?
I had to take into account that the film is PG-13, so there was a chance that if any private areas were in fact located near the front, the filmmakers might have opted not to bump up to an R, or even NC-17 rating by having the turgid penis of a made-up animal flopping around on the big screen, thereby outlawing a sizeable chunk of the ticket-buying demographic from gaining access to theaters.
I took it to Googolplex. This website, authored by a German doctor, is the centaur equivalent of Gray’s Anatomy, and even brought up another interesting point—how does the spinal system work, being that the bodily fusion creates a 90-degree angle? I couldn’t be bothered with that, though—it wasn’t what I came for, and I feared I would be sucked further into an already dubious rabbit hole.
Then this came up:
Not only did I find the genitals, it looks as though we’ve been using the wrong phrase all this time—horses are hung like centaurs. This interpretation may prove unreliable, though. The issue of the spinal cord, for instance—it appears to curve into the lung cavity, and disappear, which would render the entire back half of this man-horse paralyzed. There may be better drawings out there, but please understand that while I do have the time to find a better one, I don’t want to. Googling centaur penis has more than likely already landed me on a ‘person of interest’ list somewhere, and next time I move I’m going to have to go around and tell all my new neighbors ‘hey, could you sign this thing saying that I told you I’m a pervert, blah blah blah, it’s just a formality, yada yada, I’ve changed my ways, bing bang boom.’
So I’ll just believe what this drawing says.
Resignation Letter, Or, ‘The World’
I just quit my job. Weeks before I knew I was going to quit, I wrote this resignation letter. Then, in the excitement of finally being able to quit, I forgot to bring it with me when I actually did quit. Balls. Not a big deal, though: it was purposely designed to confound, flummox, and bring about the general idea that I was somewhat unstable, thus making my hasty departure a point of concern rather than indignation.
The highfalutin verbiage and esoteric references would have been lost on the audience anyway. I mean, the one guy has had the same handlebar moustache for at least two decades. And last year, he didn’t even tell us when one of our coworkers was murdered by his girlfriend (Sadly, I didn’t make that up. She ran him over with her car. Management said not one word about it, to avoid giving people a day off for the funeral. Again, I can’t stress this enough: I didn’t make that up.).
Having said that, I now realize he would have thrown the letter in the garbage after he read the first line anyways. Here’s what I had:
The World*, or, My Resignation
Dearest Bob:
If you’re reading this, that means I’m already dead.
Or not. Anyhoo. Where to begin. At the beginning, I reckon.
Some 900 odd days ago, under Libra’s balanced gaze, a new cycle began, I playing The Fool. As time shifted I slowly toed my way through the major arcana, in both work and private life, ultimately culminating in this letter, which as you see above, I have entitled ‘The World.’
To come at it from another angle—the Moirai may now weave my tale. Read:
In that September of 2011, Clotho, Spinner of Life, dealt my thread. Her sister, Lachesis, drew her rod and measured it. Now, this night, governed by the fish Pisces, Atropos The Unturning, eldest of the three sisters, must now brandish her abhorred shears, and make her calculated cut.
Main point being, in the Menippean satire that this job, and consequently my life, has become, the ultimate communication of this letter is that I am quitting, if you didn’t get that already.
Now, by this time you may have noticed that I have left this communique with the front office and vanished, while the traditional two weeks of notice have not yet passed. None of us need worry about this. In the vast scope of geological time, after Armageddon has come and gone, whatever form it chooses to take, be it Ragnarok, The Four Horsemen, The Karmatic Wheel coming to a stop, Nuclear Winter—I can assure you that my swift exit from this company will not matter in the least.
At that time, when aliens, remaining humans, cockroaches—whatever is left, really—pick through the rubble where once stood this office/warehouse compound, I can assure you that my failure to give the traditional fourteen days forewarning will not be mentioned, nor will it even be relevant.
As Elton John once sang, we are nothing more than a candle in the wind. Or Kenny Wayne Shepherd: cold on ice, joker on jack, tears on a river, whisper on a scream. It doesn’t mean a thing.
And thus, as mysteriously as I arrived, I now dissipate, into the nether regions of the working world. May dementors eat my soul should we cross paths again.
Love,
Guy that don’t work here no more
*In Tarot readings, The World card can represent a cycle completed.
“Dark World” Will Probably Leave Out Thor’s Cross-Dressing Escapades
True (mythological) story:
Thor once lost his hammer to the giant Thrym, who wanted the goddess Freyja as payment for it. In order to get the hammer back, Thor and Loki travelled to the land of the giants disguised as bride and bridesmaid. Things happen, and he eventually regains his weapon. Read all about it here and here.
We’ll see if the movie includes that juicy nugget.
The Philosophunculist 
