Ok, here’s one for all you ladies who were horsey girls when you were little, and never quite got over it. You know who you are: the girl who ate, slept, breathed, and dreamed horses, and filled her room with plastic ones if she couldn’t talk Daddy into paying for riding lessons. If you had a horse, you loved him more than life itself — and in your more heated private moments, you imagined, at least, riding him through the tall grasses, birds singing, clothing conveniently forgotten back at the stables, his warm heaving steaming flanks pressed firmly between your girlish thighs… et cetera. It seems to be a girl thing; every third twelve year old girl seems remarkably, even inexplicably, fond of horses, but rare indeed is the preteen boy who loves him his horsies quite that much (although, to be fair, stranger things have percolated up from the muck in the back pages of the search engines).

For all their manifest virtues, a horse is alas still just a horse. But a centaur, wouldn’t he be special? He could give you rides in the wildflower meadows and buy you diamonds too, and tinker on classic cars in the garage on weekends and live happily ever after. Pity they are mythical. But, a few photoshop artifacts aside, here’s what one (a very buff one) might look like:

a mantaur for the ladies, and, aw heck, for the guys who like to neigh in a funny high voice too...