Penguin: Bird Of Prey

Penguins have become a point of modern focus. Ask an elementary student their favorite animal and guess at the answer. Lampooned by the witty and merchandised by the enterprising. The penguin has somehow latched onto society's sweet tooth with the never-say-die fortitude of a tenacious pit bull. And it shows no sign of stopping.
A cursory view of the penguin finds it to be an attractive figure. Its black outline contrasts darkly to its stereotypical snowfield habitat. Its wobbling gait instills in us an oft-too-quickly-granted condescension, unlocking in the Anima of us a maternal instinct, the desire to hold and nurture. Conversely, in the Animus, the masculine who admit little stock in such feminine desires still grasp onto the penguin just as they would a fluffy, pink heart pillow; as it is desired by the eyes of the female, thus it is desired by the male.
But the heart is more than a symbol of love and fertility. It is also the most prized possession of the kill, in the basest of drives.
Such is the nature of all things. And our penguin is no different.
Much like the Jungian archetype of the shadow, the penguin has a sense of the exotic and can be disturbingly fascinating. We find it difficult to look away from that black and dark figure, and this is what gives it away. Our penguin's cute exterior hides a shadowy and malevolent intent, because, as any eye professional will tell you, the eye (being lazy) is involuntarily drawn to empty white space.
We should be looking at the snow.
Suspicious.
Perhaps our answer lies in a deeper look at the archetype of the shadow (which, it must be said, is present in each of us as a facet of our personalities). The shadow embodies chaos and wildness of character. It is our tendency to rebel. To feel our way through things on our own.
How very enticing.
It speaks to the shadow in all of us.
In our struggle to rebel against the powers that be, we seize the image of the penguin, that rebel without flight. It doesn't need to fly like all those other birds. It makes a statement of its own independence and instead flies gracefully underwater where the other birds dare not go. It shuns off the popular worldview that we have worked so hard to create, and instead tells us to swim when others think we should fly. Tyler Durden's power animal told us as much. "Slide."
Maybe Chuck Palahnuik knew more about us than his sinister novel revealed.
And if viewable media is the collective subconscious of our culture, our motion pictures, singing the praises of all things penguin, remove all doubt of what animals our society is putting on our childrens' birthday cakes. Between 2005 and 2007, there were four movies which prominently featured the flightless bird: March of the Penguins (2005), Madagascar (2005), Happy Feet (2006), and Surf's Up (2007). Let Morgan Freeman fool you with his euphonious voice into thinking that the penguins are as benevolent as they seem. No single animal has been featured as singularly as these in years.
The penguin attacks us from all sides. For the girl, he is the handsome man in his spotless tuxedo. For the boy, he is James Bond's signature Beretta 418, hidden securely in the breast pocket of that tuxedo. And for all of us, he is the desire to cast off our tuxes and slide on the ice.

Or, you know, maybe it's just a flightless bird. Which sort of defeats the purpose. Eh.