The Moose in the Closet: The Sex Panther: Nourishment

Today is December 1st. There are two months left of the Moose in the Closet before I take a break for three months. 216 stories down, 44 to go. I’ll finish up the 423 thing after Christmas, maybe the first week of the New Year – I haven’t even touched that for a while and there’s a lot of new readers so I’m going to pulling my own Infinite Crisis it seems. Maybe I’ll finish it all up in two long stories dropped on a Saturday and Sunday, just for closure and for the sake of having two extra stories.

Amazon is retarded. Don’t get me wrong, I love Amazon. Back during the dot-com bust when Amazon stock dropped to less than a dollar I took some of my hard-earned money and invested it. Sold it at over 50 a share. Amazon was very kind to me. Unlike…other investments. But they’re still retarded. I recently got a new camera with them. So I was building my wishlist for the holiday season and I decided to see my recommendations in case there was some good stuff I missed. And the whole first page is cameras. What the hell kind of retarded system is that? Anyway, I'm updating my Christmas wish list. And following what other internet guys have done in the past (Drew Curtis of Fark fame scored big time last year for hosting a site that posts news articles for shit’s sake) I decided to post it here for perusal. 216 stories so far, that’s a lot of entertaining and a good amount of work. Who knows, stranger things have happened, it's mainly for family and friends but why not share?

Story time…
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The mighty panther must eventually pause for food and nourishment. Being king of his domain is hard work – and flesh is the spoils of his hunt and his dominance.

The Sex Panther is no different – nourishment is a must – except that he finds a way to integrate his need for nourishment into his sexual routines.

Seriously, though, what the fuck is up with Hollywood, sex and food? Why do they need to promote that shit? Food belongs in the fridge. It belongs on a table. It belongs in my belly and ultimately it belongs in the shitter. Food does not belong in the bedroom and, unfortunately, that is one lesson the Sex Panther has yet to really incorporate because Hollywood keeps making food-play look like fun. They make it look romantic. They get the lady all hot for strawberries and whipped cream.

Nothing wrong with strawberries. Nothing. I like sitting in a bath with my lady and feeding her strawberries. We do that – we get the candles, some bubbles – a bath bomb from Lush – and I feed her strawberries and it’s romantic.

And that’s fine. We learned that’s a good use for strawberries.

In college, I learned that strawberries stain bed sheets. I learned that if you run a strawberry across a vagina and eat it – it tastes like tart vagina. I learned that strawberries are not sexual. They’re romantic – true – maybe even kind of sexy - but they’re not sexual.

No food is sexual.

Whipped cream? Not sexual. How did I learn that? Well, my ex-lady and I used whipped cream once – I ate some off of her and she ate some off of me and it was fun for all of thirty seconds. Then we started getting it on. Some caressing, some licking – little bit of touching – all the good stuff. Maybe it was the sweat, maybe the rubbing, but ten minutes into it we started to smell like sour milk – or at least had a really strong dairy smell radiating off of our bodies. Now there’s a good smell – nothing like the feeling of having sex and thinking you’re in a fucking milk cooler.

Whip cream is not sexual, sexy or romantic. It costs $1.99 and you spray it into your mouth when no-one is looking. It’s a step above Cheese Wiz.

Oh, yeah, and adding chocolate syrup and ice-cream makes it look like you’re trapped in a German porno movie. Whip cream with ice-cream and chocolate syrup is not sexual. There is nothing sexy about turning someone into an ice-cream Sunday. If anything it ruins your furniture. Just trust me on this one.

All of these lessons I learned the hard way. But do you know what is sexual? Pizza. And Cereal. Hear me out.

The cluster fuck of a night that I was tripping balls on ecstasy and getting it on but not necessarily getting it off (and I’m pretty sure tomorrow’s story will focus on when drugs/alcohol mixed with sex goes horribly wrong – I haven’t decided yet) we paused to eat Fruit Loops and get some energy back. I shit you not when I say they were the best goddamn Fruit Loops I’ve ever eaten. I was eating these goddamn Fruit Loops and singing, dancing around the room naked. I was horny for those Fruit Loops. After that I went back at it with vigor.

The pizza situation was the same thing, minus the ecstasy. Just going at it when the phone rings – pizza delivery guy. I get dressed, get the pizza, we eat the pizza – it’s damn good pizza. Best pizza I ever ate. Get back to it. Fuck like bunnies.

So, you see – the only way food is sexual is if you don’t eat it while having sex but instead eat it is an intermission of sorts. Like a Panther would.

The Sex Panther, hear me roar.

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The Sex Panther: Nourishment

Thursday, December 01, 2005

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