Eat me.

Last weekend I made a penis cake for a friend's party. From the metrosexual close-shaved chocolate balls to its irresistable creme filling, the dessert was a HUGE success.

I do agree with mild criticism (mostly by jealous male party guests) that the balls were too large in proportion to the shaft, but I had some challenging logistics to sort through. I did not cop out and use a novelty cake mold. I figured I had seen enough chocolate cock in my lifetime, so why not sculpt from memory? Using the largest sheet pan I could find (18 inches, ladies! Gag me.) I crafted my sweet schlong with gentle lovin hands, and I do think artistic license is permissable in such a case.

So after proudly stepping back to admire my erotic confection, I realize that I needed to transport this Bad Boy to a party being held several blocks north....ON PUBLIC TRANSIT. It dawns on me that I'll be stuck walking the streets and subways of Toronto carrying a giant penis cake on a silver tray, wrapped in clear plastic. At least that's a "safe" penis. I chuckle to myself for a few moments as I ponder the cheap thrill of witnessing the shocked and smiling faces of strangers.

The fix: I bought two identical dark green plastic kitty litter pans (never used by kitties - eew, that's gross) one inverted over the other and taped to form a perfect little house for the happiest fucking cake you'll ever eat.

I also made boobie cupcakes for all the gents and lesbians present. Each one was decorated with pasties and tasty candy nipples. But my kitchen was kinda too warm, which made the icing melt, leaving me with not-so-erotic drippy CarrieCupcakes.

In fact, so indistinguishable was the deco-job, that the hostess took the leftover boobiecakes to her parents' house for Easter dinner. I am told they enjoyed their boobies immensely.