By Ken Hegan for Toro magazine
So I’m training to become the World’s Greatest Lover.
This morning I’m testing a libido-enhancing breakfast cereal.
It’s a potent, Toronto-based product called Sexcereal available in Canada and around the planet.
As you can see from the picture, Sexcereal is supposed to turn your penis into a hard gold spoon that’s bigger than your whole face.
Touted as “the world’s most passionate cereal,” it’s also “the world’s first gender-based cereal created by nutrition professionals.” There’s one Sexcereal formula for men and a different formula for women. Both are designed to fuel your sex life. I have no idea what the women’s cereal does.
But according to this illustration, the guy’s version will woo the serpent out of your pants like a high-heeled lady charming a cobra.
The women’s formula contains lady ingredients like sunflower, cranberries, and talking things through. Meanwhile the men’s formula contains macho whole food ingredients like bee pollen, black sesame, camu camu, and old truck parts.
Sexcereal is the brainchild of Toronto businessman Peter Ehrlich.
As you can see, Peter’s a real silver feast. He’s rugged, wears a thick phallic belt, doctor scrubs, mom jeans, and a long black leather trench coat like Keanu Reeves in The Matrix. Sure, the trench coat makes Peter look short but his impish grin says, “I need this long trenchcoat to hide the massive erection I get each morning.”
His website models couldn’t agree more. This waxed, tanned fella sure loves his heaping bowl of Sexcereal. He can’t wait to fang you with his boxer snake.
Sure, he looks flaccid and harmless now but he hasn’t had his first bite yet. “Time to wake up the cobra,” he says, just before his eyes roll up into his skull and his whole body starts to sway, twitch, and buckle.
The website models are young and beautiful like me.
So if you’re old and flaccid (i.e. someone who could really benefit from a boner-making breakfast cereal), forget about this product. It ain’t for you, gramps. Stores will refuse to sell it to you. You gotta use your hands instead.
I’m kidding, of course. Over 1,000 stores across Canada will be happy to take your money.
The website testimonials sure rave about Sexcereal:
“I’m 80 years old. What have I got to lose?” — F.B. from Halifax
“One cereal for women and one for men. Makes complete sense. After all, when my boyfriend gets naked, I can see that we’re different!” — Sally from Calgary
“Maybe I’m just imagining things, but I have to say, it seems that there’s an enhanced spark when I kiss my wife. Please don’t publish my name.” — K from Edmonton
Well that sold me. And man, I could sure use the help. Ever since my superfine girlfriend and I got back from our epic holiday weekend, I’ve been exhausted, limp, and formless.
I bought a 300g bag of Sexcereal for $9.99. I estimate there are four big bowls of cereal in this bag. That’s $2.50 a bowl. So if you gobbled a bowl of this stuff every morning, your annual boner cereal budget would be $912.50.
Pricey, but hey, who can put a price on a coiled viper?
So I devoured a bowl while my girlfriend was still in bed.
And I’ve made a horrible mistake. I poured a big bowl like the hairless model on the website. But now I’m reading Peter’s CEO message on the website, and he says you’re only supposed to eat a 3-tablespoon serving.
I may overdose on these nutty oats. If you see a dick explode on the news, it’s me.
But what a way to go. My first bite’s delicious; it tastes like nuts and succulent orgies. I was full by the fourth bite. The taste lingers on the tongue, like the tang of raucous sex or a testosterone-flavoured energy bar. It’s jolty, jaunty and sprightly. Way better than pancakes that tire you out from all the sugar.
After 15 minutes: my cobra starts to stir. Girlfriend badly needs her sleep, so I think of nuns playing baseball.
Thirty minutes later. This stuff works! Cobra’s really swaying but my girlfriend’s still asleep. I push the cobra down and think of taxes.
It’s been two hours since I ate this manly blend of black sesame, camu camu, and shredded velvet Elvis paintings.
My girlfriend is still sleeping. My cobra impatiently sways, surges, and bangs the bottom of my desk. I smack it down.
“Not yet,” I say, pouring another big manly bowl of oats, cacao nibs, hand-snipped whisky-soaked poker cards, triple-distilled Corvette oil, bacon-wrapped Cuban cigar leaves, and shredded black leather trenchcoat jerky.
Read more of Ken’s World’s Greatest Lover columns