Let Them Eat Hoochie Mama Cake

My baby brother turned 40 the other day. Couldn't tell you exactly when he morphed from a wisecrackin' chicken legged critter into a towering dry witted man, but he did. Socially conscious, he said he didn't want any gifts that would end up in a landfill. What he really wanted, what most men seem to desire, was a Playboy Bunny jumping out of a cake, and onto his lap. Falling just short of having any connections with the Heff (save for that one dream I had about frolicking about the Playboy Mansion circa 1973, I kid you not) I went out and found myself one 'Susie', (aka Hoochie-mama) cake topper. The cake I chose to bake up was chocolate (of Horseradish Grill fame) dense and moist; between the 4 layers was a mocha ganache; the frosting, a coconut cream. The stage was almost set; there was the round cake--a round bed. My monkey, S., and I patted shredded coconut onto the coconut cream frosting--the white fur blanket. We placed 2 acid-red Hostess Zingers near an edge, and tossed on a few heart shaped chocolate dipped cookies--the bolsters and pillows. Little Hoochie Susie, in her naughty nitie, took repose upon the 'bed' with her glass (filled with yellow sugar and dragees) and bottle of champagne. Quite foxy; very Ann-Margret a'la Tommy. Baby brother was very, very pleased with his gift, and at his age, a Bunny jumping onto his lap might very well have given him an unkind jolt. G. was so taken with Susie, she now keeps him company (as part of his toy collection) at work, and will no doubt, like any good hooch, find herself upon many a cake in the future.