He was as nervous as a goose during Erntedankfest as he entered the warehouse. Mose seldom left the farm at all, but the Trans Am had blown its transmission, and a Schrute could never leave another Schrute alone on the battlefield, even if the battlefield was a climate controlled office, the weapons were staplers, and the lost Schrute in question thought it to be the second greatest place on earth. In other words, Dwight had needed a ride, so Mose screwed a license plate on to the good tractor and came to get him. But, Dwight wasn't ready. He said he needed to go over some spreadsheets with Angela from accounting, and Mose would have to wait. Why Dwight sent him to the warehouse to wait was a bit of a mystery. The spreadsheets must have contained information too sensitive for Mose's ears.


As he entered the office area of the warehouse, Mose heard crying. A large Negro man sat on a small couch with his face in his hands, an open case of beer next to him. In a manly fashion, he opened a bottle with his teeth. Mose stared, fascinated at the strangely alluring image of the large, moist mouth wrapping around the long, penislike neck of the beer bottle. The crying man then started to cry again.


"What's the matter?" Mose asked, stroking his manly beard in a manly fashion. He was a man, you know. With a penis and everything.


"My girlfriend dumped me." The large Seamonster person spoke. He was a man, too, so he also must have a penis. And, he was a large man. And black. So, it would follow that his penis was also probably large. And black. "I am a sad, drunk, straight man."

"I, too, am a straight man," said Mose as he sat on the sofa next to the weeping warehouse worker. "However, I am neither sad nor drunk. May I have a beer?" Mose had never tasted demon liquor before, but now it seemed like a good idea. (Also, he had never been with a girl before, so the "straight" part was pretty much an assumption, largely attributable to the fact that Mose thought they were talking about posture.)

They sat in silence as Mose sipped his beer. The Seamonster person talked for a while about his sadness and loneliness because his girlfriend had been cheating on him with the little temp from upstairs. Then, they were silent again. Mose opened a second beer.

"I am a manly man," said the Negro. "I enjoy violent sports and working with power tools."

"I, too, enjoy power tools." said Mose. "I once carved a sculpture of a giant beet from an old stump using only a chainsaw."

"Beet art is hot. It's cool to do stuff to stumps. But, it's also really fun to do stuff to logs. Especially big, black ones." And then, the Seamonster was kissing Mose. His face was stubbly and his tongue seemed freakishly large and it tasted like beer. But, still, Mose felt his man meat growing in his pants, expanding like one of those dried up sponges that you put in water so it grows in to a big dinosaur. This didn't happen often in Mose's breeches, as it was something that as a teen had earned him more than a few hours on the Shame Stool. This memory caused Mose to feel even more tingly than the kiss.

Mose found himself sitting on the larger man's lap. From the feel of it, they both needed a little time on the Shame Stool. Also, Mose had a sudden urge to tell the Seamonster what he wanted for Christmas. Such frivolity was discouraged in Shrute children, and his defiant thoughts about being a good or bad boy made his sword of sin stand at attention. He wiggled around on the Seamonster's lap. Then, there was man goo everywhere. It was pretty sticky, but for some reason it only seems gross to you, the reader. They wiped up the penis snot with a shop towel, and went back to chewing on each other's lips. Mose felt the his beard grow wet with manly drool, and it made his breeches feel very tight and ill fitting, even though he had made them himself.

Speaking of breeches, Mose was surprised to notice that the hooks that fastened his pants were being undone. (buttons were verboten) And then the Seamonster seemed to be doing something pretty exotic with his tentacles. Was tentacles the word? Mose always got that one mixed up with "testicles." And, it was starting to seem like both tentacles and testicles were involved in what was going on.

"Sakes Alive!" Mose groaned as his beef bayonet lurched menacingly. The shop towel could barely absorb all of his man chowder. He flopped back onto the sofa and tucked his bologna pony back into his breeches. He then refastened his pants, careful not to stain them with any traces of Cupid's Toothpaste that might be on his hands. The large man handed him his beer. They sat in silence until the Seamonster turned on a CD player and the room filled with the strains of an old Judy Garland song. Just then, the door from the office swung open and Dwight came down the steps. Oddly enough, the bulge in his brown polyester dress slacks seemed to indicate that he might need a little time on the Shame Stool. Those must have been some spreadsheets.

"MOSE!" Dwight stared in alarm at the stereo. "I can't believe I caught you experimenting with homosexuality in this way!"