"Fuck no. The point of a smuppet is the plush. That soft, alluring felt outside imprisons a dense, yielding mass of felt and foam. You stuff that ass so tight it feels like it's gonna burst right up until that last stitch.... but once you tie it off, you can bounce a coin off it and that red cent ain't going nowhere. Shit, it might just settle in for a nice nap."

The very idea of a smuppet that is anything but 100% pornographically provocative plush pal--all perky posterior and friendly facial phallus--is offensive, that's what it is. It's offensive.

He does, however, swipe the plate and actually take a moment to just savour the smell. Which might or might not be a moment to recompose himself after that mental digression. Which was itself only a distraction while he worked around the the other thing.

Before he puts the first bite in his mouth, he has to issue a correction.

"The body is one of many vessels. The flesh is a material limitation." He raises the spoon.

"Not all of those are physical."

Now he eats.

But while he chews, his mental gears are still turning, still thinking about flesh and plush and vessels and puppets. It's less stringent when he speaks again. Clarifying.

But the expression around his shades remains harsh.

"Consciousness is also a vessel. Perception is a limitation on consciousness. There are others."