Writer in Residence · 12/29/2011

David Hasselhoff’s Game of Sexual Jungle Cat

You are completely naked and hiding-slash-reading a magazine behind a leather couch, deep in a sub-basement of David Hasselhoff’s mansion. You can hear him moving through the rooms, somewhere up above you—frustration bleeding through the syllables as he calls out your name in a sing-song voice. You wonder how much longer it’ll be before he finds you, and what he’ll do to you, once he does. You’re still so angry they made you sign an NDA; if you could write about this you would definitely have the most popular tumblr ever.

You’d heard stories. There’d always been rumors. I swear to God, it happened to a friend of a friend and she had no reason to lie. Oaths between starlets, sworn to God between lines of coke in nightclub bathrooms. The veracity of the story listed as “Undetermined” on Snopes.

And then, just hours earlier, you found yourself being recruited at a nightclub. A man pulled you down off the bar and whispered into your ear. The offer too outlandish to be taken seriously. You glanced down at the stack of bills he’d pressed into your hand. And now here you are. It was all true. Running naked through David Hasselhoff’s mansion, playing the game. Playing David Hasselhoff’s Game of Sexual Jungle Cat.

Reading the laminated instructions that were handed to you as you entered his house you thought: Oh no. Jungle cat? And then you saw the reassurance, asterixed at the bottom of the page: This is in no way a Furry thing. David Hasselhoff’s Game of Sexual Jungle Cat is not about anyone pretending they are an animal. It is about submitting oneself to the passionate, atavistic glory of the chase. Imagine a dark rain forest primeval. Somewhere deep within, two fierce creatures of the night meet and become as one. Does it matter? Yes. It matters more than anything. In fact, everything depends on it.

Uh, OK. You skimmed the pamphlet and familiarized yourself with the rules. Actually none of the rumors had even come close to this.

Hasselhoff strips naked and is led by his manservant into a large metal cage. He can get out, but he pretends that he cannot. You then enter the room, stand in the center, and undress. Slowly, and with your back to him. You hear him growl and rattle the cage. Then, as soon as your last item of clothing hits the floor (As per Rule 29, Hat last PLEASE.) you run. Sprint. He will give you a head start of anywhere from 15 seconds to two minutes, depending on his needs. You are to run for your life — run anywhere in the mansion, and hide from him. Elude him for as long as you can.

Rule #35. You must remain at all times within the house proper. #36. You will not be given a map, if you get lost that is your problem, and kind of the point. #37. No giving clues or saying anything or making noises, no matter how much you hear Mr H begging. Nor no matter how great your desire for him. #38. He may offer money for you to reveal your whereabouts but that is a trick and no additional monetary awards, proffered in the midst of passion such as they are, will be honored. #39. When Mr H locates you he will immediately begin The Act with you, in whichever manner his mood fancies. #40. Afterwards (plan on consummation taking 2-10 min.) Mr H will retire to his sauna. Do not speak to him or otherwise interrupt his reverie. You may savor the moment in your own quiet way. #41. Arrows will then light up along the baseboards; please follow them to the nearest exit in order to retrieve your clothing and any personal belongings.

So, awesome. All fine and good. But now it’s 3 a.m. and he still hasn’t found you. There’s a gigantic TV down here, could you turn it on low or would that be considered against the rules. You’re not even hiding anywhere difficult, what is his deal. You’d think he’d be awesome at this game if he played it as much as he—

—Actually. You suddenly notice that it’s eerily quiet. You can’t hear him walking. And how long has it been since he last called your name? This is actually kind of creepy now. There isn’t one noise, anywhere in the house. Is this still part of the game?

You get up to go look for him. Creeping quietly up the stairs, peeking around corners. Moving through the rooms, stopping to listen for any sound whatsoever. Feeling more naked and exposed than you’ve ever felt in your life. And then you turn a corner and find him, sitting naked at his desk with his legs thrown wide, his hair matted with sweat, his face red and puffy from exertion.

“I looked literally everywhere for you. I could not contain myself any longer, so you missed out. You missed out big time.”

He throws a giant wad of Kleenex at the trash and misses.

You should demand a copy of the NDA because there has got to be some kind of loophole here if the Sexual Jungle Cat never actually finds the whatever it is you’re supposed to be. You’re about to say something. He claps twice and the arrows light up.


KF: If “David Hasselhoff’s Game of Sexual Jungle Cat” were made into a movie, who would play “you”?

KF2: The movie version would have to be one of those handheld shakycam deals where you never actually see the protagonist, in order to preserve the non-gender-specific nature of the story. Far be it for me to put labels on who might want to envision themselves receiving pleasure from Mr. Hasselhoff.

KF: If “David Hasselhoff’s Game of Sexual Jungle Cat” were made into a game by Milton Bradley what would the “tokens” be?

KF2: The tokens would be tiny gold-plated chest hairs.

KF: If “David Hasselhoff’s Game of Sexual Jungle Cat” were made into a ride at Disney World…wait, that would never happen.

KF2: It could be a ride at Disneyland After Dark, the adult-themed Disney park that never seems to get as much press, for whatever reason. The ride itself would basically just be Pirates of the Caribbean, but with sexier pirates who all have David Hasselhoff’s face, even the female pirates,  and even the parrots on their shoulders.


Kevin Fanning is the author of Jennifer Love Hewitt Times Infinity. He lives in Cambridge and can be found at kevinfanning.com.


posted by Kathy Fish