The Sex Panther: Survival of the Fittest

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

You know, I’m getting really excited over some of the comic bloggers that are coming on strong of late. I never really gave many shits about the whole comic blog thing because to me it always seemed like a forum for people to post other people’s opinions in the hopes of getting jerked off. No-one really listened because no-one was really saying much worth paying attention to. It was all the same yada-yada (with obvious notable exceptions - if you don't think you are one than you're probably not). Same reviews, same commentary, same features, same format. Incestuous, you can say. But between sites like Dave’s Long Box, Focused Totality and Quality Control you have people who are saying something honest and original and doing it well. With fucking passion. Fuck, Filing Cabinet of the Damned is comic book humor done right but also mixed in with the occasional personal touch that the average comic reader can relate to. These guys should be writers and editors and comic-book know-it-alls. They’re entertaining and thought provoking.

I don’t claim to be a comic blogger – I just use that excuse to get people to read stories about me pissing all over myself or misusing sex toys – but with this next-generation of comic bloggers coming out I feel like an asshole for even somewhat claiming a small portion of the comic blog-o-thing-a-ma-whatever-the-fuck. And while I’m at it Buzzscope is the best fucking comic site ever created. Original columns with substance and dedicated to doing more than lovingly stroking a fanboy’s prostate (or oogle-popping as we called it in college – and by “we” I mean “I”).

I don’t know, I tend to hate comics more often than like them but sometimes I just get excited – it’s the community, you know? These guys get me excited. Fucking kudos.

Story time…


As a reminder, all stories this week are raunchy. It’s one of those weeks. I needed to cut loose. They’re not sexy. They will get you off. You will not be masturbating while reading the following words. They are often disgusting, will likely paint me as an asshole – but you will laugh if you have a sense of humor. If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea than you can go read Family Circus.

In the wild, the panther is a killing machine. He carves out his domain in the jungle and thoroughly annihilates anyone who has the nerve to cross him. He takes what he wants and goes unchecked. He’s evolution personified.

The Sex Panther is the same way – when he’s getting down to business there is next to nothing that can stop him. The way he sees it – just sort of do what you have to now and see how it all plays out afterwards.

Early lady friend, high school years – back when you know nothing and do anything. Some girls are moaners, some are silent partners – some like to crack the occasional joke – this one was a talker. I don’t think she liked sex much – she likely saw it as something she had to do – but things like that don’t throw dudes off of their game in high school.

One evening we were at a typical high school party, had a few drinks, got a little inebriated and started getting it on in my friend’s parent’s bedroom. She started talking about some mundane thing – television or some shit – I swear to you it’s the most surreal experience a guy can go through. You’re huffing it, sweating, feeling good – you feel like your boy is going to shoot off at any moment – and she starts talking about Seinfeld or some shit.

It might have been the alcohol, it might have been the fact that I was some idiot kid – it might have been the fact that I really didn’t appreciate how fucked up the situation is when a girl talks during sex – but I told her, “Jesus CHRIST. Shut. The FUCK. Up.”

I was mad. I must have had the vein going and the eyes bulging and the spit flying. She does, indeed, shut the fuck up. For like two seconds. Then she starts crying.

Do you know that game you play when your friend asks you, “What would you do if you’re having sex and the girl has a heart-attack? Dead. Would you finish?” And you answer you’d stop whereas deep down you know you’d finish. I think I proved I would finish that day because not stopping while a girl is crying is a lot worse than not stopping when she dies.

I remember the thought process. I was like, “Shit. She’s crying. I’m almost done – I can pretend I don’t notice.”

I can pretend I don’t notice.

Along with that theory came the name to speed up. Along with the need to speed up came added pressure. I must have gone on for an additional three or four minutes while she laid there and cried. It certainly wasn’t my finest hour – thankfully I can chalk it up to being a stupid kid.

Now, that may sound bad – some of you may be saying that it doesn’t get much worse than that.

When I finished (and I did finish), I pulled out, got dressed and asked her if she wanted to be alone because SHE LOOKED UPSET. When she didn’t answer, I quietly left her crying and naked in my friend’s parent’s bedroom.

I’m pretty sure that was the last time we had sex – but I’m sure that’s not a surprise to anyone.

Sex Panther. Hear me roar.


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