Dir: Kevin Moore
Can you believe that Panty Pops #6 was just released? It’s only been about two years since the first Panty Pops came out. That is a level of efficiency Hollywood could learn from. Who needs $100 million budgets and three years of production for superhero movies? Let’s treat them like pornos, since they basically have the same formula.
In porn, it’s blowjob/pussy lick/missionary/doggy/reverse cowgirl (or any of three varied positions)/cum shot. In superhero films, it’s hero origin/villain intro/love interest/love interest kidnapped by villain/fight/hero triumphs. That said, I could make Spider-Man on a shoestring budget and keep it under five minutes long: roll credits, show Peter Parker being bitten by a spider, then a scene of him climbing on walls, have the Lizard wave at the camera, then the Lizard kidnaps Gwen Stacy, epic battle scene (this is where all our budget will go—big explosions), Spider-Man swings into the sunset with Gwen in his arms, fade to black, roll credits. Five minutes max, just like the amount of time needed to dispose of the dead babies blocking up your main line. I could make a half-dozen Spider-Man movies a year, maybe more. Tell Christopher Nolan or whoever to holler at me.
Spoiler alert! The point of this Panty Pops series is—you’re never going to guess—to have the pop shot land on panties. It’s brilliant writing because your brain is telling you, “There’s no way this Kevin Moore gives away the entire plot in the title,” and you’re waiting for things to get all Sixth Sense, and when it doesn’t you’re all, “HOLY SHIT! He totally got me! I was so anticipating getting got that I got got before I even got started. I GOT MYSELF!” Genius. Absolutely genius.
But even more genius than the tricky not-trick ending is the social commentary that Moore addresses on the changing of sexual desire that occurs with age and the mortality that we all must face. In their youth, men cannot rip off a woman’s clothes fast enough. And yet as we age and begin to understand what’s under those garments, and that the power it possesses can bring a man to his knees, we do our best to extend the experience, to shield ourselves from what lies just beneath that cotton facade. Granted, Moore never flat out says what we’re all thinking: We’re all going to die some day, and if we can just hold this boner for another five minutes maybe we’ll live forever. Yet he implies it, somewhere between the pussy licking and the first fuck position. I don’t know a whole lot about religion—aside from the fact that Easter candy is delicious and I thank God for it every April—but I imagine that the feeling that watching Panty Pops gives you, where the subject is so heavy that you just need to take a nap afterward, is what people mean when they say they’ve had a “religious experience.” It’s the only way I can describe it. It’s like if Zeus gave you a handjob.
Previously - Raw 10