Fucking Day: XXXenophile 🌭

That’s right fuckers, ya boy is back, with the all the attitude of a kid in a music video telling their dad Meat Loaf to fuck right off and die please, Dad, could you do that for me huh?! Regular doggers will recall that my last piece was about pleasuring myself to VR sex games. Well, this one is about pleasuring myself to comix, long thought to be the VR of last millennium. Brace yourself for a bi-monthly (the good kind) NSFW Swaim column that is exclusively about products for horny people who can’t get laid. Hey, here’s one now!

If you know Phil Foglio’s artwork, it’s probably from the Magic: The Gathering cards that you’d trade away to your friend because the art kind of sucked. I’m not sure who at Wizards of the Coast Phil was fogling, but his decidedly cutesy style always felt out of place for a game about epic-level spellcasters shooting plains at each other’s swamps or whatever. They were less “fantasy book cover”, more “painting on a commemorative juice glass.”

Hey, here’s one now!

As a kid I didn’t know what “basal” meant, and I guess I still don’t. Tied up? The Grimace tied up? The Grimace and his friends tied up for some BDSM shit? Isn’t “thrull” that industrial pink slime McNuggets are made of? Also, please note that Mr. Foglio signs all of his card art real big and proud, so when his Mom magnets this sucker to the fridge for all to see, people will know what the score is.

For comparison, here are two variants of the same card:

Although the BDSM Grimace concept seems to be repeated here, I think I’ve made my point. Growing up, I would always marvel at Phil’s cards like one might at a puffin chosen to throw out the first pitch of the World Series. They’re clearly not suited to the task at hand, but it’s adorable that they’re giving it a shot. Speaking of the task at hand and giving it a shot, let’s get to the porno. Mana is far from the only thing being tapped today, my incel friends.

Because if you thought Phil’s art was out of place on a Magic card, you’re going to love the stuff he drew that he thinks will make you orgasm. For example:

That is a pretty cute drawing of an alien explaining how each of his two belly-button penises has a separate function (if you count the one that expels his breeding scent, natch). That image is just one of hundreds from Foglio’s multipart comix series, XXXenophile, which I found just sitting there on my Dad’s bookshelf like it wouldn’t warp my perception of what’s erotic for the rest of my life. Did I cum to this image when I was fourteen? Who’s to say? Whom amongst us can recall? What I remember most is the friends I made along the way, chiefly my penis.

The concept underpinning this Foglio folio of imbroglio is that every short story features human people boning or being boned by something…”other.” Rather than being xenophobic, we’re going the other way, get it? It’s a pretty simple premise for stringing together a bunch of fuck comix, and one that dead-ends at having sex with a dog just as quickly as you might imagine.

He’s just…so ANGRY. Let’s not clutch our pearl necklaces here, though, folks, especially because in this instance they are probably made of cum. If you’ll notice, the dog fucking this woman can talk and also loves her. Does that make it okay to draw and publish and buy and leave out for your pubescent son to find? Allow me to answer that question with a man fucking a centaur which turns him into a centaur so he can fuck again but with a horse’s dick. I think the kids call “reverse cowgirl.”

You can tell they really love each other because they’re both willing to lie during sex, see. The guy pretends he likes the feel of his girlfriend’s voluminous horse-vagina by mustering an enthusiastic “Yeah! It feels–different, but good! Yeah, good!” Then after they reverse roles, she politely pretends his massive dong isn’t tearing apart her insides with a hearty “AAaaaaHH!!!”

Other XXXenophilic interludes that will be rattling around my brain until the day I die include someone fucking a broom, someone fucking a robot, someone fucking an incomprehensible cthulu-monster, someone fucking a bunch of tribbles from Star Trek, a robot fucking someone, and someone fucking a panther, which is kind of like the dog one again, I suppose. Not until Titane would we again see one artist so dedicated to the age-old credo: “Let’s see, what else can I fuck, what else can I fuck…?”

XXXenophile’s answer to that question is the same as Kevin Spacey’s to the question “Who is Kayser Soze?” By that I mean both that it’s clearly just based on stuff Phil Foglio saw while idly looking around his office and that it’s now widely considered a sex crime. The sheer number of sentient objects at play leaves the series wide open for a PiXXXar joke that a comedian far hackier than I can make someday should they find the time.

If you’re looking for further reason to cancel Phil, he draws all the ladies basically alike, but it’s hard to tell if that’s latent sexism at work or limited drawing ability. That said, like most old media, XXXenophile does feature some problematic stuff, most notably relying on the tired old trope of Mexicans as noseless frog-men who eat you out with their dozen wriggling tongues.

Through adult eyes, what’s honestly funniest about the series is that by Volume Four, Phil has run out of ideas to the degree that most of the stories are either repeats or about normal humans having a threesome and other such vanilla bullshit. I mean sure, even late-series XXXenophile has some innovative stuff, like these two chicks fully inhaling a double-ended dildo with their asses to impress their coach at the Analympics, who is also their father…

…but the bulk of the tales descend into mundanity. Run-of-the-mill crap like fucking a demon on the front lawn of the White House became the norm, and the series, having lost its way, was forced to wind down.

By Volume Five, wherein a bunch of dudes gangbang the shit out of Shiva, they were even printing stories with empty speech bubbles. The XXXenophiliacs themselves were now expected to write their own dialog to then read back and jerk off to, presumably. The resulting comics, like nine-year-olds playing MAD Libs but slightly less filthy, are objectively awful and should be inflicted upon nobody.

Hey, here’s one now!

So that’s the end of the article, but again, PLEASE tell your local comic shop that you demand more XXXenophile. I’m sure if we make enough noise, word will get back to Phil and we can get this seminal series back on its feet. Naturally, I’m referring to that rubber foot with the vagina on the bottom. Enjoy the refractory period between this article and my next column, a deep dive into goatse.

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