66.6% Saved: The Unholy Trilogy, Part I

66.6% Saved, Part I: My Roomate D.S. Billy Broden

Residing on the seventh floor of Madison Hall – blasting tunes and downing brews in a dreary dorm room awash in beer bottles, soiled clothes, and various items stolen from my classmates – your humble Novanator surveyed the impish nerds and stupid sluts scurrying to class from his dusty dorm window. As a lowly, serf-like freshman away at college, university rules & regulations mercilessly humiliated me with their draconian, torturous edicts, such as mandatory “diversity tolerance” classes, the horrors of public transportation (freshmen were prohibited from keeping cars on campus), and communal shitters in a hallway bathroom. But none of those quasi war crimes came even close to matching the shameful indignity of living on-campus… with a roommate.

Having a roommate means having to share – and Mr. Nova HATES sharing. Sharing sucks. Let those starving villagers in piss-poor Africa share; I know what’s mine and I’ll kick you in the nuts if you try to take it. Like my Uncle Ennis used to say, “Sharing is for communists and faggots, young Nova. Always protect your shit. Now bring me my whisky, my shotgun, and a roadmap to the Governor’s Mansion.” (Then Uncle Ennis would down a few dozen shots, smoke a joint, and spend the next seven hours trying to cook hash browns in the kitchen.) But university rules & regulations required ALL freshmen to live on campus with a roommate, so I bit the bullet and bowed in low homage to senseless regulatory conformity.

Fortunately, the roommate assigned to me was a legend in his own right: a 19-year-old cutthroat who amassed a considerable fortune pushing crack cocaine to drugged-out whores along the mean streets of Chicago, as well as hawking amateur porn tapes of his neighbors fucking to businessmen on their way home from work. He was a despicable deviant, even more perverted than Catherine the Great’s pet pony.

Scoundrel or not, the dude had the entrepreneurial spirit of a young Alphonse Gabriel Capone. In middle school, he netted a cool $200 selling the custodial staff cartoon flip-books of all the cute white teachers getting gang raped by the Harlem Globetrotters. (Curly was the ringleader.) A few years later, he cleared his first $1,000 by going door-to-door, selling fat-assed housewives a line of vibrating bicycle seats he designed with discounted Schwinn parts and $10 vibrators he ordered from an Adam & Eve catalog. By the time he sold-off his porn and narcotics enterprise to an anonymous Italian-American “business” association, he was worth close to $700,000. Attending college was his way of going legitimate… while also pursuing pleasures of the flesh.

Enter D.S. Billy Broden.

Within those hallowed halls of higher education, Broden quickly achieved widespread notoriety for taking pictures of his drunken conquests as he smacked their passed-out faces with his eight-inch cock. Somehow these pictures would find their way onto campus bulletin boards at random times during the week, thus starting a myth amongst students of the mysterious man known only as “The Dick Slapper” – D.S. for short.

(My Novanites must keep in mind that Broden’s reign on testicular terror coincided with those Dark Days of the early-to-mid 1990s – that unfortunate epoch just prior to the Internet boom and Bill Clinton’s popularization of the casual blowjob. As such, mass pornographic picture-sharing necessitated the physical postings of smutty photographs at key public places. And getting your dick sucked actually required a modicum of effort. You kids of today have NO IDEA how fortunate you truly are. Thanks to sperm-tossing trailblazers like the pervs behind Internet porn, D.S. Billy Broden, President Clinton, and your humble Novanator, today’s coeds suck cock like the cum contains the cure for crabs, or something – and porn is ridiculously plentiful online, catering to every conceivable fetish and bestial orientation. You kids OWE us; we braved the sexual wilderness with nothing but a boner and a dream – and together, we made this world a far better place. But where is OUR parade, I ask? Where is OUR statue? Where is OUR Clint Eastwood movie? You bunch of ungrateful fuckers... But I digress.)

The fact that D.S. was roomies with the infamous Mr. Nova made Madison Hall the most diabolically decadent den of debutante debauchery in school history. Not only was your Novanator orgasmitizing young coeds with his Hummingbird Technique, but D.S was always on hand to film the fuck-fests with any one of his four video cameras.

School administrators lacked the evidence necessary to expel D.S. or myself. Sure, they undoubtedly knew we were both lowlife hoodlums, but the university pencil-pushers and campus crusaders had more crucial matters to deal with; drinking and violence was at an all time high that year, and militant feminist groups were constantly filling time-consuming complaints about silly shit, like the objectification of cheerleaders, or exclusion of fat chicks from the dance team. This – coupled with the fact that our grades were surprisingly excellent – left D.S. and I alone to pull off one of the stunts that I am most proud of…

…Namely, infiltrating a Bible study group.

Now, my Novanites understand that God and I don’t get along. I don’t like Him, and He doesn’t like me. We’ve argued, fought, and even compromised in the past, but we’ve pretty much given up on each other. I wasn’t there for God when His kid was getting nailed to the cross for being a smartass to the Romans, and He wasn’t there for me when that shemale put a roofie in my pitcher of Guinness and played shuffleboard with my fudge-factory (never ask me about this). Basically, my attitude is that God can do His thing… and meanwhile, I’ll be over here, drinking beer and fucking your girlfriend.

So why would your Novanator choose to join a Bible discussion group?

To get laid and fuck shit up, of course!

Christianity attracts feeble-minded dolts like the Goth movement attracts pampered suburbanite losers. For whatever reason, Christianity captures the attention of those striving sooooo hard to be good, moral boys and girls – but also those who keep an angry sinner trapped inside of them – and in most cases, a LOT of pent-up sexual frustration.

Hey, maybe those bitches feel bad because they sorely want to spank their beavers – and those hypocritical Christian ministers tell them that masturbation makes Baby Jesus lose control of his bowels, or something. So they pray in church to atone for their sins, but can’t quite shake the perfectly natural desire to get royally FUCKED by a guy who swings a big, throbbing, purple-headed stain-stick. And eventually, they all succumb to pelvic temptation. A Christian girl is a sexual time bomb… and if you’re fortunate enough to be in close proximity when her pussy explodes, you’re in for a religious experience. Cum all ye faithful, indeed.

When will those morally-meddlesome Christian activists realize that NATURE knows best? Embedded within our DNA is a specific genetic code that, when heeded, guides us all to happiness and fulfillment – so if masturbation feels good, then go ahead and do it. I’ll give you kids a quick example about nature knowing best: if you ask most guys what their ideal woman looks like, they’ll probably say she’s a 20-something, curvy, long-haired chick with nice big tits. My Novanites, that’s Mother Nature at work! Your sexual impulses are guided by evolution! Think about it: a young woman in her 20s is ideal for producing babies; shapely hips means she can rear children; long hair indicates good health; and nice big tits is linked to breastfeeding… as well as keeping Pops happy.

(Interestingly, a minority of guys are actually attracted to small tits. It’s true! If you visit enough porn websites – and I’m talking about the ones that categorize their deviant smut into various lists – you’ll notice that just about all of them have a category for Tiny Tits, Small Tits, or Flat-Chests. So basically, dudes who dig small tits are essentially saying in evolutionary terms: “Gee, I sure would like to find a babe who is young and healthy enough to bear me some children… and then won’t feed ‘em.” I’m guessing that guys who’re attracted to tiny tits are scared of having fat kids. But hey, that’s just a theory of mine. Another theory of mine is that the only men who dig transsexual porn are guys who secretly are gay – but for religious reasons, deny this fact by beating their bishops to dudes who sort of look like chicks.)

Yup. That’s the Christian mindset for you.

True Nova Factoid: I once talked a dopey Christian coed into doing anal by explaining to her that when Jesus said “turn the other cheek,” he was talking about grabbing the ankles and stabbing the puckered starfish. That was one stupid broad. She also made crappy sandwiches. I don’t know why, but ultra-religious Christian women tend to be lousy cooks. A good many of them also have nappy bushes. Just going by personal experience, ultra-religious Christians and leftwing environmentalists have more pubic hair per square inch than any other demographic.

Back to our story: Broden and I left our dorm room to grab some nachos from a nearby 7-11, a task which necessitated walking by the dorm’s lobby. D.S. spied a bright colored flyer on the bulletin board and ripped it down. The flyer said:

BIBLE STUDY GROUP
8:00 p.m. Wednesday Nights
Lounge 3 on the 5th Floor
Come learn about the wonderful teachings of Christ
Free delicious doughnuts
See Brian in Rm. 577 for more details

Upon returning to our dorm room, D.S. said to me, in between mouthfuls of tortilla chips and gobs of 7-11’s mucus-colored quasi-cheese, “Mr. Nova, I think this Bible study stuff might be an untapped resource for us.”

I was busy downing a beer bong and couldn’t reply.

“Think of all the primo pussy attending these meetings! Imagine little Christian sex bunnies trying to do what’s right, but they’re constantly surrounded by the immense pressures of college! They gotta get good grades to justify Daddy paying their way through school, but it’s damn hard to study 24 hours a day without a little sexual release. Besides, this college is on a partying rampage! How the hell are these ladies supposed to unwind after a brutal school week without some recreational sex? I’m tellin’ you, these goodie-goodie Christians just need a slight nudge towards evil – so I can unleash my unbridled Dick Slapper power all over their innocent faces! Bwahaha ha ha!”

D.S. was on to something. After I drained the beer bong dry (64 ounces all at once, baby!), I stumbled back to my chair, emitted a belch that sounded eerily like Lemmy Kilmiser of Motörhead, and softly chuckled.

“Christians are stupid!” I remarked, totally ignoring his “Dick Slapper” comment. I didn’t condone his activities, nor did I chide him for it. I preferred to leave my “Friends with Benefits” happy after I fucked them. I didn’t resort to smacking their faces with my Nova-jang, although I did ask the little cuties to make me a sandwich before they left. And doing stuff to passed-out chicks was NEVER my bag. That’s why I honestly can’t comprehend the sexual appeal of that “date rape” drug, in which guys drop a few pills in a girl’s drink, she passes out cold, and the dude proceeds to strip her and fuck her. What’s THAT all about? I mean, the great thing about sex is making the bitch moan and squeal: “Ooh, Big Daddy Nova! Ride me like I’m Seabiscuit! Oh, OH! OHHH!!! Give me my carrot, Daddy!” Yeah, my Novanites! Now THAT’S hot! In stark contrast, who in the world wants to bang a babe who lies completely still and motionless? There’s enough time for that shit after your married. But I digress.

“Yes, Mr. Nova!” D.S. evilly laughed. “Christian women are the most susceptible, easily manipulated people on the planet! If only I had known this when I was still selling amateur porn, I could’ve done a whole series on Catholic nuns being sodomized by big black dudes dressed as demons! Niggers and Nuns: Hip-Hop in the Habit, I’d call it! Shit, I woulda made a mint!”

He paused. Then it hit him:

“We should join that Bible study group!” Broden exclaimed.

D.S. was way too into the concept of defiling drunken coeds. And I never completely understood why he loved watching porn that showcased well-hung black guys banging out little white chicks. None of this was my Nova-Style. Instead, your Novanator just wanted to drink, fuck a few hotties, and generally be left alone. But I was intrigued by this idea. For some reason, I was up for infiltrating the group and seeing if I could nail some sweet Christian snatch to the Nova-cross. The allure of devouring a few juicy morsels of forbidden fruit cannot be understated.

“Let’s do it!”

D.S. and I celebrated our decision by downing a few more beers and cranking some good old fashion heavy metal and gangsta jams on our massive stereo system. The nerds down the hall were furious, ‘cause our tunes rendered it impossible for them to enjoy their Monty Python film festival. When they banged on the walls to complain, D.S. nonchalantly barged into their dorm room, whipped out his crank, and pissed all over their beanbag. That’s just the kind of guy he was.

The very next Wednesday, D.S. and Lord Nova showed up at Lounge Three on the fifth Floor, ready to unleash Hell… and grab a few delicious doughnuts.

END OF PART ONE