66.6% Saved, Part III: Vengeance Is Mine, Sayeth the Nova
Just like the pre-prom hymen of a teenage cheerleader, we knew our Bible adventure would soon be busted. Our next class would probably be our last. Hey, at least we got one piece of quality poon and ruffled a few ecclesiastical feathers; at a bare minimum, my prayers were answered. Hell, we weren’t even going to return until we got bored at 7:45 pm that next Wednesday.
I was disemboweling Sonya Blade and prank-calling my professors while D.S. rifled through his Polaroid collection. You know what they say about idle hands…
“Let’s go back to that Bible study group!” D.S. exclaimed. “Maybe we can bang that big-tittie brunette! You know – the one with the average face and the blimp-sized udders!”
“Fuck yeah,” I concurred. Hey, why not? It’s not like God would punish us, right?
So we showed up at 7:55, ready for some fun-loving blasphemy. But not unlike St. Peter guarding those Pearly Gates, Brian stood within Lounge Three, on the lookout for Team Slappy. (And incidentally, WHO stationed St. Peter at the Pearly Gates anyway? For fuck’s sake, those douche-faced Muslim jackoffs blow themselves up on a school bus – killing 30 innocent little kids – and they’re rewarded with 72 virgins? But Christ’s right-hand man is forced to spend all of eternity working as a fucking doorman?! No pussy at all?! What a rip-off! But I guess the Lord works in mysterious ways.)
“What’s up, fellow Christian?” D.S. chortled, offering Brian a high-five. The Bible Boy left him hanging, however.
“I need to speak with Mr. Nova,” Brian huffily retorted, as he pulled me aside.
“Uh… Ok. May Christ be with you,” D.S. said. When Brian walked away, Billy Broden strolled into the study group and immediately sat next to that so-so coed with the nice floppy tits.
“We need to talk. Now,” Brian commanded, frog-marching me down the hallway. He pointed to an open lounge and stomped his Keds, ordering the Novanator to follow him. And so I did.
“What’s this about, Brian?” I asked, mildly curious of his babble. The normal Nova-response would’ve been to punch him in the balls, steal his wallet, and head straight for the tittie bar… but this cretin was such a Bizarro version of me, I felt oddly compelled to hear the preacher’s goofy Gospel.
“You’re roommates with Mr. Billy Broden?” he demanded.
“Yeah.”
“What the gosh darn heck are you guys up to?!”
“Huh?” I feigned total ignorance – a skill I mastered in order to keep teachers, policemen, and babes with delinquent periods at arm’s length. Being perceived as a complete moron really does come in handy. And you know what else comes in handy? Masturbation. (Ha!)
“I’m quite familiar with Billy Broden’s sordid reputation, and quite frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he doesn’t even believe in God! I’ll have you know that he did despicable things to my roommate’s ex-girlfriend! Terrible things! He took his baby-maker and diddled her in the forehead! Gross! You, however, I don’t know so well, but Jesus preached that we’re judged by the company we keep, so—”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted, “I thought Jesus said ‘judge not lest ye be judged.’ So how could I be judged by the company I keep?”
Brian crumpled his face and glowered. “Don’t you DARE get smart with me, Mr. Nova! Enough’s enough! Poor Janet – she was so close to being saved and now she’s reverted to staying out late at night, consuming alcohol, and letting perverts touch her sacred feminine flower! I saw those pictures of her on the bulletin board and it disgusts me! Sick! It’s time for me to take a stand! I’m convinced that you two joined my Bible group just so you can mess with us ‘silly Christians.’ I know what you are up to, and as God is my witness, I will not tolerate it!”
“It’s not YOUR Bible group, Brain. It’s CHRIST’S Bible group. But to answer your question, no, we’re not up to anything at all.”
“No?”
“No, we both decided to join your group because we, like, totally dig Jesus. Awesome guy – we love the bastard! Certainly not to fuc— I mean, mess with silly Christians. And of course we believe in God! We both love Him AND His son, even more than we love nachos and doughnuts. Jesus is super-cool! He’s Christacular!”
“Fine. Then I have to ask you one final question before I allow you back into my— er, Christ’s Bible group. And you MUST tell me the truth, for I swear to you, Jesus himself is listening!”
“Fire away, bro. What’s your final question?” For some strange reason, Brian smelled like an unpleasant combination of chocolate milk and urine. Smelling like urine I could understand. Hell, I’ve had some drunken episodes where I’ve pissed all over myself (and all over other people). But chocolate milk? On a college campus? What the fuck is that all about?
“Are you 100% or 0% saved? Do you fully accept Jesus Christ?”
“Technically, that’s two questions. You promised me that you were only gonna ask one final question. Remember: Jesus himself is listening.”
Bible Boy Brian fumed at Darth Nova. “Answer me this instant or— or— or no more doughnuts!!”
“Alright,” I conceded. “To answer your first question… I don’t feel 100% saved, nor do I feel 0% saved. I am somewhere beyond the middle… but not quite there.”
Brian wanted to say something, but before he could—
“I am 66.6% saved,” your humble Novanator concluded.
“You can’t be!” Brian cried with self-righteous indignation. “You HAVE to either be either 100% saved or 0% saved! There is no middle ground when it comes to Christ!”
“Huh? No middle ground? There’s always middle ground!”
“You’re dead wrong, Mr. Nova! Sometimes there is no middle ground! You can’t be ‘a little’ or ‘half’ saved, just like a woman can’t have ‘a little’ or ‘half’ an abortion.” Brian was making those annoying quote marks in the air while talking to me. Seriously, this dude was heading for an ass beating of Biblical proportions.
I tried a Vulcan mind-meld with the Jesus-freak: “What if a woman is pregnant with twins? Then, couldn’t she have half an abortion? Y’know… just kill one of the kids?”
Brian shook his head furiously, trying to shake free from my sinful influence. “Stop it! Stop it! Abortion is an abomination against GOD! You have no right to make jokes about abortion!” he shrieked.
“Say, when you ask a pro-life person how old they are, how come they don’t automatically add nine-months to their birth age?” I asked. Actually, that’s a damn good question.
Saint Brian didn’t appreciate the Nova-wit. “What kind of SICK person would DARE joke about abortion?! I TOLD you to knock it off!” Brain’s nostrils flared like a woman’s clitoris amidst orgasmic delight. It was actually kind of sexy.
“I’m not making fun of abortion, you spazz. I’m just thinking out loud here. And by the way, have you ever stopped and considered what an amazingly versatile household device a coat hanger truly is?”
“What?!”
“Well, not only can it suspend clothes in mid-air, and not only can it open a locked car door – but it can also scrape away a fetus and terminate a pregnancy. Few household devices are so versatile. Plus, you can even bend a metal coat hanger into a straight line to cook some delicious s’mores! Did Jesus eat s’mores? Maybe after a long day of eating goat cheese, levitating the dead, and arguing with Judas?”
Brian narrowed his eyes and jabbed his bony finger right into my manly Nova-chest. “My suspicions about you were right!” he screamed. “You’re EVIL! You’ve rejected the blood-oath of Jesus Christ and are therefore destined for eternal damnation in the fiery bowels of HELL!”
“Oh,” I replied, “I didn’t realize you were a disciple of the Christian Fear Doctrine. I’ve been battling against that since it was formed on a hilltop 2,000 years ago.”
“Christian Fear Doctrine?”
“Yeah. C.F.D. It’s an acronym,” I explained.
Brian’s whole body trembled, like he was Muhammad Ali on a tilt-a-whirl. “You can’t be 66.6% saved, Nova. It’s not possible. And if you’re not saved, then you’re destined for Hell!”
The sheer futility of this conversation was beginning to bore the fuck out of me. I felt a little uncomfortable. And hungry. And a little gassy. I squeezed out a small fart. It sounded exactly like Minnie Mouse singing.
“Brian, have you ever stopped and considered that Hell might be fictional? Just because you read something in an old religious book, it doesn’t automatically make it true.”
“Yes it does!” Brian insisted. “The Holy Bible contains the literal, eternal word of God!”
“Dude, you gotta think this stuff through,” I reasoned. “The Bible claims that when Noah was a 600-year-old geezer living in the Middle East, he built – by hand – a big fuckin’ boat. And then he filled that boat with every single animal in all of existence, which would’ve included American buffalo, penguins, gorillas, hippos, polar bears, Wooly Mammoths, French women, bees, kangaroos, kimono dragons, head lice, skunks, rattlesnakes, termites, and pubic crabs. Do you really believe all that?”
“Yes! I believe every single word of it!”
I sighed. The big-tittie brunette with the so-so face wasn’t worth the headache. If Brian wanted to swallow this silliness, more power to him. I got up and headed for the door.
“You are one lost man, Mr. Nova!” Brian shouted after me.
“At least I know where I stand, in the middle, somewhere between the alpha and the omega. And in that middle ground I’m gonna bang out a few angels and party with a few demons. That’s what life’s all about, you soft-minded dupe.”
“You’re going to roast in Hell, Mr. Nova! Hell! HELL! And I’ll be sitting on Jesus Christ’s lap while you’re being tortured by demons! Ha, ha, ha! I’m gonna watch you BURN!”
Just like Michael Douglas in Falling Down, I freakin’ snapped. I figured, what the fuck? If I’m destined for Hell anyway, I might as well earn my ticket. I turned right around, marched straight towards Brian, and bitch-slapped his ass. I tore off his crucifix, pocketed the golden trinket, and punched him squarely in his belly. Bible-Thumping Brian immediately puked chocolate milk all over his shoes, lost control of his bladder, and pissed all over himself.
“You evil jackass! I’ll get even with you if it’s the last thing I ever do!” Brian shrieked at me, sounding like he had a piece of the original cross wedged up his sanctimonious ass.
“Shhh,” I whispered. “No name-calling. Remember: W.W.J.D.”
Of course, Brian promptly told his resident advisor about our little altercation, and I got into my first of many skirmishes with the university administrators. In fact, I was probably going to be expelled for this transgression, but Brian mysteriously dropped out of college just one day prior to my judicial hearing. I think his disappearance was somehow linked to photos of a passed-out Brian – with an unknown assailant’s shlong paddling him in the face – being posted over all the campus bulletin boards. Apparently, SOMEONE put a roofie in his chocolate milk. (It turns out that one of The Dick Slapper’s biggest fans was a certain shemale who had a VERY disturbing run-in with Lord Nova several months ago. Long Dong Debbie used to buy porn from Broden and lent him one of his / her little pills. Rape and redemption. Ain’t karma impossible to figure out?)
According to Brain’s roommate, the horrified Bible Boy packed his bags the following morning, fled the college in shame, and headed for parts unknown. After all, it’s a sin against Christ for a dude to be on the receiving end of slap-happy pecker. Nobody ever saw or heard of Brian again. Well, that’s what he gets for threatening my fucking doughnuts.
As for D.S. Billy Broden, last I heard he was serving time in a federal prison. See, a few years later he graduated from dental school, used way too much gas on his patients, and got caught filling the wrong cavities. Talk about turning the other cheek…
W.W.J.D. indeed.
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