Drunk by Noon, Part III

The Grim Reaper wore a smile that would make any man nervous – and bore a pair of tits that could spawn involuntary emissions. She held all the cards in her dainty little hands and it was now time for ME to play her game. As much as I hated the power she held, I desperately wanted to live another day.

“Mr. Nova, there is something you must do for me so that I may let your drunken transgression slide.” She walked forward, her nipples beaming through her blouse like the headlights of an old Chevy. I badly wanted to reach over and go BEEP BEEP! “You must find the biggest, fattest girl in town and fuck her before dusk.”

I stood there in shock. All my life I had prided myself on banging insanely hot women. Never ONCE did I have to go slump-busting with a biggin’. Even during my worst stretches without snatch (six, seven days at the most) I never once dreamed of slapping the thighs of a big, bloated bitch and riding in the tsunami.

“But Ms. Reaper, there must be something else I can do? Don’t YOU need pleasure? I’ll fuck you even though you are as cold as the river Styx!” I pleaded.

“Well, if you don’t want to wake up dead tomorrow, you better do what I command.” She had that shit-eating grin I hated so much. She had me cornered and she knew it.

“Alright you dirty bitch! I’ll go find her!” I walked right past her and out the door. I turned around to yell one final vilifying comment… but she was gone. She had disappeared to the Netherworld in which her true power was centered. A place I had seen in my nightmares and never wanted to fall into. A place that’s cold and dark, like an Eskimo’s pussy.

The people walking in and out of the backwater hotel (right in the middle of Bumfuck, USA) looked at me like I was a circus freak. “Fuck off, you inbred bastards!” I yelled at these slack-jawed yokels. The last thing I needed was some retard in overalls sneering derisively at ME. Hey, I might be drunk before noon, but I’m STILL Mr. Nova – International Stud and Proprietor of Premium Poontang. I’m not gonna take any shit from Wilbur the Wayward Sister-Fucker. I clenched my fist, ready to smack their crooked teeth straight.

But then I thought better of my actions. If I was going to live I would need their help in order to find the biggest woman in town. I went back inside and talked to the hotel lobby clerk. She was cute as hell. Picture a five-foot tall country bumpkin with an off-centered smile, dusty blonde hair, and a great round ass. An ass that was made for spanking! But I had to put that red apple in her britches out of my mind – and focus on my unholy mission.

“Where might I find a clothing shop in town?” I asked the hotel clerk. “I want to buy my wife something.” (My WIFE, yeah RIGHT! But this bitch was eating it up, smiling like a little schoolgirl in my presence.) “You see, it is her birthday,” I told her. “Is there a Big & Tall store around?”

She gave me directions to a place on the town’s main street. I got depressed as I drove up in the Nova-wagon to the retail outlet in the heart of Bumfuck. Not only did I have to fuck the fattest girl in town, but I had to do it while still drunk. The buzz I had was something fierce. It was a delicate balance, my faithful Novanites: Staying drunk enough to actually follow through and fuck a heifer, but not getting so drunk that I couldn’t get my little lieutenant up and at attention.

I hopped out of the car and went inside Harry’s Big and Tall Women’s Clothing Outlet. A lard-ass named Harry was behind the store desk reading a copy of Entertainment Weekly. He had long red curly hair and a beard.

I walked up and leaned up against the counter. “Dude, I gotta find the biggest chick in town or I am going to die. Who is she and how do I reach her?”

He was taken aback. He put his magazine down and stared me in the eye. This poor bastard had probably never seen a piece of snatch in his life. He was a surefire candidate for running an entertainment-based website that reviews movies with a virginal fanboy’s slant. (Harry Knowles, I’m lookin’ at you, you fuckin’ blimp – and one day soon, our end-game will commence. Dick-nose.)

“Why are you gonna die? You look healthy,” he lazily asked, his beard encrusted with various Taco Bell menu items.

“Dammit, man! There is no time!” I was like a rabid animal in search of something to bite.

“Alright,” he said reaching for a candy bar. “I’ll let you know where you can find her.”

He told me to go to the local bar, Snappy’s Beer Shack. She was there every happy hour, starting at 4:00 pm. That didn’t leave much time to seal the deal. Remember, my father said “Drunk by noon, dead by dusk.” I ran to the bar and raced through the doorway. And then I saw her: 400 pounds of beauty gulping down a 23 oz. Coors Light draft.

How was going to be able to get it up for her? I had to focus on the fact that she loved beer. That was my only chance. I hopped on the bar stool next to her and introduced myself.

“I am Mr. Nova.” I smiled and offered to buy her a draft. She accepted.
“I don’t know why you are here, but if you want some of THIS you must know I am hard to get. Plus, I am mostly a lesbian.” She then took a huge swig of the Nova-purchased beverage.

“I like girls that dive in on the muff. But what is it going to take to get some of that pale, wobbly, cellulite-addled loving?” I asked this and almost puked. But I had to sound convincing.

“A nice back massage. A bubble bath. Some tender loving care.”

She must have known I would never do those things for ANY woman. But the clock was ticking. I had to take Bouncing Big Betty back to the hotel!

“Alright!” I sighed. “Finish your fuckin’ beer and peddle your fat ass to the parking lot!”

I rushed her to my wagon. You should have heard my poor baby straining underneath all the weight. The car sputtered back to the hotel. I parked and hurried my Big-Bellied Betty upstairs.

It was 6:00 pm! Only one hour ‘till sunset. I opened the door and started her bath. I didn’t have any bubbles (being a fucking man and all) so I had to run downstairs to get some from the gift shop. When I came back up I saw she was in the tub already, 100% naked. She looked like a wet bag of marshmallows in an undersized cereal bowl.

After she was done, she went to the bed – ready for her massage. Oh my Novanites, I had to pretend I was another person. I had to leave my body and look at it from above, much like the Indians do on peyote trips. I did my best to make her happy. Finally – with just ten minutes left until dusk – she said I could fuck her.

I pulled my pants down and revealed the Nova-jang. I looked down at him. It seemed he was gazing up at me with a look that cried, “Please, Daddy, don’t make me go in there!”

“Be brave, little soldier,” I told my terrified penis. “What you are about to you do you do so for the good of the Nova-team. Don’t think of what happens now; think of the places we will be able to go later on. Think of sweet shaven snatch from all corners of this great Earth. C’mon my courageous sexual warrior! Now rise and go to battle!”

But he didn’t want to cooperate at first. Betty was getting pissed. She laid there spread-out, sort of like a dazed rhino. Then the little guy remembered that if I didn’t go through with this I would die right at dusk. So he rose to the occasion, my beloved Novanites! He rose like Jesus on the third day! He rose like Lazarus from his dead tomb! He rose like the bubbles of a nice cold beer!

I slapped her thigh and rode in the considerable wave.

I fucked her and was done in three minutes. Moments after I nutted, the black blanket of night started to cover the town of Bumfuck. I had made it.

I didn’t see the Grim Reaper after my big, beautiful girl left. (Betty seemed satisfied, by the way. I guess ALL women need some loving – even fat fugly women. And in a weird way I was glad that just this once I could help her achieve maximum pleasure. Plus, I gave her a Snickers bar on her way out, and that practically gave her multiple orgasms.) Not seeing the Mistress of Death made me happy. But it also made me more cautious. I have a mission to fulfill on this world, and being dead doesn’t help us out, my Novanites.

So let this tale be a lesson to all of you out there who want to drown your sorrows in that delicious demon-brew known as alcohol. Wait until after noon – and always keep your eyes open for signs of that bitch known as The Grim Reaper!