There I stood, face to face with my arch-nemesis: The Grim Reaper. She was looking tasty, too. I could see her nipples poking through her peek-a-boo mesh shirt overtop her traditional black robe. It was the first (and last) time I ever got a hard-on while thinking about death. (Well, there was also the time I got half-a-stiffy thinking about the coroner who discovered the nude body of Marilyn Monroe – and wondered what might’ve happened if her body was still somewhat warm. Hey, I’ll admit it: I would’ve fucked Marilyn’s corpse. Pussy is pussy.)
“Well, Nova, we meet again,” Lady Death gloated, advancing towards me.
“Stay away from me, you demonic bitch!” I shouted. “I am really pissed off tonight, so don’t test me! There’s no nacho bar here! There aren’t even any sandwiches!” I had to admit, the adrenaline was really coursing through my veins. For a split second, I contemplated battling her in hand-to-hand combat. I could punch her in the tits, yank that black hood completely over her head, and tell everyone at the bar that she fucked a black guy, thus getting her lynched… but then I realized that it would be a valiant yet futile attempt to defeat the undefeatable. There was no way your Novanator, trapped in this mushy, mortal flesh could best a deity in a physical confrontation. No, I had to use my mind once again – and rely on the wisdom gleamed from the greater Novaverse.
“Nova, you escaped me last time. I was not pleased. The Dark Powers with dominion over all forms of existence – the unseen Masters since time immemorial – demand your destruction. I’ve seen your name etched in the Book of the Damned; your fate is sealed and your demise is inevitable. Yet I’m prepared to offer you a momentary reprieve… because I need your assistance.”
I was incredulous. Stuck in this backwoods shithole, surrounded by whores, white trash, and smelly fucks – forced to listen to goofy hillbilly music no less – I was being asked by the Grim Reaper herself for help!
My first reaction was to laugh like a loon: “Bwahahaha!! Lick my scrotum for a few hours, cum-breath, and I’ll consider helping you! Grimmy, have you FORGOTTEN how many times you’ve conspired against the Big Novowski, nearly costing me my life? How about the time I nearly burnt to death when I got high and tried to microwave a can of tortilla chips, the microwave shorted, and my house went up in flames? Or the time that Nazi dyke discovered I had banged her girlfriend, and nearly bludgeoned me to death with her copy of Mein Kampf? Or the time in Iran when I told that crazy imam-guy that Allah is a pussy? And now you want my HELP?! As Popeye said to Brutus: ‘Go fuck yourself, bitch!’”
“Don’t dismiss me, Nova. I could destroy you at any moment.” She was getting all hot and bothered – and those nipples of hers were sticking out like baby carrots. She wore the frustrated expression of a girl whose loins cried for a good, hard fucking… but alas, her boyfriend mixed Vicodin with Jim Beam and couldn’t get a boner. I better tread carefully.
She continued: “I’m not asking for your assistance by appealing to your sense of charity. Obviously, that would be foolish of me. What I propose is a trade – your life, in exchange for your help.”
“Give me a minute,” I chortled, smirking at my now-humbled nemesis. “I want to enjoy this.”
The Hazard County locals eyed me and the Grim Reaper with those hateful looks again. Peanut dust floated throughout the bar. And Stinky was making his way up the dance floor steps when he first caught sight of my buxom enemy.
“Who the fuck be this bitch, Mr. Nova? She looks nice!” He stared at her ass. “Hoo-wee, round and bouncy – just like that famous lady on TV, the Fabulous Moolah. Remember her? She wrestled that rooster at the county fair last year.” Stinky was butt-wasted. He had no idea he was gazing at the Dealer of Death. He also had no idea that his newfound girlfriend was going down on a three-toothed cowboy behind the register, in exchange for a line of blow.
I was recovering from my laugh attack. “Stinky, no, don’t go near her, dude. Seriously.”
Stinky staggered right up next to the Grim Reaper. The temperature of the air immediately plummeted by about 20 degrees.
“Whoa, frigid are ya? Let’s see if ol’ Stinky can warms you up!” The smelly moron draped his arm over Death’s shoulder and gleefully squeezed her left tit like he was palming an undersized basketball.
Now, I warned the dumb bastard to stay away – but I guess he thought that the Grim Reaper wanted to diddle his flesh-colored crayon, or something. Bad idea. The Reaper responded in character, instantly firing a jolt of her Death Rattle. Stinky dropped to the ground like a drunken freshman; his beard sizzled and smoke poured from his hair. Good thing he was stoned… or else he just might’ve felt it. As it was, Stinky was too drunk to realize he was knocking on Death’s door (via Death’s breast). A sober man would’ve surely been killed.
“Dammit!” Stinky cried from the ground. He stared up at the Reaper and glowered. “That totally killed my buzz, you stupid cunt! Plus I pissed my pants! Again! Shucks, I gotta find me a radiator to dry-out my BVDs!” Stinky started to unzip his pants.
“I will KILL YOU if you do not leave my sight, you insolent pile of wasted atoms!” roared the Reaper at my smelly friend. “Re-zip your pants THIS INSTANCE or face the unfettered wrath of She-Death!”
Stinky dropped his shorts to his ankles and scratched his lice-infested hair. “So… you’s gots a sister?”
I suddenly realized the severity of the situation; this bitch was messing with my friend. MY friend. The word “my” denotes a form of ownership. In other words, she was fucking with my shit. And despite the fact I was going to ditch Stinky from the inner Nova-circle after tonight, she had no right to threaten death upon the Stinkster. (Ok, maybe she did have some rights, being the Grim Reaper and all that. But I suppose it really didn’t matter who the fuck she was; all I wanted was to escape from this situation and move on with my life. And find some fucking nachos.)
“Stinky, go warm up the Nova-wagon. You can tie your shorts to the antennae and they’ll dry out by the time we make it home.” I threw him the keys. This was a first for the Novanator; I had never let ANYONE hop behind the wheel of my sacred machine. Even on those nights when I’d get mad at my liver and drink myself under the table, I always slept it off, refusing to let anyone else drive me home. Of course, Stinky failed to comprehend the magnitude of this great sacrifice. He stared at my car keys in a mindless stupor and stumbled towards the exit.
Meanwhile, the Reaper and I sat down for the strangest conversation I have ever had…
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