“It’s called peyote, the Divine Cactus!” The Wagga proclaimed gleefully.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a beautiful thing, Nova-mon! A wonderful thing! Finally, after all of these years, I have discovered a drug that has yet to be exploited by my favorite hip hop groups!”
The Wagga and I were splitting a pitcher of beer and a plate of nachos at a local watering hole. I was beginning to wonder if all of the dope he had smoked in his life was starting to affect his brain. He was totally fried and spouting out facts about the desert plant like there was no tomorrow!
“Did you know peyote is indigenous to Texas and Mexico, Nova-mon? And did you know that the famous writer, Aldous Huxley, tried some of that shit? After he done finished hallucinating, he proclaimed ‘This is how one ought to see, how things really are.’ He even wrote a book called The Doors of Perception. I read part of it, but had to use the pages when I ran out of papers to roll my chronic."
I was incredulous. How the fuck did The Wagga (not the brightest kid in the world) know the meaning of the word “indigenous?” And more importantly, how did he become so interested in a cactus with powerful hallucinogenic properties? And how did he know how to read?
“You are one crazy Jamaican muthafucker. But why peyote when there is so much good chronic going around?”
The Wagga let out a grin.
“The sticky-icky has no doubt been good to me, but sometimes I grow tired of it. I want to seek new experiences. So I asked around at my shit-ass job if anyone knew of a drug you could take that didn’t have any comedown. One skinny Mexican told me to seek out peyote—it would enlighten me and get me really fucked up all at the same time. As for side effects, he said that when the trip was over you would feel relaxed and pure.”
“Sounds nice. But I don’t know about that ‘pure’ part; your Novanator won’t ever feel clean. My jang has been inside too many feminine orifices to ever be wholesome and pure again.” All those late nights with ditzy babes, 151, and leather whips had a price, my Novanites. “But you know, I could use something to help take some stress off of my mind.”
“You have been a little uptight these days.”
“I sense that the Grim Reaper is after me again. I feel like my time is running out.”
“Shut the fuck up, Nova-mon. You the craziest cracker I know. Anyway, the Mexican also spun a tale about banging some chic out doggystyle for 30-minutes. He told me you would know what he meant.”
Ah yes, I did know.
“Good thing I got you that job, Wagga. You can learn a lot from those undocumented fry cooks. They have knowledge most Americans will never learn, as my fellow citizens feel obligated to follow stupid laws, moral edicts, and common sense that I cannot abide. Next time you see my friend Peppi, tell him I said ¡Horrale!”
The Wagga ignored my request to send best wishes to Peppi; instead he kept going on about peyote, or as it is known botanically:LOPHOPHORA WILLIAMSII. Seems the shit has been used since 1000 B.C. and was banned by Roman Catholics when they came over to the New World and subjugated the Native Americans. Stupid fucks proclaimed that peyote is evil because they believed it was designed for the “purposes of detecting thefts, of divining other happenings and foretelling future events.” And according to the self-righteous pricks, eatingpeyote was likened to an act of cannibalism. Those fucking church people never cease to piss me off.
“So Nova-mon, will you try the sacred drug with me?” The Wagga finally asked after his ten minute lecture on how the drug must be dried before consumption, either by the sun or by being baked at 250 degrees over a few hours.
“Sure, Wagga. I’ll try it.”
I was up for anything that stuck it to the Christian Fear Doctrine, and if it meant I had to take an illegal drug and hallucinate for three days straight, so be it.
“What do with have to do?” I asked.
“We have to go to Texas. There we’ll find an Indian shaman who goes by the name He Who Passes Much Wind.”
“Texas?”
I grew quiet. The Wagga became concerned.
“What be wrong with Texas, Nova-mon? They allow black people into Texas, now, don’t they? Don’t tell me I am going have to crush some cracker into powder just to get high!” The Wagga screamed while freaking out.
“No Wagga, calm down, you silly fuck! You’ll be fine! We’ve come a long way as a country. In Texas, they’ve pretty much stopped killing brothers and dragging them behind trucks. Hell, at some bars, they’ll even let you dance with a white woman without lynching your black ass.”
He let out a sigh.
“Ok, Nova-mon, so what’s the problem?”
I didn’t want to tell him what happened in Texas that one time long ago, so I took a deep breath and made the decision to support my friend.
“Ok, let’s go to Texas.”
“Sweet, Nova-mon!” the Wagga exclaimed. “Oh, by the way, my license just got suspended. A cracker redneck cop done revoked my driving privileges just because I be black. And because I was doing figure-eights on the highway while drunk. Fucking racist cops! You have to drive, mon!”
Fucking Wagga, I thought to myself.
So it was time for a road trip. The Wagga and I packed our things and hopped in the Nova Wagon in search of peyote and a mysterious shaman—who little did we know, would open up a portal to the Novaverse…
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
One Thousand Dollars
Mr. Nova was going through a bad period a few years ago. It was at the height of my drinking and drug-use days, a real dark time for the Novanator. I was seeing this little 19-year-old redhead. All she cared about was getting high and trying to fuck with Mr. Nova's head. The dumb bitch thought she could destroy my life with her feminine wiles and sinister ways. Little did she know that Mr. Nova has no emotions or life left to destroy, just beliefs and memories. But still, tempt me she did—in a way so shocking and demented, I feel obligated to share with you what I experienced.
She had this identical twin sister. Imagine two red-haired, big-titted look-a-likes, cute as hell, sick and depraved! These young twins had a strange relationship with each other. It was like they were in love. They would hold hands while watching movies! They would even give each other little kisses. I have never seen anything like it before, my brothers. I know we have all read about things like this in magazines, heard stories from rock artists, dreamt about it in our most private fantasies…
But this was REAL! Maybe because they were twins, they figured that touching the other was no different than masturbating. I didn't understand the dynamics of their relationship. I didn't understand their mentality. All I knew was that me likes it. Me likes it a lot.
On one strange day, my girl and I were talking.
"So, your sister and you are very close."
"Yeah… would you pass the joint?"
"I noticed you two cuddled up together watching the Mary Kay and Ashley special. I thought that was sweet. "
"Yeah… we like to watch stuff together." She took a hit and zoned out. Then she came back to reality for a second. "You hungry, Mr. Nova?"
"Nah, I am fine. By the way, I saw you two kiss."
"You like that? You sick man."
She started laughing. A really strange, shriek-like laugh. She sounded like a cheetah getting castrated with a broken Coke bottle.
"You two have never… you know? Done… stuff with each other? "
"Fucked? No… but there was this one guy who offered my sister and me $1,000 to do each other in front of him. "
Suddenly she had my complete and undivided attention. A nuclear bomb could've exploded in the backyard and I wouldn't have moved from the sofa. " What happened?"
"He didn't actually have the money," she said.
"So… what if he did have the money? Would you have done it? "
"Oh, yeah! Hell yeah! My sister wanted to do it, too. I told her I would buy a strap on and fuck her better than anyone ever. And she likes to fuck, too. I would lick her shaved pussy and finger her until she came all over herself. Then I would bite her nipples and spank her and make sweet love to her over and over again. "
I sat there dumbfounded. This was some crazy inbred shit—and I loved it! It must be illegal as well… but y'know, when you're smoking dope on a Thursday afternoon, you really don't care about the law. I just couldn't believe she was being so matter-of-fact about fucking her sister! It was like, " I enjoy long walks on the beach, playing with puppies, opening my presents on Christmas morning, and incestuous lesbian relationships with my twin. Please pass the mashed potatoes. "
I tried to play it cool. "Well, why not do it for free—if you love her so much?"
"Oh, it would be a one time only thing. I figure if money was involved it would make it even better. But we won't do it for less than One Thousand Dollars. A girl must have her standards, Mr. Nova." Say what? Standards?! A whore is a whore. Fucking for money is fucking for money. But of course, I kept this to myself… no need to ruin our relationship by being honest. Honesty and relationships go together like fire and gasoline—one destroys the other.
The next day I went through my bank accounts. I didn't have anywhere close to $1,000… so I had to be creative. Over the next two weeks, I cashed in my government bonds and sold off some expensive items I had shoplifted over the past few years. I stole my brother's TV and sold it on eBay. I even asked for an advance from the editors at www.LastStory.com.
"Fuck off, Mr. Nova! You know we can't give you company money to spend on prostitution!" my editor said. I tried to argue with him that the money was for a column—and I'd let him watch. But the stupid prude wouldn't budge. The bastard.
At the end of two weeks I manage to borrow, steal, swipe, swindle, and leverage together one thousand dollars.
"Ok, I have it!" I told my 19-year-old redheaded girlfriend.
She was stoned. "What do you have? Chocolate? Chocolate is like, cool and stuff."
"The $1,000! Don't you remember what we talked about a few weeks ago? How you'd let me watch you fuck your sister for $1,000? "
"Oh, well my sister just got engaged a couple of days ago. I don't think she can do it anymore."
I sat there with a blank look in my eyes.
She smiled. "I am sorry… I wanted it to happen more than you did, Mr. Nova. Hee, hee! That would've been pretty cool. Ha, ha. Do you have any more pot? "
I broke up with her and went home. I never talked to her again. Last I heard she was in rehab after a bout with some bad PCP. I don't know what happened to her sister. Crazy bitches. They left me hanging on what could have been the best Mr. Nova story ever…
…Unless I can find me some triplets.
She had this identical twin sister. Imagine two red-haired, big-titted look-a-likes, cute as hell, sick and depraved! These young twins had a strange relationship with each other. It was like they were in love. They would hold hands while watching movies! They would even give each other little kisses. I have never seen anything like it before, my brothers. I know we have all read about things like this in magazines, heard stories from rock artists, dreamt about it in our most private fantasies…
But this was REAL! Maybe because they were twins, they figured that touching the other was no different than masturbating. I didn't understand the dynamics of their relationship. I didn't understand their mentality. All I knew was that me likes it. Me likes it a lot.
On one strange day, my girl and I were talking.
"So, your sister and you are very close."
"Yeah… would you pass the joint?"
"I noticed you two cuddled up together watching the Mary Kay and Ashley special. I thought that was sweet. "
"Yeah… we like to watch stuff together." She took a hit and zoned out. Then she came back to reality for a second. "You hungry, Mr. Nova?"
"Nah, I am fine. By the way, I saw you two kiss."
"You like that? You sick man."
She started laughing. A really strange, shriek-like laugh. She sounded like a cheetah getting castrated with a broken Coke bottle.
"You two have never… you know? Done… stuff with each other? "
"Fucked? No… but there was this one guy who offered my sister and me $1,000 to do each other in front of him. "
Suddenly she had my complete and undivided attention. A nuclear bomb could've exploded in the backyard and I wouldn't have moved from the sofa. " What happened?"
"He didn't actually have the money," she said.
"So… what if he did have the money? Would you have done it? "
"Oh, yeah! Hell yeah! My sister wanted to do it, too. I told her I would buy a strap on and fuck her better than anyone ever. And she likes to fuck, too. I would lick her shaved pussy and finger her until she came all over herself. Then I would bite her nipples and spank her and make sweet love to her over and over again. "
I sat there dumbfounded. This was some crazy inbred shit—and I loved it! It must be illegal as well… but y'know, when you're smoking dope on a Thursday afternoon, you really don't care about the law. I just couldn't believe she was being so matter-of-fact about fucking her sister! It was like, " I enjoy long walks on the beach, playing with puppies, opening my presents on Christmas morning, and incestuous lesbian relationships with my twin. Please pass the mashed potatoes. "
I tried to play it cool. "Well, why not do it for free—if you love her so much?"
"Oh, it would be a one time only thing. I figure if money was involved it would make it even better. But we won't do it for less than One Thousand Dollars. A girl must have her standards, Mr. Nova." Say what? Standards?! A whore is a whore. Fucking for money is fucking for money. But of course, I kept this to myself… no need to ruin our relationship by being honest. Honesty and relationships go together like fire and gasoline—one destroys the other.
The next day I went through my bank accounts. I didn't have anywhere close to $1,000… so I had to be creative. Over the next two weeks, I cashed in my government bonds and sold off some expensive items I had shoplifted over the past few years. I stole my brother's TV and sold it on eBay. I even asked for an advance from the editors at www.LastStory.com.
"Fuck off, Mr. Nova! You know we can't give you company money to spend on prostitution!" my editor said. I tried to argue with him that the money was for a column—and I'd let him watch. But the stupid prude wouldn't budge. The bastard.
At the end of two weeks I manage to borrow, steal, swipe, swindle, and leverage together one thousand dollars.
"Ok, I have it!" I told my 19-year-old redheaded girlfriend.
She was stoned. "What do you have? Chocolate? Chocolate is like, cool and stuff."
"The $1,000! Don't you remember what we talked about a few weeks ago? How you'd let me watch you fuck your sister for $1,000? "
"Oh, well my sister just got engaged a couple of days ago. I don't think she can do it anymore."
I sat there with a blank look in my eyes.
She smiled. "I am sorry… I wanted it to happen more than you did, Mr. Nova. Hee, hee! That would've been pretty cool. Ha, ha. Do you have any more pot? "
I broke up with her and went home. I never talked to her again. Last I heard she was in rehab after a bout with some bad PCP. I don't know what happened to her sister. Crazy bitches. They left me hanging on what could have been the best Mr. Nova story ever…
…Unless I can find me some triplets.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
$45: A Mr. Nova Adventure
Mr. Nova won’t pay for sex. It is not in his nature. I tried to do it (once) when I was 17. In fact, I actually handed over $100 to a prostitute in Atlantic City who looked good—but smelled like a strange combination of feces and sperm. But I couldn’t get Little Nova up for the dirty whore. My wanker doesn’t like the fact that I have to give up hard earned money for a piece of low-quality ass. Hell, with my ego, I believe these sluts should be paying me!
That being said, I have a tale to tell involving the crazy world of prostitution. I was hanging out with a coworker one chilly night (sorry, no one from Laststory.com), drinking beer, shooting pool, and scouting out potential Friends With Benefits. But it was one of those nights where I was more in love with alcohol than with getting laid. So I dropped my “attack strategy” and went straight for the booze. You guys know what I’m talking about—getting blown in the bathroom of a nightclub is always fun, but sometimes a fella just wants to binge-drink himself into oblivion. But unlike me, my coworker was all about getting some pussy that night…
“It’s been 5 months since I had some snatch, Mr. Nova! What do I do?”
“How bad do you need to get it?” I asked. Of course, I asked him this question from a distance; I was afraid he might start humping my leg if he got too close.
“My balls are so swelled up I can feel them pulsating in my boxer shorts! I got a Woodrow just looking at that chubby girl bending over to pick up her purse. I want to go in the bathroom and whack-off! I gotta relieve the pain!”
“That is gross, dude. We gotta get you laid.”
I took it upon myself to help this unfortunate soul out. Five months is a long time. Hell, Mr. Nova gets cranky after five days. I made it my mission to pass some of my power onto him.
It didn’t work out so well. I tried to reason with him.
“Now, don’t expect to get laid tonight. We might be able to find a real slut, but most likely we will have to settle for some backstage Betties for later use. You know what I mean? We’ll lay down the groundwork tonight and maybe you can get some nookie next weekend.”
“Fuck that,” my co-worker said with determination. “I need some pussy tonight!”
“The bitches will sense your desperation. You must show patience, young Skywalker.”
I felt like Obi-Wan telling Luke not to go off to Bespin to save Han and Leia. But the muthafucker wouldn’t listen. The Force inside him was pushing him to the dark side. And by dark, I don’t mean ass.
He tried to bag several girls. He offered drinks and favors. He talked up his skills as a gourmet chef. He promised the world. But it didn’t work out. The girls accepted the free drinks and then blew him off.
We went from club to bar, from rave to strip joint. Nothing worked. He was finally drunk and disillusioned enough to quit. We hopped into my piece of shit Nova-mobile so I could drop him off at his apartment. On the way back he saw a prostitute working her corner, sticking out her tits at the other cars and scratching her skanky ass.
“Stop!” he shouted, suddenly coming alive. “Pull over!”
Like a Mexican crossing the border, he bolted out of my car and sprinted over to the whore. A minute later they were both coming back to my vehicle. They hopped in the back. She had her hand on his thigh the moment they settled in.
“Mr. Nova, we gotta go to this nice girl’s apartment.”
I asked where she lived and she gave me the directions. She was alright looking, except for the nasty scar on her cheek. Probably from a former pimp.
We got to her apartment building. It was a seedy section of town. We went upstairs to the 4th floor. Her place was a fucking mess. He paid her the money upfront. She seemed happy to get some loot.
“Mr. Nova, do you mind waiting for a little while?” my coworker begged.
“Nah, I’ll just watch some TV. Go bust a nut, slugger.”
I had to sit there for ten minutes, listening to her scream as my coworker let out five months of aggression. I could hear a few things the prostitute was screaming.
“No, not there! I am too stretched out for that! Just fuck me you bastard! That’s right! Shit, let me get another condom!”
He just kept yelling at her: “Take it! C’mon and take it you dirty slizz!” I’ll be honest—I don’t know what a “slizz” is. I just know that if anyone calls my Mom a slizz, I’ll beat their ass.
After he was done he came out of the room with a big goofy grin. “Sorry, Mr. Nova. She is too tired to fuck you.”
“It’s alright. It really is.” Hey, I didn’t even want to fuck her. It’s not Nova’s style to bat cleanup after one of his boys. Either I perform first or not at all.
On the way home I asked him how much he paid to fuck her.
“$45!” he replied, laughing like a James Bond villain. “What a cheap bitch! Good fuck, too. Damn I needed that!”
The next day my coworker told everyone at the store what he had done the night before. He felt relieved to get over the five month dry spell. I thought he was crazy for being so proud, but when I thought about it, I saw the logic behind the insanity. When you think about how much you would spend on a date… $45 would barely cover drinks and appetizers, let alone a movie and a full-course dinner. Plus, there would be a chance you wouldn’t even get laid! $45 bought my coworker his dignity—without having to deal with the emotions, commitment, or any other crap like that. It may not be the Nova-way to regain pride, but for some it works.
Just wear a fucking condom, you sick bastards! You don’t know where those whores have been!
That being said, I have a tale to tell involving the crazy world of prostitution. I was hanging out with a coworker one chilly night (sorry, no one from Laststory.com), drinking beer, shooting pool, and scouting out potential Friends With Benefits. But it was one of those nights where I was more in love with alcohol than with getting laid. So I dropped my “attack strategy” and went straight for the booze. You guys know what I’m talking about—getting blown in the bathroom of a nightclub is always fun, but sometimes a fella just wants to binge-drink himself into oblivion. But unlike me, my coworker was all about getting some pussy that night…
“It’s been 5 months since I had some snatch, Mr. Nova! What do I do?”
“How bad do you need to get it?” I asked. Of course, I asked him this question from a distance; I was afraid he might start humping my leg if he got too close.
“My balls are so swelled up I can feel them pulsating in my boxer shorts! I got a Woodrow just looking at that chubby girl bending over to pick up her purse. I want to go in the bathroom and whack-off! I gotta relieve the pain!”
“That is gross, dude. We gotta get you laid.”
I took it upon myself to help this unfortunate soul out. Five months is a long time. Hell, Mr. Nova gets cranky after five days. I made it my mission to pass some of my power onto him.
It didn’t work out so well. I tried to reason with him.
“Now, don’t expect to get laid tonight. We might be able to find a real slut, but most likely we will have to settle for some backstage Betties for later use. You know what I mean? We’ll lay down the groundwork tonight and maybe you can get some nookie next weekend.”
“Fuck that,” my co-worker said with determination. “I need some pussy tonight!”
“The bitches will sense your desperation. You must show patience, young Skywalker.”
I felt like Obi-Wan telling Luke not to go off to Bespin to save Han and Leia. But the muthafucker wouldn’t listen. The Force inside him was pushing him to the dark side. And by dark, I don’t mean ass.
He tried to bag several girls. He offered drinks and favors. He talked up his skills as a gourmet chef. He promised the world. But it didn’t work out. The girls accepted the free drinks and then blew him off.
We went from club to bar, from rave to strip joint. Nothing worked. He was finally drunk and disillusioned enough to quit. We hopped into my piece of shit Nova-mobile so I could drop him off at his apartment. On the way back he saw a prostitute working her corner, sticking out her tits at the other cars and scratching her skanky ass.
“Stop!” he shouted, suddenly coming alive. “Pull over!”
Like a Mexican crossing the border, he bolted out of my car and sprinted over to the whore. A minute later they were both coming back to my vehicle. They hopped in the back. She had her hand on his thigh the moment they settled in.
“Mr. Nova, we gotta go to this nice girl’s apartment.”
I asked where she lived and she gave me the directions. She was alright looking, except for the nasty scar on her cheek. Probably from a former pimp.
We got to her apartment building. It was a seedy section of town. We went upstairs to the 4th floor. Her place was a fucking mess. He paid her the money upfront. She seemed happy to get some loot.
“Mr. Nova, do you mind waiting for a little while?” my coworker begged.
“Nah, I’ll just watch some TV. Go bust a nut, slugger.”
I had to sit there for ten minutes, listening to her scream as my coworker let out five months of aggression. I could hear a few things the prostitute was screaming.
“No, not there! I am too stretched out for that! Just fuck me you bastard! That’s right! Shit, let me get another condom!”
He just kept yelling at her: “Take it! C’mon and take it you dirty slizz!” I’ll be honest—I don’t know what a “slizz” is. I just know that if anyone calls my Mom a slizz, I’ll beat their ass.
After he was done he came out of the room with a big goofy grin. “Sorry, Mr. Nova. She is too tired to fuck you.”
“It’s alright. It really is.” Hey, I didn’t even want to fuck her. It’s not Nova’s style to bat cleanup after one of his boys. Either I perform first or not at all.
On the way home I asked him how much he paid to fuck her.
“$45!” he replied, laughing like a James Bond villain. “What a cheap bitch! Good fuck, too. Damn I needed that!”
The next day my coworker told everyone at the store what he had done the night before. He felt relieved to get over the five month dry spell. I thought he was crazy for being so proud, but when I thought about it, I saw the logic behind the insanity. When you think about how much you would spend on a date… $45 would barely cover drinks and appetizers, let alone a movie and a full-course dinner. Plus, there would be a chance you wouldn’t even get laid! $45 bought my coworker his dignity—without having to deal with the emotions, commitment, or any other crap like that. It may not be the Nova-way to regain pride, but for some it works.
Just wear a fucking condom, you sick bastards! You don’t know where those whores have been!
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