Why I Hate Fucking Models

A few years ago I pulled into a Denny’s parking lot late one night with a semi-famous model riding shotgun in the front seat of the Nova-wagon. I needed a few cups of coffee to sober up after a bout with a bottle of Jim Beam, and I figured the dimly lit parking lot might be a nice venue for some impromptu backseat ass-grinding. But the moment I put my beloved wagon in park, the model hopped outside, lit up a cigarette and IMMEDIATELY started yapping about her weight:

“Mr. Nova, does my butt look big? I have to do a photo shoot tomorrow and I SIMPLY MUST fit into a size two! I feel SOOOO fat. Maybe I should go barf up my dinner? That always seems to do the trick. You wanna snort some coke? Shucks, my ass is bulging out like an old tomato! I was SO naughty during lunch – I ate THREE croutons! And it wasn’t even my birthday! What do you think? Is my butt too big?”

My little model looked at me with her sweet, pretty doe-eyes. She was about 5’11” and 95 pounds soaking wet (which she was). She needed to eat something (preferably full of protein – hehehe) soon or I feared she would fade away, not unlike a fart on a windy beach. I couldn’t help but give her an honest answer:

“Too BIG?! Your butt is not big ENOUGH! I try to feed ya, but you are always complaining about your stupid diet! And I swear, if you throw up one of those sandwiches again I am going to dump your ass and fuck your sister!”

She then got this sad look and turned her skeletal-back away from me. “Why do you have to be so mean to me, Nova? First you make me dress up like a nurse to play ‘What Are You Hiding from Your Doctor?’ and now you tell me I have to eat those stupid sandwiches. I just don’t understand…”

“First of all, NEVER insult one of my sandwiches EVER again. My sandwiches RULE. Second of all, maybe if you were eating properly I’d be a lot nicer. I would call you sugar-ass and bang you out real good – but who wants to fuck a goalpost? You’re so damn skinny, your tits have vanished! From your bellybutton to your neck, you look like my little brother!”

She started to cry and I felt bad. I tried to cheer her up: “C’mon, baby, I was just venting. My PlayStation broke and I’m in a bad mood. ‘Sides, I can at LEAST call you doe-eyes and treat you to the dinner special at Denny’s. You just need to get some back cuz’ you know how much Daddy Nova loves a nice ass to smack!”

With that I spanked her on her left butt-cheek. It was so bony that there was no bouncy cushion for me to protect myself. I reeled back in horror as my hand throbbed from the impact. And the girl was such a waif that she flew 20 feet forward. A pie-eating, porkchop-looking cop inside of Denny’s saw the whole thing and arrested me for assault. You talk about a bad day – a wasted sandwich, a wounded hand, AND a night in the slammer. (Seriously – who THE FUCK is SHE to criticize one of MY sandwiches?)

All this happened because I wanted to date a model.

Why do I do it to myself, my Novanites? Why do I punish myself during my constant quest for sexual gratification? If I start fucking a model I always end up bored and desperate for a plate of Buffalo Wings with a cold, frothy beer to wash them down! There’s just something about seeing an anorexic person naked that makes a guy desperate to eat.

It is my own fault, really. I meet a model and think that it might be fun to fuck her for awhile. Maybe it is the mystique of banging out supposed premium, highly-sought-after snatch. It might even be that it is a challenge to fuck what most guys think that they can’t have (oh, if you have drugs, fellas, you can get them). More often than not, however, it is because I am trapped in a vicious cycle where I go after extremely boring but halfway-attractive women. I have hope that these vacant mental parking lots in high heels will one day surprise me with a spark of life in their glazed-over but inviting eyes.

Until then I have compiled a list of grievances with the models that have left my Nova-jang feeling cold:

1. Models are too concerned with their looks.
Alright, this is an obvious observation, but if you want to look at these whores objectively, sometimes you have to state the facts – plain and simple. Models rely too heavily on their appearance, thereby reducing their capacity to be great fucks. By only concentrating on THEMSELVES they lose the potential to satisfy another (especially when you try to have a threesome with a model and another girl).

2. Models have bony poon.
You ever try to bang out one of these model bitches? It is like trying to fuck a skeleton. No meat on the bones! No cushion for the pushin’! Nova needs his bitch to have a phat ass! How the hell am I supposed to bounce off of some chic after I use the old jang-a-bang with my wang hanging out technique?

Eat some fucking food you dirty sluts! Which leads us to…

3. Models don’t like food, which in turn means they make horrible sandwiches.

4. Models give terrible blowjobs.
If a photo shoot is happening the next day, forget about even getting a half-assed hummer, let alone a full-out suck-fest. A model will worry about lines around her mouth and possible blood vessel breaks on her tongue.

Don’t even bother, fellas. The only thing going in a model’s mouth is cigarettes, speed, and laxatives.

5. Models don’t give a shit about you when you go with them to parties.
These bitches will ditch you right away at a social event. They want to be the center of attention and won’t even feel obligated to introduce you to anyone. It is best to get drunk off your ass before you go and then hit on her friends. At least then you can get her attention… along with her scorn…

So my Students of Novanometry, let’s review:

1. Models suck… although not very well.

2. Your beloved Novanator is better off finding bitches that will worship the ground he walks on, fix some nice sandwiches and bring him beer from the fridge without complaining.

3. No matter how hot a chic looks, it is better to have a bitch with a nice ass than a pretty face. I mean, how often are you looking at a girl’s FACE anyway?

4. Giving into a model’s demands for time, money, and attention will make you less of a man.

I hope this helps you out. Next time you meet a model, beware of her intentions and always make sure you hide your wallet away.

Remember, these bitches are PAID to smile.

Gold Diggers

“First you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the women.”

—Tony Montana, Scarface

“First you tell them you have money, then you act like you have power, then you hit it – quit it – and say you wasn’t with it!”

—Mr. Nova

Mr. Nova is not the richest man in the world. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I wasn’t even born with a wooden spoon in my mouth. I started working at age 14. I have a piece of shit station wagon with 111,000 miles on it. I am not materialistic in any way, shape or form. My only hobbies are fucking beautiful women and drinking beer. Unfortunately, one of the two is much more expensive than the other. A pitcher of shitty domestic beer is only about $8. A night out with a woman can foreclose an entire bank account.

So how do I do it? How do I bag countless babes without being a movie star, a politician with a cigar, an athlete, or a rapper with a phat car?

Confidence. Just like Wolverine says: “I am the best there is at what I do.”

When women see confidence… they are DRAWN to it, like a moth to a flame, or a pyro to a Zippo. The bitches can’t help it. I’ll give you an example: Two guys walk into a bar. They’re both about the same weight and height. They’re both fairly good looking – but not male models, by any stretch of the imagination. Guy #1 shoves some drunken clod out of his way, steals a seat at the bar, yells out an order of Jack & Coke, sees a hot piece of ass fiddling with a cigarette, and suavely offers her a light.

The other guy sticks his hands in his pocket, looks at the ground, waits in line for the bartender, and asks for a strawberry daiquiri.

Now, which one of the two is gonna walk home with a woman?

You’re goddamn right.

Plus, Mr. Nova likes to lie. A LOT. And women BELIEVE him. He especially likes to lie to women known as Gold Diggers. You know these women – they’re looking for an ATM with a penis. And their vag only accepts American Express Platinum.

Well, I can play the part… even if my ATM has an “Out of Order” sign stuck to the center screen. And lest you think, “Aw! That’s not nice Mr. Nova – lying to girls like that!” you gotta remember that Gold Diggers BY DEFINITION are liars! They PRETEND to love you for who you are… but actually only care about how many digits you’ve got on your bank statement. Hey, you’ve heard of preemptive war, right? Y’know, the strategy that worked so wonderfully in Iraq? Well, this is preemptive lying. And I do this to defuse the Gold Digger’s weapons of mass testicular destruction.

These bitches think that I’m confident because I’m a hot-shot, big-time, money-making asshole. And I do nothing to correct their horrendous miscalculation. I lead them on, letting these shallow cunts believe that I’m worth more than I am. It gets them so wet when they feel that I might be their passport to a Mercedes in the garage and a beach house in San Diego. Of course, what I’m really setting this particular group of women up for is what I like to call Nova-Vengeance. I do it for all the fellas who got dicked-out of money by some money-hungry broad.

To enact revenge I like to pick a bar about thirty miles away from where I live. I dress really nice in the one suit I own. Then I get a little drunk at the bar, start playing with a $20 cigar, and begin eyeing the preening chic that’s attracted this brand of Nuevo-yuppie cocksucker. This exchange usually happens:

“Mr. Nova, I want to fuck sooooo baddddd… Let’s take your new Jaguar convertible for a spin and then head back to your beachside penthouse!”

“Ah baby… I would love to… but I have had a lot to drink and I gotta go to a meeting in the morning. I am probably going to take a cab home – and besides, I wouldn’t want to put you in danger by drivin’ drunk.”

“But I LOOOVE danger, Mr. Nova!”

“And I love that sweet ass you got, but I don’t want to put it at risk just because I’ve had a few too many. ‘Sides, one of those DUIs could cost me my rep.”

“Ok…”

“Look, I gotta seal the deal with these bastards from New York… hey, I need a little something that will give me the edge tomorrow, put me in a great mood so I can get this million dollar account. Let’s head to the bathroom and fool around.”

“But the bathroom… c’mon, I’ll drive. My apartment is right around the corner…”

“Baby, you are more wasted than I am. Let’s just go back there and you can give me a blowjob so I can remember you better… And I PROMISE, I’ll call you first thing tomorrow morning and take you out for lobster, martinis, and caviar tomorrow night. Play your card right, sweet-tits, and I’ll buy you a car.”

It works! Then, post-hummer, you watch her as she goes to the ladies room to “freshen-up.” And as she disappears from view, you turn and run outside to your piece of shit station wagon and bounce. She returns to the bar and discovers that Mr. Nova Moneybags is history – and Little Miss Gold Digger is stuck with the $80 bar tab! HA! Nova rules!

This is how a player does it, boys and girls. If Mr. Nova ever sees the girl again, he just says he was too drunk, stumbled outside and hailed a cab. Unfortunately, he lost her number when the maid did the wash.

It is so easy. So fucking easy. These bitches are too blinded by their pursuit of money to notice the finer details of the Nova-orchestrated conspiracy. There’s no mark easier than a greedy mark.

Dumb bitches.

So Gold Diggers beware: Even if you figure me out – I still got what I wanted. You’ll get nothing from me but a smile and a middle finger. And that middle finger smells like sweet, hot gold-digging snatch…