Mr. Nova’s Guide to Strip Clubs

The lure of the strip club can be intoxicating, my beloved Novanites. It is like a beacon of neon lights, calling you inside from the cold. These glowing lights promise warm, hot shaven snatch for you to view (and perhaps take home with you). It all seems so seedy and dangerous. It makes you feel like you are getting away with a CRIME just by being there. And if you have a girlfriend or are (imaginary-God forbid) married, you find the strip club a place where the inner-male-dog can come out and play for a while. Woof!

But it is all an illusion. A façade devised to take one thing away from you:

Your money!

Strippers are gold diggers. They sell their bodies much like a prostitute, except that most of the time no orgasm is involved (Unless you go to the backroom of a certain dive in West Virginia – where you can get $10 blowjobs from heroin addicts. And of course, unless you’re a coke dealer.). It is all tease and titillation. Smoke and mirrors. Nudity and no climax.

Hell, most of the bitches that work at these clubs aren’t even that hot!

So why do we, as hot-blooded males, waste our money in these sanctuaries of pussy and boobs?

It is because we can. And we will. And hey – it is fun to look.

We are voyeurs.

Nova has long since given up going to the strip clubs. Unless it is the occasional bachelor party (most of my friends are married – poor fucks) your Novanator prefers to call up one of his many Friends with Benefits, or to stay at home and work on some sick beats Dr. Dre only WISHES he could lay down. It just isn’t worth the time and money. It isn’t like you can whip your jang out and stroke it while the stripper dances in front of you.

That can get you arrested. (I’ll tell you a story about it later.)

So if you must venture out to the neighborhood strip club, take these following warnings to heart. I hereby present:

Mr. Nova’s Eleven Rules for Tittie Bars

1. Don’t bring your credit card with you
Cash only, my Novanites. If you give the establishment a credit card to run your tab on, you are most likely going to end up spending three to fives times as much money as you thought you would.

2. Don’t go into a strip club alone
Nothing screams “desperate” or “loser psycho” more than going to a strip club by yourself. Rent a porno instead, for fuck’s sake! Smoke a bong, nut on a towel, and then pass out. You’ll feel better about yourself and save a lot of money. My neighborhood porn shop sees me so much, I have a line of credit. You think a strip club is going to grant you one of those unless you have millions of dollars in the bank? And don’t go to a strip club while there’s still daylight outside.

3. Don’t ask a stripper to be your girlfriend
The ONLY thing these bitches want is your money. They are paid to be nice to you, even if you are a dork with a comic book collection – or a three-toothed invalid from Kentucky. They most likely HATE YOUR FUCKING GUTS so much that they want to puke each time they have to grind their ass in front of you. In a way, it’s justice that these whores are demeaned in such a filthy manner – all for a few greenbacks. Money can buy you a lot of shit, but it can’t buy back pride.

That being said, NO WAY is a stripper going to go out with you unless you are loaded. In Stripper-World, it’s considered bad etiquette to even give out your digits. One stripper I know did this and even called “clients” on the days she was working. Stupid bitch thought this was an innovative way to make more money. She figured she would bring them in, build a business relationship, and not have to fuck any of them. But when the dudes realized she wasn’t going to give up the trizzle, they stopped coming. And the money ran dry.

Repeat after me: Strippers cannot be girlfriends. And even they WANTED to be your girlfriend, once the excitement of fucking a stripper wears off and the infection clears, you won’t be able to handle the realities of her profession. Think about how PISSED you got when you caught your girlfriend talking too much to that guy at the Halloween party. Ok? Now multiple that by a zillion. I mean, just imagine saying this everyday: “Bye honey, hope lots of dudes drool over your tits and try to reach up and smack your ass! Hope you sell a lot of lap dances! Give me a kiss before you spread your beaver in front of all the guys I knew back in high school!”

If the dude can look past all of the shit that goes along with being a stripper, more power to him. But he is probably one sick muthafucker in the head.

4. Don’t buy the strippers any drinks
I warn you, my Novanites, when the stripper does her rounds to talk to you she is looking for one thing: MONEY! She might ask you to buy her a drink. She’ll tell you that she is only allowed to drink Champagne. This is bullshit! The drink will cost you $15 or more. Chances are this will turn up as a hidden charge on your credit card when you get the receipt back. You won’t even know it has happened until it is too late! These bitches are shiesty!

Besides, she has PLENTY of whisky, weed and crank backstage.

(Oh, and when making small talk with the strippers, constantly hint at having a big supply of coke in your car. You’ll get LOTS of one-on-one attention this way, and might even be able to swap a bag of Sweet & Low for a hummer.)

5. Don’t get too wasted
There are a lot of mean, horrible people who run these clubs. Many of them are just DYING for an excuse to kick the shit out a patron. Getting extremely drunk anywhere is usually a bad idea, unless it is done in a calculated effort to violently piss someone off (preferably with a gallon of gasoline, a Zippo, and a designated driver). You don’t want to make the strip club owners angry. They have plenty of bouncers and weapons.

It could get ugly.

6. Don’t touch the girls
You don’t know where the fuck these bitches have been! More importantly, you don’t know how ornery the BOUNCERS are. If you ever want to get your ass kicked in record time, start getting grabby with a stripper. Most of the bouncers are over-protective eunuchs with a rap sheet.

So even if you really, truly believe that the bouncer’s Mom is a crackhead whore, it’s probably best if you kept that opinion to yourself.

7. Don’t touch anything in the bathroom
Pretend it’s a soccer game and only use your feet!

8. DO NOT be a sucker and insist on getting a lap dance from the hottest, sexiest stripper in the bar.
Or only focus on the stripper with the biggest tits. That’s a rookie mistake. Instead, get a lap dance from the stripper who’s most obviously hooked on illegal drugs – ‘cause she’ll be FAR more liberal when it comes to “touching.” Trust your Novanator on this.

9. Never wear underwear into a tittie bar.
And always wear your absolutely thinnest pair of pants. It’ll make the lap dances much more enjoyable.

10. If you’re at one of those strip clubs that’s fully nude and doesn’t serve alcohol, make sure you’re butt-wasted BEFORE you pay the cover charge.
‘Cause the LAST thing you want is to be sober enough to realize how fuckin’ pathetic your life has become.

11. Finally, if you’re at one of those high-end tittie bars that has a tuxedo-dressed guy in the men’s bathroom with a supply of cologne and a tip jar, DO NOT feel obligated to give him a frickin’ dime.
Besides, he’s not really in there to sell you a spritz of Polo anyway, man. He’s there to make sure you’re not wacking off in the john! Tittie bars NEED their patrons to be horny and frustrated in order to be profitable, and operate under a strict “no-wacky” policy.

Yes, print out these eleven rules and send ‘em to your friends. This is important information, my Novanites!

Your Novantor will always prefer porn to strip clubs in terms of more value for your buck. In this information age, we all want to be able to control our entertainment options – and the nudie bars just don’t do it for most people anymore.

Hopefully, if you do decide to hit the strip clubs, you’ll plan ahead and ask a Friends with Benefits to wait for you back home. That way you can get turned on and then come home and bang her out.

Maybe even have a pole installed in the bedroom where your girl can spin around like a dancer! It is better than wasting your time with a bunch of fake-titted whores who are going to be burnt out hags in a few years, turning tricks on the streets of Albuquerque.

Serves those money-grubbing, gold-digging bitches right!

Just lookin’ out for my Novanites.

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.

The Book of Novatry

Many, many moons ago – after a lusty night of topless dancers, binge drinking, and whip-cracking unprotected sex with blurry-looking hookers – I awoke in the middle of a gravel road… and a Christ-like revelation came to me. My booze-numbed mind rattled a beautiful psalm of love and humility. Hastily, I crawled home and fired-up the computer.

I wrote down what I would later call my first “nome.” Now, what is a nome, my dear students of Novology? Well, if you had opened your textbook entitled The Book of Novatry you would find out!

A “nome,” my beloved Novanites, is a poem – only done Nova-Style! Instead of poetry, think novatry!

Here is an example:


The Novanator

I’m the Sexecutioner of the clitoris
I always hit and never miss
And keep my bitch in a state of bliss
I pull out my jang and nut on her belly
I leave that girl smelly
Her name was Kim... or maybe it’s Kelly?

Now go and make me a sandwich, bitch
Your rash better not make my Johnson itch
Slice some turkey and some cheese
Go put some Band-Aids on your knees
I’ll eat the sandwich really fast
And bust a nut in your ass!

It’s because I am the Novanator
A fornicating instigator
When I was a kid I was a chronic masturbator.

I looked at my first nudie mag at age seven
Even if there isn’t a God, I knew there was a heaven
Saw two bitches eat each other in front of me at age 11
I’ll NEVER have sex with someone named Kevin.

I am the person mothers fear the most
Because I’m cool as jelly and hot as toast!
I am the Novanator!


Yes, there is nothing like crafting a good, high-quality nome. It may not be better than banging out sweet shaven snatch, but it is a nice way to get some thoughts out after pounding a 12-pack of Corona.

Here is another one:


Ode to the Hummingbird

Oh Hummingbird, you take flight,
You stick your beak into nectar,
Find a flower nice and tight,
Eat ‘em up like Hannibal Lecter!

You don’t like chewing bubble gum,
But vibrate with the greatest of ease,
Flap those wings ‘til it’s time to cum,
‘Cause the flower is a bitch to please!


It is easy to write a nome, my beloved Novanites. Whenever I get a chance, I write down lines of novatry, always gleaning inspiration from a myriad of sources. Write about what you know! Write about what you WANT to know. Better yet, write some sappy sentimental shit that’ll get your ass laid. Want an example?


Dearly Beloved

Your beauty takes my breath away,
And makes me glad that I’m not gay.
You cast a spell upon my worm,
I love you, bitch – now eat my sperm.


See? Ain’t novatry magical? You can almost hear the harps playing in the background, can’t you? Bitches get so WET when they hear a well-written nome, they’ll literally slide across the floor, as if water skiing. Swoosh, swoosh!

And if your nome falls upon deaf ears, well, just put a hip-hop beat behind it and start rapping. Fuck, it’ll STILL be better than that repulsive Ludacris garbage.

So start writing – and start making this world a more melodious place.

Jeah.

30 Minutes of Doggystyle

Mr. Nova loves booty. He loves nice, healthy round asses. Bubble butts. Ass cheeks that need a good spanking. So long as there is no cellulite, the bigger the better. The Novanator does NOT love skinny, beanpole, anorexic bottoms that feel like jawbreakers when you squeeze on them while fucking. Consider me Sir Nov-a-Lot.

Mr. Nova is always on the lookout for the perfect ass – and I am sorry to say, that bitch J-Lo never had it. P. Diddy bought it for her anyway, had it implanted several years ago so she could appeal more to the black market (at least, that’s what I read on the Internet, so it’s GOT to be true). No, Mr. Nova likes natural ass. The kind of ass you can be proud to bring home to Momma: “Hey Mom, look at the birthing hips on this one! C’mon! Give it a squeeze!”

In my sexual quests and orgasmic odysseys I have come (cum) across booties that would make grown men cry – and bested young punks who think they’re Mack Daddies. These idiot kids spend their days IMing one another and shaving their sack in the bathroom, instead of learning proper sexual techniques. Meanwhile, good ol’ Nova is pounding the butt cheeks like a blacksmith beats iron.

Many fellas I have met along the way share my belief that an ass must have some cushion for the pushin’. I used to work with some crazy Mexican dudes and they would comment on this subject all day long. It was a profession for them, grading pairs of the golden ham hocks like Olympic judges. I can still remember what my Mexican friend said to me one day while were discussing a potential Friend with Benefits:

“You see that culo (‘ass’ in Spanish) over there, Mr. Nova? Look how skinny it is. She needs to eat something. I could cook her up some burritos. Cook that bitch plenty of meat and put some hot sauce in it. I would also bang out her pink taco, sure, but I fear that I might break her in two with my cock. I would fuck her way too hard, like a sledgehammer. I am like fucking Speedy Gonzales when it comes to my pumping motion, but I am also like a turtle in how long it takes to spurt my Spanish-flavored sauce. I would make sure that I reamed her out nice and long. But she would be pleading in pain for me to stop, I am sure. No way that bitch could take 30 minutes of doggystyle!”

I laughed and replied, “Yeah, bitch needs to get some protein in her diet. Probably a vegetarian who misses her meat products. Gotta fatten up her ass. I know! Maybe I’ll give her an injection of Doctor Nova’s deep-throat dietary supplement! Time for a little bit of vitamin Nova!”

“You are one crazy muthafucker, Mr. Nova.”

“Shut up and pass me the nachos, Peppi – or I’m callin’ I.N.S.”

He was right about the girl’s ass. She had fallen prey to the Madison Avenue belief that being a 97-pound waif was attractive. She probably puked out everything she ate in a pathetic attempt to catch a man’s eye. I personally blame those fag fashion designers for only hiring lamppost-looking models. Sure as hell ain’t a HETEROSEXUAL who picks these models. Real men like big tits and nice curves. Fuck the American media for making that girl feel bad about herself! She should just make sure she exercised and watched less television. Then she could eat like a healthy girl and have enough energy to fuck for hours.

So I decided to test my friend’s theory out. Could this girl last for 30 minutes of hardcore, from behind, toe-curling, ass-reaming doggystyle?

“Hey, honey, my name is Mr. Nova. You’ve probably heard of me. No? Well, you WILL. I’m the man your mother WARNED you about, sweet-tits. What are ya doing tonight...”

I had the skinny thing back at my apartment a few hours later. She wanted to fuck BAD, but I had to make sure she would stay wet for a long time. So I broke down and did some foreplay. One thing I know about skinny girls: They are terrible kissers. Their damn teeth always knock against yours – and being on top of them is like lying down with a skeleton. (Not that I’ve ever laid atop a skeleton, except that one time I got drunk in a morgue and started feeling horny. Yup, even after all those years, that Marilyn Monroe is still one TERRIFIC fuck. Next up is Aaliyah! But I digress.)

I did a pretty good job with my Hummingbird Technique and brought her close to climax. That was when I decided to make her get on all fours like a doggy and fuck her good. Five minutes into the sex session and she was doing fine. She bucked against me like a horse trying to dismount a rider. I thought for a moment that she might have what it takes. Eight minutes in, I checked my watch and gave her a good spank on the ass.

“Good girl! Nova likes you! Here’s your carrot!”

At the thirteen minute mark she began showing signs of wear. (Plus, I was getting tired myself, but GOD BE DAMNED if I was going to surrender!) After fifteen minutes of Nova-pounding she screamed, “C’mon and cum already!”

I decided to pull out and lay a fatty on her sweaty backside. Bitch failed me.
She washed off and came back to bed. “Feel better?” she asked me.

“No.”

She was stunned. “Why?” she inquired.

“I bet that dirty Mexican I could bang you doggystyle for 30 minutes and you only lasted half that time! Now I owe him $50. Do you have any idea how much beer and nachos I could’ve bought with that $50?!”

She was shocked. “I could just lie to him and tell him we made that far.”I gave her a little nudge on the chin with my thumb. “Sorry, kiddo. I can’t lie to the bastard about something like this. It just ain’t my style.”

The Hummingbird Technique

Take your seats, boys and girls. Professor Nova is here with the lesson of the day. Quiet down! Hush! Hush! You, the cheerleader with big tits in the corner – quit talking! Or I might have to bend you over my desk and spank you in front of the entire class. And stop playing with your pom-poms.

I digress. Now, I know you all have taken a lot of abuse because of my alcohol-fueled rants. Well, tough shit! You gotta learn things the hard way. Hey, I SAID to stop talking, Missy! Do I need to stick something in your mouth to shut you up?

I know you have been asking the question: “What is this Ultimate Pleasure Device that you mentioned in last week’s lecture, our beloved Novanator?” “Can I build one of my own?” “Is it true that this device has taught you how to make women cum with orgasms so powerful it’ll make our freckles pop off?” “How did you train your hands to do what that machine is so proficient at?”

First of all, there were only five Ultimate Pleasure Devices ever made . My father found one and gave it to me. It was then stolen from me by some corrupt cops (“Corrupt cops” – that’s kinda repetitive, ain’t it?) and I have not been able to recover it. Second, unless you are a sick, perverted technological genius with the artistic talent of H.R. Geiger, the craftsmanship of Bob Villa, and the money of Bill Gates, you will NEVER be able to build one. And as to how I got my hands to do what it does...

Class, you know what a hummingbird is? This creature flaps its wings at a rate of 50 times per second. They have a long bill that seeks out the calyx of flowers. They take the nectar at a rate of 13 licks each second. When you see them feeding it seems as if the bird is stationed in midair. Then they leave the flower almost ENTIRELY untouched.

Apply this understanding to the topic of fondling the female genitalia.

Before I continue with this lecture, I must warn the ladies of the class: Don’t start to get a reaction that leads to wetness in your panties and prevents you from taking notes. I know this is a sexy (and sticky) subject, but you have to control yourselves. And gentlemen, quit your snickers! This information is VITAL to your very sexual existence. Do you really want to go through life thinking that doggy-style is the ultimate in sexual taboos? There is SO much more we haven’t even discussed yet, including Donkey Punches and the Angry Pirate. This technique opens the door to other topics that will further your exploration of women and what they mean to us. Plus, it will show you how to give a girl so much pleasure she will NEVER forget you – and it’ll ruin her for all others.

Now back to the subject, class. Ladies, when you masturbate, (and I know you do, Professor Nova has cameras in place in all of your dorm rooms) I have noticed you sometimes insert your middle finger into the pussy. From there you place your thumb on the clitoris and begin vibrating. Now through careful research I have discovered the secret to how you achieve orgasm: It is ALL in the wrist.

Gentlemen, can you picture in your heads what I am saying? Do you understand what this means? You must use their technique against them! Your hand is just as good as theirs! In fact, your wrists are stronger –thanks to online porn and chronic masturbation. And since the woman is feeling the sensation of someone else touching her private goodies, it should arouse the female even more.

Remember the lessons of the hummingbird! Does the bird show fear? Hesitation? I think not! Your hand must become like the hummingbird. You must use your middle finger as our little friend uses his beak. Insert and vibrate, using your wrist to maintain a stationary lock. Place your thumb on the clitoris and vibrate that as well. Kissing and biting her nipples may add to her experience. I also like to throw in a few good lines, like “Take it ALL, you dirty little girl! Call me Daddy Nova! Cum for me, you filthy, rotten whore!” (I find that this enhances her sexual pleasure and brings the female to an earthshaking climax.)

Well ladies, I am sure you are amazed I discovered your secret to pleasuring yourselves. It took years of research. Many subjects were left unfulfilled. Much crying ensued. Several lawsuits were filed. Gentlemen, heed the lesson of our flying feathered friend. The hummingbird is an example to us all. Go now with this knowledge and pollinate the land.

And as for the location of my stolen Ultimate Pleasure Device...

(Also, check out my Hummingbird Technique petition right here. You see, NBC’s shitty new show My Own Worst Enemy recently featured my patented Hummingbird Technique on the air, and those fuckin’ THIEVES failed to credit me as the move’s inventor. I hereby DEMAND that they give the Big Novowski the credit he rightly deserves. Rat bastards. Oh, I WILL get even with them. Just you wait. Before the end of 2009, I’m gonna skull-fuck that show into submission. Jeah.)

The Five Times Mr. Nova Couldn’t Get It Up

Mr. Nova is a sexual crusader – a fearless explorer of unknown cracks and crevices. He has planted his flag in many women from many different countries. He has porked beautiful debutants of all races, shapes and levels of sobriety. He has crossed deserts to reach wet vistas full of hot, naked, shaven snatch. But along the way – during the bloody battles to reach blissful bounty – Mr. Nova sometimes stumbles… or wilts… or undergoes the shameful metamorphosis from the Incredible Hulk back to David Banner.

In other words, every now and then my dick shrivels up like a stack of dimes.

I cannot lie to you, my Novanites. There have been times when I’ve failed to perform in the way most women have come (cum) to expect of me. Yet unlike most men, I freely acknowledge these penile shortcomings. I will not hide from my defeats and wallow in shame. Are you kidding me?! I am MR. FUCKING NOVA you muthafuckers! I am PROUD of the times I couldn’t get it up. My wanker was looking out for me, protecting your Novanator from hornball indiscretions by turning my York Peppermint Patty into a Junior Mint.

That being said, here are the five times my little lieutenant stayed stuck to my scrotum instead of standing up and saluting:

1. Atlantic City
The first time I couldn’t get it up was with a street whore in Atlantic City. I was 17-years-old and on a beach trip with three other delinquents from my neighborhood. Being too young to legally gamble, we thought it would be cool to rent a hooker’s snatch and play her slots. Now, for all of you that haven’t been to Atlantic City, you probably know this scene from the movies: Casinos on one side of the pavement – filled with all the Champaign-swilling high rollers… and ghetto trash just across the street, with seediness and despair stretching for blocks upon blocks.

We all pooled our money together and came up with $375. The prostitute wanted $400, or she wouldn’t let us take turns stabbing her stink-hole with our adolescent cocks. So Mr. Nova had to ask the guy at the casino if he could use the cash machine. The bouncer said, “21 and over only, kid! Take a fuckin’ hike.” I replied, “Hey, all I want is some money so I can get a taxicab ride home. My Pops left me outside so he could gamble. I haven’t seen him for hours and my Mom is worried. You guys don’t wanna be held liable for a young kid wandering the streets of Atlantic City at night, do you?” He reluctantly escorted young Nova to the ATM. I stood in line behind a bunch of old people spending their prescription drug money on blackjack and video poker. After finally getting the cash, I ran back outside to seal the deal with our hooker friend.

Now she wasn’t particularly bad looking. She had a big ass, platinum blond hair, some silicone-stuffed tits, and the strange smell of sperm and urine. But Mr. Nova was slated to go third after a quick round of Rock, Scissors, Paper with my buddies. (I always choose rock.)

Going third didn’t sit well with me.

When it was finally my turn to dump some jizz inside the skank, my wanker just wouldn’t function. The prostitute gently implored me to get in the mood by softly whispering in my ear: “Get hard already, you little fucking faggot!” I suddenly had an epiphany and stated out loud for the very first time: “Mr. Nova goes first – or not at all!”

I left the room. Two minutes later, the dude batting cleanup ran towards the whore with his shorts around his ankles. He was screaming like a madman: “Only one minute, baby!”

I thought to myself, “Dude, you paid $100 and nutted in one minute. I paid $100 and discovered a lifelong belief.”

Nothing really made sense that night.

2. I was 18, she was 16, it was a very good year…
I had just convinced my former girlfriend to give the Big Novowski another twirl in the sheets after spending a year apart. The fact that I once had to have her ARRESTED for trying to set fire to my car never entered my mind. All I was thinking about was dirty sex.

This tramp was a lithe little vixen with a stud in her tongue and a ring in her clit. I like that. Any woman who’s willing to painfully mutilate her body in order to marginally enhance a sexual experience is MY kinda babe. Unfortunately, she was also moody and emotionally unstable. Yeah, I know that ALL women are moody and emotionally unstable, but this bitch was borderline psychotic. For example, she believed that Sebastian Bach was channeling her secret love messages in his Skid Row songs. When I pointed out that Bach doesn’t even write his own lyrics, she got all defensive and tried to beat me over the head with a shovel. True story.

She had a new boyfriend (a little factoid that never really matters, does it?), but couldn’t stop thinking about 18-year-old Nova and his stringy 80s-era Heavy Metal hair. I told her we should go see a movie to catch up. Something romantic. While we were watching Full Metal Jacket she kept squeezing my hand so tight I knew I was going to get some sweet, sweet snatch.

We ended up making out on my parent’s driveway. I told her I wanted to make love to her.

“I can’t, Nova! My boyfriend is waiting for me!”

“It won’t take long… c’mon. Be a sport.”

She gave in and moments later we were upstairs.

She was great at giving a blowjob. Damn, I still miss that girl for her oral skills! But during this session she kept rushing me.

“I gotta go soon, my boyfriend will be mad!”

This did nothing for my stain-stick, as he retreated from battle like a Frenchman on the frontlines. I called my shlong a bastard piece of shit. The bitch got fed up and left. From this experience I had another moment of great clarity and discovered that Mr. Nova hates to be rushed.

3. Hairy girls
There was this girl in college who loved the Novanator. This was during my grunge period, where I kicked long (non-stringy) hair and played rock music all day and night. She was a fan. Nice face, big tits. One teeny tiny problem: She didn’t believe in shaving. Anything.

I decided against better judgment that I would fuck her anyway. It didn’t work out too well. She smelled strange, like sweat… and it was too close to the odors coming from my own body. I got grossed out. And that pubic hair! My Novanites, there is nothing worse than an untrimmed jungle near a girl’s snatch. Her pussy looked like guitar legend Slash – without his hat. Shave that shit OFF, ladies!

Her legs would rub against mine, creating a sound I imagine human-sized crickets would make. Hair against hair just doesn’t feel right. It’s disgusting.

She got pissed at me. “Why won’t your dick work?! My friends told me that you were the best ever!”

“Baby, you gotta shave. I can’t perform under these conditions.”

“But I believe in the equality of the sexes,” she replied, regurgitating the college feminist bullshit she’d been fed.

“That may be all good and well, but if you want the Novacock, you better do some trimming of the hedges. Nova ain’t fucking no Wookie.”

4. Drunk Nova and Jumanji
There was this girl named Jumanji. I don’t think that was her real name, but that’s all I knew her by. She lived two hours away in a friend’s hometown. He told me she was easy and introduced me to her while I was visiting. We exchanged numbers and I proceeded to pass out in the backyard Nova-style after a battle with a liter of rum and a six-pack of Coke.

About a month later, my VCR broke and I couldn’t watch any of my porn (this was before cyber-pussy was just a mouse-click away), so I gave her a call from my house. She drove two hours to see me. But I had forgotten it was strip club night. I didn’t want to bail on Mr. Nova’s friends and miss the tit-fest. This girl was going to have to come along.

She arrived. To my credit, ladies, I did cook her a damn good meal. I’m a helluva chef. But to all of you vegetarians, I grilled up New York strip steaks – marinated with a few packets of Taco Bell fire sauce that I found underneath my sofa cushions. (Mm! Steak! Take THAT, you dumb humus-eating bitches.) After the classy dinner, I joined my boys and hit the town.

She was pissed when all the clubs we went into had naked ladies prancing around. I tried to make her give the girls a $5 bill, but she resisted. The more she tried to deny her innate lesbian tendencies, the more I drank. And drank… and drank…

I don’t know what time we got home. All I know is that she drove. That was a mistake! I should never have let her behind the Novamobile’s wheel. I would have been better off passing out in the driver’s seat and telling her to fetch a cab back to her car. She changed my rearview mirror around and everything.

Anyway, when this mirror-changing-control-freak-of-a-babe got us back to the house, she said she was gonna spend the night. I was too shit-faced to argue. I put in Good Will Hunting as our late night cinema experience. I was really, REALLY intoxicated. I asked her for a blowjob. She said she didn’t do that. I should have kicked her out then, my Novanites. Yet another mistake – ‘cause I knew for a FACT that she had blown Chicago Cubs pitcher [NAME CENSORED] during spring training.

“You blew [NAME CENSORED] and you won’t blow ME? C’mon! Baseball’s a pussy sport anyway. So drop to your knees and get ready to brush your teeth with tartar-control Nova!”

She just laughed, thinking I was kidding. (I wasn’t.) Next thing I know, she slid off her thong, pointed her ass in the air, and was ready to be mounted.

“Fuck me, Nova! Fuck me! Ooh, ooh! Fuck me, Nova! Fuck me!”

I saw this dog in heat – twitching, ready for the cock. I started to laugh. And laugh… and laugh. I was so drunk it was funny. Needless to say she got up and left without saying a word.

Never heard from her again. It was a COMPLETE waste of steak.

5. That time I ate all those jalapeño poppers.
Needless to say, this was an ugly night. The poppers were on special for happy hour. So were the margaritas. She wasn’t a beauty. It didn’t matter. I got sick while on top of her while we were shedding clothes in the restaurant bathroom.

Have you ever had to puke while also having the shits? Let’s just say she didn’t look all that presentable when we left the restaurant.

Well, my Novanites, I hope we all learned something from this. I did. I learned that my wanker is looking out for me at ALL times. Even when I desperately want him to work and Punxsutawney Nova keeps seeing his shadow, I know his slug-on-salt routine is always in my best interest.

So next time you get frustrated – ‘cause it’s closing time and you’re trying to bang a heifer with a hairlip in the back alley – don’t get mad at your pecker for going AWOL. He is just doing what is right.

Any dissenters still in the audience? Well, look at it this way: the human dick will normally fuck just about ANYTHING. And guys fuck weird things, too – animals, holes in grounds, socks, carved-open fruits, pastries, their hands, other men, rolled-up magazines, Star Jones, etc. So, on the odd occasion when your richard refuses to play ball, don’t start poppin’ Viagra or cursing the little guy out. He has your best interests at heart.

Thanks, buddy!

The Most Fucked-Up Place Mr. Nova Ever Worked At

I know some incredibly fucking stupid people. Back when I was a bartender at a private restaurant (owned by this oversexed middle-aged woman) I met a lot of incredibly fucking stupid people. Every single person employed there was relatively good-looking – which was highly fortunate since they had the collective brainpower of a fingernail clipper. Their sugar levels were all hyped up… but their brains couldn’t deal with the energy-overload. So what did they try to do with their unspent energy? They FUCKED like gangbang stars on Red Bull with A.D.D.

It was a fun job; I got to drink while I worked. I would wander in at 4:00 pm and the very first thing I would do was pull down that sweet bottle of Absolut Kurant vodka off of the shelf. I would whip out the cranberry juice and mix up a healthy drink. It was the best way to drink because I could mask my beverage as plain juice. Pouring a beer would have been a lot more obvious (although, on busy Friday nights, I would drink a healthy pint of Guinness to get warmed up). After I was primed, I would talk to all of the young girls that worked there. Their ages ranged between 16 to 20-years-old. I never wanted to fuck them – just to look at them. Their incessant banter proved too harsh for my Nova-ears, thus destroying the little sex appeal they had. But for some reason they loved your humble Novanator. They listened intently to what I had to say and always brought me tasty sandwiches to eat.

Let me tell you kids something about sex appeal: It is STRICTLY inherent. It cannot be learned. Rich girls who think only of themselves and work a part-time job as a waitress just to get Mommy and Daddy Warbucks off their backs do not have sex appeal.

Neither do middle-aged women with kids who run a restaurant to get away from their hard-working, perfectly decent husbands.

The shriveled hag of an owner made this restaurant a memorial to the time when she was a college girl, so she hired young high school and college chics. She still wished she was a 19-year-old slut and was desperately clinging to those teenage fantasies of hanging out with the popular kids. But her days as a teen vixen were gone forever – as were the days of her having non-droopy tits and a cellulite-free ass. She was now just a rotted-out bitch and a cock-hungry whore. Her sex-appeal was that of a squashed pile of maggots. And not cute maggots either! I’m talking ugly maggots.

This owner-bitch even had the nerve of coming onto the Novanator. While her husband was working on some construction upgrade for the restaurant, she sautéed her dimply ass over to a party I was throwing. Expecting my attention, she was flatly ignored all evening. She wanted Nova to bang the cobwebs out of her cunt and not tell a soul. Sorry, Granny: Ain’t gonna happen – not now or ever. She left pissed off and the next day she let everyone know that the Big Novowski was numero uno on her shit-list. My reaction? Big fuckin’ deal.

She didn’t understand that Nova is all about the challenge. He is also unconcerned about your secret agenda. In fact, having ulterior motives is the biggest turn-off. The Nova-jang doesn’t respond at all to your needs, you deceitful cheating bitches!

So hey, I wasn’t about to get involved with the vindictive cuntbag. She fired people left and right, all on a whim. I still needed a steady source of income, and if I had bagged that nasty piece of trash (and she wasn’t particularly bad-looking my Novanites, just old and evil) I would have been put into a situation where she made the rules. Since I didn’t fuck the dirty bitch I was in control. I could tell her husband about her deceitful ways at anytime, thus solidifying job security.

At least, that was how I justified the whole thing in my mind. Truth be told, I hated the cunt and simply didn’t want to fuck her.

As time went on, I would bring a notebook into work. I would jot down notes about all of the fucked-up happenings. She would go behind the bar and ask me to make up 10 shots known as Red Headed Sluts. Hey, she ran the place, so I made them. Then she would bring back all of the 16 to 20-year-old bitches she was pals with and they would take the shots while at work. Hey, what fun, huh? Dirty slizzes put the Novanator at great risk with the law – ‘cause if the shit went down, it’s the bartender who takes it up the poop-chute.

Over the course of the months I worked there, I noticed that I was drinking more and more. The only way I could get through the day was with my dear friend, Mr. Alcohol. And since the owner threw parties after hours (leaving my bar a mess for me the next day to clean up) I figured I was owed the drinks as payment for not squealing to a number of special interest groups.

I thought the status-quo was working fine. I had a ton of regulars and my business at the bar was steady. The same couldn’t be said for the restaurant itself. The waitstaff was young and inexperienced. Just because you hire good-looking people doesn’t mean that they will do a good-looking job. (Nova Factoid: I once knew a manager who said he only hired ugly people because they were like worker drones: They were happy to have a job and did their best to make sure that everything was done by the book. Also, Fritos are not free, nor are they toes. Talk amongst yourselves.) The servers would yap on their cell phones in front of their tables. They would eat like pigs in front of their tables. They would cuss in front of their tables.

From behind that bar I watched on in a drunker stupor as the sales plummeted. I knew she would have to sell the place soon or go bust (which reminds me – she did have nice tits, by the way). I lined-up another bartending gig across town and gave my notice. Being honorable, I offered to stay on an extra month so she could find a replacement.

She immediately started to treat Nova like shit. She fucked with my schedule and destroyed my cash intake. When a bitch does that, well, I have to get revenge! The Nova-way, baby!

(Sure, a SMART MAN might’ve quit on the spot, but I was still owed money. More importantly, not unlike Dr. Samuel Beckett on Quantum Leap, I needed to right some wrongs before I leaped the fuck outa there.)

I started something called “Free Tab Night.” If you were a regular, you drank for free all night long. Just hand me a $20 and you were good to go. I figured that made up for the lost hours she cost me. I also worked out a “Drinks for Food” program with the cooks. That would cook me up a nice meal and they would get a tasty beverage to help them deal with the overbearing owner-bitch and her 19-year-old manager.

I caught her and the manager fucking. One of the cooks and I noticed that the bitch and her Boy Toy were missing in action. We performed a stakeout and discovered them in the act. She dropped him off at the backdoor. My cook friend and I took several pictures to use as blackmail at some point. I kept the information to myself, because if she ever fucked with me I would reveal the truth to her oddly-devoted husband. I would also go to the ABC board and let them know about the fact that a 19-year-old dude was considered a licensed alcohol beverage manager. This idiot would go behind the bar, grab a beer, and go back to count money.

But my revenge plans got the best of me. It is hard to fight a war that really isn’t worth fighting, my Novanites. Two weeks into the final month she called me up and let me go. She also informed me that she would not be giving me my final paycheck. I kinda figured she didn’t have the money to pay me and that was why I was fired. I told her that her actions were illegal. You cannot withhold someone’s final pay. She then accused me of stealing. I told her to take a good look around, because her so-called friends were robbing her blind. I just did what I had to do to survive in the little microcosm she created.

She called me a fuckin’ asshole – and with the sort of smirk usually reserved for Presidents and dignitaries, she asked me if I knew that I’d NEVER amount to ANYTHING.

I shrugged my shoulders and asked her what the manager’s dick tasted like. The smirk immediately vanished from her face and tears started welling in her eyes. Mr. Nova then reached into her purse, pulled out a wad of cash, and walked out the door.

I left a hero. I never returned.

Dirty bitch gets what she deserves, my Novanites. She is still trying to keep that place afloat… but you reap what you sow. And she created the single most fucked-up place I ever worked at. I know she will drown in her own middle-aged insecurities. I know that one day her stand-up husband will realize the truth: That he married an inhuman she-beast monster that can never be happy. I feel sorry for her kids. And I feel sorry for her thong, for having to crawl inside her ever-growing ass. Gross, man.

So to you, my former boss that desperately wanted the Nova-jang: I hope you choke on your inevitable defeat. Cellulite Sally will one day be destroyed. And to you, my beloved Novanites, be glad I escaped with my sanity...

Just one more thing: If you think you know who I’m talking about… then you probably don’t. But I know who I’m talking about and that’s all that matters.