The Bleeder


As I’ve mentioned a few times, I currently live in a little town in northern Utah at the end of the world.  This place is about 90% Mormon, which means the number of bars, alcoholics and women willing to fellate me is shockingly low.  As such, those of us who do like to drink, swear and fornicate have to band together.  We go to great lengths to help each other out in the pursuit of the almighty booze and the even almightier poon.

Where I work, whenever a non-Mormon from somewhere else comes to work for us I always extend an invitation to hang out, get fucked up, and hopefully find someone of the opposite sex (or the same sex, if that’s your thing) to release some tension with.  My general theory is that we’ll give anyone a shot at joining our merry band of drunkards.  Sometimes this works and we make lifelong friends.

This is not one of those stories.

I could easily turn this night’s events into a novella, but I’ll do my best to be short and to the point.  Blackout and I invited some people over to his place to do Power Hour and then see where the night went from there.  It was fairly early in the evening so we didn’t have too many takers, but among the two or three girls that came over was a new girl from work, Keeley.  Now I admit, I had high hopes for Keeley.  She was not an attractive girl by any stretch of the imagination, a pale redhead with a thoroughly average body.  But she was from California, so I figured she at least knew how to party.

The problem is, Keeley also had an inflated sense of her own ability to party.

Again, I realize where we live.  This place sucks.  The beer is 3.2%, which in a nutshell means no matter what you order you’re basically getting Bud Light.  There’s three bars in the entire town (two are beer only, all three suck).  By law you can only get one ounce of liquor in a drink (doubles are illegal), so tipping your bartenders and trying to build relationships is a waste.  Basically there’s little point in going out, so we sit around at home most nights and drink ourselves into a stupor.  Trust me, I get it, this place is hell.  But we all made a decision to come here for our own reasons (reasons most of us regret, but still), and so we try to make the best of it.

But Keeley came strutting into Blackout’s apartment with an attitude like she was better than all of us poor saps that live here.  Like she hadn’t made the same mistake as the rest of us in moving here.  She made smug comments about the 3.2% beer and what a joke it was.  She scoffed at the notion of Power Hour like anyone could do it.  She looked down her nose at all of us like we were naive Mormons who’d never been to a real city or a real party in our lives.

Basically, she was a wretched little cunt.

Whatever, I’m a certified expert at ignoring people that annoy me.  I’m gonna get drunk and have a good time, this little ginger bitch be damned.  The rest of us started doing Power Hour and having a good time.  Keeley had brought over her own rum and coke and was more or less drinking along with us, despite my best attempts to freeze her out.

The beauty of Power Hour is it forces you to get drunk fast.  Most people will sort of ease themselves into their buzz, sipping on their first couple beers and drawing out the process.  With 3.2 beer this can take half the night.  But Power Hour forces you to knock back about 7, 8 beers in the first hour.  It builds a base that you can use as a springboard to a night of true drunken debauchery.  In other words, it almost guarantees a good time.

By the end of Power Hour we were all drunk.  And, more importantly, we were all having fun and were determined to go well beyond drunk and into the choppy waters of fucked up.  We kept pounding beers, started mixing in shots of Grey Goose, and started texting more people to see if there was anymore action to be had in End Of The World, Utah that night.

Keeley, meanwhile, was struggling to keep up.  Her surly attitude had been replaced by a lot of silence and drunkenly staring off into space while the rest of us had a good time.  Her pale complexion had started taking on a grayish hue.  At one point she got up to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back.

Half an hour or so later more people showed up and we decided to hit a bar.  Keeley was still in the bathroom.  People tried knocking on the door, calling her phone, everything, but no answer.  Now, if she’d been a friend of mine, or even seemed like a halfway decent human being, I’d have shown a little more concern.  I’d have insisted we make sure she was ok.  But again, she was a wretched little cunt who had talked shit all night about how she could outdrink all of us “Utah people.”  So fuck her.  I suggested we leave her drunk ass behind.  And not even her friends put up an argument.

We went to the bar, drank the night away, and I have no idea who drove or what time we got back to Blackout’s place.  But when we did Keeley was still locked in the bathroom.  And still unresponsive.  I still don’t think anyone really cared if the girl was dead or alive, but Blackout did need to get into his bathroom as some point.  So our friend Jasmine took a quick look at the door lock and said it could be easily picked with a belt buckle.  Of course, I was so drunk I could barely get my belt off, let alone pick a lock with it, so I let Jasmine do the honors.

And man am I glad I did.

Jasmine was in there for a long time (couldn’t tell you how long, I was thoroughly hammered), but when she came out she was stuck in a state somewhere between horror and humor.  Apparently Keeley was on her period, and after puking in the toilet she had decided to take her pants off and try to dispose of her tampon.  Somewhere in that whole process she had bled all over the bathroom  –“It looks like a crime scene in there,” was Jasmine’s exact quote–  before passing out wrapped around the toilet.  Jasmine, being a sympathetic female, had put her pants back on and tried to clean up as best she could, but there was still blood all around the bathroom by the time us guys got a peek at the scene.

At this point I started making just horrific jokes about the girl.  How she had been making fun of our drinking 3.2 beer and maybe if she had tried drinking some of it she wouldn’t be passed out around a toilet leaking from both ends.  No one even bothered to defend her.

But here’s the best part of the story.  Keeley’s roommate, Hailee, was absolutely intent on hooking up with Blackout that night.  Hailee was pretty much the town whore; she had a very nice body with spectacular breasts and awesome eraser-tip nipples, but she also had a face that could stop traffic.  I had hooked up with her once before passing her off to Blackout as a welcome gift to ease his transistion to life in Utah.  Later on she would actually try to get Blackout and I to double team her; I’ll tell you that story another time.  But on this night she was hell bent on having Blackout, so she literally picked up Keeley and drug her back to their apartment (about a block away) so she could race back and get a piece of Blackout.  It was so quick she had to have just thrown the poor girl on a bed and run back over.  Now that’s dedication to your whoreishness.

The aftermath of the whole “Bleeder” episode was that Keeley avoided us like the plague for about 8 months.  She wouldn’t even make eye contact at work.  Now, I understand that we all do stupid shit when we’re drunk, and if the dumb girl had just come around in the days after the incident and owned up to it all would have been forgiven.  But to just avoid all contact, to not apologize for defiling Blackout’s bathroom?  That’s just rude.  And so sometimes, just to be a dick, I would go out of my way to make some excuse to approach her about some work issue just to see her squirm and mumble uncomfortably.  Yeah, I’m kind of an asshole sometimes.

Keeley only hung out with us one more time before she got fired and moved back to California.  We wound up at some party playing a drinking game called Hockey, and somehow Keeley wound up being my partner.  I tried to be nice, I’m not one to hold a grudge for 8 months, and after a couple hours of drinking she slowly started to be a little more friendly.  But then, in the midst of our hockey game, I made reference to the “final period,” as in a period of hockey.  Keeley clearly thought I was referring to a different kind of period, she went even paler than usual, and she barely said a word the rest of the night.

I never saw her again after that night.  Good riddance.

P.S. If you just can’t get enough stories about girls on their period, check out my buddy Luis’ story about his own experience.  I think his story is more traumatizing than mine.

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2 Comments

  1. “Now that’s dedication to your whoreishness.” Hey, sometimes, a girl’s just gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. LOL Great story!

  2. Sounds like a fun night!


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