Bloody Mommy

It was a Saturday night in Las Vegas. I dropped my son off with a friend for the evening and headed out to a popular dance club to meet my Who Res for a night of drinking, dancing and debauchery.


I parked my car and stomped inside the casino in a pair of six-inch stilettos and a skirt so short my veiny, white ass cheeks were hanging out. After wandering around the casino in circles probably six times, I saw the neon lights leading me into my destination.

I handed the doorman my ID and walked inside. There in a corner booth were my bitches, Laverne and Tangerae, and they were already passing around the hookah. Next to Tangerae was a strange little man I had never seen before. This was not a shock to me because Tangerae is probably the only girl I know that’s a bigger tramp than I am. She always has a new strange man with her. I think her motto must be, “different night, different dude”.


“Hey, *****! This is my date, Ken.”

I reached out my hand and smiled. Then, I jumped. That’s when I saw it.

Even in the dark lights of the club you could see that Ken was missing a very important feature. That’s right, Ken’s smile resembled a jack-o-lantern: in late November, after it had been rotting on your porch all month-long.

Uh, huh. He didn’t have any teeth. OK, that’s an exaggeration. He had teeth, kinda. They were still there, compressed in his gums, little nubs of what once may have been a full smile.

“Ken is British!” Tangerae explained in an attempt to justify her dates dental condition.

Whatever, I was just mentally calculating the types of diseases one might incur after being eaten out by such a beast but then decided I wouldn’t say anything (just yet). I was figuring probably, Tangerae had a better medical insurance plan than I did.

I sat down and ordered a Greyhound. The Hookah was passed my way and I was thankful that we each had been given our little, personal, disposable tips. The drink service was taking forever. Ken was trying to hold a conversation with me and I could smell the rot in his mouth.

Finally the waitress came by and delivered our drinks. They were $16 a piece and tiny. I was already annoyed, especially because Ken didn’t offer to pay for them. Here he was intruding on my “girl’s night”, he was embarrassing to even be seen with publicly due to his dental damage and he wasn’t even going to be a gentleman.

Once I downed my booze I told the table to order me another and got up to dance. I saw a drunk girl dressed like Cyndi Lauper shaking her ass on a box and asked if I could join her. She said yes and offered me a hand up. After two songs she turned over to me in disgust and yelled in my ear, “You are not a lesbian.”

“No,” I said shaking my head.

“Why the fuck are you wasting my time?” she asked as she jumped off the box. She was pissed.

I was really confused, I decided that needed another drink. This was my one night with a babysitter for the month and it was already turning out to be pretty stupid.

I resumed my old spot at the booth with my Who Res. The hookah came back around, I inserted my personal tip and took a toke.

“Hey, that’s my tip you are using!” Ken yelled with a wink.


I wanted to throw up. I was probably gonna catch gingivitis now. Where was our waitress? Maybe if I gurgled some vodka, and fast, I would be OK.

The little blonde, Russian girl finally came around to take our order. She bent down to grab a full ashtray and replace it with a clean one when it happened.

She accidentally dropped it onto the floor.

The glass shattered and pieces of it flew all around us. Two shards hit me in my leg. I looked down to see a thick stream of blood running down my calve.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, “your next drink will be on me. I’ll bring you a band-aid.”

“OK!” I squealed, my eyes were sparkling. I figured could survive an injury and possible scarring if it meant free $16 cocktails.

She never came back. Actually my leg began bleeding pretty badly too. We quickly ran out of napkins to use to mop up the blood. I was fuming.

So, I did what any sour bitch with a vendetta would do in my situation. I told her boss on her. He didn’t even care, actually nobody cared. I was told I could file a report with the casino and then was asked to leave.

Tangerae and Laverne, bored and tired, decided to go home. I was not going to let this detour my getting drunk. This was my only child free night of the month after all. Ken still wanted to get his buzz on as well and I definitely didn’t want to hang out by myself. There was just one problem, I couldn’t risk being seen alone in public with him.

“Lets just go back to my condo,” I instructed, “I have wine and vodka there.”

Ken followed me back to my place. Finally, some booze! After I poured us each a drink, I threw on some TV and excused myself while I went into my bedroom to wrap my leg in gauze and change into some sweats. After I was cleaned up and comfortable I wandered out of the room and into the hallway.

What I saw next made me stop dead in my tracks.

My jaw detached itself and hit the floor.

There on my couch was Ken, his pants were unzipped and he was fiddling his flute. That’s right, on my love seat, Ken was making sweet one-sided love, to himself.

I did not like this.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I shouted.

Then, I acted as anyone would in my situation after spotting his cell phone on my coffee table. Quickly, I snatched it up and opened his contacts page.

“I’m calling your mother!” I shouted.

Those were the magic words because as fast as they fell from my lips, Ken’s erection deflated. He snatched his phone from my paws and high tailed it out of my front door.

That next morning I enjoyed my phone call to Laverne. I decided to leave it up to her to tell Tangerae.

Can you believe it, Tangerae did not believe this story? She said that I was a liar and insisted that I wanted her man. The three of them even started hanging out together without me.


Luckily, like all of Tangerae’s relationships, this too ended after a few weeks and we resumed our 20 year friendship. Though, I still have not decided if I will forgive them for this yet or not.


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  1. Oh yes…there was another party with us too that night and that would leave to another story as well i’m sure


  2. Thanks for the story…made be puke in my mouth just a bit. Glad to see that exploits that involve the toothless (or enamel challenged as I think they like to be called) aren’t restricted geographically.


  3. That sounds like something that I would see going down at the bar and just start a conversation with whoever looked more uncomfortable just to give them an exit opportunity. I don’t start conversations with women in bars with any goals or expectations, despite being single, so often they last for hours. No pickup lines, no advances, just fun. Sorry I was 2000+ miles away and couldn’t extract either you or Ken’s teeth lol… 🙂


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