raginghobo
death
Registered: Oct 2001
Location: toronto
Posts: 1612 |
Augh. Just, augh. [Not for faint of heart]
This was posted on alt.tasteless a long time ago, some of you have probably seen this, but still. This is long, disgusting, and oddly well-written.
Subject: My anal fissure Bob
>From: joe.cidoni@compart.fi (Joe Cidoni)
Date: Wed, 20 Oct 93 10:44:00 +0200
After lurking about in the wings the required 2 months I have
felt the need to tell you about my anal fissure Bob.
It all started about two years ago in Thailand. I had just fired
a round of green chile liquish (patent pending) down the hole that the Asians call "toilet" when I noticed an odd sensation just inside the rim of
my sphincter accompanied by a blasting spray of rich red blood.
After living in Asia for six months I thought that I had experienced
nearly every digestive tract malady known to man. Worms, burning and colonic
liquidity on a huge scale. Butt (hehe) this was something completely
different.
It was a singularly unique feeling that I know now to have been the
actual tearing of my rectum. It was Bob making himself know to me.
At first Bob wasn't so bad. Occasional itch and discomfort. Nothing
that I couldn't handle. A mint flavored suppository now and again seemed to
do the trick.
But then about a year ago my cruel master Bob began requiring more
and more from me. Itching on a scale that can only be desribed as "hellish"
was the order of the day. I had a permanent brown stain on my index finger
from trying to scratch the inside of my colon through my troubled anus.
I had lost all sense of decorum. I no longer cared what people
thought. I often walk around in public with my hand down my pants, finger
firmly implanted, trying to appease the evil God Bob.
In my spare time I would daydream about modifying various farm
impliments to deal with the overwhelming itch. I even went so far as to
order a tined hand trowel.
Finally, I went to see a doctor. He made a quick diagnosis of
hemmorhoids and let me go with a perscription for some industrial strength
hemlube (tm.) The doc never saw Bob, who had retreated into his tear in
fear of his only natural enemy, the medical practioner.
This only made Bob more angry and he visited wanton terror upon me.
I began babbling to myself and have conditioned myself so against shitting
that it is only with a great nashing of teeth to I make my approach to the
bowl. As the chocolate tube steak descends I feel my rectum tear assunder
like the curtain of the holy tabernacle. Bob laughing. Bob laughing.
Now, I have finally found a doctor that can help me. She made the
diagnosis with a flashlight clamped firmly in her teeth. I had met her in a
bar and Bob was not expecting a midnight diagnosis on my living room floor.
"No problem" she said.
I have since been scheduled for surgery on October 29th to exorsise
Bob from my most tender of parts. He seems to have accepted his fate and has
been more peacefull as of late. We spend our time singing and reminiscing
about our last two years together. We talk about the life after this one and
I comfort him with rectal salve and oatmeal.
I will post details of the operation, and details about the demise
of Bob.
I hope that he will be brave.
========================================
Subject: My Anal Fissure Bob
>From: joe.cidoni@compart.fi (Joe Cidoni)
Date: Wed, 10 Nov 93 01:02:00 +0200
Hello Again,
Some of you may remember my previous post regarding my anal fissure, Bob.
The surgery that had been scheduled for October 29th has been postponed
until December the first. Bob has had a stay of execution or a reprieve if
you will.
Bob has become a holy terror of an anal fissure and my surgeon has informed
me that the most effective way of dealing with Bob is a form of surgical
exorcism that is know to the medical profession as; VIOLENT ANAL DILATION.
I am not making this up! They are going to anaesthetize Bob and I and then
dilate my asshole to a diameter that until that moment it had never known.
My greatest fear is becomming conscious and out of the corner of my eye
seeing the medical staff zipping up their trousers.
Semi tasteless: I have met a man named Ream. This is his name. Word of
honor. It just seems so appropriate that I meet him at the stage of my life
when violent anal dilation is required. Maybe I should spare myself the
trauma of surgery and spend more time with Ream.
========================================
Subject: Anal Fissure Bob Returns
>From: joe.cidoni@compart.fi (Joe Cidoni)
Date: Wed, 1 Dec 93 22:52:00 +0200
Good A.T'ers,
As you know, my anal fissure Bob and I were due to be seperated
today. By that most tasteless of medical marvels, violent anal dialation,
Bob was to be no more.
The hospital scheduled the dialation over a week ago. They had sent
me some medicine that I was to take the night before, and the morning of the
procedure. It consisted of an overdose of some kind of laxitive pill and two
suppositories the size of a sputnik.
Yesterday evening I had ingested the pills and inserted the Grogan
Buster(tm) industrial strength stool liquifier. Around ten, I began to feel
the need, and by 10:15 I was sitting on the throne enjoying one of the most
massive squats of my life. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING that was not
original equipment that came with my digestive tract was madly scrambling
for the exit.
Sound like fun? Well, for a while it was. Then things began to go
wrong.
I had evacuated myself from stem to stern. Enough allready I
thought. Things slowed down, and I showered off.
This morning, I awoke at 4:00 am and as according to my physicians
instructions, inserted the remaining suppository. Mistake. By 5:00 I was
fully in the throws of the colonic "dry heaves." There was nothing to shit,
but my colon was recieving a chemical message to evacuate at any cost. What
had started out as a good time was rapidly turning into a nightmare.
I arrived at the hospital at 9:00. I was greeted by a nurse who
looked as though she belonged in the WWF. I surrendered my trousers and at
her command was treated to not one, but two enemas. There was some kind of
chemical added to "help clean you out." I once again began desperately trying
to expell the contents of my digestive system. Alas, it had been empty since
the night before. I sat on the bowl, my sphincter twitching in and out as it
tried to pass the phantom grogan that it thought was there. It began to
hurt. Bad. For the next half hour I was in such terrible pain. My asshole
felt as though it had been beaten with a baseball bat. Eventually, the pain
began to subside.
I was led into an ajoining examination room. A doctor that hadn't
seen or fingered me before was there. He explained that my surgery was
postponed for a week because they had decided that one final test should be
performed.
I should stop here to tell you that I am an American living in the
country of Finland. Yeah, I speak some Finnish. But it's limited to things
like "Gee, those are nice tits." So I wasn't too hep to the terminology of
Finnish speaking proctologists.
If I knew what was about to happen, I never would have laid down on
that table.
THE SCOPE! OUCH! OhJeesusOhJeesusOhJeesus.
Never do this! No matter what they tell you! No matter how hard
they plead and cajole. Believe me, death is preferable.
What happened to me next was this: A doctor snaked a 60 cm fiber
optic hose up my fundament. It had a viewing scope on one end, and a device
to pump air into my colon on the other. As he manipulated it up my rectum I
could feel the head move through the colon. I could imagine the bright
light moving through the labyrinth of sphincters and valves. It reminded me
of a motorcyle headlight racing through the Holland tunnel.
The searing pain was intense. At one point in time, I felt as if
the thing was pressing on my lungs. I definitely felt it try to enter
something that I was sure was some kind of door to my stomach. At that
moment, I began to sweat profusely. The world began to spin. My stomach
tried to retch, but again, nothing to barf. There I was, lying naked on a
cold table with a scope up my air filled colon trying to spew when a plan
for revenge crept into my mind. With all my might I pressed my diaphram down
into the pressurized shit chamber. A tremendous wet fart sang around the
hose and out my asshole. It was accomponied by the overwhelming stench of
impacted fecal matter. A small smile crossed my lips. The doctor and nurse
pretended as though nothing had happened. It was only moments later that
the tube was retracted and the nurse had to wipe my liquishit smeared
rectum.
Needless to say, a good time was had by all.
Next week: Violent anal dialation.
========================================
Subject: My anal fissure Bob
>From: joe.cidoni@compart.fi (Joe Cidoni)
Date: Tue, 28 Dec 93 23:49:00 +0200
My anal fissure Bob and what happened.
It's been a while since violent anal dilation.
I'm afraid that I have neglected my duties by not telling you
about it sooner. But I have been at some loss for words about it.
My anal fissure Bob who had plagued me for the last three years is
in the process of dying.
After the violent anal dilation I had expected to awaken from my
anaesthetized slumber to find that Bob had been completely destroyed.
Annihilated by modern medicine in a small sterile room of a hospital in
Seinajoki Finland. A rich heritage of blood and pain wiped out in minutes
by strangers in mask and gown.
It all started a couple of Mondays ago at 7 am. I hadn't slept
much the night before. Bob was quiet, but I lay awake thinking about what
was to come the next morning. I was a little worried. I was about
to experience something called violent anal dilation and I was a bit
concerned. I found out later that my fears about the procedure where in
fact pretty close to reality.
I arrived at the hospital in good spirits. I was shown my bed and
given the button up the back surgical minidress. Even though the procedure
wasn't scheduled until 1:30 I was required to change into the garment. I
suppose that it's a manditory indignity to humiliate and degrade potential
troublemakers. Maybe word had gotten out that I had been asking questions
about the procedure. What kind of drugs that they would be giving me, if my
physician had performed many of these procedures etc. Medical personnel
here don't like being quized by foriegners with anal fissures. It had taken
lots of explaining just to get permission to have a video taped documentary
of the procedure made and released to me. I had to get my local
practitioner to request it. It has since been explained to me that most
procedures are taped anyway. They just don't release the tapes to the public.
I was in bed dozing when I felt a sharp pain in my ass. I whirled
my head around in bed to see a rather stern and matronly looking woman with
a large enema bag. Presumably it was her and her nozzle 'o fun that was
causing the distress. Iadmired her technique. I was asleep. She probably
figured that I would sleep right through it. What, and miss all the fun?
Not likely. Besides, she was about as gentle as a bull elephant. Anal
fissure Bob let out a sharp cry of pain. And so did I. She smiled and
patted my head like a lap dog as she filled my rectum. As I looked around
the room, I realized that we were not alone. Not 10 feet away was the wife
and 2 teenage daughters of the vericose vein strip down in the bed next to
me. They were all checking me out. I smiled my best grimace and tried to
enjoy myself.
At 1:00 my doctor dropped by for a chat. The first thing that I
noticed about him was that the hand that he extended in greeting had a
slight palsy. Actually, it was more of a tremor. This is true! "Halloo" he
said with a poorly forced smile that revealed his large yellow teeth." I
spake anglish warry badney." " Uh....hi" I stammered "I speak a little
Finnish; we will try to talk;" "OK" he agreed. We chatted about the usual
stuff.....pain.... etc. I'm trying to ask the guy about the procedure when
out of the blue, he looks up and says "We will tear you a new asshole." I
am not making this up. By this time, I am not feeling very confident about
what's going on and am giving some serious thought to just getting up and
leaving. I knew about A.F. Bob. He was something that I could understand. I
could live with him. This surgeon was something else. An unknown X with a
license to dilate. He gave me two tiny white pills to swallow. "For made
you relax" he said. Hmmmm this guy was starting to speak my language, maybe
this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Seee yuuu in da operashunn place" he
said and was gone.
I began feeling a little light headed from whatever drug it was
that he had given me when two orderlies came in. They spoke low and softly
to me in Finnish. Who knows what they were talking about. I just kept
nodding my head stupidly. I couldn't have answered them anyway as my toungue
was stuck to the roof of my parched mouth. As they rolled me down the hall
I tried to count the number of acoustic tiles in the ceiling.
Eventually, we arrive at the big swinging doors of the operating
room and are met by two others in surgical greens. It was like a prisoner
exchange at the Rhine. They greeted each other. The two that transported me
there wish me a happy dilation, hand over my file to the others, then turn
and leave me with the dilation team.
As we enter the operating theatre I begin to feel quite
aprehensive. My toungue is thick in my mouth. I am transferred to the main
operating table. The anaesthetist walks in and without so much as a hello
started tapping my forearm to find a suitable vein. I try to greet him but
all that comes out is a horrible sqwak.
I had been relieved of my meager garment and I lay there, alone and
naked. I look down in horror to see that my penis and testicles have
completely withdrawn into my abdomen. Perhaps they had seen it first and
were trying to warn me because there, on a stainless steel tray, nestled
amongst strange looking devices is the object of my aprehension. It is
some sort of anal battering ram. It is stainless steel and is about a foot
long. It has two handles bolted to it. And for all the world it looked
like one of those Stanley thermoses.
By this time, a vein had been found and been hooked up to the
Anaesthetist. He still hasn't said anything so I find my voice. "How about
a little valium to get thing started." He surprises me by speaking perfect
English. "Here;" he said,"Try this" and injects something into the hookup
that *IMMEDIATELY* makes me feel secure and right at home. No more
problems. I chuckle at the prospect of the stainless invader.
As this all was happening, the nurses were quite busy. They had
stainless steel poles that they were affixing to the sides of the
operating table. On top of these poles were large plastic blocks that were
deeply indented to accomodate what could only be my thighs. A more
compromising version of the stirrups that doctors often use to examine
women. And truly, the video has born my theory out. My buttring is bright,
exposed, and nearly eye level to the weilder of the dilation tool.
The chief dilator strolls in, and nods at the anaesthetist. The
latter hooks up a large syringe full of what looked like vaseline to my
I.V. line and says "See you later." I remember trying to fight it just to
see if I could. I couldn't. I remember having a monster head rush and
trying to speak. That's the last thing that I remember.
It's only now that I review the video tape that I realize the
horror of what actually happened to me.
It's strange to see yourself lying on a cold slab, your penis
retracted falling unconcious. Right after I go out, a nurse puts a black
rubber mask over my face. Two attendants raise my thighs into the
"stirrups" and scrunch me down so that my ankles are bent straight back
towards my head. The camera angle is from straight overhead, so you get
a weird out of body feeling watching the whole thing. One nurse manipulates
what's left of my genetalia out of the way while another unceramoniously
paints my asshole with some sort of red tinted disinfectant.
The doctor wastes no time and before you can say "Is he asleep?"
has two of his fingers deep into my ass. He checks around and durring the
examination gives my prostate a mighty push. I swear that I shoot a load
of something straight onto my belly where it just sits there through the
rest of the procedure. The doctor gives a grunt of satisfaction and
reaches for the dilator.
Nurses squirt some kind of lubricant from a large syringe into and
around my ass. The surgeon then inserts the end of the dilation unit ino
my ass and begins rotating it left and right. Soon he had my poor asshole
fully dilated. And I mean *DILATED*. There I am out like a light with a
stainless steel thermos up my ass. Every thirty seconds or so the doctor
does a 360 with the thing.
Everyone is looking pretty bored, especially me.
After about 1/2 hour of this, the doctor removes the dilator and
PUTS HIS ENTIRE HAND UP MY ASS. This is the best part of the video. If you
have had a few drinks and squint a little it looks for a moment like some
kind of bizzare bondage/fisting film.
A satisfied nod and the nurses move in for the clean up. Someone
has the presense of mind to wipe the manually ejaculated fluid off of my
belly. Someone swabs the shit and blood from my ass.
I get another syringe of something in my arm. The mask comes off
my face. A nurse shakes me gently and my eyes flutter open. "Is it over?"
I ask with wonderous shining eyes. Lots of nods around the room. "I
dreamed" I say. "Wow, I feel fine!"
End of video.
They wheel me into the recovery room where I try to sit up. I
carefully reach down in a cautious exploration of my asshole. It is
confounded with a giant tamponlike stuffing. "Uh oh" I think to myself and
try to ignore it. It's only later when they pull the stuffing out do I
realize the full extent of what's happened.
Anyway, a little later I eat some soup and vomit it back up right
away. The vomit is a vile green.
The next day, I took the first effortless shit that I had in
sometime. Oh joy! Oh nirvana.
After the surgery, Bob was still his usual self. In fact, he was
more terrible than usual. He had expected sudden death and when he awoke,
believing that he had survived a professional ass (hehe) ass (hehe) ination
attempt he was even more pissed off and motivated then before. He had felt
betrayed, and had amused himself for the first several days after the
procedure by visiting a torturous itching upon me, his host.
The hard part about his slow strangulation is that I can feel him
dying. He groans and complains like any other terminal patient. I must
take him with me wherever I go. We are like the Siamese twins Chang and
Eng. Can I survive without my symbiotic buddy?
Well, at least fire and blood won't shoot out of my ass every time
that I try to pop a stubborn grogan. I will no longer know the joys of
crying real tears when I shit. For a long time I was told that painful
elimination was unnatural. Now, I truly understand.
Now, two weeks later Bob is only a faint echo of his former self.
He is still hanging onto life, but only just. He is still there, and ugly
slash of an anal fissure. But no longer red and pusy. The occasional itch.
That is all. And even that is fading rapidly.
And oh yes....my butthole has sprung back to a more managable
size. Your asshole really is an incredible machine.
I had a small dinner party on Christmas day. After dinner I put on
the video. It took about twenty minutes before anyone realised that it
was me. I guess they thought it was Nova or something. Ho Ho Ho.
Thank you for your interest in my anal fissure Bob.
Joe
joe.c@compart.fi
--
David Hall | Kristin Hall
Propulsion Performance Office | no real job as yet...
Naval Air Warfare Ctr, Weapons Div | we live in B.F.E.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"Look, you two post funny posts, but, Jesus Christ, have some
self respect. This had to be one of the sickest posts I've
read on alt.tasteless!" -Damon Chetson
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