Anal fissure Bob
teemu....@helsinki.fi
The author is Joe Cidoni.
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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 liquishit 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 Hemlubetm. 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.
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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 becoming 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.
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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
Bustertm 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 seconds later though 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.
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Date: Fri, 10 Dec 93 09:45:00 +0200
Violent anal dilation has been scheduled for Monday Dec. 13 at 05:30
GMT.
It will occur at the Seinäjoki Medical Center. Seinäjoki Finland.
I will have a complete text story with frames from the video tape
available by Thursday.
Thank you for your interest in my anal fissure Bob.
A.F. Bob update:
Lately, I have taken to a high fiber diet to keep the stress on Bob down
to a minimum. My craving for meat has been overwhelming and last night I
indulged it by eating a thick beefsteak with all the trimmings. Bob too
was satisfied and rewarded me this morning before work with an intense
tearing pain and a rich rectal spray of blood. Gosh I'll miss him!
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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
Seinäjoki 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. I admired 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 clucked 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 am 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.
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Date: Sun, 17 Apr 94 15:44:00 +0200
Saw some nice shots in todays press of Kurt laying on his back sans
head. SPD officer squating with a clipboard in his hand and the hint of
a smile on his face. Seems like the Finnish press will print anything.
OBNomercy: Who gives a fuck? One less junkie. The guy had it all and
still couldn't get his shit together. Jim Morrison? I don't think so.
AF Update: Anal Fissure Bob is still alive and well. Actually getting
stronger every day. My doctor tells me that Violent Anal Dilation will
be performed again on May 9. In the meantime, I can't take a shit
without blood dribbling out my ass for an hour or so after.
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Date: Sat, 27 Aug 94 14:00:00 +0200
Hello again.
Two nights ago my girlfriend and I had our regular pre slumber romp.
Everything seemed pretty normal. She did spend a little more time then
usual laying atop me durring the "afterglow" (the "get the fuck off me
and let me sleep" period for you males) period. An unusual amount of
juice had dripped down into my crotch area. She retired to the bathroom
for a rinse, while I was content to drift into sleep, my rational being
that I would have some crustiness to deal with in the morning, but so
what?
Anyway, about 3:00am I was awaken from from a deep sleep by an
uncomfortable feeling in my groin. It felt as if I had a bad sunburn
down there. I bumped my way down the hall to the bathroom and turned on
the light. My crotch looked like it had been to Chernobyl. The skin on
both sides of my balls had just melted away leaving angry raw flesh.
There was a stripe of exposed flesh from the bottom of my belly down my
left thigh in the exact pattern of where her juices contacted my skin.
It was definitely some sort of chemical burn. My inquisitive nature took
over and I headed into the kitchen for a little Mr. Wizard. I mixed a
solution of bicarbonate of soda and tap water. I gently bathed the
afflicted area and sure enough the baking soda solution reacted with my
skin. It fizzled and bubbled lightly. Acid. I continued to base out my
skin. I then used a little moisturizer on the area and went back to
sleep.
Here it is two days later. I have two scabs each about 7 cm long on the
sides of my testicles and a raw patch that's about 6x6 cm square on the
inside of my left thigh.
I am a little afraid to fuck her again for obvious reasons. Her pussy
seems to be a chemical hazard from time to time. What's next? Hydrogen
sulfide? Potassium?
Any speculation as to exactly what was produced by our union?
Ob: anal fissure Bob
For those of you who have been asking. My anal fissure Bob has made a
complete recovery. He is feistier and angrier than ever. My physician
had scheduled another violent anal dilation. However, I decided on an
alernate form of therapy. A do it yourself home dilation kit. He
actually wrote me a perscription for the thing. I have yet to get it
filled though as I do not have a pair of sun glasses dark enough or a
wrapper that is plain brown enough to venture into the pharmacy. He says
that I have to sit on it three times a week untill Bob is on the run
again. I may save my money and my dignity by going to the local grocery
and investing in a certain vegetable as his description of the home
dilation unit is akin to a rubber cucumber. Or dildo for that matter.
Death to Bob.
Douglas D. Anderson
<teemu....@helsinki.fi> wrote
This was originally posted to the New York Herald some time in 1842.
The author is H.M. Stanley, Esq.:
The great objection many of the Boers had, and still have, to English
law is that it makes no distinction between black men and white.
Spitfire
>
> <teemu....@helsinki.fi> wrote
> > This is a repost of a series of posts to alt.tasteless in 1993 and 1994.
> > The author is Joe Cidoni.
>
> The author is H.M. Stanley, Esq.:
>
> The great objection many of the Boers had, and still have, to English
> law is that it makes no distinction between black men and white.
....their women do.....
--
Spitfire
You done yet?