My Anal Fissure Bob
Joe Cidoni
I have received 2 requests in the last 24 hours to repost this.
Anal Fissure Bob is still alive. Not only alive, but growing stronger
each day.
Last nights pasta came as quite a shock this morning.
I must go back for another violent anal dilation on August 9. Hopefully
there will be many more details to relate to you.
Here is the original post:
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 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.c...@compart.fi (Joe Cidoni)
Date: Wed, 10 Nov 93 01:02:00 +0200
<KEYWORDS: YOUCH!, VIOLENT ANAL DILATION, OH JEEEESUS, HELP>
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.c...@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 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.
========================================
Subject: My anal fissure Bob
From: joe.c...@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. 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.
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12