Bob, Part I -- "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. 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.
Bob, Part II -- 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. 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.
Bob, Part III, the exciting conclusion... tomorrow! Meanwhile, here's a little something that's just in time for your Christmas shopping: the 10 most popular 1911 handguns for UNDER $400.
Ernie, since Tuesday is Tasteless Tuesday, I thought I would submit an oldie but goodie in the Christmas spirit! "Fanta Claus is Comin'" . Hope it works for you. Dusty
Hey Ernie, Speaking of challenges that didn't get solved, I did spend a lot of time looking for this Glamour Magazine cover from November 10. I normally prefer more nudity in the challenges I spend time on, but the the back-burger shot with a winking brown eye intrigued me. I suspected it to be a foreign issue, and when I checked, Glamour Magazine is published in 14 different countries. The letters on the cover appear to say "A to.." and "aioda(?)" and "a-z". Unfortunately, the rest of the cover is hidden by a post coital cleanup tissue. I searched for more pics of the same girl, but came up empty. The earliest posting I could find for that pic was dated February 2014, so I had a baseline to search from. I began looking at covers from 2014 and 2013, I quickly noticed every cover featured a model on each one. So then I figured it must be special edition or some sort of guide, but no dice. So the best I can figure it is a non-typical edition, maybe a subscription insert or something. My best guess, given the circumstances of the pic, is the "Glamour A to Z Guide to Getting Boned From Behind". Keep 'em coming, Tim
And before you show me where these stairs lead to, don't forget to identify wjhatever this thing is with the blue and white handle from yesterday.
Lots of people have been talking about the 13 second Conor McGregor/Jose Aldo fight recently. In fact, even Conor McGregor himself had a few post fight words to say. But of all the videos out there, perhaps this one, which captures the reactions of both McGregor and Aldos fans, speaks the loudest.
An otoscope or auriscope is a medical device which is used to look into the ears. Health care providers use otoscopes to screen for illness during regular check-ups and also to investigate ear symptoms. An otoscope potentially gives a view of the ear canal and tympanic membrane or eardrum. Since the eardrum is the border separating the external ear canal from the middle ear, its characteristics can be indicative of various diseases of the middle ear space. The presence of ear wax, shed skin, pus, canal skin edema, foreign body, and various ear diseases can obscure any view of the eardrum and thus severely compromise the value of otoscopy done with a common otoscope. The fron) end of the otoscope has an attachment for disposable plastic ear specula. Many otoscopes used in doctors offices are wall-mounted while others are portable.