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And Bob Brings It Home, Once Again. Also, I TOLD YOU SO.

Bob, Part III

"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." Joe

Thats fucking cool. Silly as it sounds, I actually looked forward to flicking that shit on and off each year.

Quick I-Told-You-So here. A couple of times in the past people have accused me of being unrealistic when I suggested stocking up on your favorite surplus ammo; more specifically, 54R. Let me begin this part of the post by showing you that I don't just talk the talk, I walk the walk. And there's a very simple reason as to why. The vast majority of those cases -- which contain two 440 round spam cans each -- were purchased at prices that are simply no longer available. Even though one of those sources was for $70 with free shipping, let's set aside shipping costs for a minute and say I averaged $75 per spam can, or $150 for each 880 round case. When I looked online this morning there was only one -- a SINGLE SOLITARY SOURCE -- of surplus 54R available. And it was buried in the results -- you have to search for "440" to find it. And the cost? A whopping $215 dollars... for something that I paid $75 for just a couple of years ago. That means those fifteen cases you see I have tucked away for a rain day, which cost me ($150 x 15 cases) $2,250, would now cost me around ($430 x 15 cases) $6,450. That's because everyone [AIM Surplus - Ammoman - Bulkammo - Lucky Gunner - Sportsmansguide - Cheaper Than Dirt] is sold out of what is honestly and truly a finite resource. So when I say stock up, I'm not just whistling Dixie.

Disatisfied they didn't get their money's worth out of the 13 second McGregor /Aldo UFC fight -- for which by the way, McGregor broke Ronda Rousey's record for most money earned per second of fighting -- these two Aussie lads decided to have a go of their own. Thank goodness they have better dental care than England.