Part 1
Subject: My anal fissure Bob
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 (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 known 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 described 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 implements 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 hemorrhoids and let me go with a prescription 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 gnashing of teeth that I can make my approach to the bowl. As the chocolate tube steak descends I feel my rectum tear asunder 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 exorcise Bob from my most tender of parts. He seems to have accepted his fate and has been more peaceful 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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