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Have you ever used vomit as vaginal lubricant? Do you know what your own shit tastes like?
How about other people's shit? Do you fantasize about handcuffing, bludgeoning, and urinating
on members of a particular ethnic minority? Have you pondered the useful and interesting ways
that you might exploit the suck reflex of a 6-month-old infant?
This is a forum for serious discussion and study of offensive ideas, speech, and behavior.
If you're going to post here, make sure it is truly *inventive* and imaginative in its exploration of _bonafide hard-core offensiveness_.
Schoolyard humor or sick jokes will be viewed as filler. Postings that induce shock, outrage, or a physical gag reflex will be encouraged. True confessions of sociopathic acts will be especially valued.
If you think this is a juvenile, pathetic waste of time . . . if you're concerned that young children may be harmed by this shit . . . if you think this is encouraging the kind of low-life behavior that has already tainted this BBS to an unhealthy degree . . . then fuck you!
/me makes room on the couch
So once I heard from a friend of a friend This friend worked at a mental ward. One of the kids there had this habit, a good one at that. He could pull his asshole out about six or seven inches, sorta just go in there and pull it out with his shit encrusted fingers.
Sometimes he would let it dangle out his pants, other times he would play with it. Once, so I hear, he couldn't put it back. He had stretched it out to such a degree it simply wouldn't snap back.
When I was in HS, there was this girl life guard at the swimming pool in the apartment complex
where I lived. She delighted in telling us stories.
One was of this couple, going at it in her dorm room. He moved and went down on her, really eating her out.
He had also just recently eaten a whole lot of pizza and promptly vomited all over her pussy.
Just thought I'd share.
I have lurked for a while, and am quite encouraged by the folks I find. I've accepted myself as a zoo and have had the wonderful good fortune to have a zoo for a spouse. I enjoy reading this group tremendously for the attitudes and sharing I see. Eleven years ago, I discovered my zoo tendencies somewhat accidentally. I was 19, living at home with my parents, attending a local Junior College. My folks went on a trip and left me and Rowdy to care for the house. I also was caring for the neighbors' dog while they were out of town. Although Rowdy is very protective (aren't all German Shepherds?), he was the friendliest animal you could imagine. This particular day, I spent about an hour next door. Feeding, watering, and playing with the neighbors' dog (who was in season and confined). I noticed when I unlocked my door, Rowdy was unusually enthusiastic when I greeted him. I went upstairs to my room and jumped in the shower. When I came out, I sat on the bed to blow dry my hair. Rowdy pushed his body between my legs and put his head in my lap, like he usually did when he wanted to be petted, but this time, he wouldn't be still for me to pet him. As Rowdy bucked around and finally grabbed my leg and started humping, I noticed his penis sticking out from its sheath. Ever the curious one, I pushed him back to get a better look at it. That's when he put his nose in my crotch and gave me a glorious lick. Wow! Then, he grabbed my leg again and resumed his humping. At first, I was startled. Then, I figured out that the smell of the female was on my jeans and Rowdy was *excited!* I had the craziest thought . . . why not? I had heard of women who had dogs as love mates, but I had never considered Rowdy. I loved him like one of the family, but he was obviously in such a state . . . I decided to give him a try . . . just to see how far he would go. I got down on the carpet on all fours and instead of jumping on top of me, he went after my sex with his tongue. That tongue of his really rang my bell quickly but was a little intense. I tried to get him onto my back, but those nails of his convinced me that there had to be a better way. I got up and turned to face him in a squatting position. I put the center of my back against the side of the bed and as I leaned back, I pulled the big lug on top of me, with his rear end between my thighs. He really didn't know what to do as I lay there with him hovering over me. He was so close, I could feel the soft tip of his cock pushing into my crotch. I reached under him and started to stroke and guide his penis. Within a few strokes, he connected with my vagina. He partially entered me and started going 90 mph. His cock was so hot! He worked his paws a bit around my waist and with his tremendous strength, was actually pulling me onto his penis with each stroke. Once he had penetrated me, I felt a large bump push into my vagina. Then his penis started to grow! It was painful at first, but there was no stopping him at this point. I felt his huge cock almost in the pit of my stomach and I was so *full!* I felt absolutely impaled on his long cock and was loving every minute of it. He slobbered all over my breasts while humping me and brought me to several orgasms. While he was in me, I could feel an awesome throbbing as he pumped his load. After a while, he started doing a dance with his hind feet and his penis deflated enough to pull out of me. I was in shock and in heaven at the same time. He licked me clean and then curled up at the base of the bed. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoy sharing with people of similar interests. I like reading about others' experiences also so I hope you other lurkers will join me in posting. Carolyn (Skytravelr)
I suppose we should get some elementary tips outta the way early on: Waders (the type you
normally use when you're, say, trout fishing) are useful to have while doing sheep, so you'll have
somewhere to stuff their rear legs.
Young calves will nurse on just about anything.
once upon a time, i was transmitted a nice, nongonhorreal infection from this cute brazilian
skankpot named ruth. at first, i had the vaguest sense that my penis itched--from the inside.
within a couple of days, it felt like my dick was on fire. pissing had become downright painful,
so it was with great dread that i went into the bathroom. i waddled up to the toilet and
unhitched. looking down i thought, hey, who left the baklava in my shorts? then it occurred to
me, hey, that's not flaky, gooey pastry with nuts, that's my pecker.
I see that someone has "fingered" me, revealing the fact that I have no previous experience here
on MindVox. I hope this won't cause anger and resentment.
For several years I have been a member of another well-known online service. But I never felt able to express myself with sufficient freedom. When I was complaining about this to a friend who is well acquainted with the owners of MindVox, he suggested that I could find a new home here.
My qualification for this task consists of lifelong experience and fascination with disgusting and offensive behavior. Believe me, I have many stories to tell.
Since response to this forum has been so swift and positive, I would like to propose a monthly "Filth Award" to the person who makes the most memorable post in each of these categories:
1. Most nauseating anecdote
2. Most interesting perversion
3. Most original insult
Should there be additional award categories that I haven't thought of?
Heard while I was stationed at Ft. Bragg: "Shut up, you clit-muscled faggot."
And one personally penned by my best friend: "Go to hell, you flaming one-eyed butt weasel."
Story, heard from a friend of a friend of a friend: Once upon a time this high school lad and his
high-school GF were enjoying an intimate moment at his house, in the afternoon, in the magical
time between the end of school and when your parents come home from work. He had her in
the basement, just in case the folks came home. Anyway, he was butt-fucking her ferociously.
Suddenly his mother walked in on them. He pulled out suddenly in surprise. When he did, the
young lass spewed the contents of her colon upon his genitals. When he looked down and saw
this, he became nauseated and vomited all over her back.
What I really want to know is . . . what happened after that, with this poor naked young girl kneeling on the ground, covered with vomit, having just shat all over this woman's son? I can't think of anything to say in that situation.
A friend of mine has a friend that goes to NYU (girl) and the friend was going out with her BF
that night leaving her roommate in the dorm alone . . . she told the roommate that she was
going out for the night and she would be back around 3 in the morning . . . The girl left with her
BF but then remembered she forgot her ID which she needed to get back in later on . . . she
wasted about 10 minutes talking to friends she ran into downstairs before she actually got
around going back up to her room . . . when she got there before she opened the door she heard
a loud humming . . . she opened the door only to be greeted by her roommate jerking off with a
vacuum cleaner that was on . . . worse yet she kept on fucking herself with the vacuum cleaner
since she didn't hear her roommate come in due to the noise. The girl that came in snuck up on
her roommate and jumped in front of her saying
really loud. The girl's BF was in the room watching the spectacle at this point and laughing also . . . The girl masturbating with the vacuum cleaner jumped up and started to scream which made people from other dorm rooms emerge and come in to the room. The girl was naked and just managed to turn the vacuum cleaner off by the time a small crowd had gathered around the opened door to see what all the screaming was about . . . The girl that was masturbating began to cry hysterically and threw everyone out of the room and began to dress and pack all her stuff up . . . 10 minutes later she left the dorm and later on the next day requested a new dorm assignment . . . My friend's friend never saw the girl again . . . they had never been that close but that was definitely the end of that friendship. In a matter of speaking . . . it was sucked up!
/me slaps myself for corniness (hey! . . . I had to say it!)
Some things I heard today out of the corner of my ear. "You vaginal blood fart"
". . . she was riding the cotton pony . . . " ". . . sand paper tongue in a canker sour world" My all time fave, while not being too gross, is a line from 2 Jakes "In a town of lepers, I'm the man with the most fingers."
One of my girlfriend's friends came over once to visit us. She complained that her eyes were
My GF Christy went into a little speech about how you should wash off your mascara (she doesn't wear makeup but her friend does) very night to be sure you don't get an eye infection.
So our friend goes to the bathroom and washes her eyes really well. But still they were itchy. She runs her fingernail across the edge of her eye and pulls out what she thinks is a bit of eye boogers.
Instead, and to her great horror, she sees that she has a small insect on the tip of her finger. A "crab" actually.
That's when she saw that she had quite a few of them crawling around near the edge of her eye socket.
That's when she started to freak.
Long story short: hospital, embarrassed, black eyes for two weeks.
I used to work with a woman who'd say, "You'd suck the cum out of a dead faggot's asshole."
"You're as ugly as a bucketful of twisted assholes" And it gets even better when I tell you that I learned that expression from my best friend's 85-year-old grandmother.
When I was about 8 years old, I used to let my dog, Sugar (a toy collie) lick my penis before I got
in the shower . . . she would come up and sniff it and then lick at it, kind of flicking it with her
tongue . . . then as I got older, I used to get down on all fours and let her lick my ass clean after
a shit or after one of those sweaty days that make your crack feel all grody and slippery . . . she
licked it as if she was cleaning her own asshole, I mean, not really voraciously licking, but kind
of timid . . . she would take couple of licks and make this little face and smack her lips and
tongue a bit and then continue . . . oh, I forgot, my mom caught me when I was 8 letting Sugar
lick my penis . . . the embarrassment has yet to be rivaled . . . not to mention the guilt trip and
screaming and yelling . . . .
this is a TRUE telling . . . and I don't have to lie by using the "I have this friend . . . " method.
Has anyone ever watched film footage of a massacre in Rwanda or anywhere else and had the urge to laugh? I don't mean the laugh like the laughter at a funeral which is attributed to a mental desire to not deal with death, but I mean really laugh because you think it is really funny to watch these spear chuckers whack each other to death . . . I mean, imagine it . . . a bunch of half-or maybe full-crazed tribal types rampaging through towns slicing away with their machetes . . . maybe the white South Africans wish this would happen to their spear chucker rulers.
The most outrageous porno scene I've seen is one shot on film from the mid-seventies . . . this girl seduces a truckload of about seven to eight garbage men who take her behind some big buildings to a medium sized garbage dump and lay her on a heap of garbage, masturbate in a circle, and then ejaculate on her face (yes, each of them in turn) and then leave her lying there with her literally cum drenched face on that pile of trash . . . I am sure there have been more bizarre, but I just found quite striking the image of her, the pile of garbage, all that spooj, the happy garbage men leaving her there on her back on that pile and driving off . . . (and then those feminists types always agitate that women should be treated equally and with respect . . . .humph . . . this film proves women wanna be treated like shit!)
I'm surprised that no one mentioned the (deceased) king of gross yet [G.G.Allin]. Among other things, he's: shoved a banana up his ass and shit it back out in front of a horrified NYU audience; given his own brother a blow- job on stage; fucked a dead cat; and many more great spectacles which have fortunately been captured on video . . .
okay, not to be outdone, i am still angling for mostest yucky anecdote. this is a continuation of
my previous post (what follows took place at the free sexually transmitted disease clinic in santa
so after a couple of days of this baklava leaving a different colored crust du jour in my shorts, i go to the std clinic. my turn comes and so i'm standing in an examination room peeling my penis off my briefs when this really mean, miserably-dissatisfied-with-her-life doctor comes in. we discuss symptoms for a bit, then she sits on a stool, face to face with my greg peck. "open it," she says. "huh, wha?!?" "open it," she repeats, glaring and making a sort of moses parting the red sea motion with her fingers. so i do the best that i can, and before i can complete the thought "that thing's not meant to be opened," she's jammed a metal swab into my urethra and is twirling it around. all events and sensations beyond this point are blurred, though these memories will probably all unrepress when i'm 80, driving my neue pinto 2000 on the jersey turnpike. i'll slam on the brakes and get rear ended by a tractor trailer hauling soylent clear up to rochester.
Long ago and far away, I was struck by the possibility of the "ultimate blow job," which might be
achieved with the aid of a vacuum cleaner. The regular tube on the cleaner was rather narrow,
unclean, and rough on the inside, so I made myself an extension: a cardboard tube lined with a
Baggie and lubricated with Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion.
When my organ was suitably hard I inserted it in the tube and switched on the cleaner. Jesus Christ! This was one of the most intense and terrifying experiences of my life! I discovered in fact that the suction drew my penis out to about fifty percent more than its usual length. At the same time, however, it became frighteningly thin. Fortunately I reached an intense orgasm very quickly, and withdrew. But my organ dangled lower, and looked skinnier, for days afterward. Also, the vacuum cleaner started smelling of old semen and Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion, which I found hard to explain to other members of my immediate family.
Don't try this at home, kids!
Since a few degenerates on this forum have brought up the matter of my name, let me now
address this unfortunate issue.
The verb "to felch" was coined, I believe, by motorcycle gang members in the 1960s. It describes a perversion in which a person licks semen out of another person's anus (the semen having been deposited there during a sex act performed previously by a third party).
I have often wondered if the unfortunate meaning of my name is the reason I have had such a lifelong obsession with dirty, disgusting behavior. Hardly a week goes by without a phone call from some drunk or pervert, asking me "Are you a Felcher?" When I reply in the affirmative, the person at the other end of the line invariably says, "Then lick my ass!"
It's really very tiresome. Since there are in fact a number of people named Felcher in any large city, I do hope that MindVox members will refrain from telephoning them and uttering similar obscenities.
geekus (NO CAREER) writes:
before i can complete the thought "that thing's not meant to be opened," she's jammed a metal swab into my urethra and is twirling it around.
I had that test once. I had this horrible urinary tract infection. Felt like I was pissing white hot jagged glass. My doctor was out of the office for a couple days and told me to go the emergency room to get to sulfa drugs and antibiotics.
So I'm in this curtained partition and the nurse hears my symptoms and starts questioning me about STDs, partners, etc. I say not a chance. Nothing but latex on this dick for years now. He says, "Okay, we'll have to take a couple of tests. First, grab your penis by the base, squeeze up and wipe this swab on your urethra to take a culture of any discharge." I say, "No problem, I know there's no discharge" and do as he asked. Then he says, "Now this second test . . . " and without so much as anything, takes my dick and rams aforementioned metal swab into it for a quick twist and pull. I've never screamed "fuck" so loud in all my life. The poor girl getting stitches in the area next to me is probably still in therapy after the shock.
To add insult to injury, I got a shot of antibiotics so thick that it burned going into the muscle of my leg, and hurt so much that I couldn't stand on it for 20 minutes. Then I had to drive home, having to lift my leg with my hand in order to clutch in and out.
Diagnosis turned out to be non-specific urethritis. All I wanted to do was take a piss that didn't hurt.
I find limericks a pain in the ass so I have a dirty one I use to stop the any impromptu recitals. I'll share it with you now.
There once was a maid from the Azores
Whose vagina was covered with sores
The dogs in the street
Used to lick the green meat
That hung in festoons from her drawers.
The nineties twist on felching is to put a shot glass up the persons ass to catch the come for consumption.
I was young and naive, new to the Big City, and eager to experience the wonders of promiscuity.
There was a young woman, a friend of a friend, who was known (rightly or wrongly) as a total slut. Naturally, at the first opportunity, I got her drunk and went home with her.
Actually, "home" wasn't the right word; she lived in a kind of residential hotel. The room was so dirty and foul, *neither* of us wanted to switch on the light. So, with the aid of a good deal of fantasizing, I managed to have sex and even managed to reach a climax. As I was leaving the next morning, I thought to myself, "If I'm ever going to catch a venereal disease, this is the time!" (Note: this was before the age of AIDS.)
Well, I was correct. Within 24 hours, I experienced horrific urinary pain. My prostate felt as if it was the size of a tennis ball. When I masturbated in order to relieve the pressure (this is the good bit, kids) *green jelly* came out instead of semen!
So I went to the city health clinic. By this time I had a big ugly lesion on my penis. I was examined, and the doctors looked at each other, and no one said anything. They made me wait till all the other patients had gone, and then called me back in. *Everyone* wanted to take a look. Finally this old guy (who had clearly spent his life examining genitals) said, "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to open it up."
So there I was holding my penis, with it twisted around so the underneath part was on top, while this geezer gets a sterile needle and *scrapes open the lesion*! Oh, it was really interesting! Then after they had it bleeding, they pressed a microscope slide against it, and went and examined it.
It turned out that they couldn't decide whether I had syphilis or something else. They couldn't see any spirochetes so it looked like negative on syphilis--but since they didn't know what else it could be, they gave me a monster shot of penicillin anyway. Later I discovered that the woman I had slept with had just come back from a tour of all the most primitive, disease- infested countries of the Far East and Africa. Who knows what she had picked up. Her name was Bonnie Billet; I still think of her from time to time.
Never did discover what the disease was. Either it went away, or it will metastasize and rot my brain, or it already _has_ metastasized and rotted my brain.
The moral of this story, of course, is too obvious to bother mentioning.
I went to a prep school that had a great football program. Every summer, around mid-August,
the new players would come onto campus to start drills for the coming season. Every year, like
clockwork, we would get a handful of girls from a local all-girls school to show up and check the
new meat out. The girls were young, pretty, and curious. One year, during my junior year of high
school, two girls drove up to a bunch of us after a hard day's practice. There were about 8 of us
in the group, and we were sweaty, grungy and what-not. These girls loved it. They seemed to be
slightly older than the usual fare that showed up pooning around. The girl who was in the
driver's seat did all the talking. She made it clear her and her friend wanted to party. I just knew
at that point, one of us was going to fuck this chick within the next hour or so, maybe even her
cute friend. I was behind a few of my friends, and didn't hear the last few words of the
conversation before I saw her drive towards our dorm complex. Bill, who was in the front,
turned to all of us and said to get some more guys together, and meet him at his room in a half
hour. All together, about 14 guys showed up in Bill's room. We closed off the floor which was
easy since football players were the only ones on school grounds. As I climbed up the stairs to
get to Bill's, I heard loud moans and knew what was happening. This girl was getting the shit
fucked out of her. [note: she directed the whole thing. She knew everything going on around her.
She was not drunk, nor was she drinking. That rare species of woman: the nymphomaniac!] Her
friend was watching for now. A few guys waited outside the room, but a lot of guys were inside
watching. Everyone fucked this chick, she knew everything and put on a good show. This crazy
kid Pete wanted to go last. He had convinced the main attraction's friend to join him and we all
watched this threesome go at it. He was going crazy on the both of them! After doing both of
them, every way imaginable [here comes the sick part] Pete asked the girl who did everyone
"What's your name?" (typical). "Lisa", the girl said (also typical). "I like that name", said Pete as he
proceeded to stick his index finger up Lisa's ass, and pulled out a wet hunk of shit. He butt
fucked her and pulled out a hunk of shit on his dick. Mind you, I am in the room with a bunch of
my friends and crying/laughing at this point. It was so surreal, I couldn't believe it was
happening. Pete walked over to a non- postered wall in Bill's room and with his index finger full
of shit wrote "LISA" on the wall. We were balling at this point. He yelled over to the other girl,
"Hey honey come here! What's your name?" "Rebecca." With his shit- covered dick he wrote
"BECKY" on the wall. He then bent her over in front of the wall and stuck his still shitty dick into
Beckys ass and pressed her so hard into the wall against her shit written name, she smeared it
with her body! As this was going on, I looked behind me at Lisa, and she asked some of my
friends to jerk off and piss on her! Four guys did just that! It was one of the most bizarre events
of my high school career.
They went home late that night. I don't think Becky showered! I told you this forum reminded me of days of old! Felcher, you are a fucking genius!
A while ago I interviewed a woman who specializes in crushing things with her feet. The text
was published in a magazine titled "Leg Show." The woman is entirely for real. I'm not sure how
offensive it is, but it made _me_ feel vaguely queasy. Here are some excerpts.
Miss J: When I was little, I used to step on snails, which was a lot of fun, because the shells crunch, and sometimes they pop. And the snail squishes out, almost like a grape. And the interesting thing is, there are people out there who love to see me do that. So now I sell my own snail-squishing photo sets.
Leg Show: What are some other things that you step on? Miss J: I have a video where I trample tomatoes and yams with my bare feet. I really love the feeling of applying all of my weight and having stuff squish up between my toes. It's quite messy, of course, but that's what submissives are for--to lick my feet till they're clean.
Leg Show: Do you step on other foods?
Miss J: I have photos of my feet in stiletto shoes, crushing hardboiled eggs. I have a set called "The Big Mac Attack" where I do a hamburger and fries. In each case, the photos follow a sequence, getting messier all the way through.
Leg Show: What do you most enjoy stepping on? Miss J: I derive the most pleasure from stepping on live victims. It's a power trip, and it's sensual at the same time.
Leg Show: Do you leave bruises?
Miss J: I danced on the back of one of my slaves one night, wearing the stilettos with the gold heels, and the next day he had little round scabs all over his back, which he didn't realize till he went to his gym, and people started staring at him and asking what the hell happened.
Leg Show: How should our readers get in touch with you? Miss J: They should should write to me at 1915-A East Katella Avenue, #150, Orange, CA 92667, enclosing a stamped self-addressed envelope. In return, I will send them my photo list and a sample photograph. Then we can go from there.
Naturally, I take no responsibility for the fate of anyone who decides to make contact with this little monster.
One afternoon, GG Allin wandered into the record store where I used to work. He was trying to
get us to stock his new album.
Would've been business as usual, had he not been covered head-to-toe in half-dried shit.
What's the oddest thing you've ever heard of anyone stuffing up their anal orifice? An intern
friend of mine told me one time that during a stint in the ER, he actually had to pull a light bulb
outta somebody's ass.
Quite tricky, that . . .
The following is the _Unusual Case_ column from the July 1991 issue of the trade magazine
"Medical Aspects of Human Sexuality,"
by William A. Morton, Jr.
One morning I was called to the emergency room by the head ER nurse. She directed me to a patient who had refused to describe his problem other than to say that he "needed a doctor who took care of men's troubles." The patient, about 40, was pale, febrile, and obviously uncomfortable, and had little to say as he gingerly opened his trousers to expose a bit of angry red and black- and-blue scrotal skin.
After I asked the nurse to leave us, the patient permitted me to remove his trousers, shorts, and two or three yards of foul-smelling stained gauze wrapped about his scrotum, which was swollen to twice the size of a grapefruit and extremely tender. A jagged zig-zag laceration, oozing pus and blood, extended down the left scrotum.
Amid the matted hair, edematous skin, and various exudates, I saw some half-buried dark linear objects and asked the patient what they were. Several days earlier, he replied, he had injured himself in the machine shop where he worked, and had closed the laceration himself with a heavy-duty stapling gun. The dark objects were one-inch staples of the type used in putting up wallboard.
We x-rayed the patient's scrotum to locate the staples; admitted him to the hospital; and gave him tetanus antitoxin, broad-spectrum antibacterial therapy, and hexachlorophene sitz baths prior to surgery the next morning. The procedure consisted of exploration and debridement of the left side of the scrotal pouch. Eight rusty staples were retrieved, and the skin edges were trimmed and freshened. The left testis had been avulsed and was missing. The stump of the spermatic cord was recovered at the inguinal canal, debrided, and the vessels ligated properly, though not much of a hematoma was present. Through-and-through Penrose drains were sutured loosely in site, and the skin was loosely closed.
Convalescence was uneventful, and before his release from the hospital less than a week later, the patient confided the rest of his story to me. An unmarried loner, he usually didn't leave the machine shop at lunchtime with his coworkers. Finding himself alone, he had begun the regular practice of masturbating by holding his penis against the canvas drive-belt of a large floor-based piece of machinery. One day, as he approached orgasm, he lost his concentration and leaned too close to the belt. When his scrotum became caught between the pulley-wheel and the drive-belt, he was thrown into the air and landed a few feet away. Unaware that he had lost his left testis, and perhaps too stunned to feel much pain, he stapled the wound closed and resumed work. I can only assume he abandoned this method of self-gratification.
[William A. Morton is a retired urologist residing in West Chester, Pennsylvania.]
So a famous newscaster at actions news in Philly went to the ER where my friend's mom worked
. . .
He had a gerbil stuck up his ass.
See, you're supposed to take the gerbil and stick it into a paper towel tube shoved into the orifice. The gerbil then wiggles his way up your asshole, which some sick people seem to enjoy . . .
Of course, you're supposed to remove the teeth and claws of the animal first, so you can get him out easily . . .
Apparently, the newscaster had forgotten this last, important step . . . and the bugger decided he like it in there and was holding on for dear life.
Reminds me of a torture technique I'd heard the Nazis used. A metal tube is placed up a person's anus, into which is placed a live rat, then sealed. This end of the tube is then heated to a point at which the rat decides it is in his best interest to exit the situation--usually by eating his way out the other open end.
"My Thing About Vomit" by Ralph T. Castle [Reprint of a confessional published in the 1970s.]
PART ONE: The Early Days
It may seem perverse, even to readers of this newspaper, that anyone could have a fetish about vomit. On the few occasions when I have confessed my special interest in this subject, I have been told, flatly, that it is disgusting and there is something wrong with me. But ever since I was sixteen years old I have been aware that there can be special erotic feelings linked to vomiting, and the act has become part of my favorite sexual fantasies.
It all started when I was sixteen, with some teenage friends outside the school auditorium where a typically boring dance was taking place. In the space of three hours I managed to drink three-quarters of a gallon of wine (with frequent pauses to piss against the wall). I became too drunk to stand.I then are a whole packet of Ritz crackers, and then started throwing up. I will always remember the almost creamy consistency of the vomit resulting from the crackers dissolved in the wine and stomach juices. My friends were disgusted to see me literally rolling around in my vomit, as if I were getting off on it in some way. What they didn't notice was that, as drunk as I was, the experience gave me an erection. In fact I think I might even have reached orgasm, but I passed out soon after the stomach spasms were over.
I thought about this experience a lot and realized it was the primal thrill of gushing, of giving forth, which turned me on. It was like ejaculating but much more dramatic. And vomiting brought me into an intimate contact with the juices of my body that were normally contained and hidden. This, and the sense of turning myself inside-out, was exciting.
So I tried to make myself vomit again, a few days later, while sober this time. Unfortunately, it has never been easy for me to vomit. I had to keep prodding the back of my throat with my finger, and when I finally managed to bring up a mere cup full of vomit the muscle spasms (which I had hardly noticed while I was drunk) were so painful that they ruined the experience for me.
Consequently I abandoned the subject for a while, though I retained a special interest in any movies which showed people vomiting, and I thought about it quite a bit.
Then, when I was at college, I was dating a girl who was a yoga student and claimed to have mental control of all bodily functions. I suddenly said, "I bet you couldn't make yourself vomit just by thinking about it," and as I spoke I had a vivid image of the juices flowing from her mouth, and I realized, rather guiltily, how much it would excite me to see this and, if possible, touch and taste her vomit as it came out.
She was a competitive person, so she accepted my challenge--provided that I would promise to take her out to dinner afterward (!). She went into the bathroom and kneeled down with her head over the toilet. For the next fifteen minutes there was an endless, tantalizing series of stomach spasms as she tried to will herself to vomit. I crouched with my arm around her, my hand surreptitiously touching her breast. I felt unbearable anticipation mixed with fear, as if something forbidden and dangerous was about to happen. And then, finally, she did it. I saw the rich brown liquid flow out of her very pretty mouth. Then, while she was still gasping for breath, I couldn't stop myself from seizing her and kissing her passionately, so that I could taste the vomit. I pushed my tongue into her mouth and the tip of it touched little food particles and partially digested remnants of the lunch she had eaten with me just a few hours earlier. The intimacy was beyond anything I had experienced with her in our relationship.
However, to her the whole experience was repellent, and she pushed me away, saying that there must be something wrong with me. She refused ever to vomit for me again, and stopped seeing me soon after that. My biggest regret was that I hadn't asked her to vomit into a dish; as it was, she had quickly flushed the toilet, taking all the evidence of the special moment away.
I found it predictably difficult to meet any other women who shared my interests. A year or so later I was seeing a very overweight girl who had tried every slimming diet there was. I suggested hopefully to her that if she made herself vomit after dinner each night, she would quickly lose weight. She didn't like the idea, so I had to keep insisting on it, telling her rather cruelly how fat she was.
[Will our humble narrator find lasting bliss with his tubby new friend? Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of this confession, supplied by your dedicated moderator.]
I was at a bar with some friends and one guy is like I gotta puke, so we thought he would get up and go puke but he reaches across the table for my empty glass and vomits neatly into it. Then he reaches for someone else's glass and does the same. And then we all sorta sat there staring at it in awe.
My old math teacher worked in an emergency room in San Francisco. He told us that they had a guy come in who had lubed up a fluorescent light tube, shoved it in his ass and of course the fucker burst, sending slivers deep in his rectum. Of course his body also absorbed the gas contained in the the tube . . . Duh!?! Does anyone know if the whole "gerbilism" thing is for real or just urban myth? I always wondered about that one . . .
I had a GF who was pogoing around her room w/ her walkman on full blast; anyway, she really got into it then she felt something wet on her bare foot and she looked around and saw that she had crushed the skull of her new kitten and that the wet stuff was its brain on her foot.
one night I went to the Tunnel (a first date) to see Karen Finley and she stuffed canned yams up
her ass and shit them out onto our table, well she was done and there we were with our two free
open bar drinks and a hot pile of her yam shit on the table w/us
"Time to dance"
Does anyone have any tampon stories? Tampons interest me because they rouse such mixed
feelings in both males and females. No one seems entirely comfortable with the idea of heavily
blood-soaked tampons . . .
With one exception: cats love them. We have a cat which will dig a used tampon out from under any amount of other bathroom trash. The cat then thoroughly chews the tampon, presumably under the impression that it is a helpless (bloody) woodland creature.
Since infants acquire the ability to eat meat long before they acquire social inhibitions, it seems to me that a child of maybe 18 months would happily suck on a used tampon, if it had the chance to do so.
Any first-hand experience in this area?
A friend of mine told me that early in his residency he dealt with a woman who was admitted to
the hospital complaining of abdominal cramps. It turns out she had been using tampons and no
one told her they had to be removed before inserting a new one. She had about 20 up there and
this had been going on for about a week, when she showed up at the emergency room.
And you believe in children as social experiment don't you Mr. Platt?
My same doctor friend also once treated a woman who came in because of vaginal itching; she was concerned she had an STD. Upon investigation he found maggots nesting inside her. Apparently her BF like to insert food in her and then eat it out. Unfortunately, he wasn't very thorough.
Following a high-level conference with one of the founders of MindVox, I have been given the go-ahead to offer a special award which will be reserved exclusively for participants here in the Fuck-You forum.
*The Golden Turd Award*
Once a month, this unique award will be given to the writer of the most *offensive* post in each of three categories:
1. True Confession or Anecdote
2. Medical Description
You may be wondering what, exactly, the Golden Turd trophy will consist of. Will it be a genuine human turd? In which case, how can it be golden? Will it be a golden *replica* of a turd, or a plastic novelty that has been painted gold, or just a picture of a turd, or some other second-rate ripoff?
First let me assure you that the Golden Turd Award will *not, repeat not* be a second-rate ripoff. The Golden Turd will be an item of lasting value, lovingly packaged for display in a transparent acrylic case. More than this I am reluctant to say. I would like the Golden Turd Award to have a legendary, numinous, grail-like purity. I would cheapen it by describing it in any more detail.
There have already been some highly memorable posts, here, and I can see that the competition for this award is likely to be fierce. Therefore, in each category there will also be two runners-up whose names will be enshrined in a roll of honor in this forum.
I will be the judge of this contest, in consultation with the owners of MindVox. Maybe this seems a bit high-handed, but since I'm the one who is getting his hands dirty, so to speak, actually creating the Golden Turd trophies, I figure I should have something to say about who wins them. And if this arrangement doesn't meet with your approval--well, fuck you!
"My Thing About Vomit" by Ralph T. Castle PART TWO: Fulfillment!
Finally she agreed to my plan, just once. This time I prepared properly for the scene. I covered the kitchen table with a towel, and I set a large white porcelain mixing bowl in the center. I draped another towel across my girlfriend's large breasts, as a napkin. She looked as if she was about to enjoy a feast--except that the bowl was empty, and in fact she was about to PROVIDE the feast!
She tried to back out at the last minute, and it was I who had to touch the back of her throat--an act which seemed just as erotic, to me, as pushing my finger into a woman's vagina. While I tickled her throat with one hand, I masturbated surreptitiously under the table with my other hand, and when she finally threw up I came at almost the same moment, in a mutual rush of juices that made me flinch and cry out, the spasms were so intense.
Luckily, she was too aware of her own discomfort to realize what was happening to me. By the time she recovered herself and wiped away the dribbles of vomit from her chin, I had mopped up the evidence of my orgasm and was quickly clearing away the bowl of liquid. I had quietly stage-managed her diet during that day, insisting that she ate a lot of beets for dinner, and some rare roast beef--so that when the vomit came up, it would be a very pretty purple-pink color.
That night, I waited for her to go to sleep, and then I crept out to the kitchen and poured her vomit into a large glass jar. I brought the jar back into our bedroom and stood it on the bedside table. It gave me a very special guilty thrill to go to sleep beside her with that jar of her very essence, captured and bottled, standing close by. I felt I had stolen away something altogether more precious than any act of a normal sexual nature would have given me.
Unfortunately she woke before I did and when she saw what I had done, she was so disgusted she terminated our involvement immediately. It was all I could do to stop her grabbing the jar of vomit and pouring it away. Later, I confess I indulged in a very perverse act: I used some of the vomit as lubricant on my hands, and masturbated with it. I remember how the white come looked amid the sticky purplish vomit--which, by this time, was actually beginning to turn brown, since I discovered vomit does not keep for very long, even when refrigerated. It goes brown and starts smelling very bad.
In the next few weeks I tried again to make myself vomit, now that I realized how arousing the whole subject could be. But the act was as physically painful as ever, and in any case it was a poor substitute compared to what I had experienced with my girlfriend.
So I turned to prostitutes. Inevitably, they refused to have anything to do with me, when I told them what I wanted. Their attitude was that they would do various kind of perverted sex, if they were paid enough, but vomiting was nothing to do with sex. It was plain disgusting, and they couldn't do it no matter how much they were paid. Actually, I think it was simply that any person, no matter how degenerate he or she is, needs to find someone else in the world they can despise for being even more degenerate. And that's why the prostitutes despised me rather than cooperate with what I wanted.
Then I had a stroke of good fortune. By a complete fluke--a wrong number phone call, in fact--I met a girl called Tina who had come to the city from the Midwest, thinking she could get rich here. She had gotten very disillusioned, had ended up selling encyclopedias door to door, had even failed at that, and when I met her she was broke and hopeless, living in a sleazy little apartment in a very bad neighborhood.
Tina turned out to be one of the least attractive women I had ever met. When we talked on the phone she sounded sexy, but when I saw her I found she had extremely bad acne, her face looked perpetually blank (her mouth literally tended to hang half open), and she was incapable of keeping up any sort of intelligent conversation.
My first impulse was to try and leave as tactfully as possible. However, she mentioned that, in addition to all her other troubles, she had gotten pregnant. One thing came into my head at this point: MORNING SICKNESS!
[Will our humble narrator enter into a blissful union with Tina, as she pukes her guts out each morning? Stay tuned for the final "sick" installment submitted for your edification by your humble moderator.]
I just got back from path lab, here are the fun things we played with: A hand that was obscured
by the basal cell carcinoma. Just the hand. In a jar. It had been amputated.
A teratoma. What you get when your gonadal cells decide to go ape shit. Basically a tumor with hair, and teeth, and skin and bone, but in no human- like arrangement.
A leg (actually a couple of them) which had been amputated for various reasons, mostly cancer. You could see the toenails and the skin.
Part of a nose and an eyeball that had to be cut out because of cancer. It was still connected together. Not much left to the eyeball, the inside jello-stuff was all gone.
The hand really was the creepiest, I kept wondering if the guy that it used to belong to missed it. Or knew it was in a jar somewhere. The fingernails were nicely cut, unfortunately he decided to let the big ol ulcerating cancer hang around for 7 years or so.
when I was in histology lab in undergrad, we had this jar of cut-up human skin in formaldehyde. I noticed once that there were some greenish markings on them so I removed them to examine. By the time I had finished, I had in front of me a jigsaw puzzle made of human flesh depicting a really cool Harley-Davidson tattoo.
My parents tell me a story of sneaking around the bio dept. at Yale in the late sixties--my mom
wanted to see a corpse and my dad had keys, so . . .
Anyway they're in the meat locker surrounded by your usual assortment of Nasty Stuff (hands and feet and fetuses etc. in jars) and they are walking around goggling at stuff when my dad trips over a big white bucket on the floor which contains a human head which decided to spill out of the bucket along with the gallon or two of preservant which coated the bottom of mom's pant legs. Needless to say they ran like hell.
I can only guess that he did not take her to dinner afterwards.
"My Thing About Vomit" by Ralph T. Castle PART THREE: The Thrill of Morning Sickness
To my great excitement I learned that Tina was, in fact, suffering from morning sickness, and since it had only recently started, she expected it would go on for another couple of weeks. So I decided I had to spend that night with her, even though I found her physically repulsive. She had no objection--she seemed to have no will of her own, in fact, which excited me, because it implied I might persuade her to vomit for me more than once.
I spent a very difficult night with her, and was only able to have sex by closing my eyes and picturing what delights dawn would bring. Then I woke in the morning and felt her slipping out of bed to go to the bathroom. I ran after her, just in time to stop her closing the bathroom door. I insisted she should vomit into the sink, not the toilet. She tried to resist, but I just took charge, and she was too submissive and too overcome by nausea to do much about it.
I managed to put the stopper into the drain while her stomach heaved, and then, gloriously, all the juices flowed. There was not a lot, because most of the food in her stomach had been digested and moved down into the intestines during the night. However, to my eyes the liquid that did come up had an almost golden color, and I marveled that it looked so attractive to me, while she, the vessel from which the liquid flowed, was so ugly!
As soon as she had vomited I kissed her deeply and savored the bitter taste. Then, wanting to see how far she would go, I asked her to suck my cock. She agreed rather reluctantly, and kneeled down on the bathroom floor. The idea of her mouth, wet with bile and stomach juices, around my cock, was so erotic that I came almost immediately.
After my orgasm I asked her to leave me alone in the bathroom for a few minutes. When she had gone, I locked the door. I then found a sponge, soaked it in the vomit, and rubbed it all over my naked body. This brought back my feelings of sexual arousal and within minutes I was masturbating to another orgasm, wrapping the vomit-wet sponge around my cock as I came.
From then on I spent every night with Tina. She soon suspected that all I really cared about were our morning sessions, but she was such a lonely person she never refused me. After all, I was just about her only friend, and I gave her money and brought food each time I visited her. I, of course, was experiencing pure bliss. I told Tina that she had not been eating enough, and she should have a midnight snack before she went to bed each night. By this ruse, I was able to increase the volume of the vomit that she produced each morning, and I was also able to alter its color and taste, though not very predictably. One morning after she vomited, I touched it with my finger and licked it, and it tasted so special to me it seemed too good to waste. So I bottled that morning's batch and insisted on cooking dinner that night--a beef stew, into which I slipped at least a cup full of the vomit I had saved. Actually the culinary experiment did not work very well; the result wasn't very nice. But the idea of what I had done still delighted me. We were both consuming Tina's essential juices, even though she didn't know it.
Her morning sickness ended soon after that, and she summoned enough courage to refuse me when I hinted that she should force herself to continue vomiting just for me.
So I left Tina, and for the past couple of years there has been no one willing to satisfy my particular desires. This is a pity because there are many more kinky things I would like to do. For instance, if I ever met a woman who shared my fetish I would have her wear a small glass vial on a thin gold chain around her neck, and in the vial would be a little sample of her vomit, which we would renew each day. It would be like a window into her inner workings, her essence. It would also be a very special and exciting secret between us, as to what the liquid was.
Also I would like to experiment more with different diets to produce different colors and textures of vomit, with different aromas and tastes. And I would be interested in group-vomiting experiments. These are just a few of the many topics which come to mind.
I do not know why I have this special obsession. I have no other special needs, and my sex life is otherwise normal enough. I know I would dearly love to meet anyone else who has a similar interest in this much misunderstood subject, so that we could explore it together and satisfy each other in the process.
[This text was originally published about 15 years ago. There is no information on the fate of the author since then, so please, all you girls looking for someone who'll really appreciate your puke, save your energy--do not write to me asking for Mr. Castle's address and phone number.]
The stories of objects found up people's asses are entirely true. In my short career I've seen coke bottles, cigar cases, extremely large dildos, glasses and other assorted objects. We also had guy brought in one night because he cut off his own testicles.
tice (ntice) writes:
The stories of objects found up people's asses are entirely true . . . We also had guy brought in one night because he cut off his own testicles.
sure, but did he shove them up his ass?
Last night I projectile puked a mass of lobster bisque (the only thing I had eaten that day; I had had it for breakfast). Mostly it was lobster bisque but also there was one hot dog in it. Plus all the wine! It was quite red. The puke, that is. Cause I had eaten only red things all day!!! It was really cool, it looked like godzilla's radiation breath coming out of me!!!! Whhhaaarggghh!!!!!
My friend (who wishes to be known as Allison) saw a couple of the posts in this forum and
spontaneously provided the following account:
"Guys won't think this is disgusting, but I was out one night and I had a blazer on, and all night my tits were itching. It was a fancy, expensive blazer, and it had a filling, between the face of the jacket and the lining, made of some kind of thin fibers. And that was what really made my boobs itch. At night, when I finally got home and was pretty drunk, I took everything off and was trying to get to sleep on the couch. But my right tit was still really itching, especially the nipple. So since I was drunk, I was fumbling around in the dark, trying to find a light switch to see if I had a rash or irritation. I turned on the light and I was in front of the mirror and I saw that there was a black spot right in the middle of my nipple, like a pinprick. So I touched the spot, and when I touched it, it made me jump. It stung. I grabbed onto this thing, which I thought was a piece of dirt, and one of these jacket fibers was slowly coming out from my nipple, and it was a full inch long. And if this doesn't gross you out, guys, just imagine it was in your penis."
--From Allison of Brooklyn
I have just received email from tice, who promises to contribute a story from her extensive medical experience, describing a man who removed _and_ ate his own eyeball. Sounds like a Golden Turd nominee to me.
It is perfectly possible to fuck with a tampon in, especially if you are using juniors, as long as
you don't insist on full penetration.
In fact, there's a kinda nice effect, since it absorbs some of the extra lubrication . . . if you like that dry-fuck feeling . . .
I don't know about anyone here, but i think *I have the smelliest nasty disgusting feet in the world.* shure, they smell and look great when they are out of these boat shoes I have worn for years with no socks, but when they are in there, whoooooo nellie, they *reek.*
When I was in army advanced training in texas, some guys decided to have a zit contest once. For a whole month, they picked a special zit somewhere on their body and proceeded to succor and nurture it to full plenitude. The guy who ended up winning had a special training routine. He would rub it with baby oil throughout the day, and thump it lightly to irritate it and spread the staph infection to multiple pores deep within the skin. The day of the decision, the actual pus dome was about 2 mm across. The entire tip of his nose was red. When he finally expressed the contents, the core of the solidified pus and sebum flew about 1.25 meters. Later that day he developed blood poisoning and was taken to the hospital. None of us ever saw him again but we heard he had to have ost of the tip of his nose amputated and replaced with cartilage from his ear.
at ft. sam we had one "sgt bozo" (that was his name) who would check the cleanliness of the toilets by running his bare finger under the inner top rim of the bowl. if it came out brown he'd say "looks like shit." then he'd smell it and say "smells like shit" then he'd stick his finger in his mouth and say "tastes like shit. I HATE SHIT!!"
and write up whoever was responsible.
Bass (deleted) writes:
then my bud bran, the only gal present, just had to say "i've known some guys to like it on the rag"
Are you kidding? I love to eat menstrual blood, do it whenever I can, in fact, on two different first dates.
Years ago, I was a junkie, and I was shooting this "poison dope from Iran." The story on the
street was that The Ayatollah was poisoning the dope to destroy American Youth (like Heroin
wasn't enuff?) Anyway it was the best stuff by far, but it was killing bunches of people every day
. . . well I didn't care I kept shooting it and getting abscesses all over my arms really big ones.
I used to pop the scabs and shoot pus across the room, ounces of it. To try and clean it up I squirted whole tubes of A&D ointment into them and then squirted this out too; squirting was effected by bending the arm and making a muscle, it would squirt right from the fold. There was lots and lots of brownish, greenish, yellowish pus. and on my wrist it had eaten into my flesh and the vein so that i could just pick off the scab and shoot into the broken end of the vein w/o a needle, just the syringe barrel.
I didn't mind this so much, then.
I suppose I should contribute my experience at the Bizarre Theater. This was a one-time
coat-hangar factory which used to be located on West 19th Street in Manhattan. The
management presented it as an S&M club, although they hadn't changed the decor at all--the
ceiling was of tin plate, there were pipes and dangling conduits, and everything was ancient and
As I arrived, an aging dominatrix was on an improvised stage, with rolls of fat bulging out of a gold lame corset. She was beating up a cringing middle-aged black man, using a wire brush to open up a gash on his buttocks which started bleeding freely. He had a dildo strapped into his mouth and Christmas baubles tied around his penis. His scrotum was lassoed with a rope which ran to a noose around his neck, forcing him to hunch forward with his chin near his balls. The dominatrix then dripped hot wax into the bloody wound she had created, made another wound and poured alcohol into that, then used a lash to remove the congealed wax, made the man lie in his back with his feet in the air, and beat the soles of his feet with a heavy cane.
A man in the audience suddenly jumped up and ran to the toilet, which was a small cubicle separated from the audience area by a thin plywood partition. We could clearly hear him puking. "He can's stand the sight of blood," muttered the woman who was with him. She too turned out to be a dominatrix (I talked to her after the show) but she was disgusted by the spectacle on stage, since she preferred to dominate her slave with greater finesse. "For instance," she told me, "when I use a dildo in a scene, I ALWAYS put a rubber on it first."
Meanwhile the woman on stage had finished with her male slave, and started with a meek young woman. She made her lie down and masturbate, but told her not to reach orgasm, "because you don't have orgasms. You're a girl. You disgust me." The dominatrix then straddled the young woman, spat in her face, and pissed all over her.
All this time, there was music playing in the background--a compilation of Beatles favorites. During the urination, I seem to remember that Paul McCartney was warbling about "Michelle, ma belle."
Finally, the female slave was told to mop up the puddles of urine on stage by sitting in them. "But it's not just urine, it's blood as well," she complained. "Shut up and mop it with your ass, whatever it is," she was told.
The Bizarre Theater didn't stay in business long, probably because it made too many people puke. But I must admit, I treasure the memory of my visit.
felcher (Jim Felcher) writes:
I'd just like to thank galt and speed for their fine posts about festering sores. It's text like this that lightens the humdrum load of everyday life.
speed, would you say that your experience was typical of many junkies?
No, although I can tell you of two other stories that leap to mind there was a guy who went to my methadone clinic (we called him Joe Namath) who had both hands permanently blown up to the size and shape of footballs. He could use them though, but they were huge, I do not exaggerate
Also there was a dope hotel on 125th street, where you had to show tracks and pay a dollar to get in. They were always suspicious of me cause I was white and they thought I was a cop a lot, till they saw my abscesses then they'd say step right in. Anyway there was this guy in a room, I used to sit there with him for a long time, he'd keep you there cause of the company. He couldn't walk at all, his two feet were the shape and color and texture of old tree trunks and they used to run w/ pus and fluid where they'd crack open.
This man had never seen a doctor I'm sure any M.D. would've lopped those things off in a second. Instead he'd just wipe 'em down a bit w/alcohol and half-assedly wrap 'em in gauze. He had all these lackeys who'd do all his running around for him. His dope gave him the power he needed to sustain an immobile lifestyle. when I say immobile, I mean that in all the months, maybe years I went there I never saw him in any position but one, propped on the edge of the bed in front of a b&w tv which was always on.
Me, I watched tv too.
I think the main thing that makes my story atypical is that I'm tellin' it 13 years later
Something what happened in my bio lab. We had to dissect a fetal pig to study their fascinating
immature organs inside their pale-yellow corpses. We did the whole thing of a tray to which the
body is attached with steel pins as we carved up its interior. So one guy walks with his tray and
someone pushes him. He manages to keep the tray with the skin still attached to it but all
insides fall out in a shower of really stinky preservatives. People around jumped and jerked
away stepping all over scattered innards making a nice, greenish mess on the floor, someone
had to remove brains from his sneaker afterwards.
I don't remember if fetal intestines were ever found,
When I was a volunteer with the Stuyvesant First Aid Squad we got one call for "major injuries." EMS wouldn't extrapolate further but we raced to the call to find a lady bleeding all over the place who had tried to abort her fetus with a Dustbuster Plus. It worked!
A friend of mine, a female zoophile, once had to call the local First Aid Squad when she was in the house alone and was "tied" to her dog. The tightness of her vagina wouldn't allow the blood to flow out of her dog's cock so his bulb wouldn't go down (those of you currently clueless go check out a canine anatomy book). They had no idea what to do. They eventually called a vet and the dog was sedated. She never faced any legal problems (not illegal in Colorado [where she lived]) but she had to move 'cuz all her neighbors found out.
Anyone ever play "cheese and crackers". When I was growing up, a bunch of us (guys) got
together to play "cheese and crackers". The object of the game is to jerk off and come on a
saltine cracker, and the last one to get off *has to eat all the other crackers! *
We usually held them down, and force fed them! . . . So the next time you are at a bachelor party, you now know a new game to play! Keep me posted . . .
The worst thing i've seen so far in clinic was just two weeks ago. There was this kid who had this weird blood disorder. But his main problem at the moment was this raging skin infection on the tops of both feet and extending up his legs. Not just your run of the mill infection, but deep, deep cellulitis, way deeep. It was all oozing and ulcerating and gunky (the prob was it wouldn't heal). Had been that way for months. But the thing that got me was that the dr needed to unwrap the bandages. The guy didn't look too happy about it even tho he was on like 3 morphine like drugs. When she pulled the wraps off . . . .his _skin came peeling off_. She kept pulling and pulling and it kept coming off and coming off . . . I really felt rather warm at the time. Didn't help that the guy was yelping either.
Once, in bio lab I had this experiment w/fertilized chicken eggs. Every day during their 28(?) day gestation period, I would crack one open, keep it alive as long as I could in a saline solution while giving it different drugs and noting the effects on its heartbeat. This was psycho enough. But I decided to steal one and take it home, it was in the 20- something day area and I thought I could keep it warm for a few days and hatch it. so I stuck it in my coat pocket and took it home on the Fordham Road Crosstown bus. Anyway, that bus gets really crowded, and the egg got crushed in my pocket, and I had a prematurely born chick struggling in my pocket in a mess of egg gook and of course I couldn't just take it out on a packed bus, so . . . It died, I threw it in a trash can when I got off the bus, and my favorite fuckin' coat stunk like a burnt skunk. Still wore it, though.
I think it's cool whenever you can get food to come out of your nose. Even though I had nine months of medical gross anatomy, the fact that the nasal and oral passages are connected seems really cool and mysterious to me, so I'm always glad whenever I prove that mine are thus situated. Of course it's a bittersweet victory, because my stomach acids are usually eating away the mucosa lining my nasal passages whenever this happens.
This past weekend I saw a guy with full body herpes. To compliment this he had been lying in his own urine and feces for two or three days and had vomited on himself. The smell wasn't too bad, you could only smell him from 50 feet away.
This weekend I also saw a guy who had been hit in the head with a meat cleaver. He was hit once
on the left side of his face splitting it from the corner of his mouth to an inch or so beyond his
left ear. He was also hit on the top of his head splitting for about six inches. You could see
where his skull was split in both places but you couldn't see his brain because it was too dark.
Maybe he didn't have a brain because apparently it was a friend of his who did this.
I guess you could say he needs a friend like that like he needs a hole in his head.
i never did get around to seeing karen finley in her prime. a question about her technique: was it mostly her hand _pushing the yam up her ass_, or did her sphincter play a more active role, _pulling the yam up her ass _(kind of like a horse eating a carrot)?
Dissection stories are kewl! A few weeks ago my class had to dissect sheep eyes, one kid came around the room after we were done and collected all the lenses (the roundish clear thing that got kinda cloudy from the preservatives) He intended to give them to friends, telling them they were gummy candies . . . . I never did find out if he really did . . . .
geekus (NO CAREER) writes:
i never did get around to seeing karen finley in her prime. a question about her technique: was it mostly her hand _pushing the yam up her ass_...
mostly pushing, from where I sat, but I admit, if her ass _was_ chewing, I might have missed that detail. She didn't really come up close till it was time to shit it out, which she did in long, steady, forceful, pushes. A detail I left out of my original post was that my date seemed to think that I set this up, or at least knew it would happen, and seemed to think that this was a hint of what might be expected of her should we go home together. We didn't.
I've recently developed this weird rash, or these hives, or whatever you wanna call it, all over my
chin and my mouth and my cheeks and my neck. and my back. It's pretty cool, because it makes
my skin all puffy and red and shiny and kinda bubbly. (I have all of these blackhead scars. wow .
. . ). So I'm in the process of drying up this rash by mixing up a nice baking-soda-and-
water-paste and applying it over the affected areas. It stings like hell, but pretty soon,it'll dry it
up enough so that it'll get all nice and oozy. Wow. To think that my skin is going to drip watery
pus in a few days! And, best yet, it'll crust-over and crack. This, of curse, thrills me to no end.
Moral of the story--when you buy fruit, wash it really really well. Or buy only organic stuff. I have some weird reaction most likely to some pesticide on some fruit or something I ate a few days ago.
A year ago, while working for the NYTransPD, I was standing around on the Park Place 2/3 platform and just as the 3 Uptown came ripping into the station, some homeless looking black guy decides it's a good day to die and goes sui. Well, being on the scene, the report and everything else coming with was my responsibility, this included cleaning up the mess. Usually, someone from uptown medical comes down and tries to identify all the little parts as we put them in ziploc baggies but the miscellaneous sludge left over (usually found boiling on the third rail or stuck to the front of the train) goes in one big black bag labeled "mashed potatoes." Some guy got in trouble once 'cause he chucked an eyeball in there. The Sgt. said "That's identifiable! Take that out!" Hehehe . . .
Residents and interns have great stories. I'm not one, but I spent time with two of them. On site,
two stories (both true):
Seattle man with diabetes and a glass eye and not a homeowner comes in with an itch under his glass eye. The resident pops it out. Maggots spill forth. Resident isn't too worried, because after all maggots are a medical marvel. They only eat necrotic flesh. Used on burn victims at hospitals that are paragons of Western Medicine. Still, it was disconcerting, and smelly, and the thought of dead flesh in an eye socket cannot be good news for anybody.
Construction worker falls from third story of San Diego skyscraper in progress. Lands on a re-bar pole. Impaled. Flails around, trying to upright himself. Like a beetle on a needle. Coworkers barf into lunch pails. EMS hacksaws the steel cable and ambulance transports him to the hospital. By now his face is swollen, two black eyes, lots of internal bleeding, you know, and he's plugged up. Bruises result. "Don't let my girlfriend see my like this." Vanity never dies. Doctors are ready to do something. But they're residents. Not doctors! Not yet, at least! "I don't know," Resident replies, failing his final exam. Turns out the re-bar missed his vitals, and the guy got well, practically good as new, but his GF never got to see him till the minor bruises subsided.
Oh, and 2 more, a colostomy and cast iron frying pan to the head stories may follow. If things pick up. And the dart in the head, which sounds better than it is.
a guy at work told me this story he had heard about a man who took a turkey baster, filled it with beer, and inserted it into the anus of a woman, who after a while, said, "That's enough." Now, as he said, how did she know that that was the stopping point? i mean, he's shoving beer up her ass? is there an acceptable limit for that???
eponine (Jesus in Trunk) writes:
a guy at work told me this story he had heard about a man who took a turkey baster, filled it with beer, and inserted it into the anus of a woman, who after a while, said, "That's enough."
It's hard to tell what the limit is for alcohol consumption. My guess is that she knew she'd better take it easy on the beer lest she get too tipsy and do something crazy.
when i was in college i used to work in the food services. anyway there was this guy there who
was kinda quiet, kinda mean, we used to give him a hard time. This new guy started working
there and he and the mean guy didn't hit it off so well. Any way they got into this fight and the
mean guy grabbed the other guy and threw him in to the steam table (like a big table with a
recess all full of boiling water) and *held him there* until the other ppl pulled him off. Needless
to say the guy was really messed up, his skin was like hanging off him, it was like melted or
something, all floppy.
The really sad thing was the burned guy was the brother of my boss's friend, she felt pretty bad about the whole thing, seeing as she had gotten him the job.
Re: drinking one's own urine.
Yup--tried it. Albeit accidentally. "How the fuck did you manage that?" I hear you cry. Simple. Once upon a time I was young and could actually (just) perform fellatio upon myself. Much to my dismay, though, I discovered that rubbing my tongue over the top of my bell end made me pee instead of ejaculate. And it was hard to stop. So rather than flood the living-room floor with urine, I swallowed about 2 mouthfuls. It wasn't nice . . . This little tale is the honest truth. I just wish it wasn't . . . .
A person comes into Bellevue. A junkie. Has massive abscesses, most of them treated and
covered. Has a lower colon thing and has to get the lower colon removed. This person owns a
townhouse on the upper east side, but doesn't live in it. Has no income but rental. And so, no
This person is online on a west coast provider, tho this person is an east coast inhabitant. Experienced great fame in the late 70s. Many will recognize the name.
Person's colostomy is a success. Person returns to Bellevue at a later date, like 7 months, complaining of fever and redness. Oh, Holy Shit! Gonorrhea in the colostomy hole!
Go into a restaurant, go into the bathroom, Take down the soap dispenser, empty it into the
sink, piss into it, filling it up.
Turn it over quickly, replacing the dispenser now filled w/ your urine. (nice color, looks like that soap)
Rinse the soap out of the sink, using it to clean your hands (important step)
leave bathroom, sit in a booth where you can watch ppl going in and out. Order a burger, fries and coke and enjoy. Now *that's a urine burn!*
Just for those who were wondering, it's entirely possible for a male to come up as pregnant on some preliminary tests. Some preliminary pregnancy diagnoses are made based on the presence of certain ketones in the urine in conjunction with other certain ion concentrations. I have seen males with their very own urine told that they might be pregnant.
*Golden Turd Winners*
In post 141, on May 6, I announced the Golden Turd Awards, to be given in three categories:
1. True Confession or Anecdote
2. Medical Description
Well, it's been a grueling process reading more than 400 posts to pick a winner in each category. But the job is now done, and here are my choices. Most of you won't agree with me, but since I was deranged enough to go through the odious hassle of creating the actual Turd Trophies, I think I should give them to whoever I want. Whether the winners will be willing to ACCEPT their trophies remains to be seen. But anyway:
Most offensive true confession or anecdote:
Post 65, by mdreyfus First runner-up:
Post 209, by galt Second runner-up:
Post 99, by gunfury Most offensive medical description:
Post 215, by speed First runner-up:
Post 242, by sheimp Second runner-up:
Post 376, by miked Most offensive insult:
Interest died out after just a few posts. Consequently, there will be no awards in this category.
I realize that mdreyfus may not be a popular winner, since several people have named him in their .kill files. But look at it this way: if he can offend people even here in the Fuck-You forum, doesn't this count in his favor? Offensiveness, after all, should not just be skin deep. It should permeate the person like body odor and ooze out of him like warm yellow pus.
For my money, mdreyfus's description of his dog licking shit from between his buttocks is a winner not just because the act itself is disgusting, but because the way in which mdreyfus described himself enjoying it is also disgusting. Here we have a disgusting anecdote, told disgustingly, by a seemingly disgusting person. Who could ask for more?
Having said this, I must emphasize that galt's description of a pimple- cultivation contest was a very close second. Indeed it ranks as one of my all- time favorites in nauseating stories. And gunfury's touching reminiscence of youthful sexual/scatalogical indulgences is a classic of its kind.
Turning to the medical arena, once again I felt it was right for the Golden Turd to go to someone who didn't just describe something disgusting, but actually i *lived* it. Thank you, speed, for sharing this revolting experience, and congratulations on surviving it.
Thanks also to sheimp for her highly memorable post about peeling off a person's skin. We have only just begun to tap the rich fund of case histories which medical professionals have at their disposal (I'm still waiting for ntice to tell us about the mental patient who pulled out his own eyeball and ate it--I do hope she'll have an opportunity to relate this in detail sometime soon).
As for the man with gonorrhea in his colostomy hole: I recently heard this anecdote from an entirely different source, and I now suspect that it's apocryphal. Still, it deserves a mention purely for its originality. In these decadent times, it's hard to find a truly new perversion. Thank you, miked, for passing this on.
Now, who gets what? The winners will receive their promised golden turds. Either send me your mailing address, or make arrangements to collect your trophies from me in person, in midtown Manhattan. I will not describe the trophies in great detail at this time, except to say that they are properly encapsulated, safe to handle, lovely to look at, and reasonably sterile. In a future post, I'll go into the details of how I obtained and processed the Golden Turds. Heavy duty rubber gloves and a strong stomach were both required, and I must admit the exercise was so nauseating, I doubt that I'll be subjecting myself to it again for quite a while . . . I mean I'm devoted to this forum, but dedication has its limits.
Each winner will also receive a metal commemorative button, and there are buttons also for the runners-up. Each button is emblazoned with the message:
[YOUR NAME HERE]
Golden Turd Award, May 1994
Fuck-You Forum, MindVox, New York
Just the thing to wear at those formal social events! Once again, I require mailing addresses to distribute these valuable collectors' items. Or you can make arrangements to pick them up from me in person.
Okay, so much for all that. Now let's get back to the serious business of plumbing the depths of human behavior, shall we? Two things that caught my interest recently are compulsive bed wetting among adults, and drooling while under the influence of drugs. I have experiences of my own in these areas, but before I describe them, does anyone else have a story to contribute?
Of course I accept my award!
I'd like to thank my parents for being so fucked up, and all my grand parents and their parents.
I'd also like to thank Jesus Christ.
If I didn't grow up hearing that gross story of his over and over at school I probably wouldn't be the gross son of god that I am today.
Please send me my turd.
I am *very proud!*
thank you all, *kiss* *kiss*
Well, now I suppose is not a time to slack off. Not the grossest story but. . . .there was a request.
. . . Aside from being covered in the usual drool (which seems to be more plentiful in the opiate
addict), I had a routine I worked up back in those days.
I was on welfare at the time and they used to call me in every once in a while to try and get me work.
Well, before I went in I'd buy a box of cherry cough drops, which I'd suck on while staring into the fluorescent lights, muttering, outbursting, and swatting at my head and the air around it. This never deterred them from calling my name and asking me lots of questions which I'd sorta answer between nods. Anyway, they'd always leave me at their desk and go off to find a job or some paper work and when they did I'd lay my head down on their desk in a pretend nod, and drool out a cup or two of saliva which I'd worked up and had kept pooled in my mouth.
I'd just open my mouth and pour out this thick, viscous, bright red (from the cough drops) stream of spittle all across their desk making sure to fuck up my and as much other paper work as I could.
Needless to say they'd come back horrified, shouting and I'd "wake up" with a jolt spreading it a round even worse.
They'd be so pissed off, this would get me a quick "unemployable" rating; they'd trash my soggy paperwork, and give me a quick bum's rush.
Within the hour I'd be home shooting up and drooling for real, mostly Vanilla Haagen-Dazs Drool.
(That's all I'd eat. It tasted good going down and coming back up. Ya see, I puked a few times a day for years.)
I've been having real foot problems . . . It started with athletes foot, but then they got so damn itchy that i would spend at least 20 minutes just feeling the pure bliss of itching them to death. I would pick all the dead white skin off and then my toes would get all gooshy, as I guess pus or something came out. It felt great, but when I would wake up they would kill. Luckily I've been able to control myself, and my feet are near healing. This however can't compare to the time two summers ago when I had plantars warts on my feet. Ewwww.
All right, all right, enough of this tame athlete's foot stuff. What I would like to know is whether anyone on this forum has pissed in his bed, in his sleep, as an adult, involuntarily. I suspect this may be more common than people admit. I've certainly done it. After a prolonged bout of beer drinking I passed out and an hour or two later I dreamed I was standing in front of a great big beautiful urinal. The temptation to piss was almost unbearable. I knew, somehow, it would NOT be a good idea, but I didn't know why. And so--I gave in to temptation. God it felt good! Until of course I woke up about 30 seconds later to find myself lying in my own piss. The woman sleeping next to me was quite surprised.
I've almost done it, been on the edge, pissed just enough to send a little trickle down the side of
my leg. I've always woken up and run to the bathroom squeezing my dick so as not to dribble all
over the place. I've yet to totally hose my bed down tho'.
On a related topic, any urophiles out there? I know someone heavily into scat but no real piss mongers . . . except for one guy actually now that I think about it. He couldn't tell me why he likes people pissing down his throat, he just does (shrug).
Once in college I passed out shit-drunk on a friend's bed. When I came to, her roommate gave me some water to drink, but then I passed out again and spilled the glass. Then my friend came in with some guy she was planning to fuck, and I just slurred something and walked out. They _thought_ I had pissed on her bed, and she didn't have any other sheets to change her bed. Kind of put a damper on the evening for her, but I was happy since the guy was an asshole.
From the US Army Special Forces Medical Handbook, ST 31-91B, Chapter 22 "Primitive
Medicine," Section 3: "Maggot Therapy for Wound Debridement."
22-3. Maggot Therapy for Wound Debridement.
a. Introducing maggots into a wound can be hazardous because the wound must be exposed to flies. Flies, because of their filthy habits, are likely to introduce bacteria into the wound, causing additional complications. Maggots will also invade live, healthy tissue when the dead tissue is gone or not readily available. Maggot invasion of healthy tissue causes extreme pain and hemorrhage, possibly severe enough to be fatal.
b. Despite the hazards involved, maggot therapy should be considered a viable alternative when, in the absence of antibiotics, a wound becomes severely infected, does not heal, and ordinary debridement is impossible.
(1) All bandages should be removed so that the wound is exposed to circulating flies. Flies are attracted to foul or fetid odors coming from the infected wound; they will not deposit eggs on fresh, clean wounds.
(2) In order to limit further contamination of the wound by disease organisms carried by the flies, those flies attracted to the wound should not be permitted to light directly on the wound surface. Instead, their activity should be restricted to the intact skin surface along the edge of the wound. Live maggots deposited here and/or maggots hatching from eggs deposited here will find their way into the wound with less additional contamination than if the flies were allowed free access to the wound.
(3) One exposure to the flies is usually all that is necessary to insure _more_ than enough maggots for thorough debridement of a wound. Therefore, after the flies have deposited eggs, the wound should be covered with a bandage.
(4) The bandages should be removed daily to check for maggots. If no maggots are observed in the wound within 2 days after exposure to the flies, the bandage should be removed and the wound should be re-exposed. If the wound is found to be teeming with maggots when the bandage is removed, as many as possible should be removed using forceps or some other sterilized instrument or by flushing with sterile water. Only 50-100 maggots should be allowed to remain in the wound.
(5) Once the maggots have become established in the wound, it should be covered with a bandage again, but the maggot activity should be monitored closely each day. A frothy fluid produced by the maggots will make it difficult to see them. This fluid should be "sponged out" of the wound with an absorbent cloth so that all of the maggots in the wound can be seen. Care should be taken not to remove the maggots with the fluid.
(6) The period of time necessary for maggot debridement of a wound depends on a number of factors, including the depth and extent of the wound, the part of the body affected, the number of maggots present in the wound, and the fly species involved. In a survival situation, an individual will be able to control only one of these factors--the number, and sometimes not even that; therefore, the exact time to remove the maggots cannot be given in specific numbers of hours or days. However, it can be said with certainty that the maggots should be removed immediately once they have removed all the dead tissue and _before_ they have become established in healthy tissue. When the maggots begin feeding on normal, healthy tissue, the individual will experience an increased level of pain at the site of the wound as the maggots come into contact with "live" nerves. Bright red blood in the wound also indicates that the maggots have reached healthy tissue.
(7) The maggots should be removed by flushing the wound repeatedly with sterile water. Flushing the wound with fresh human urine may also be considered, as the high content of salt and urea is a fairly effective antiseptic. However, flushing the wound with urine _must_ be followed with sterile water. Though urine is sterile and antiseptic when it leaves the body, it rapidly becomes quite the opposite as it breaks down chemically.
When all the maggots have been removed, the wound should be bandaged. To insure that the wound is free of maggots, check it every 4 hours or more often for several days. Any remaining maggots should be removed with sterilized forceps or by flushing with sterile water.
(8) Once all of the maggots have been removed, bandage the wound and treat it as any other wound. It should heal normally provided there are no further complications.
(sung to the tune of "The Candyman" a' la Sammy Davis Jr.)
Get a brand new bike,
take off the seat,
put yer girlfriend on it, send her down a bumpy street
The S&M Mannnnnnnnnnnn. . . .
Cause he mixes it with cum and makes the world taste good!
Get a newborn baby,
Put 'em on yer bed,
Get yer dick up hard and fuck the soft spot in its head
The S&M Mannnnnnnnnnnn. . . .
Cause he mixes it with sperm to make the world taste good!
(u get the idea ;)
Who can take a baby
spread apart its thighs
fuck it in the ass until the shit comes out its eyes The S&M man. . . .
Who can take two ice picks
stick 'em in her ears
ride her like a Harley as you mount her from the rear the S&M man. . . .
I haven't wet the bed in a long, long time. But I do remember clearly what it felt like as a child.
Usually I would be dreaming I was flying around in a room, all by myself . . . just as free as can
be . . . floating on a fluffy cloud of air . . . not a care in the world.
Oh shit! I just pissed all over myself ;) It's not as great a feeling though as that ever-popular *wet dream*. I loved those. It wasn't all cum, it was cum with a subtle hint of piss too. It stained many a good pair of underwear, but well worth the inquisition afterwards, "GunFury, Where did all your Fruit of the Loom (tm) go dear?"
"Ah, I don't know ma!"
We all know where they went boys 'n girls. Under the neighbors back porch in a plastic baggie (I wonder if they are still there?).
A friend who is now 25, still has wet dreams. I hate him for that. I haven't had one since I was 12. I think he has them now because of that terrible happance of D.S.B.
Dreaded Sperm Build-up
The theory behind this is that you go without ejaculating for a period of time so that yer spermatozoa eventually comes out without sexual intercourse or, ehem, manual stimulation.
Impossible! I can't go even a few hours without one, or the other, or both. . . .
As close as I ever came to incest was when I was a kid, around 10-15, not sure where in that
range . . . but when I was a kid, my brother and I used to hump against each other. I don't know
if we ever got off on it, or if there was penetration of any sort, but I know we used to do it like
every night until we discovered jerking off.
"Kay, why is the bed shaking?"
"I've got an itch on my leg." (We had bunk beds . . . and I had lots of itches)
I pissed on my self during blackouts but I was never in bed. I once woke up on the street outside
my building with a piece of melted ice cream cake next to my head and lying in my own piss.
Lost about 18 hrs to 181 proof rum that night.
I once puked in a woman's loft bed, she went out to drink more, I wanted a few minutes lie down, puked the min she left. What really sucked was that she was with this woman I thought was really cool and who I wanted to hit on. Here I was feeling really great now (having puked) but I couldn't go to the bar (nothing to wear but puke covered clothes). I went to sleep, the first woman came home so shit faced she didn't know about the puke in the bed until the next morning when we were fucking, she says "What's that horrible smell?" I liked her, she got really pissed, *really* pissed. But she didn't stop fucking me. I liked her a lot.
I have several stories that would find a nice home here, but alas, so little time (I am supposed to
be working!). The urination subject brings two stories to mind, the second I'll post at a later
Several times over my life I've been in such a deep sleep that I've ended up peeing in bed. I never had a bed wetting problem (that was my younger brother) but it has happened. It's such a strange occurrence, and I can't believe it has not happened to more people. I find myself in a dream, and in the dream I have to pee real bad. I can remember going in the dream, and wake up soaked! Just such a thing happened last summer.I was sleeping at my cousin's house upstate. Yes, that's right, it wasn't even my own bed. Anyway, I sleep real deep up there, you know, it being real quiet as opposed to the city. We had been partying pretty hard the night before and went to sleep with my fiance about three AM. Yes, I wasn't even alone. I remember having a really deep dream, and actually going to a bathroom and standing at a urinal in the dream. At this point I woke up and began praying to myself that it didn't happen. Well, it did. I mean a lot. You never realize how much you can actually pee until you do it in a bed. I began panicking. What the was I going to do. So far I had been slightly lucky. Somehow my betrothed had not woken up yet. Even though it was a single bed we had been sleeping at opposite ends of it. The adrenaline started coursing through my body. What was I going to do?!? And then it hit me. Maybe it could work. A cover up! But how? I went to the kitchen, opened up the fridge. Yes! My cousin had orange juice!! I found the largest glass they had, and filled it to the top. I carried it into the bedroom got back into the soaken bed (yuch!) and poured the whole glass over myself and screamed "Shit!". With that my fiancee woke up, startled I might add, and asked what was wrong, and "how did we get all wet?" I explained that I had been very thirsty from being drunk the night before and had gotten up to get something to drink. When I got into bed I had "slipped" and the glass spilled. She bought it! I never realized it, but O.J. really can cover up the smell of piss!
By this time the rest of the house was waking up (it was about 8:00 AM) and my cousin and his wife came into to the room to find out what had happened. Nobody could figure out what made me puke when the dog started licking the bed!
My fiancee and I are now married, and to his day she still doesn't know the real truth, nor will she ever. At least until, god forbid, it happens again!
A long time ago, I wrote a story in which a person eats excrement. At the time, I asked my
friends if anyone knew what shit tastes like. No one could tell me (several of them were
offended that I should imagine they might know). Back then, there was no Fuck-You forum to
turn to, so I just had to fake it. But now that this resource exists, I'm hoping someone can finally
clear up this mystery for me.
What *does* shit taste like?
i can't speak from personal experience. but this is from "The Leatherman's Handbook", ed. Larry
Another friend, who occasionally delves into the scat scene, told me: "Sure, shit stinks. There's no way to deny that, but once you get past the smell it isn't all that bad. If you eat it, it tastes just like whatever the guy has eaten, except that it has a burned flavor to it."
Just a quick note to confirm that mdreyfus's golden turd went out to him this morning via the
US Postal Service, and commemorative buttons for the runners-up were also mailed. Sorry for
Speed, I still have your trophy. It doesn't seem to be visibly deteriorating, but you never know, if you wait too long, anything might happen. Suggest you make arrangements to collect it ASAP so that you can be sure there will still be something for you to collect.
I was kissing my dog, letting him lick the inside of my mouth really, and I saw this little piece of cat turd drop out of his jowls. That's when I realized he had been downstairs eating the cat shits and now he was licking inside my mouth! I practically drank the Listerine.
charles (Charles Platt) writes:
What DOES shit taste like?
Tastes like chicken
This wasn't funny at the time, but looking back I get a big kick out of it. I was away on a trip for a week and I really missed my girlfriend a lot. By the time I got home, I was so horned up I couldn't take it. It was late when I got in, so she was already under the covers, sleeping when I arrived. I decided to sneak into bed and just go at it. I pulled my clothes off and came under the covers from the bottom of the bed and worked my way over to her legs. I pulled her legs apart and started going down on her. She was really wet, but I didn't think anything about it. As I got into this further, she started to wake up and said something like, "No hun, don't" in a "you shouldn't be doing that" tone. It turns out the reason she was so wet was because she was heavy into her period. I discovered I had managed to pull out her tampon with my teeth, and I was chewing part of it like a wad of chewing gum. I had thick clots of blood running down my face and chin. It was a horrible taste, mainly because of the tampon. The blood wasn't the usual "finger cut" type obviously, so the reaction from both of us was sheer disgust. We went out for a while after that, but we no longer see each other in a dating capacity. When I do bump into her though, it is very awkward to say the least.
When my brother was in Saudi Arabia, he and the other infantry guys passed some of the time
with a biggest turd contest.
If someone thought they had produced a qualifying entry, he would have to call all the other guys over to inspect it.
My brother was well-prepared for this contest . . . my mother had been feeding him mineral oil by the gallon since he was a small child just to get him to produce anything. So he was used to saving it up.
One morning he produced the turd of all turds. The grandest turd of them all. Even the tanks steered around that one. My brother was a legend.
He was so proud that he took a picture of it and sent it home to mom and dad. Mineral Oil Revenge. You gotta love that guy.
Large disgusting turds are a staple of military existence because of the disgusting food they feed
us, known as "MRE's" (meals ready to eat, or excrete). Some soldiers make a career of finding
new disgusting phrases to match that acronym.
When I was doing the ROTC thing in college, we often did field exercises in the Ranger mountain phase training area. Ranger training, as you may know, is the most savage psychic and physical torture a human being may legally be forced to endure. At any rate, their feeding habits are quite odd . . . they don't eat for a couple of weeks at a time, and then they gorge themselves. However, due to the nonstop nature of the missions they go on, they are forced to hold their feces for long periods of time. The combined effect of this is that Rangers produce exceedingly large feces, which we'd run across in the woods from time to time. Ranger turds are extremely large, odiferous, solid, and generally disgusting. The most common on observation upon first seeing one is the incredible pain it must have taken to expel it.
I never found going down on a menstruating woman to be a big hassle. Then again, I've never just chewed on a tampon--that sounds like the problem. Menstrual blood really doesn't taste bad at all.
Sometimes I get so constipated I feel like the shit inside me is boiling up to eye level, and if you
looked in my pupils they would be half brown!
On the other hand, isn't it great when you take that shit after being constipated? Actually the first part usually hurts because the end of the turd becomes so large from being backed up in the intestine it feels like its gonna rip your sphincter muscles apart. But sometimes after being stuffed up I take that banana shit. Ah, the banana shit, it's so glorious. Thin, _very_ long, and curved like a banana as it floats in all its brown-green beauty. It has that soft texture and keeps coming and coming until it softly lands into the bowl. It makes that soft landing from being so long the front of it is on the bottom of the bowl. I've produced some that look as long as the distance from your wrist to your elbow.
There's a story that I have been putting off telling ever since the advent of this forum. It is so
hideously embarrassing, I cringe from the task of writing it.
I grew up in a backwoods kind of area, very primitive. One of the many things that we lacked was decent toilet paper. The stuff was thin, nonabsorbent, and it made my ass sore. Consequently, I have to admit I tended to be a bit sloppy about cleaning up after taking a shit. The situation was made worse by infrequent bathing (again, because of primitive facilities).
As I became a teenager, I started growing hairs around the pubic area and behind the scrotum. One day, I noticed that these hairs were, to put it bluntly, clogged with particles of *dry shit*. ("Dingleberries," right?)
I thought of a relatively painless way of cleaning up this mess: Kleenex and hand lotion. I went into the bathroom, got the hand lotion, then went into my bedroom for the tissues. By this time, someone else was using the toilet, so I got to work in my bedroom and dumped the mess of soiled tissues, dried shit, and torn-off hairs on top of a heap of papers in my waste basket. (Big mistake.) Something distracted me, and I forgot to empty the waste basket. (Bigger mistake.)
That evening, a bunch of friends came to visit--among them, a girl I particularly wanted to impress. Everyone was sitting around in my room, when someone looked at the waste basket. "Jesus Christ," he said, "What have you been doing? You've been taking shit and wiping your ass and dumping the tissues *here?*" (Tactful fellow.)
It was a singular moment. I could think of nothing to say. I just sat there, totally blank, feeling time freeze around me. In fact the situation was so _weird_, no one ever mentioned it again.
But I never got the girl.
I don't really have any embarrassing shit stories, except maybe the other day.
I get diarrhea when I don't eat any thing til late in the day, anyway, I ate a pizza at about 6pm real fast, first food of the day, then I went to a meeting, at about 7pm after the meeting I said good bye to a few folks and sneezed.
I had pretty seriously shit my pants, wet, mucky, and particularly smelly shit on a 90 degrees + day! Also, since I was only going to the meeting I didn't have cab fare, I didn't wanna risk asking my doordude esp. stinking of shit. So I ducked into a restaurant restroom (they didn't have much paper, either) tried to fix it a little (NG, prob. worse) and walked about 15 blocks home where my GF says, "Whewph!!
Waddidya shit in your pants?! Nice day.
Anyway I was really posting to tell you about a Puerto Rican friend of mine who used to take a wire hanger into the toilet w/him to break up his toilet chokers.
He'd wave it proudly on the way in, his having told us previously what it was for.
"Rice an' beans," he'd yell, waving the hanger, "rice an' beans."
Last summer, I was on a crew in a bike race called the Race Across America (RAAM). Basically, it's
non-stop across the country--with different categories (solo, team, etc.). My group was in the
team competition. Being non- stop, taking a crap was pretty inconvenient.
One of the rules at night was that there had to be a car behind the rider for safety reasons. I was driving this pace car (a mini van) at night in Arkansas when my fellow crew member, John, indicated that he had to take a crap. For the past few nights, we had no problem switching drivers while in motion (we were only going about 25mph) and taking a leak out the sliding side door.
Taking a dump out of a moving vehicle would be a challenge. We also had no toilet paper, no tissues -- no napkins neither. However, we did have a large Post-It pad. So John climbs out and sits on the edge of the passenger side door window, holding onto the roof rack, drops his shorts and proceeds to shit. He tells me that he has a hanging turd, so I pull up alongside our rider who basically freaks out and then rode a lot faster :).
I just thought I'd pass this on since I just remembered it . . . before I had my much-ballyhooed rectal surgery, my bunghole was all messed up such that it would expand to gargantuan proportions but only in a sort of trapezoid/rhomboid shape. Because of this, I found myself regularly launching huge loo-stranglers shaped like 2X4 planks, streaked with bloody red racing stripes. It hurt like the devil, sure, but I feel a certain kinship with sawmills after the experience.
i really know someone who actually had a rat come up out of the toilet. at least it was found
floating dead in the toilet in a closed bathroom with no other possible means of entry.
i know this is an urban folklore. but it really happened to a friend of mine.
the worst part is that she was going into the bathroom to puke at the time.
Let me tell you a true story about a friend of mine in the Navy (well, it's not about him . . . or maybe it is . . . anyway, he told me the story). Large Navy ships store their waste for a while and then eject it downward from the hull in a maneuver known as the "bottom blow." During the bottom blow, there is a huge amount of over pressure in all the toilets. They broadcast the time of the bottom blow in advance and warn people not to flush during this time, but inevitably somebody fucks up and flushes during the bottom blow. this results in the contents of the individual toilet (and then some) being blown out of the toilet all over the restroom, whereupon the dazed rookie stumbles out of the loo with sewage all over him and shit in his hair. Kinda funny, I think.
I'm interested by galt's descriptions of multifaceted turds (how could I *not* be interested?).
Personally I have a small, old hemorrhoid and have noticed that when the shit is reasonably soft,
this little blob of a vein leaves a distinctive groove down the length of each stool. I imagine that
this could be used forensically, to identify a suspect. What interests me more is the subject of
I developed this out of nowhere when my wife got pregnant for the first time and I was in a state of anxiety bordering on panic. I've been plagued by it on and off ever since. Apparently it is commonly associated with tension. Anyway, it drives me nuts. Sometimes I wake up in the night and find that I have been scratching my own anus (did anyone say "eeeww"?). When the itching is at its peak, scratching that area, or lubricating my finger and pushing it rapidly in and out of the anal opening, provides a feeling of relief that's almost orgasmic. Following which I have to wash my hands with antibacterial soap. Anyone else suffer from this condition? No, I didn't think so. . . .
C'mon--everyone scratches their arse once in a while. sometimes after a nice bike ride, tho, i
dunno what is in the lycra or whatever, but i would assume liddle shard-like fibers that love to
dig right into my crack. You just have to scratch, scratch, scratch. I have not gone off the deep
end and basically fingered myself, but i have itched long and hard. but, as my brother has done
before me--i cannot always resist the temptation to sniff my fingers when i am all done.
I don't know why i do it, but it really smells bad sometimes.
Regarding anal itching, Felcher's itch. Isn't there anybody else out there that uses Tucks to wipe
their ass??? It's so refreshing. Gets up in there and cleans, leaving no traces to irritate that anus.
God, my whole family uses it. (Except my newlywed wife, although I think she's been experimenting!)
I don't stick my fingers *up* my ass, i merely scratch it profusely. and i don't want any one of your smart asses saying oh shure, just like, no ma--i was just scratching the area *around my nose,* i wasn't picking or any of that crap. but fine, i pick my butt, and it feels good.
I imagine there are some atheists in this forum, and some sociopaths, and I imagine some of them have stayed in motel rooms where you open the drawer in the bedside table and you find a Gideon Bible. At which point, has anyone felt a terrible compulsion to draw obscene pictures in it?
When I was little me and my sibs would sometimes take a bible out into the parking lot and light 'em on fire, than stamp it out and put the charred mess back into the drawer.
One time I checked into a sleazy motel in Kansas, opened the Gideon bible, and found in it an amateurish drawing of a naked woman in bondage giving oral sex to a priest. Was this one of your efforts, charles?
Here's some Christmas carols for atheists. Why should atheists not have something appropriate
to sing during the festive season?
There is No Hell (to the tune of The First Noel)
The vision of hell
That the churches display
Is to frighten poor people
And make them obey
No hell, no hell
No, there is no hell
No nasty hot place
Where sinners must dwell
Be a crook all your life
You can cheat, steal, and lie
There'll be no one to punish you
After you die
No hell, no hell
No, there is no hell
Only hokum from priests
With religion to sell
O Come Ye Unfaithful
O come ye unfaithful
Free and independent
Come ye, O come ye, to Golgotha's hill
Judas has failed him
Now we're going to nail him
O come let us defy him
O come let us deny him
O come let's crucify him
Christ the fraud
Christ said, surrender
To the holy splendour
Fear god's omnipotence and bow to his will Christ said he saved us
Truly he enslaved us
O come let us defy him
O come let us deny him
O come let's crucify him
Christ the fraud
God Rot Ye Holy Gentlemen
God rot ye holy gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
No burden is too great for you
No price you wouldn't pay
The good lord gives you cancer
But you praise him as you pray
For relief from your suffering and pain
Suffering and pain
For relief from your suffering and pain
God rot ye holy gentlemen
Believe the biggest lie
That god looks down with love upon
His children from on high
And lovingly he watches
While we sicken, starve, and die
How he smiles at our suffering and pain
Sing it again!
How he smiles at our suffering and pain!
A friend of mine has asked me to include the following story here, because she can't find a
suitable forum for it on Panix, which is where she hangs out:
"I went for a bicycle ride recently and needed to urinate. I went into a toilet in a bar, and I squatted above the seat, because I never sit on the seats in public toilets. There was no hook to hang my backpack, and I wasn't going to put it on the floor, so there I was, wearing my backpack, squatting above the seat, with my spandex shorts around my ankles, and just to make it even more difficult, I had my period. Whenever I have my period, I always have to hold up the string from the tampon while I urinate, because otherwise the urine can run down the string and end up in unpredictable places. Well, this time, I held the string at the wrong angle or something, and the flow of urine touched it without my realizing it, and it got diverted down my leg, down into my sock, which it stained yellow. So I had to wipe my leg with toilet paper,it was really disgusting. And I had to finish my bike ride with a sock soaked in urine."
Here's an interesting development from the sex industry: there is now an active trade in
second-hand breast implants.
I hear from a friend of mine in the business that a well-known porn star with extremely large breast implants decided recently to "downsize" herself. She made her decision after an incident after she leaned over a barbecue, and one of her huge tits was severely singed.
It so happens that her implants are the old type, containing some silicone (before the FDA created such panic that manufacturers ceased marketing anything but pure saline implants). The silicone type are, in effect, collectors' items at this point. Consequently, the porn star has been able to *sell* her used implants (for $1,000) to a younger porn star, who is also paying for having them removed and cleaned.
This may sound hard to believe, but it was told to me by a magazine editor who is personally acquainted with one of the women.
In college an enterprising buddy and myself tried to contact teh companies that manufacture breast implants so that we could sell (unused) ones as paperweights. We thought it would be great as a low priced item. They are clear and shaped like a breast, feel like a breast, perfect for the businessman who needs to relieve a little stress. Turns out they were very expensive to buy, plus none of the companies wanted to take us seriously. We looked into manufacturing it ourselves, but never really followed through. Probably would have made a lot of money during the breast implant scare.
When I was in med school, one of our cadavers (female) had saline breast implants (perfectly intact). We also had cadavers with long painted nails, which was kind of weird. You get used to seeing these bodies not as former people, but as grayish hunks of meat. It changes everything when you start seeing painted nails, gold teeth, and tattoos.
Anyone here have problems generating excessive amounts of ear wax? Anyone here enjoy flushing it out with a soft rubber bulb syringe and seeing great big gunky bits of dark brown (almost black) wax spattering into the bathtub, some of them with little shreds of skin like tissue attached?
I suppose I should really tackle a subject which I have been putting off for a while: sucking your
own dick. At one time I admit I was obsessed with this idea. At first, it seemed physically
impossible. But if I lay on my back on the floor, then brought up my knees till my back was
curled and my legs were either side of my head, I could brace my feet on the wall behind me,
wrap my arms around behind my knees, and force my spine into a smaller radius, so that my
cock dangled temptingly above my mouth. Three problems: this position was extremely
uncomfortable and antierotic, my genitals were positioned high relative to the rest of my body
so all the blood tended to flow away from them (just what I did NOT want), and it was quite
impossible to view masturbation aids such as porno magazines. Still, I mastered the technique
of masturbating in a normal position till I was *almost* ready to come, and then flipping over
into the auto-erotic position in which I could _just about_
make oral-genital contact. And after a lot of painful attempts, I finally managed to ejaculate into my own mouth.
It tasted like swallowing my own snot (which I suppose will not be news to some of our readers here).
Has anyone else experimented with auto-erotic techniques? Did you have an easier time of it than I did? Did it provide a special form of fulfillment?
the problem for me always was: i was getting a blow job, but i was also sucking dick. i couldn't concentrate on both. it just didn't work. and yeah, the taste of ones own cum isn't something i enjoyed either.
Felchmeister: What an interesting little story you shared with us. I've always wondered if guys could give themselves blow jobs--now I have the answer. The guy I sleep with, rather, the guy I have sex with, says he's never wanted to try it. I find it difficult to believe that he doesn't want to. Anyway, point being, guys always have the upper hand . . . err, the upper lip . . . in everything. It's my goal and dream in life to be flexible enough to lick myself into absolute oblivion--I'll keep you posted as to my progress.
Re drinking urine--I hardly see why people make such a fuss about it. It's really pretty dilute. I
went through a month or two or drinking my urine on a regular basis and it's really pretty
tasteless, if a bit salty.
Eating snot has to be grosser, but picking your nose doesn't seem all that bad in itself. Just remember to wipe your fingers before touching anything else.
Eating your own shit, I have to admit, it still beyond me.
Um, why were you drinking your own urine?
Well, some people were talking about how it was neato that you could do it and not experience
any bad effects, and I was feeling generally transgressive, and wanted to try it. I gave it up after
6 weeks or so, and never really drank more than a pint or so a day.
The weirdest part is how warm it is.
Hey, simonm, how can you be so cruel to post a message like this without more detail? Like--how did you collect the urine? How much was there? Was it the real dark-yellow stuff, or relatively dilute? Did eating different foods change the way the urine tasted afterward? Did you try drinking the infamous "asparagus urine"? Did anyone else know what you were doing? This is really interesting! (To me, anyway.)
I'm glad to know you care, charles.
It really wasn't that complicated; I'd just take a glass with me when I went to piss. The only really challenging part of it was keeping the urine from splashing out; I dunno about other guys, but when I start urinating I really unload full blast. I found that the best tactic was to grab ahold of my penis right behind the head and apply a bit of pressure on the underside to control the rate of flow. That'd let me fill the glass without wetting the front of my shirt. I have to admit the first couple of times I was a bit squeamish about dripping on my hands, but I figgered, hell, I'm gonna drink the stuff, right? It was surprising to see how much there actually was . . . easily several quarts a day, though I kept my intake down to a cup or two, to avoid any kind of serious toxin buildup. I tend to drink a lot of water and juice, and I eat a relatively good diet (veggies and grains, mostly) so I figured it couldn't be *that* toxic. I never really noticed any strong taste, other than the surprising saltiness. Garlic was one of the few tastes that survived, tasting rather the way that farts smell after you've eaten a whole head of garlic--warm and mellow. It did kinda flip some people out--my mother in particular--but she assumed, correctly, that I'd get over it on my own, and left me to it. I never really renounced it, it just got boring . . . Though I have to say that writing about it kind of makes me want to try it again.
I mean, hell, why not, right?
Met a man who really got off on licking the snot out of my nose. Have to admit it felt really strange french-kissing him afterwards.
One time I wanted to lick snot out of my girlfriend's nose, but she wouldn't let me. I have also
wanted to extract snot from someone's nose using my finger. Again, my offer was refused.
Did you have a lot of snot (maybe you were suffering from a cold at the time)?
I had a steady nasal drip from summer allergies. On the drive back to my place he kept licking
my fingers and stuffing them into his mouth. I'd been climbing around on some rocks in the
park and they were pretty grimy. I had my shirt off and as soon as we were inside he buried his
face in my armpit and started licking. He worked my chest, neck and ears over with his tongue
(he also seemed to have a thing for ear wax). When he covered my nose with his mouth and
started licking and sucking it just seemed sort of the next logical move.
I didn't like him trying to suck it out of my nose. But when he'd work his tongue into a nostril, that did feel good.
Felchmeister, perhaps you'll enjoy this one. The BF and I are in my apartment one evening
having a randy old time. Drinking rum & cokes, blasting the tunes, dancing around. I mean,
we're having *fun.
Carrying on all evening, as I would refill my glass every 10 minutes or so, really slamming the cocktails down, but never noticing the amount of my intake. Around 2 in the morning, we decide to crawl up into the loft. The minute my head hits the pillow, I turn to him and tell him, "I think I'm gonna be sick" and proceed to try to crawl down the ladder to go to the bathroom. His version of this story is that he lowered me down the ladder, fearing that I'd fall and never get up again. I make it safely to the bathroom, where I decide I'm not going to throw up. I decide to take a bath instead. So I fill up the tub with water and bubble bath, and dip myself into the warm water. Ahhhhhh. Doesn't that feel good, I say to myself. The BF wanted to stay in the bathroom to make sure I wasn't about to slam my head on the tub, or sink, or toilet, but I made him leave, as I didn't want an audience in case I did toss it. Back to the tub. As I'm sitting in the water that has floating bubbles everywhere, they begin to multiply and float into the air--my vision blurred, my head reeling. The stomach begins to lurch--I feel like the guy at the table in the movie ALIEN--
With one major push I begin throwing up--all over myself, in the water, all over the bubbles--BF hears the retching sound and strolls into the bathroom, while gorgeous, sexy, curvaceous GF is covered in vomit, sitting in a tub of vomit. BF gets into the vomit tub, unplugs the drain, turns on the shower where the gooey parts of the vomit are clogging the drain--and he proceeds to stomp on them until they're crushed into tiny pieces swirling down the drain. He showers the vomit off of me and off of himself, then I decided to throw up on both of us. (Mind you, while I am typing this, I am asking him to fill in the blanks, since I really can't regurgitate all that much.) So, I threw up again and asked him to once again leave the bathroom. I decide now to roll up in a ball on the floor of the bathroom and go to sleep. He thought I passed out. He calls a friend of his on the West Coast in a total panic, asking him what to do. He thought I was dead, I was just drunk.
This is the end of my story. P.S. The next time I got drunk with him, it was in the plaza of his hometown, where I proceeded to punch him in front of all his neighbors. (Whoops.) Joe Louis would've been proud.
One of my pals at work mentioned that he likes to sniff coke out of his girlfriend's asshole. He also insisted that nose and butt hole fit perfectly together and the effect of drugs is orgasmic . . . any comments?
Some time ago, I promised to describe the Golden Turd Award in more detail.
First I obtained some fresh cat turds. I have two cats, so this was no problem, though I did have to pick and choose to get some really nicely formed, firm turds with fine detail.
Having scooped them out of the litter box, I put them on paper towels and carried them to the bathroom. There, I placed each turd on a slotted spoon and lowered it into the toilet, where I agitated it gently to wash off the particles of kitty litter. This was a delicate business, since too much washing threatened to degrade the all-important turd-texture or even dissolve the turd completely.
Incidentally, in case you imagine that I actually enjoy this kind of thing, the smell of the cat shit coupled with the procedure of dunking it in the toilet made me feel quite nauseated.
Have cleaned the turds, I carried them (once again, on paper towels) down to the basement. I left them on top of the water heater, where the ambient temperature is around 100 degrees and the humidity is low.
Two weeks later I retrieved the turds, which were now nice and dry. Handling them with rubber gloves, I set them on some newspaper and spray- painted them gold. After waiting for the paint to dry, I then dabbed a little transparent epoxy glue on each turd and placed it in a clear acrylic box of the type that is sold in plastics stores. I glued the turds in place because I didn't want them to rattle around after I mailed them to the lucky winners.
Lastly, using a "Badge-a-Minit" kit, I prepared some commemorative buttons for winners and the runners-up, using artwork that depicted a turd emitting mystical beams of light. Each button was customized with the name of the recipient.
Now for the sad part. I sent a golden turd to mdreyfus--and the disgusting little pervert never even said "thank you"! I sent buttons to the lucky runners-up--and no one even mentioned receiving anything! I reminded speed (the other winner) to collect his golden turd, and he did leave a message for me when I was out of town, but since then, he seems to have lost interest in the whole thing.
Well, I suppose this is the attitude I should have expected from people who contribute to a forum named Fuck You! I still have speed's turd sitting on top of my refrigerator, and I think I'll keep it. I think I deserve it.
My old boyfriend told me about a job his very best friend did a few years prior to disappearing.
She was trying to get through college without working, so she got a job as an eye snatcher. She
spent 5 days/week in an eye bank, doing regular shifts, waiting for notification that one of the
donors had died. Once informed, she then went to the deceased and with specialized eye
extraction tools, would gently yank the eye out of its socket.
It sounded pretty depressing. Evidently, she didn't stick around too long.
That also reminds me of another dead eye-motif story. Prior to his death, JP Sartre, who had notoriously bad eyesight, had stipulated that his eyes should be re-used after his death. A right-wing French newspaper commented in a headline after the operation: "Thanks to the Great Philosopher, a blind man can now squint."
for those of you who don't know what a nail gun is, i offer the following description:
a nail gun is a mechanical device that replaces the hammer. you may have seen some guy up on a roof walking around half bent over with a machine that went "poof" every time he pushed it against the roof. that was a nail gun. some nail guns are pneumatic (they are driven by an air compressor) and some use small-caliber cartridges to drive the nails. in any case they all share the safety feature of needing to be pressed against something in order to fire a nail. a trigger at the "barrel" needs to be pressed against the roof or what ever at the same time the finger trigger is pressed.
why am i telling you this?
well in spite of this seemingly well thought out safety scheme, nail guns are involved in a variety of rather amusing accidents all the time.
one way to circumvent the safety is simply to hold the barrel trigger in while you spray your fellow construction works with semi-automatic nail gun fire. this unfortunately rarely leads to injury, as nails are not well designed for flight. however another common misuse of the guns is responsible for some truly amusing self inflicted wounds.
because of the double trigger safety, it is common practice for roofers and framers (who drive lots of nail each day) to simply walk around holding the finger trigger down, driving nails in to things by simply pressing the gun against the surface. they get so in the habit of holding down the trigger that they walk around with the trigger pressed, and invariably the barrel trigger bumps into something that doesn't need to get nailed, especially the back of the walkers calf. (Picture it in your head, guy's holding the thing in his right hand, hey joe com'ere. walks over, right arm going forward as the left leg is coming back and . . . puka! *Ow! Son of a bitch!*)
a friend of mine who works in an emergency room saw one of these guys, nailed right through the meat of his calf and into the tibia (of was it fibia?) anyway, while they waiting for the bone doctor to get there, the two of them are talking and my friend says, "that must hurt." and the guy says "not as much as the first time."