Up to my elbows in it

From: bobv@gummint.Gov (Bob von Buelow)
Newsgroups: alt.tasteless
Subject: Up to my elbows in it
Date: 16 Feb 1993 21:42:36 GMT


There have been a lot of second hand accounts of blood-and-guts here, usually starting off with something like "My wife is a medical examiner's assistant in Sheep-dip, Oklahoma and she said she once saw ...". And some of the first hand stuff is kept at arms distance. Or we are insulated by a Buick Roadmaster from the true essence of a fresh roadkill. Those great
I-was-eating-lunch-while-hip-deep-in-a-cesspool anecdotes are way too few and far between. Well I'm here to give a first hand account of up-to-the-shoulder in blood, guts, and shit. So get out your dinner, sit down, and enjoy.


*** Bunny-hugger alert. *** Better skip this post if you think it is just possible that Walt Disney was a naturalist.

*** Realist alert *** Take the Cane Toad test. If you not only would aim for those little devils, but would stop and inspect the results of Goodyear-meets-amphibian continue reading. If not, well, let's just say you've been warned. This post contains NO fiction.

Step 1: I kill it. Simple physics really. Get a 125 lb. whitetail deer to absorb 2500+ ft/lb of energy -- from a 30-06 rifle. I'd skip this step except the damn things won't hold still for the rest of the procedure unless I do this first.

variation a). it falls to the ground immediately, stone dead

variation b). it staggers around and you are obliged to give a second physics lesson.

variation c). it falls to the ground, but doesn't die. This way you get to walk up to it and administer the coup de grace eye-to-eye with your dinner-to-be.

sub-variation c'). One young man didn't understand that the coup de grace should NOT be administered from point blank range, in the ear, with a 30-30. The results were spectacular when we got there to load his prize in the truck. The eyes were bugged out a good inch-and-a-half, and with the tongue hanging way out it looked like something out of one of today's Ren and Stimpy cartoons.

Step 2: This is the good stuff. Now here's what I do next. Remove very sharp knife from sheath. Cut balls and penis of deer off, trying not to get piss all over everything (it dulls the knife). Discard -- no time for little games now! Carefully cut open the stomach from crotch to
rib cage. The first real joy now awaits as the internal gasses gently waft up to my nose. If I was real lucky the bullet ripped open the stomach and the partially digested deer-meal adds immeasurably to the joy of the moment.

Step 3: Now, taking a good grip on my knife I rip open the rib cage right up the middle as far up the neck as possible. If things are going well there should be blood at least to my elbow by now. And the blood is nice and warm too! Great on cold days to warm my hands up! If things aren't
going well some of the blood will be mine. Cracking a rib cage with a really sharp and hefty knife requires some force.

Step 4: Reach in with both hands and cut the windpipe way up in the neck. This is really fun. I am up to my elbows in mangled guts and lungs, I can't see what I doing, and I have a real sharp knife near my fingers. Proceed to rip the lungs from the back of the carcass. Everything should
now be held in only by the pellet-release-tube. Reach in and squeeze any remaining deer-shit out the rear. Cut the intestine and all the guts will fall out in a neat pile. (A.t.ers could save for later use.)

variation a). lift the whitetail's tail and give our friend a *complete* ream job (I know, I know, some a.t.ers will want to stop and do a rim job first) with the knife and push the resulting plug in before dumping the guts at your feet.

Pick out the still warm heart and save. Makes a good breakfast sliced thin and pan fried.

Step 5: Back at the ranch, string this guy up. I prefer head down, but others hang it by the neck. When the carcass cools a bit, RIP the skin off this dude. Now is the appropriate time to chop the head off too!

variation a). I like to remove the antlers by using a hack saw. Place the head in a vice and tighten until the jaw bones crack. Starting at the back of the head cut forward thru to about
eye level. About half the time I cut right thru the eyes. The brain is now open for . Pick brains out of the plate left attached to the antlers, or let maggots do the cleaning for you, both methods work just fine.

The rest is just a simple cut-thru-muscle-and-bone-and-call-it-meat operation. It does take a while to lose the blood-and-guts smell no matter how hard or often I wash my hands. Thank goodness. I know for a fact that there IS such a thing as true blood lust.

A second helping of venison hash anyone?

Now back to your regular scheduled programming.

--
Bob von Buelow Mars Observer Planning and Sequencing Element
bobv@gummint.gov - standard disclaimers apply -

Home Penial Self-Surgery Procedure

Subject: Home Penial Self-Surgery Procedure
From: gbernath@usa.edu (Gregory Bernath)
Date: Sat, 5 Mar 1994 00:20:20 GMT
Organization: your education tax dollars at work
Lines: 282


I once chopped pieces of foreskin off my penis with a pair of cuticle scissors.

Now that I've got your attention, I'll go back and tell the whole story. Apologies if it gets a little lengthy, but this yarn deserves to be spun well.

BACKGROUND

After I was circumcised as an infant, the wound was not taken care of with sufficient diligence, and it healed incorrectly. Portions of the raw edge of the remaining foreskin bonded to the glans, a little bit above the lower edge of the glans. This left a series of "skin bridges", basically sections of foreskin which can't be retracted, because they are fused to the glans at one end and the shaft at the other. These varied in width from about 1/16" to 1/4", and were attached off and on over about 2/3 of the circumference.

This was never a major problem. It was a long time before I even realized it was abnormal. Everything functioned properly, but there were a few minor problems with it which made me wish I could fix it. Mainly,

1. It was a cosmetic defect -- it didn't look good.

2. It was tough to keep clean under the bridges -- I had to swab it with a Q-tip now and then to knock down smegma buildup.

3. Some of the most sensitive parts of the glans were hidden under relatively insensitive chunks of foreskin, robbing me of the proper stimulation which was mine and every man's birthright.

Over the past few years, I'd been thinking of getting it corrected, but there were problems. Doctors cost money, and I didn't have it, and student insurance sure wasn't gonna cover it. Plus, the thought of some strange doctor chopping at my peepeehead gives me chills.

Now, all a doctor would do it sterilize it, numb it, cut it and bandage it. "Hell, maybe I can do that!", I thought. The problem was how to kill the pain. I experimented with cutting myself (with an x-acto knife), but seeing as it always hurt like hell before I even cut anything, I never went through with it.

Recently, I came back and studied the situation. Again, the problem with the self-surgery approach was dealing with pain. There had to be some way of numbing the area, but how? One winter day, it hit me. If cold can make fingers go numb, then cold can also make a ManTool[tm] go numb. With this in mind, I pioneered a the "home penile self-surgery procedure".

SURGERY KIT

Cuticle scissors (1 pair)
Rubbing alcohol (1 bottle)
Antibiotic ointment (1 tube)
Anti-bacterial soap (1 bottle)
Gauze pads (lots, various sizes)
Ice cubes (iodine added to water for sterility)
Clean Washcloth (freshly laundered with lots'o bleach)
Well-lit work area (the kitchen table)

PROCEDURE

Wipe down work area with alcohol. Clean penis with soap and water, then with alcohol. Wash hands thoroughly. Soak scissors in alcohol.

Holding the ice cube with the washcloth (to prevent your fingers from going numb), apply the ice cube to the target area. Hold for 5 to 10 minutes, until area is numb.

Using the cuticle scissors, sever the skin bridge as closely as possible to its connection with the glans. Then sever the foreskin end of the bridge in such a location as to leave an even edge on the foreskin.

Use gauze pads and direct pressure to stop the bleeding, then apply antibiotic ointment and bandage.

THE OPERATIONS

Though the operations are not painful if done correctly, the healing process is a real pain in the ass. It also takes a certain state of mind to be able to cut your own flesh. I would kind of put myself into robo-man zombie mode for the operations, in that I never dwelled on what I was doing, I just mechanically plodded through all the steps without thinking about how totally gross it was.

Since the ice cube could only numb a small portion of the penis, and since I could only tolerate so much trauma to my dick in one session, it took 6 separate operations, spread out over a two week period, to cut/remove all of the skin bridges.

Operation #1 (Day 1)

The test cut. I chose a small thin skin bridge, about 1/16" across. I held the ice cube on for 5 minutes. The ice caused a peculiar kind of "cold ache", but it wasn't that bad. I gingerly made the cuts, and sliced through with no pain at all. There was some minor bleeding, but because
of the speed at which I worked, I had finished and had the gauze on it before the wound had any chance to bleed significantly. After about 10 minutes the bleeding was stopped and I bandaged it up, no problem at all. Only a tiny little speck of flesh had been removed, rather unimpressive looking.

Operation #2 (Day 3)

Operation #1 turned out so well, I decided to go for big game this time. The target was the mother of all skin bridges, about 1/4" across and very thick and meaty.
Again, I made the preparations and applied ice for 5
minutes.

I made the first cut along the glans, and was surprised at how much I had to bear down on the scissors. This skin was surprisingly tough. I finished that cut, and then turned my attention to the cut on the foreskin side. Wanting to get it done quickly, I decided that two large, powerful snips should do the job. I bore down and made the first cut, and realized with a shock that IT HURT LIKE HELL.

Well, it turns out that due to the thickness of the skin bridge on that end, the cold hadn't penetrated deeply enough, and it hadn't gone numb. So, I was left with a problem. I had a half severed bit of foreskin hanging off me, and no anesthetic. My only recourse was to finish the
cut. I thought, "Shit. This will hurt.". So I lined up the scissors, closed my eyes, and as quickly and powerfully as I could, I made the snip. My prediction was correct; it did hurt (don't you hate when you're right about things like that?). I managed to avoid shouting out, instead opting for a few simple gasps and whimpers.

I resolved to hold the ice on for much longer in future operations.

Being that this was a bigger cut than the first, it bled much more profusely. It took about 20 minutes of direct pressure and a lot of gauze until I could staunch the main flow. Even then it kept oozing blood for a few hours. I spent the rest of the evening with nothing on below the waist, sitting in front of the TV with a few brews (this became standard procedure for all forthcoming operations). Any motion tended to make it break open and bleed again, so I moved around very little. I was functioning (that is, walking) almost normally again by the next day, but it took about 5 days before this one completely stopped oozing blood.

As I gingerly hobbled back into the kitchen for another brew, I spotted IT, the severed hunk-o-foreskin that I had left on the table. It was of fairly good size, about 1/2" by 1/4" and maybe as thick as a piece of bacon. Suddenly, strange thoughts entered my skull, and a raging
mental battle between good and evil ensued.

EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."
GOOD: "Don't do it!! That's gross!!"
EVIL: "Eat the foreskin."
GOOD: "Stop thinking about it!!"
EVIL: "You know what you must do. Eat it. It is your destiny."
GOOD: "But that's cannibalism!"
EVIL: "So what?"
GOOD: "Cannibalism is shunned for a reason! It spreads diseases!"
EVIL: "Look dipshit. It's your own fucking flesh. Any diseases in there, you already got."
GOOD: "But it's SELF-cannibalism!"
EVIL: "So is chewing on the piece of skin you bit off your fingertip. BFD."
GOOD: "But this is weird, deranged and perverted!"
EVIL: "Exactly"
GOOD: (Hauls its sorry whupped ass away and shuts up)

So, I ate it. Turns out it was very tough and chewy, kind of like biting a little piece of rubber. I chewed for about 5 minutes, but didn't make any progress on breaking it down, so I swallowed it. It had a little bit of blood flavor at first, but after that it had no flavor at all; rather disappointing in that respect. Maybe I should have cooked it.

Operation #3 (Day 10)

A medium sized cut. I held the ice cube on much longer (10 minutes instead of 5), so there was no problem with pain. Not nearly as much bleeding, but still a respectable amount.

A word about erections: they were a bad thing. Any hard-on would tear the wounds open and start them bleeding again. This would be a problem for about 3 or 4 days until the wounds had healed sufficiently. Basically, I had to spend a long, long time without even thinking a nasty thought. Of course, when I was asleep I had no control over the process, which would always result in me waking up with a dick that hurt and bloody bandages. I was really lovin' life at moments like these.

Operation #4 (Day 12)

Another medium sized cut, but with the added bonus of having a small vein (about 1 mm in diameter) running through the skin bridge. Now, the blood supply for the penis mainly runs through blood vessels buried deep inside. When you get down the the small vessels, the
circulatory system becomes more of a spiderweb, with redundant paths going to every point. So I knew it wasn't actually dangerous to cut it, but it was still a kind of psychological obstacle. I expected this one to be a heavy bleeder, and I wasn't disappointed. It took about a full hour of direct pressure to get the severed ends of the vein to close up. Otherwise, not too much of a problem.

Operation #5 (Day 14)

I was planning on more time to let the others heal, but due to changes in the way skin tension was being applied to the remaining bridges (because I'd cut some others away), one small bridge was getting a lot of stress and starting to hurt. So I chopped it quick and easy, no real problems.

Operation #6 (Day 15)

The problem with operation #5 was that it just transferred the stress to the next bridge down the line. So even though I had about 3/4" of flesh left to cut, I resolved to do it all at once in one last cutting frenzy.

Due to the size of the operation, it took a while to complete (maybe 1 minute total), which gave the blood a chance to flow. I had to stop a few times and wipe away blood so I could see what I was doing. Strangely, this didn't bother me at all. It seemed perfectly normal that I
should be wiping up copious amounts of blood flowing from my bleeding pecker which I had sliced open myself. Actually, it seemed kind of cool at the time, which led me to speculate at the time that I had gone insane, which I also thought was pretty cool.

Anyway, except for the excess blood which had dripped on to the chair, it went quite well. The only thing that really grossed me out was when I noticed I had blood all over my hands. If any psychoanalysts want to analyze that tidbit for me, feel free, though I really don't care.

The wounds are now completely healed, and the results are good. Mainly:

1. There are no scars to speak of, just a few bumps on the glans. This is because I didn't trim the flesh quite close enough in a few spots. They kind of resembling little warts. I thought about going back and trimming them off, but I kind of like 'em now. After all, it's not everyone
who has the privilege of appearing to have warts, with actually being diseased.

2. Without the skin tension holding things back, total dick length has increased by 1/4". (Of course I've measured the length of my dick. Like you haven't?)

3. It's a great topic for dinnertime conversation. Women generally seem to find it quite interesting. Men generally turn kind of pale.

With my newfound surgical skills, I've been contemplating a few more self-surgical procedures. You know, mole removal, wart removal, nose jobs, the whole vista of cosmetic surgery. I'll need some help for that mole on my back, which means training an assistant. Ah,
the future looks interesting indeed ...
--
Greg Bernath gbernath@usa.edu

[LONG] Joys of Rimming

From alt.tasteless Mon Dec 12 18:04:59 1994
From: jimmo@kimber.uk.moon.com (Jim)
Subject: [LONG] Joys of Rimming
Date: 5 Dec 1994 10:21:58 GMT
Lines: 128
Distribution: world


Are you sitting comfortably?


It all happened last summer. It was an arid day in Jaipur when I was there. I roamed the streets at a leisurely amble, trying to scratch my gusset through my trousers because the sweat that lubricated my buttocks was itching like buggery.

Anyway, as I scuffed a dusty path through the streets of seedy backwater Jaipur, I noticed some local prostitutes. Unlike a significant proportion of whores in north India, these were not eunuchs. It all started as a religious thing, castration. However, now woman-wannabes become eunuchs for fun and for a source of income. Basically, here is what happens. First, the genitals (penis and scrotum) of the eunuch-to-be are tied with an inch wide strip of material, making the genitalia protrude further from the abdomen. Then, after prayer (well advised prayer too), the headeunuch (I can't remember what the name for him/it is) takes a large, sharp kitchen knife and slices off the genitals. Without an anaesthetic, of course. The groaning, contorted mass that gibbers in agony on the ground is left without medical treatment as it is up to the Gods to decide whether he lives or dies (through bleeding to death).

If the eunuch lives, the pulpy genital remains are plopped into a hole in the ground. Now, if you've had a wedding in India, you will know that the eunuchs come to the wedding and have to be bribed to go away otherwise they will lift their saris and show off their vertical smiles!

Anyway, I digress. There were these prostitutes and, by God, they were decidedly ropey looking hags...a full double-antler on the moose-scale! But they had two redeeming features:

1. They were very, very cheap.
2. They would do absolutely fucking ANYTHING for money.

Point 2 put life in my heat-striken love sausage. So I picked the leastscabby one and waved 100 rupees at her. Ha! She was MINE!

Er, at this point I should mention that there are some stunning women in those parts of Asia, not just the orient. I say that before you think I am implying that this scabid, moth-eaten old fuckrag is the norm over there.

Still, I went back to her shack (a mud and corrugated iron structure setback from the heat) and got to work.

I sat on the, er, collection of hessian sacks that served as a bed and positioned her in front of me. I reached round her waist and untucked the fold in her grubby cotton sari that holds the whole damn thing on. I took the free end and passed it round her waist...about four damn times, then over her shoulder. Then it just fell away.

I stared in awe at her. She assumed that was because I found her attractive so she smiled at me. Her smile basically entailed the retraction of the rubbery, flaky skin around her mouth to reveal a couple of yellow stumps in swollen, blood-stained gums. Her breasts hung like pool-balls in a pair of stockings. Her malnutrition had produced a cute little pot-belly, like the
ones you see on the "feed the starving" newsreels. I ran the tips of my fingers up her ricket-bent legs, over her thighs and across the two bits of flappy kebab-meat that hung from her vagina like curtains in a dolls house. Fascinated, I parted the distended lips to see small semi-white spots peppered across her labia. They looked rather like large mouth ulcers. I don't think they hurt her much because when I touched the tip of my tongue to one of the tart summits, she didn't flinch. The taste of her lips was decidedly sharp, rather like the negative pole of a 9v battery! As I was indulging in the yeast-feast, an idea dawned! So I stood up, turned her around and pushed her down into a kneeling position on the ramshackle bed. I clasped a wrinkled buttock in each hand and splayed them apart, revealing one of the most filthy sphincters I have ever seen! Evidently, this old trollop had been suffering from dysentry! I gawped at her anus, which puckered and dilated in rhythm with her breathing. Moist traces of semi-liquid stool lined the inner wall of her anal crater. Tastless I may be, but my tongue is not! I grabbed a bit of her sari and have the whole cheesy area a quick wipe, leaving a musty brown skid across the material.

Okay, I thought, time for me to indulge in the most tasteless rimming I have ever, ever given. I leant toward her waiting cornhole, pausing only to catch my breath as a pungent draft of anal exhalation wafted out to meet me. It would take more than a fetid fart to stop me! But, as my
lips encircled her nether-kisser, the fart that escaped previously was obviously not alone. There was just a little follow through. No sooner had my tongue rasped across the anal squid-ring than I felt a tiny warmth spread across it. This warmth was swiftly followed by a taste that is damn near undescribable. You know how some things taste like other things smell? Well this taste was exactly like the smell of a pile of rotting vegetables and cheese. A cheese with more blue veins than a tourniqued cock!

I had to withdraw. I scraped the surface of my tongue across the underside of my teeth, as if to remove early-morning post-beer tongue-carpet. I spat into the grey dust. There, intertwined with my sputum, was a string of pale brown excrement. I felt the bile in my stomach rise up my gullet with that kind of nausea that signals an unstoppable barf. Desperate to maintain my balance, I leaned against the wizened rump of the prostitute. She was, of course, off balance with her ass stuck in the air and she fell onto the bed. The vomit was starting to push between my fingers like meat through a free-flow mincer and I had to let rip. I regurgitated a bitter and bilious curry-based chunder over her sprawling nakedness. I couldn't really tell but I thought I
saw, through bleared teary eyes, a visage of disgust on her face. However, she must have thought this was what she was being paid for and so, with a decidedly aggrieved look, she tentatively started to smear the vomit over her breasts.

I found this incredibly sexy! Without a word, I rolled her over onto her slightly bloated belly, which made a slight squelching sound as her gut displaced the exhumed contents of my stomach. I reached between her legs and scooped a handful of cooling retch over the tufts and crevice of her backside. Then, after hastily unbuttoning my cotton pants, I climbed on top of her. The stench was damn near erection-withering! Anyway, I nuzzled the muzzle of my member against her sphincter and rubbed in gentle circles to pick up some lube from the bile. It stung a bit, actually. I pushed forward and slid into her rectal tract with too much ease, the kind of ease that says "Hey Boy! This ain't her first time up the shitter!"

Basically, there ensued a truly tasteless butt-fuck which doesn't need description as I'm sure you all know. :-) Anyway, it was the withdrawl that really did me in! After I pulled out, I looked down at my exhausted bijja and a opalescent sheen of blood, sweat, bile and the odd skid. To cap it all, there was a soft khaki pinnacle of bugger-mud on the end! I paid the crone Rs. 500/- and bid her farewell.

Jim.