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Archive for the ‘Funny Stories’ Category
BuelahMan’s Deep Dark Past (Stories to frighten children with)
Don’t ask me how I happened upon this (I have some strange friends), but damn I needed the laugh so bad…
Submitted by Butt then again:
If my anus could talk… it would thank posters here for the following home remedy, after narrowly avoiding painful surgery.
For YEARS I’d suffered an olive-sized growth at my anus. It was an ugly not-so-little secret that undermined my self image, as it made its presence known damn near every time I crossed my legs, went running and during lovemaking, as it tended to “dangle.” At the same time, an anal fissure, which the tag seemed to stand guard over like a sentry, would often bleed and swell. Together they made life miserable. So I made an appointment with a proctologist, tho I’ve always been leery of these professionals. After all, what kind of person jumps thru so many hoops in order to have a career looking at aging butt holes? Still, I was hurting, so I made the crucial appointment.
In the presence of his nurse, the proctologist told me to drop my pants and then took some metal probes–reminiscent of dental hygiene tools—and after some excruciating poking and prying, had me to tidy up, and then held a conference. He drew a picture of my ass hole. It featured a huge anal tag—like a sentry (his words)–guarding a fissure—or ragged little tear–in the anal sphincter. He proposed surgically removing the tag and then cutting out an arc-shaped piece of my anal sphincter to get rid of the fissure. The surgery would be painful, I would be laid up for two weeks and there was a 1 to 3 percent chance that my anus would not work properly after the operation. I signed on, out of desperation, as I’d been debilitated off and on for years, and I’m a busy man, who makes his living five ways–writing, publishing, teaching, consulting and real estate.
Fortunately for me—tho not him–the surgeon burned both hands in a grilling accident before my surgery could take place. Too much accelerant, according to his secretary. When she asked if I’d like to reschedule, I told her “I’ll call you,” and started Googling. One thing I learned was that the hemorrhoid surgery I’d signed on for would be the worst pain I’d ever experienced, would be incredibly disruptive of my life—at a busy time–and might leave me with a leaky anus, not to mention a possible addiction to pain meds. Added to this was my newfound distrust of a surgeon who’d used bad judgment operating a grill. I didn’t want him near my privates.
So I started looking for home remedies and came across your website. Here and elsewhere I read that lots of people had removed all sorts of tags from their bodies with thread or dental floss, and so I put it on my list of things to at least attempt.
Late one night when no one else was about, I contrived to loop dental floss around my anal olive. Positioning a boss flashlight to shine into that shadowy nether region, I cocked my right leg up on my lavatory, bent over and, peering round with great effort into my large bathroom mirror, looped a dental floss noose around my tag, and pulled the draw string. Hurt like hell. I’d tied it on crooked, so that the string cut across the middle of my tag, dividing it into two bulges scored by a painful groove in which the dental floss cut.
For weeks afterward, squirming in pain, I kept hoping for it to shrivel, so I could deliver the coup de grace with nose hair scissors or carpet knife or something. I waited in vain. It stayed plump and full. What’s worse, it felt like a constant toothache in my anus. Through trial and error I learned that Neosporin—the kind that contains aspirin–would relieve the pain temporarily. It also seemed to have a healing effect on my anal fissure. Still, the lumps in my tag stayed round and plump. After about two weeks of on and off pain, I decided to cut the string.
No go. It was sunk inside the flesh of my swollen tag. At this moment of discovery, I had serious regrets about trying the home remedy. The only thing that kept me from giving up and throwing myself on the mercy of my doctor—literally bowing before him–was the prospect of complete and abject humiliation. What might he tell friends or family in our close-knit community, where my work in the media had made me well-known?
So, late at night, forming another tiny noose, bending over, slipping it over and pulling tight, I tried again. This time I managed to tie the dental floss snugly around the base and waited several days. Was it my imagination or was the tag shrinking? Maybe I could snip it off entirely before long. Three days before I was supposed to drive 150 miles to the wedding of a beautiful niece—a drive I knew would be excruciating–I went into the bathroom to apply Neosporin-with-aspirin. Imagine my surprise and delight, when the entire anal tag–rogue floss, groove and all–slipped its mooring and adhered to my tissue. Could this be true? I drew the tissue up and looked at my tormentor, nestled there–a tiny shriveled olive, crisscrossed with grooves. It was a bloodless coup in my nether realm. I’d hung the tyrant.
It’s been three months now and I can’t believe I succeeded in thwarting the surgeon, saving my insurance thousands, and improving my self-image. My tag had been there so long that now it feels novel to have a smooth butt crack, and I never feel the tag hanging there during sex, or while running, or when I cross my legs wrong. It’s truly the gift that keeps on giving.
A final note: I don’t know if the antibiotic Neosporin would work for everyone’s anal fissure. Just four days ago I had grave doubts after I felt the old rawness and swollenness return. So I applied Neosporin several times over the period of a couple of days. Voila, the anus healed again. OK, take it for what it’s worth. Anecdotal, but I think I cured myself, and avoided expensive surgery, debility and possible pain med dependency in the duration.
So, to all who posted testimony here:
My wife thanks you, I thank you, and my anus thanks you.
I apologize to my blogging friends who do not appreciate a good fart joke, but this obviously contains more character than a lowly fart joke.
Did I rub you the wrong way or stroke you just right? Let me know below in the comments section or Email me at buelahman {AT} g m a i l {DOT} com
If for some reason you actually liked this post, click the “Like” button below. If you feel like someone else needs to see this (or you just want to ruin someone’s day), click the Share Button at the bottom of the post and heap this upon some undeserving soul. And as sad as this thought may be, it may be remotely possible that us rednecks here at The Revolt please you enough (or more than likely, you are just a glutton for punishment??), that you feel an overwhelming desire to subscribe via the Email subscription and/or RSS Feed buttons found on the upper right hand corner of this page (may the Lord have mercy on your soul).
All posts are opinions meant to foster comment, reporting, teaching & study under the “fair use doctrine” in Sec. 107 of U.S. Code Title 17. No statement of fact is made or should be implied. Ads appearing on this blog are solely the product of the advertiser and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of BuehlahMan’s Revolt or WordPress.com
Dolphin Attended Birth
and
Dolphin Assisted Therapy
in Hawaii
Well– I do believe that back in the 60’s this idea had to come from a ‘head’ on the island….lol. And to be honest– back in the day I just might have done this. Don’t tell my daughter!!! lolololol Naw, it sounds just ‘out there’ enough to be pretty cool!
People are people everywhere we go aren’t they. I had prior looked into a company called ‘PLUG’ and it actually has stock– it is wave energy. Now listening to this I kept answering outloud… ” Hell we can’t get people to stop killing people and you want to change people into tree planters. Well and good but in a world gone mad… well, really… what are we doing??? and for heavens sake… Carbon Credits exchanged globally– and Carbon swopping??? Geeeeeeeeece
Even though NPR has become more and more right-winged since the Bush Administration has tried to politically cement all things in government into a neoconservative block of power, I still listen on occasion.
One of my favorite shows is featured on Mississippi Public Broadcasting stations on Friday (and again on Saturday). It is called The Gestalt Gardener and its host is Felder Rushing. For those of you who are aware, his show is a laid back look into home gardening and I get all sorts of tips (even though I do not really have much of a green thumb). I admit that since July 1st, Dr Dirt (Felder’s co-host on the show) retired to the garden, but Felder is great as a loner, as well. he always has excellent guests on to help with all sorts of gardening issues.
We were given a small Shefflera about 15 years ago (BuelahLady’s Grandfather’s funeral flowers/plants) and from what I understand, they are almost impossible to kill (unless they get too cold). As a house plant, I can attest, there is nothing you can do to kill them (short of Roundup or something).
We moved from a 4400 Sq Ft house to 1500 and we have virtually no room (and a stroage building FULL of stuff) and we simply put the plants in the house and let them go (watering only one a month and barely at that).
They ended up looking like this (two HUGE plants that were durn near 8 feet tall):
I asked Felder in an email about how to prune them and he basically told me what I suspected, you can’t kill them and to prune them however I like and recommended a layered look. So I did this:
Notice the new growth? Felder is a gardening Hero of mine. You should listen in if you can find his show.
When my son was little– he is 30 now– he used to play the mario Video Game for what seemed to be forever. I used to tease him that ” when he grew up at least he would have a trade and career by ‘saving the princess’. Now, is this Air guitar thing a past time? a career move?… sincerely is it a fun hobby? Do people make a living doing this? Come on– I am old, someone enlighten me. lol
Rockers from around the world have taken to the stage at the Air Guitar World Championships in Oulu, Finland. Competition was fierce but the reigning US champion claimed the world title. Jatinder Sidhu reports.
“…You’re gonna be the one at Sainsbury’s Misheard lyric from Wonderwall…”
“…The girl with colitis goes by Misheard lyric from Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds…”
[ ok, that one about Lucy in the Sky made me laugh, because back then when It was a popular song with the 'trippers'-- I always heard it right! lol.. what were these guys doing that heard it that way?! lol lo... musta been some good shit! lol]
Rock band The Police have written some of the most commonly misheard pop lyrics of all time, a poll suggests. Two of the band’s songs feature in a top 10 of misunderstood tracks. A line from The Police’s Message In A Bottle – “a year has passed since I wrote my note” – is often heard as “a year has passed since I broke my nose”. A biblical reference in U2′s Mysterious Ways becomes “Shamu the mysterious whale”. Some 2,000 people were polled by hearing aid providers Amplifon. “Some people go for years singing the wrong lyrics to their favourite songs,” said the company’s director Enrico Vacca. “We heard some brilliant misquotes during our research that had us in stitches.” Number one in the chart is Police song When The World Is Running Down in which “you make the best of what’s still around” is misheard as “you make the best homemade stew around”. At number two, a line from Bee Gees song Stayin’ Alive – “it’s alright, it’s okay, you may look the other way” – is translated as “it’s alright, it’s okay, you make love the other way”. The Beatles also make the top 10 with Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds. The line “the girl with kaleidoscope eyes” is misinterpreted as saying “the girl with colitis goes by”. Queen’s “scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?” from Bohemian Rhapsody, is misheard as “will you do the banned tango?” Oasis song Wonderwall is also in the chart with “you’re gonna be the one that saves me” becoming “you’re gonna be the one at Sainsbury’s”. And Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights creeps into the chart at number 10. The original line from the song is: “Heathcliff, it’s me, Cathy and I’ve come home, oh, so cold, let me in your window.” But it is misheard as: “Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m a tree, I’m a wombat. Oh, so cold at the end of your winter.”
I always had a hard time with the TV lead in song for “All in the Family”… and was tinkled when someone finally told me what they were saying when you heard ” Gee our ole’…” and then couldn’t understand the last part. Do you know? I do. lol lol.
I have had the privilege of meeting countless and diverse people in my life. And I thank God I meet the ones I do– they enrich my life and create a wonderful human fabric that is finely woven and textured; yet humanly frayed and to me just plain wonderful! [even if at times confounding...lol].
Anyway– I met a wonderful woman from Scotland, and I have enjoyed our talks of politics and world woes. She sends me funny cartoons to make my days start with a smile. Today was one of those days!
Now– as I scrolled through the cartoons… I came across one that not only made me laugh, but I laughed out loud from personal experience! !The ‘I’ll have what he’s having’ actually happened to me when I first met Gishelle Diva Gish. I was working alone one morning almost a year ago. In walks a 6′ 7″ fuzzy wig wearing, white go-go- boot wearing, tight hot pink mini dress wearing — huge breast leading the way ‘woman’. Of course I knew at first sight this person was different [dah] and special. I introduced myself and so did Gishelle. Being the person I am, [Social Worker til' death]– I ended up in a deep conversation and then out of seemingly no where, Gishelle rips open the hot pink top and announced…” I just had these babies put in!”. And there they were, no bra, nothing… just huge, and I mean huge breasts on a hairy chest.[Gishelle has since had electrolysis]. I just stood there amazed. Since then we have become friends at my job, and Gishelle knows I struggle with the words ” he and she” when it comes to speaking with “her/him”. Not out of anything negative, but just being old. lol. I have learned much in speaking with Gishelle… especially about the effects of Agent Orange, medical struggles… and emotional pain being unique to individuals. I like the fact that Gishelle is comfortable enough with me to flip her/his voice from Gishelle to Clay when we speak. Anyway– this is where my head went this morning just from a cartoon from a Scotish friend. Isn’t life a trip?!! lol lol.http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2007/sep/02/life-after-brother-clay/
“…….Sitting with Gishelle Gish, there’s a sense of what is and what has been. In the dining room of her West Knoxville home, Gish is surrounded by gold records, signed plaques and posters from Rod Stewart, Barbra Streisand and other music stars, all thanking her for her help with their careers and the success of certain records. Yet all of the thanks are for “Brother Clay” Gish. Brother Clay Gish was an athlete, a Vietnam veteran, a father who married four times and a star in the radio world. He was known in Atlanta, Houston, Miami and Knoxville as a popular radio personality, a programmer who could help take a station to the top and could always tell a future hit.Clay Gish began living as Gishelle Diva Gish in January and has since undergone breast augmentation surgery and a legal name change. She hopes to have sex-reassignment surgery in the near future. “People who knew me didn’t really know me,” says Gish. “Now my skin is reflecting who I am inside.”…….”
David Hayes knew from earlier catches that lunker catfish patrolled the acre pond a few feet behind his rural Wilkes County home.
But he never suspected it held a state-record channel cat. Or that he would land it with a hot-pink Barbie rod and reel 2 inches shorter than the fish.
How that happened is a whale of a fish story, which says something about a 3-year-old girl’s bond with her grandpa.
Hayes told it this way:
It was 7:30 p.m. on a Tuesday, Aug. 5. Hayes was home in the Shoaly Branch community after work running the dye house for a local textile-maker. Granddaughter Alyssa Hayes, who lives nearby, helped Hayes pick tomatoes. Then she decided she wanted to go fishing.
Fishing and riding four-wheelers together are what Alyssa loves best with her Papa.
Hayes, who’s 56, caught a few crickets and baited the hook on her 2 1/2-foot Barbie rod and reel combo — $13 at Wal Mart. Alyssa caught a couple of bluegills.
Then she had to go to the bathroom and thrust the tackle in Hayes’ hands as she turned for the house.
“They hadn’t no more than closed the door than the cat hit the cricket and took off,” he said. “He turned the water over and I saw his tail was about as wide as my two hands.
“I knew I was in trouble.
“By the time she got back out there, she said, ‘Papa, you’re going to break my rod,’ because it was bent double.”
After 25 minutes, pink plastic and 6-pound-test line prevailed.
Hayes netted the exhausted fish. Alyssa “squealed and her eyes got as big as silver dollars.”
Scales at a local grocery said the 32-inch fish weighed 21 pounds, 1 ounce. A state fisheries biologist certified the record, nearly three pounds over the previous mark.
The fish will go on the wall, along with Alyssa’s Barbie rod.
“It looks like a toy,” Hayes said, “but it’s a functioning toy.”
It was a rough day today. A lot of stress (Thank God its Friday)!
It doesn’t happen very often, but today I grabbed a beer and stepped out in the back yard, sat down on the swing, took a long drag off the brew and thought, “what better chance than now to ‘have a little talk’ with Jesus.”
I said, “Jesus, I’m tired. Why do I drive myself to work so hard?
Jesus said, “Many men work hard to show their family how much they love them and care for them. You work hard to provide a safe, beautiful place for your friends and family to get together and enjoy.”
I thought about that for a second and ask, “But isn’t money the root of all evil?”
Jesus said, “No. The LOVE of money is the root of all evil. Money is but a tool… a tool that can be used for good or for bad.”
I suddenly felt much better and began to think of all the other issues I needed to get off my chest… the questions I needed to know the answer to, to be whole in my life.
I ask Jesus, “What is the meaning of life? Why am I here? Is this all there is?”
He said, “Many men have asked those soul searching questions and the answer is inside. In your heart. But it is different for everyone.”
“Now, as much as I would love to chat with you some more, Senor, I really need to finish mowing your yard.”
She may not even know I feel this way (although there is a deep connection between us that seems to “know” these things), but I need to tell you about my best friend… a little 4-12 year old girl I knew back in the late 60′s and early 70′s. I talk about those days because it was those tight, but tough times we had growing up together that solidified my “best friend” status with her.
I’m a couple of years older, so when I hit about 14 or 15 I started moving off in my own direction, looking for girlfriends, hanging with the buds, etc. Of course that never stopped the friendship, just that it had become so concrete that we really don’t need to say it (we did hang out some in high school, playing trumpets together in duets… pretty good, I might add).
We can go weeks and months without speaking, but we still “know”.
As a matter of fact, I can’t remember ever even saying to her what I write here today. Maybe I assume too much?
There are ways to judge friendships and surely by comparing those that you have or had, you can figure out who is “best”. Well, to me, the number one characteristic of the relationship must be love… followed by (and actually is enveloped within) trust. Of all the people in my lifetime, this one little girl (now 44) is a person that I love dearly, but trust as much as any other person I know (more-so).
This little girl loves those around her deeply and gives her all in her relationships (many times to her detriment, for she is often taken advantage of). Her daughter is her most important responsibility and love (I am sure). She sacrifices in many ways so that Ms Milla can have the best chance to survive in this world (and I know my darlin’ niece loves her mom very, very much… you can see it in her, even read it on her Myspace page, or hear about the observation from Milla’s friends).
You see, I trust Julia more than all others because of that love we have for each other. Even more than my mother… especially more than my father.
But, I must admit, we are long time partners in crime. We have been taken to jail together when we were both younger than 12 years old (after having a shotgun blast scare the hell out of us).
We once placed tacks across a local road (hundreds) for some stupid reason, then hid and watched as cars drove over.
We started a fire in our back lot (just behind the house in a pine thicket) which damn near burned our house to the ground.
We stole a car when I was 8 (she was 6), a VW, at that, and drove it all over the lakes we lived at… skirting water and almost falling off bridges.
We smoked coffee and tea mixed once, experimenting (nasty).
I almost chopped her head off with a hoe, once and FREAKED out as she bled so bad (it WAS an accident caused by Dennice) we were all panicking (and wrapping her head in the old time baby diapers).
I have shot her multiple times with a BB gun and once threw a dart that stuck up in her head (it was her fault).
The one thing I knew about that little girl (and the beautiful woman she is today) was that I could trust her and she trusted me. When it comes down to the nut-cuttin’, we GOT each others back. When there is no one else we can count on, we know we have each other.
I have so many tales to tell about her (and may do at some point). But this ain’t no book.
I love you, my best friend, Julia Maria. You know that and I know you know that. But I want the rest of the world to know.
BuelahMan
Lynda
drduhgylie
ConspiracyDude
TINMA
