GORE VERHAALTJES VOOR HET SLAPENGAAN, SERIE 2
Op veler verzoek; deel 2 in de serie ‘Gore verhaaltjes voor het slapengaan’. Wederom liefdevol bijeengebracht door vriendin I. en mij. Waargebeurde verhalen uit de gezondheidszorg, waar ze bij RTL4 nog wat van kunnen leren.
5. Komt een zwerver bij de dokter. De man ziet er goor uit en moet eerst gewassen worden. Twee verpleegkundigen kleden hem uit en zien wat krioelen in zijn schaamhaar. Maden. De verpleegkundigen hebben ervaring met maden en weten dat zij deze niet door het doucheputje kunnen spoelen. Na enkele dagen zullen de maden ontpoppen tot vliegen en die wil je niet in de doucheruimte hebben. Ze besluiten om de maden met een stofzuiger uit het schaamhaar van de zwerver te verwijderen.
6. Meisje wordt lekker gedoucht op een douchestoel, ingesmeerd met bodylotion en daarna met een New Age-muziekje op het waterbed in haar kamer gezet. Het meisje ziet er ontspannen uit en een kwartiertje later brengt haar begeleider een kopje thee. Zij treft daar het meisje compleet ondergescheten aan, met ontlasting op het dekbed, op haar pyjama, in haar gezicht en in haar mond. Het meisje smeert en eet rustig verder.
7. Komt een vrouw bij de dokter met interne bloedingen. De dokter onderzoekt haar en komt tot de conclusie dat haar baarmoeder er behoorlijk gehavend uitziet. Dit kan niet zomaar spontaan gebeurd zijn. “Mevrouw, u moet me wel precies vertellen wat er gebeurd is, anders kan ik u niet goed helpen”, zegt de dokter. De vrouw antwoordt: “Ik heb een paling in m’n kut gestopt.” “Een levende paling?”, vraagt de dokter. “Ja”, antwoordt de vrouw, “maar normaal doe ik hem altijd een muilkorfje om.”
dat is redelijk nasty :(
Op veler verzoek?? Na dat steenpuisterverhaal had ik echt genoeg. Hoe kan je het intypen, laat staan om meer vragen??!
brrrr
Dit zijn van die heerlijke ontbijt verhalen. Gelukkig heb ik er geen moeite mee een hap van mijn broodje te nemen.
Die tweede is triest..
dussss wat stoppen de lezers allemaal in hun kut?
whaha wat goor. vooral die verhaaltjes van vrouwen die er vanalles instoppen. ik ben voorlopig wel effe genezen van sex.
Wicky werkte vroeger in een video- annex pornotheek en kent het voorval uit ‘Eels for Pleasure’ echt, TE ranzig voor woorden….
>Subject: True Story
>
>
> >
>Susy DeLucci and the Miracle of Life.
>One morning around 5am 22 year old Susan DaLucci of Kittery Maine,
>woke up with a painful need to urinate. At first she thought she had
>diarrhoea, but when she stood up out of bed, she realised that it was
>urinary pain.
>
>It was very similar to the feeling of having diarrhoea, just out the
>wrong hole. She wobbled to the toilet and upon sitting on it, her vagina
>erupted into the most horrific messy farting noise anyone has ever
>heard. In
>paralysing pain, Ms. DeLucci for the next few minutes continued to push
>and squirt out of her vagina a burning tide of wretch and filth while she
>gripped the sides of the toilet, white-knuckled.
>She was screaming wildly, and the neighbours called the police. When
>medics arrived they found Ms. DeNucci unconscious lying on the floor of
>her
>bathroom wearing nothing but her bath robe. Running down her leg, was
>a
>stream of brown and green syrup. The medic had to transfer her to a
>stretcher, so he grabbed her left leg which was bent crossing her other
>leg, to straighten her out. She was lying there all twisted up. When he
>lifted her left leg to straighten her body out, he exposed her vagina at
>which
>point a creature, no larger than the tip of a finger wormed its way out of
>her genitals and landed on the floor with a wet popping sound.
>Shocked, the medic stared at the creature that was lying on the tile
>bathroom floor in a casing of mucous. It was a tiny mud shrimp and it sat
>there
>on the cold floor gasping for water while flipping itself back and forth.
>
>The horrified medic turned to the toilet as he felt the nausea
>setting in. When he put his face down into the toilet to puke what he
>saw was so horrific that to this day he cannot look into a toilet without
>convulsing.
> >> >
>The entire toilet bowl was boiling with baby brown mud shrimp flipping
>and splashing at a furious pace.
>
>If you think that is bad – wait until you hear how it happened: Ms.
>DeLucci official death was the result of a combination of shock and
>severe
>head trauma. She stood up over the toilet in pain and when she saw
>what
>she had done, she went into shock and fell, smashing her head on the
>toilet and then on the floor.
>
>It is believed by medical police that on two nights before the accident
>she had purchased a live lobster at a fish market. While lying in a tub,
>she gently inserted the creature’s tail into her vagina to derive
>pleasure.
>
>At that point, she held a lighter under the creature’s face causing it
>to flip its tail in a violent snapping motion. The medics found a lesbian
>XXX video in the VCR and the TV was positioned on a table in front of
>the
>tub.
>
>The lobster was found in the kitchen garbage can wrapped in a paper
>bag.
>Traces of Ms. DeLucci’s DNA were found on the lobster along with
>pubic hairs that had wedged themselves between the lobster tail joints.
>The lobster’s face was lightly burned with the same fuel used in lighters.
>The lobster’s digestive track and colon were found to be full of mud
>shrimp
>egg casings. Doctors believe that the lobster had eaten them (they
>are common in the water at fish markets and are usually harmlessly
>boiled
>to death) and the lobster had crapped them out into Ms. DeLucci’s c**t
>when she was torturing it. Maine mud shrimp only take two days to
>gestate and Ms. DeLucci was only four days away from getting her
>period,
>doctors believe that at that point of her menstrual cycle, her womb was
>the
>perfect PH balance to grow these mud shrimp which are a much larger
>version
>of the popular “Sea Monkey” pets sold throughout the US. Over night the
>eggs
>had hatched and the mud shrimp began doubling in size every ten
>minutes.
>
>You can imagine the pain she was in when she woke up that morning
>and
>gave birth to well over 1,000 mud shrimp in her toilet.
Gatver… bovenstaande is echt absoluut het allergoorste verhaal dat ik ooit gehoord heb…
ja vertel deze maar eens aan je collega.
Kom op nou L, ik was net weer eens een paar dagen geil
WAS dus …
F*cking Hell!! Wilde nog aan mijn late lunch beginnen maar stel nog ff uit
ik denk dat het inwendige bloedingen zijn
Dit is echt G-O-O-R !
Gadverdamme!
Oooh…. miezers… wordt dit log nu dan langzaamaan het log van de allergoorste wetenswaardigheidjes?
Het ging meestal over sex enzo. En dat was soms ook bij het gore af, maar toch misschien nog wel een beetje spannend. Dit (wat mij betreft) absoluut niet meer….
Luna, alsjeblieft weer een beetje meer Rukker-chats en eigen spinsels. Alsjeblieft?
Getsie, dat verhaal van die lobster is erg !
Going to PUKE!!
And will never eat lobster again; or even dream of doing anything else with one of them………..!
He, kutbeestjes.
Slappezever, ik geef graag toe dat je verhaal GOOR is. Ben blij dat ik die ambulanceverpleegkundige niet was! Ik begrijp dat jij evenzogoed weer een wedstrijdelement hebt gevonden in deze verhaaltjes?
dat verhaal van die lobster is idd heeeel ranzig… en het komt al wat jaartjes zo af en toe in mijn mailbox…
na het doorgestuurd te hebben, kreeg ik van een iemand een mailtje terug dat hij naar de wc had moeten rennen. kokhalsneigingen kreeg ik bij het lezen van die jongen met steenpuisten, bleg!
pootje
De vorige waren viezer…
Valt een beetje tegen hoor. ;)
MEER! MEER! MEER! Nog ranziger!!
nou, die serie 2 viel wel heel erg tegen. wat braaf allemaal. Gelukkig was er slappe zever. Zo hoort het! meer van die soort!
Luna, je hebt me op ideeen gebracht. Ik heb besloten niet langer mijn eigen ervaringen stil te houden, maar te publiceren.
http://www.vermeulens.nl/pagina/blogger/2002_03_10_archive.html#10664462
Bedankt voor de geweldige inspiratie!
Luna hard op weg om stileproject in letters te worden?
vette onzin is dit zeg. Ranzig gewoon. Dat je hier van kunt genieten. Gestoorde fantasien moet je dan hebben.
Over die 2de: ik ben een gozer die ook wel ‘ns mediteerd en ik kan je vertellen daar is niks ‘engs’ of ‘raars’ aan.
Bedenk ‘ns wat grappigs, ik kon hier werkelijk niet om lachen.
Dystopia; deze verhaaltjes waren niet bedoeld om te lachen… ze waren bedoeld om te verbazen… ze zijn bedoeld om te laten zien wat voor een ranzigs en bizars je meemaakt in de gezondheidszorg… en dat jij uit het tweede verhaaltje alleen het woordje ‘New Age’ oppikt zegt mij al genoeg…
A gross true story
Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me.
A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan’s Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid’s night at Ryan’s, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.
We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar.
Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you-in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
Perhaps a bit too much, however.
I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.
There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern.
Unfortunately, that was not to be.
After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It’s amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress…
I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall.
In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.
I began “The Move.”
For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain “The Move.” Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances.
There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat.
Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
I was about half-way into “The Move” when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.
Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex.
And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.
What happened next was so quick that the exact sequenceof events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.
In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus.
Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death.
My attention was thus diverted.
At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake…you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of “30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi” or something similar.
In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.
Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you’re going down no matter how limber you may be.
Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit…
While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.
OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?
One bends over.
So I bent over.
I was still sitting on the toilet, though.
Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles.
Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.
In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants…on the inside…with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.
In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.
And there was no fucking toilet paper.
What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically.
I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next.
I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help.
Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately.
Until I asked her, I’m sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.
The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.
Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan’s making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation.
Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions.
He hooked up a hose.
Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.
Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife.
I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.
When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom.
I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.
The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan’s Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
Experimentation Ends In Teen Death
A 16 year old boy in Knoxville was found dead in his bedroom in what police describe as a gruesome, horrifying death.
Firefighters were called to the scene Monday morning by a neighbor who smelled something burning. When the firemen found the remains of the teenager they called the police in to investigate.
At first investigators believed that they were dealing with a ritualistic murder. Posters of heavy metal rock and roll groups covered his bedroom walls, groups which are often connected with satanic worship and rituals. According to a firefighter who was on the scene, the boy was found nude, with the remains of a cow’s heart attached to his genitals. Wires had been attached to the heart and plugged into a wall socket. The boy died from electrocution, then the electricity literally cooked his remains.
Investigating Officer Hardaway dismissed the ritual murder theroy when detectives found several underground pornographic magazines under the boy’s mattress. One of the magazines, called Ovid Now, describes a sexual “toy” that can be made from the fresh heart of a cow, a simple electrical circuit, and some batteries. This deviancy is apparently gaining limited popularity in the rural South. Practioners get the dead heart to beat, and then use the beating organ for sexual perversions.
“This is one of the most gruesome things I have ever seen. I can’t believe that there are people who actually enjoy this sort of thing,” Hardaway commented.
The boy’s parents are currently on vacation in Florida, where they were contacted and informed about the tragedy. They were unavailable for comment.
mmmmm, Paté !!!!
Read it and weep, this is true!
The following was seen by millions of viewers on a Spanish T.V. Channel; The parents of a teenage girl decided to put their daughter’s name forward for a surprise game-show – she idolised teenage pop star “Ricky Martin” – and they arranged for TV cameras to be placed throughout the house. The house was then left empty with Ricky Martin hidden in the wardrobe in the girl’s bedroom, all set to give the daughter a wonderful surprise.
However, upon returning home from school and finding the house empty, the daughter made her way down to the kitchen where she opened the fridge and removed a tin of pate. At this stage the live TV audience is wondering what the hell is going on. She then went back upstairs to her bedroom where she proceeded to remove all her clothes and spread pate all over her triangle of womanhood (at this stage Ricky Martin is still hidden inside the wardrobe, and half of Spain is seeing a young girl stark naked on the bed with pate all over her crotch).
As if the parents were not shocked enough by this, the daughter then calls the family dog, who obediently trots up the stairs and settles down to his favourite meal of “pate on a bed of seaweed”. At this stage the order is given to cut the broadcast, leaving a very embarassed set of parents in front of a live studio audience! Consequently, sales of tinned pate have rocketed.