From Pierre Ketteridge:
HELP! My Dick Is Rotting (Part 1)
Mon, 09 Dec 1996
Long time no talk, choadsmokers.
When this first started, I was going to post an amusing article to the group; and although I am attempting now to do so, the humour has long ago disappeared from the situation.
It fucking hurts.
It started as a bit of nuisance choadmange while I was in the States. I am convinced that Jane has put a hex or curse on me whenever I travel out-country - this happened on the East Coast Glubtour last year, too. Not so bad, though, and didn't last as long.
Maybe I caught it from the proctologist Koreans in Chicago, or Vinnie's cue ball, or Lenore's mangey cat blanket. Who knows?
(Reminds me - I'd better post about my trip)
Liberal application of Savlon and Germolene helped some, for a while at least. I even tried Julian Macassey's Veterinarian Udder Balm (IT BUUUUUURRRRRNNNSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but since I got back it's cranked up several magnitudes in intensity. Immersion in neat TCP (I haven't tried IP yet) stung like hell and if anything, made it worse. The head is red and raw, and the foreskin has taken on the appearance of a mohair poloneck washed in Lenor (the conditioner, you loons!). Its so swollen I can't even wank as the skin won't pull back over the head anymore - it's twice its normal size and weight. Heavy, too. Hurts when I walk. Or sit down. Lie down. Can't sleep.
The sheath of the shaft was generally itchy at first, but now it stings most of the time. Although the head and inside of the prepuce are red raw, the skin is unbroken. However the outer sheath is starting to blotch and rash. I thought it had a suntan but now I'm pretty sure it's going purple. I think it's going to split and burst sometime soon.
I've given up on salves as I think they were keeping it oily and stopping it from drying out and possibly healing. Also, if it starts suppurating I want to know about it.
From what I can remember, I didn't fuck anything in the States (that's Jane's curse at work - I couldn't even think of sex with that infernal itch beating a staccatto beat in my frontal lobes) so what the hell have I got?
Should I get it seen to?
Yes, I know, of course I should get it seen to. But I ain't got a doctor down here any more, and not sure if I'd want Dr Gupta-with-her-one-eye manipulating little Glublet-with-his-one-eye. Hodgkinson, do you know any STD or Urino-Genital clinics in London?
[SKRITCH] [SCRATCH] [SCRITCH] [OUCH!]
--
Pierre, who finally knows the meaning of the expression "It's all gone pear-shaped"
___________________________________________________________________________________________
My Dick Is Rotting (Part II)
Mon, 09 Dec 1996
Joseph Betz advises me in email: "1. I've never heard of _any_ of the things you've been rubbing on your dick in your attempt to cure. Maybe it's just 'cause you're in Limeyland."
Nope, these were all in the YooEss... mind you, I probably took them over with me... Germolene is available there, as is TCP I believe. Dunno about Savlon. Udder Balm is some bovine crap that Macassey had lying around - says it's good for chapped hands (lips?).
"2. See a urologist, fer chrissake. Do it before this turns into a necrotic rot story with a very bad ending."
Too late, I fear. Argh. Nasty, nasty, nasty.
"3. Wrap Pierre Jr. in a white cotton handkerchief in the meantime. At least you won't be rubbing it raw against your underwear all fucking day."
Tried wrapping it up and letting it hang loose. Not good. Scares the crap out of the secretaries.
"And stop putting weird shit on it."
This at least is good advice. Needless to say, I didn't take it.
I'd already decided to stop slopping guck on the tender internals to let it all dry out. I always follow the instructions. "External use only". Jumping around in the back garden at 5am, freezing my nuts off and slathering Germolene on my tadger is not the best way to start the day. No, seriously, I couldn't resist slapping it on the surface just to relieve the itching. Bad move. Must have a burning effect or something - my dick looked like a pickled zucchini (US word for aubegine?) this morning. Ouch ouch ouch.
More news as it sloughs off.
--
Pee Hurts
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Help! My Dick Is Rotting (Part III)
Mon, 09 Dec 1996
My genitals have betrayed me!
My tadger has done the Hodgkinson sad-get-a-life trick.
It's gone Deep Purple.
No matter. Met Huge and some of his work buddies for lunch. Lots of tasteless tales and anecdotes... but what stuck in my mind was chatting to Huge as a middle-aged woman stepped between us to get to the bar...
[We were talking about "School Dinners", the spank'em/whip'em prebubescent schoolgirl restaurant for degenerate gentlemen of a certain age]
"Ack! Nasty grey stodgy guck, taters and Spotted Dick fer pudding", says Huge.
"Ooh, I know all about that!" reply I.
The woman blanched, coughed, spat out half her drink and started laughing uncontrollably.
"The sad thing is, it's true", says Huge to her. "Don't ask me how I know". She fled.
An hour later and we're in a different part of the pub, skulking by the stairs. Hugh is holding forth about his 'rhoids, and the suppositories he launches up his fartpipe. Guess who walks past.
"So do you enjoy sticking things up your arse, then?" I asked, innocently. "Err..."
Ms MiddleClassMiddleAged collapses on the stairs.
Never a dull moment in Central London.
--
Sawch Ode
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HELP! My Dick Is Rotting (Part IV)
Mon, 09 Dec 1996
EeeeeeIIIIIIIEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
First the good news. I've booked an appointment with a quack. It took a lot of doing as they kept trying to fob me off, either back to the horrific Dr Gupta and her unspeakable pencil-in-the-eye tricks, or 200 miles away back in Leeds. But I whined and pleaded and finally some male locum has agreed to see me tomorrow afternoon (yes I know I'm a wimp and a wuss and all that - just an old-fashioned male bonding thing, I guess. If it wasn't leprous, I'd love to get a young nurse or female doctor manipulating my dick - but then I'd have a rough time explaining why I wanted her to inspect it if there was nothing wrong). So that's the good news. The good news is because of the bad news.
Things are proceeding at an alarming pace. The swelling has gone down, although the infection hasn't. It no longer looks like a badly-rolled joint:
UI IU
( )
\ /
=
...but more like a creation from Jurassic Park. The last batch of weird shit that I slathered on it has turned the external dermis into a lovely purple crackle glaze, with crystalline deposits in the crevasses. It looks like a tortoises' neck, covered in hard plates. Skinkdick!
The foreskin has fossilised around the urethral opening, causing the urine jet to bounce off the fs walls and spray everywhere - up, down, sideways and _back_ - anywhere except forewards. This causes excruciating pain, and renders me speechless for minutes. It obviously burns the skin further, and I can bearely touch the diseased appendage to put it away. The only way round this is to bite my lip, and physically pull the fs back a fraction to clear the opening before pissing. This has been getting harder of late. This morning I tried... no joy, too much resistance. Pull a bit harder. A sudden crackling noise mixed with a wet parting of flesh and I collapsed on the bathroom floor, screeching. What little trickle did pool in that ruptured flesh hurt ten times worse than the usual backblast.
Can't walk very far. Have to hold my tadger end tightly to stop it swinging against my legs. Hope I can hold out until tomorrow afternoon. Wish me luck.
I should usurp Hollister's right to the name, but believe in the democracy of this forum, so I remain,
--
Brutal Pisser
(or should that be "Desperate Wanker"?)
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Help! My Dick Is Rotting (Part V) - Diseased Dick Update...
Mon, 09 Dec 1996
John Nash wrote to solicitously: "You sound like you have thrush (US: candida). Guys, esp. uncut ones -do- get it. Have you tried an OTC like Canestin? "
I got thrush once about 15 years ago - it wasn't anywhere near as bad as this. Also I don't have any of the telltale little white patches - no smeg either. Maybe it was the savage scrubbing I gave the fucker to remove any such headcheese before I went to the States that got him all fired up. That and the high-velocty needlejet showers on the rolled-back soft tissues.
Mind you maybe I only had a _mild_ dose last time.
Mr Unhappy is currently coated in Vaseline Intensive Care Dry Skin Salve, and wrapped in gauze bandage. The safety pin hurt like fuck, though
Actually, now it's a constant dull pain due to contact, but it's better than the agonising spikes caused by the pendulous friction of walking.
--
Uric Afterburner
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Help! My Dick Is Rotting (Part VI) - Diseased Dick Update
Mon, 09 Dec 1996
Aaargh.
Just went to the kharzi, first time since I applied the bandages. Luckily I took the precaution of going into a cubicle, rather than stand at a urinal with my dick in a cast.
The gauze bandage must've slipped down, and Glubbet's mouth must have got skewed, because it was an aquatechnic extravaganza! Piss went everywhere! Floor, ceiling, walls... on my shoes, down my trousers, up my waistcoat and jacket, on my shirt... I even got some in my mouth. Doesn't sting quite as much though (no, I don't mean in my mouth).
I think I'll go home early and dry out.
--
Frogman
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Help! My Dick Is Rotting (Part VII) - More Tonker Trauma...
Wed, 11 Dec 1996
So much for the bandage method. Having dried myself off and rewound the appropriately-lubed swaddling cloth, I departed work. And stopped off for a bevvie or two with an old colleague. Every time I went to the shitter I had to unroll the damned thing, piss, start shrieking, then, as the pain subsided, rewind. What a bloody awful time-consuming pastime. After about three pints, I'd be needing another piss by the time I'd figured out how to bind it up again.
I guess my technique suffered over time. On the tube going home, I was strap hanging and smiling at a pretty young thing facing me who returned the compliment.
Initially.
Suddenly I felt something cold and wet stretching down my thigh...
[Floomph]
...and the damned thing plopped out onto the carriage floor, rolled across to her feet and pitched up hollow side up. Still wound, it looked like a tiny Djinn's turban, or a fakir's snake basket with the cobra long gone, just his sloughed skin remaining to mark his passage.
If I could throw my voice I would have got my groin to boom out "THE DJINN OF DONG GRANTS YOU THREE WISHES. FIRST, RUB HIS SPOUT!" but instead I just grinned and said:
"Whoops. Tonker trauma, dontcha know. tell me if my turn-up starts leaking blood"
[In case you're wondering, I was referring to my trouser cuffs, not my foreskin]
She just stared at the floor, her mouth an O of silent horror. I grinned reassuringly as we carried swaying from our respective straps. At the next station, she left the carriage. She didn't turn around and get off, but rather receded backwards at high velocity, shrinking like Jack Nicholson being banished in "The Witches Of Eastwick".
And all the time she looked like that painting "The Scream". Strange girl.
Anyway, DikDok this PM. Pray for my tadger.
--
Pierre
POTGGG
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Help! My Dick Is Rotting (Part VIII) - Diseased Dong Diagnosed
Wed, 11 Dec 1996
Help! My Dick Is Rotting - Diseased Dong Diagnosed
OR
Customer Care
OR
The Perils of Modern Technology
Well, I put up with the cramps and the shits and the spewing until lunchtime, when I fired down about four stiff brandies which seemed to settle my stomach somewhat. Coupled with the resolve-stiffeners (more of the same) I had on the way to the GP clinic, I was pretty arseholed by the time I got to Reception. They made me fill in a load of forms (temp registration) before giving me a plastic tag with a number and the doctor's name (Dr Staples... ouch!).
I must have been there about twenty minutes before I correlated the red FREE light with the doctor's name over the hallway. Dr MARGARET Staples. Oh bum.
I went back to Reception to point out this gender mismatch.
"Oh but Dr Staples is very good..."
"I'm sure she is, but I specifically asked for a MALE doctor - why do you think I didn't go to my regular quack?"
The receptionist was a great fat old matron, with a wobbly lard face and regulation smile. "I really can't imagine... why do you want to see a male doctor, Dr Staples is a fine GP?"
"Uh, let's just say it's a sensitive matter, and I'd rather not see my family doctor, at least not initially, and I'd like to see a MALE doctor, please"
"Oh you big silly, there's nothing to be embarrassed about, WE'VE ALL SEEN MEN'S WILLIES, YOU KNOW!"
As she boomed this last bit out, everyone in the clinic lobby swung around and stared at me accusingly.
"Please arrange for me to see a male doctor, thank you, please" I whispered through clenched teeth, and, after she muttered something about "I'll see what I can do" and flouncing off, I scurried back to my seat and hid behind a copy of "Punch", circa 1978.
Forty minutes elapsed, with people bypassing me in the pecking (pecker?) order, and I was wondering what the fuck the delay was, when Matron came gliding out and said:
"I'm sorry, we can't deal with you."
"What do you mean?"
"Although you live in Yorkshire, you're still registered with a local family doctor here..."
"Yes, yes, I told you that..."
"... so we can't deal with you. We don't treat other doctors' patients in the locality."
"BUT IT WAS OK WHEN YOU HAD ME DOWN FOR SEEING DR STAPLES!!!!"
"Er, that was a mistake"
"Well why didn't you tell me all this when I made the appointment? And why have I been here an hour before you refuse to treat me?"
"Er, um, sorry, we can't help you."
"Right, well maybe I need a layperson's opinion, then. EXCUSE ME LUV, WOULD YOU MIND HAVING A LOOK AT MY COCK, PLEASE?" The old biddy next to me squawked in panic as I made to go for my flies. Matron was tugging at my arm.
"Mr Ketteridge!"
I tried the old boy cross the corridor. "OY MATE, CAN YOU GIVE MY TADGER A QUICK ONCE OVER, THE DOCTOR CAN'T SEE ME TODAY?". He got to his feet and shuffled off to the far end of the lobby.
"MR KETTERIDGE!"
"HOW 'BOUT YOU THEN, SWEETHEART? DO YOU MIND CHECKING OUT MY PEEEEEEENIS?" to a young girl who giggled and hid her face in a copy of "Marie Claire".
"Mr Ketteridge! We can't have you embarrassing the other patients like this!"
"AHA! THERE'S NOTHING TO BE EMBARRASSED ABOUT, YOU BIG SILLY! THEY'VE ALL SEEN MEN'S WILLIES, YOU KNOW! HAHA!"
She stopped smiling then, drew herself up to her full height, and said:
"Dr Urko will see you now, Mr Ketteridge" and marched off back to her station.
Bingo! Success!
Dr Urko turned out to be some Central or Eastern European shirtlifter with a passable command of english and a creepy smile. Maybe I should have stuck with Dr Staples. Ho hum, too late now...
I described my symptoms and the various balms, lotions and poultices I had inflicted upon the offending organ. He seemed to get paler each time I listed a new one, and actually winced when I mentioned the Germolene.
"The only thing I haven't tried is boiling it in vinegar" ... I finished.
"Better than the Germolene, I think" he muttered, and pulled on his nice white rubber gloves. [SNAP] [SNIP]. "I better look at this now. Please..." he indicated the trolley at the side of the room.
"Er... do you want me to strip off, or...?"
"No, just sit on the side and pull out of your fly..."
I did as instructed, and he crouched down between my parted legs. I thought he was going to suck me off there and then. Instead he whacked me upside the dick with a wooden spatula.
"AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"
I thought this was a test of turgidity or something, but apparently it was just something to balance my tadger on while he carried out his inspection. Why can't doctors do anything gently?
"Aah, yes, you have a bad infection here..." he murmured appreciatively, and pulled a shiny chrome bowl closer to his elbow. It clattered as he moved it. My spine tingled.
[BreeeeeeeeeeeeepBreeeeeeeeeeeep] [BreeeeeeeeeeeeepBreeeeeeeeeeep]
Oh fuck.
I'd forgotten I was on Out-Of-Hours Technical Support duty, and had neglected to turn off my mobile phone. The Help Desk had redirected calls to it.
"Sorry, Doc" I mumbled, "I'll have to take this and get them to call me back". He looked a bit but out, then shrugged and carried on massaging my dick.
PIERRE: (Warily) "Hullo?"
CALLER: "Hello! Yes, this is _________ ___________ of Technerd PLC and I've been waiting since 3:30 for a call back and no-one's even bothered to ring me. I've been hanging around for hours and if this is your idea of helpdesk support then I'm sorry but it's just not on I've even faxed you the details and I need to get this resolved and..."
PIERRE: "Whoa whoa whoa... I'm sorry but the helpdesk is closed now. Support is until 5:30 - your call has been transferred to my mobile - I'm a bit tied up at the moment... can I take your number and call you back?"
CALLER: Oh no, I'm not going through all that rigmarole again! You said you'd call me back before and you didn't and I haven't got all night I've got to get this working now and I WANT TECHNICAL SUPPORT!"
PIERRE: "Yes well I'm sorry about that but it wasn't me you spoke to... I'm at the other end of the country and in fact I'm in a surgery - I'm with the doctor right now so if I can take your number..."
CALLER: "No dammit I want this resolved right now! I don't want to hear stupid excuses or cover-ups, I want support. Are you refusing to give me technical support? Because if you are I'll get straight onto my MD and...
PIERRE: "(Sigh) No, no, tell me the details of the problem and I'll see what I can do... but I doubt I can help much in this position - I'll probably need access to fault logs and online resources... can't his wait until tomorrow?"
CALLER: "No it bloody well can't. I'm not spending another day hanging around on the phone... look we've bought one of these DECswitch 900 ETs from you and I can't ping across the interface and I think it's faulty. The DECserver on the Ethernet can only ping the PC on the Token Ring if the default gateway is set to the IP interface of the DECswitch but that means the real default gateway which is a Cisco router is unaccessible and that's patently wrong and..."
DR URKO: "Pleess to let me pull back the foreskin"
CALLER: "Eh? Pardon?"
PIERRE: "What? Oh, nothing, um... what class of addressing are you using and what subnet masking?"
CALLER: Um... Class B addressing with a subnet mask of 255.255.255.224..."
PIERRE: "Right. So you're using bit-level masking on the fourth octet, which means thatYEEEAAARRRGGGHHH! HOGFUCKERS! YOU BASTARD!"
DR URKO: "Sorry. This I have to do..."
CALLER: "What?"
DR URKO: "Ah, very good. Your glans is fine and dandy I think."
CALLER: "What? What?"
DR URKO: "Unprotected penetrative sex recently, hmm, yes?"
CALLER: "Pardon? What did you say?"
PIERRE: "I said... are you using bit-level subnet masking on the fourth octet?"
CALLER: "Oh, I thought you said... never mind, yes, they're using this wierd subnetting schema... seems to work OK elsewhere in the network. Why are you screaming?"
DR URKO: "Oral?"
CALLER: "Eh?"
PIERRE: (DEEP INTAKE OF BREATH) "Aaaaaah... hang on a moment... why are you trying to route IP across a switch? They work at the MAC layer - for a start RIP won't work... what routing protocol are you passEEEIIIIIIIIIOOOOOWWWW! CUNT!"
DR URKO: "Sorry"
PIERRE: "Ungh"
CALLER: "Did you just call me a cunt?"
PIERRE: "Uh, no, no, no, that was someone else..."
CALLER: "Someone else called me a cunt?! What sort of operation are you running there?"
PIERRE: (Under his breath) "A very painful one" (To caller) "No, no, *I* called someone else a cunt. The doctor, to be precise."
PIERRE: "AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!"
DR URKO: "Pleess not to call me a cunt"
CALLER: "Errrrr... you're really not in the office, then?"
PIERRE: "No, I'm in the carpark of the Happy Boy Diner being fellated by Dimitri the Greek waiter. Christ! I *TOLD* you I was with the doctor. He's sticking things up my YEEEAAARRRRGGH! GET OFF YOU GIT YOU'RE NOT STICKING THAT KEBAB SKEWER UP THERE YOU BASTARD!"
CALLER: "Erm... I think we're ready to wrap things up here and maybe I should just call back in the morning..."
PIERRE: "I hope we're ready to wrap it up here too... look, it seems like you need an analyser on the segment to see what's being advertised. I could arrange a site visit and carry out a health check..."
CALLER: "NO! No, er... I'll just call the helpdesk again in the morning. Er... thank you for all your help... bye..."
PIERRE: "Don't mention it. Any time. Bye..AAARRRHHHHEEEOOOWWW!!!!"
Another satisfied customer. Bugger. The fault report log should make interesting reading when I finally get back to the office...
Well, Dr Urko had finished his slap'n'tickle and spanking of my monkey by now, and returned to his side of the desk, stripping off his gloves and dropping them in the bin. He indicated that I could do myself up.
He told me what the infection was, something beginning with a P (it also ended in one, a very painful one). It had started as your common- or garden yeast infection, but my ministrations had turned it into something far nastier.
"This, I am thinking, started with Candida" he said.
"The slag! So you know her too!"
"No, I mean, ah, like, a, thrush..."
"More like a bloody vulture from what I recall"
Anyway he's prescribed me some Canesten cream for the sore bits, and some antibiotics which sounded like Fucklotsacillin but on checking the 'scrip is actually Flucloxacillin. 4 tablets a day for a week, and two weeks of slapping the lather.
I guess this is the pinnacle of this particular story - I don't think anything that happens now can be anything but an anticlimax to this most bizarre of three-way conversations - it'll either heal up or drop off. I'll let you all know either way, though.
Yours stingingly,
--
Pierre POTGGG (aka Uric Afterburner)
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