Friday, 16 January 2015

Flaxen Saxon's Sexual Healing: Part III

This is not a healthy gland

As we enter the New Year a mature man’s thoughts turn to prostate health

Over the years I’ve often been asked about prostate health. Yet men are, in general, woefully ignorant about this small, but very important organ. Today, I’m about to remove the veil of ignorance that covers this palpitating and often throbbing gland and replace it with a soothing salve of knowledge and self-awareness. Read on, grit your teeth and weep…..

Here is just a small selection of questions, and concerns, from every day black country folk regarding prostate health that I’ve been asked over the years whilst ‘Aled up’ in the ‘Ost House’, just north of Studley:

"Flaxen, ai it true that this prostate gety bigger as yow ages and that it con restrict the pisser?"

"Flaxen, yahm great big girl’s bloose yo. Me yonder gland has grewn in size till I’m rocking on it from side to side when I sit down. Reckon I should see yohm doctor?"

"Flaxen, I’ve been pissing blood for more than a year. Do you think I should be seeing the local sawbone? I don’t like to bother him as he seems such a busy man."

First sign of death and I’m off to the doctor …

As you can see, prostate concern runs deep in this sleepy rural community. Frankly, I wish they would all fuck off and leave me alone to drink myself into slow, but quiet, oblivion.

Here is Flaxen’s distilled, pickled, prostate wisdom.        

The science bit: The prostate is a small walnut sized gland which encompasses the urethra and is situated, if accessed rectally, just 10cm from the anal opening. It is responsible for supplying the bulk fluid for the ejaculate and provides a safe and hospitable haven for frolicking sperm.

Flaxen’s initial preamble: The best argument for atheism is to be found in the anatomy of the prostate. What benevolent god would wrap a gland around a small bore tube and then arrange for it to grow in size as we age? Perhaps god dislikes old men. Mayhap god is a woman with a sense of humour. If I were  god I would place the prostate upon the head. If it was hot you could cover it with a hat. If it was cold you could cover it with a hat. In temperate weather a simple sun shade would do.

Flaxen dispenses wisdom with aplomb: Pissing blood is natural as we grow older. Examine the vibrant mosaic of colours and textures as your piss sprays around the pan. So stop fucking whingeing and leave me to answer serious medical problems.

There is a positive side to an enlarging prostate gland, as we age. Every year the prostate acquires another layer; just like tree rings. Usually after prolonged and heavy drinking I forget who I am and end up in the local nick. There is a simple solution to finding out my age. If you find yourself in a similar situation just ask to see the police surgeon. In order to determine your chronological age he will take a deep needle biopsy of your prostate trans-rectally. Don’t forget to ask him to rotate. By counting the rings the police doctor is able to accurately determine your age, give or take a decade. When you return home the police can phone you and let you know your age, as rendered by dendrological data. Thoughtful readers will have noticed: how come a man can forget his age but remember his phone number and home address? A valid point. Luckily from an early age I deemed it fit to have my telephone number and home address tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. As long as l don’t move house this represents a sound strategy. Arse, big sore, arse........

Who needs a med exam with Dildo Therm

1 comment:

  1. My PSA is so low that apparently my good doctor friend says that there is little chance that I will develop prostate cancer. I do however have a good friend who's had the op, an ex friend who is being monitored and I also know a mad cunt in France who is in denial and thinks it can be cured by drinking bleach and lemon juice in equal quantities. This latter method does at least ensure that the cancer will never kill him first