I’m 32 years old.  As I get older and the bloom leaves my buds (figuratively of course), a new crop of diseases and ailments become a greater risk for my health.  My days of immortality are long over.  I’ve already chronicled a few times the slow denigration of my physical abilities, but now my mind is thinking about old people problems.  I like to think of these age-related risks as Mother Nature’s Dirty Santa present.  I don’t know what it is in the box, but I’m sure that it’s not something that I want.

The biggest health risk for men, other than marriage, is of course prostate cancer.  It is the leading cancer in the USA and the second biggest killer after lung cancer.  I’ve included a very helpful diagram to show you where the prostate is located … as well as a nice graphic of your frank-n-beans.

Before continuing, I have to state that the doctors that put this drawing together are very nice people.  By making this penis abnormally small and seemingly dysfunctional it automatically makes me feel like Bill Brasky.  Now I’m associating this false sense of virility to any future discussions of prostate cancer.  Good work, guys!  One thing, though, the penile-gonad ratio seems a little distorted.  This particular specimen looks like he could strip the paint off of the side of your house with a sack like that.  Just saying.

Prostate cancer is slow developing and typically only appears in men over 55.  No worries, right?  Wrong.  The big problem with prostate cancer is how it is screened.  Without mincing words, the most sure way is to have a doctor (hopefully properly gloved and lubed) put his fingers into your asshole and then G-spot his way over to the dark red glob on the graphic.  God help us, God help us all.

Even worse, we poor bastards are supposed to get this test twice a year after the age of 35.  Twice a year?  So I’ve got 3 good years left of non-anal violation.  There is so much left that I want to do before V-Day.  I want to sing in the Paris streets!  I want to walk on the beaches of Rio!  So much to do, so little time left.

Well, in my panic, I ran across a study that has greatly relieved my stress.  Here’s a quote from an article on the New Scientist:

The results contradict those of previous studies, which have suggested that having had many sexual partners, or a high frequency of sexual activity, increases the risk of prostate cancer by up to 40 per cent. The key difference is that these earlier studies defined sexual activity as sexual intercourse, whereas the latest study focused on the number of ejaculations, whether or not intercourse was involved.

The team speculates that infections caused by intercourse may increase the risk of prostate cancer. “Had we been able to remove ejaculations associated with sexual intercourse, there should have been an even stronger protective effect of other ejaculations,” they suggest. “Men have many ways of using their prostate which do not involve women or other men,” Graham Giles adds.

Yep.  It’s exactly what you’re thinking.  The article is simply and elegantly titled, “Masturbating May Protect Against Prostate Cancer.”  The study concluded that the more men ejaculate between the ages of 20 and 50 via Internet self-love, the better chance of reducing the risk of developing prostate cancer.  I’m very happy to report that these are Australian scientists doing the reporting.  Aussie!  Aussie!  Aussie!  Oy! Oy! Oy!

Well … I may not need to be that worried after all.  I kept reading and apparently the greatest impact is done in your twenties.  The study reported that popping the cork at least 5 times a week could reduce your chances of developing the cancer by a third.  Sleep with others +40% … Love yourself -33%.

That’s it?!?!

Apparently the most favorable lifestyle to ensure prevention against prostate cancer is during your college and early career years.  Step 1. Avoid any sexual contact with others.  Step 2. Indulge in the man-hand relationship.  Check and check.  I can say with utmost certainty that I got no action in college or just after college.  In fact, I’m married now and you know what that means.  I’m as celibate as a priest minus the altar boys.  I even went to Cancun and preserved the shut-out streak.  But I always had “me time”.

FIVE times a week during my twenties?

Sheeeee-it.  And to think this whole time, my beloved Catholic Church was telling me NOT to enjoy the labor of my fruit.  It was against the laws of the church.  Oh yeah?  Well, God’s laws apparently say Do Unto Thyself and Live Long Like George Burns.  In your face, Father Bob!

Not only am I now completely unafraid of prostate cancer, I am scientifically proven to be completely immune to this disease by simple math.  Five times a week?  More like five times a day.  After I die I feel that its my duty as a human being to donate my gilded prostate to medical science so that it can be used to cure other people.  Put it in a shrine like the femur bone of some saint or a scrap of the true cross and let people bask in the glorious prostate-curing aura of my man gland.

It’s the least I can do.

My only worry is that when I’m 120 years old, I’ll look around for my old friends and acquintances and no one will be left.  It will only be me, Glock, and Pee Wee.  Take note now, brothers.  Let’s get spanking!