Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend Me Your Rears!

Good morning, my kinky readers.

Today there will be no frolics, no rollicks, no rolling laughter (unless I seriously mess up the spelling of a word) for I wish to talk about something important, something very dear to my heart. And by my heart I, of course, mean my bum. It all started with this here blog, where it talks about men’s health in the backdoor department. Now, while I am thankful about this blog, and I recommend you read it , simply because it writes real gooder than me, it’s not really about it. To make up for this I’ll, of course, blast this blog with as many links to it as possible. I’m aiming for twenty.

If you’re a long standing reader – or my new stalker – then you may know that I have a long fascination with men’s anal play. To be honest, my experiences have not been good, but I find it odd that people think it’s emasculating, and so I rail against the norm and suggest it. To everyone. Anyone I meet. Which led to a very odd conversation with the pastor.

But never mind. Circling around this topic, I finally take the plunge. You see, my grandfather died from prostate cancer. I was just a wee kid at the time, and I never really knew him, but I think I would have liked him. I am told that he was like my dad. Now, I am like my dad, and he is merely an older version of me. Just think, forty years more to polish all those odd-ball jokes, one liners. I bow to his superior joking skills. For he won a competition for it. Just too bad the prize was a sack of potatoes. But, my granddad was a man in the same vein as us, truly a master of whimsy, and he was taken away from us before his time, at the young age of 93. At first, he did everything right.  He went to the doctor, he got it diagnosed pretty sharpish, got it treated even sharpier (Yes. That’s the word and I’m sticking to it), all that was left was for him to make the recovery. He didn’t. About a month afterwards, through neglect on his part or the hospital’s, I don’t know, he died.

Prostate cancer has a tendency to run in the family. I do not worry for myself, I worry for my dad. He’s my best friend. And if he dies? I’m stuck with a family of nesting shrews. All on my onesie. So, naturally, I don’t want him to die. I’d be eaten alive, and my toenails will be used as toothpicks.

He works on a farm. He’s not a farmer, mind you, but a welder. The shop is merely placed on the farm – the farmer placed his farm there, quite thoughtfully, so we could steal the leftover cabbages – his boss, you see, also suffered from it. Still suffers from it. His bowels leak daily and his shame is open, much like his sphincter. But he is alive. He knows this. He takes this shame and uses it to empower him, to help him fuel his will to live.

This here blog delves deeper into the alarming statistics of this. I quote:

Estimated new cases and deaths from prostate cancer in the United States in 2010:

• New Cases: 217, 730
• Deaths: 32, 050

I worry, do not dare, to look at those figures for the UK, for fear of giving me more worries. Now, this here blog also suggests a way in which we can combat this killer of men, and women, or at least reduce our risk. And this is, of course, where the fact that this is the JK blog comes into the fold. Masturbation. Sex play. Anal play. P-spot massaging. Prostate massages. And no I’m not including all these just so I can use them in the tags. Okay, maybe a little. But the point still stands.

Australian researchers have reported that frequent masturbation may lower a man’s risk of developing prostate cancer. A survey of men found the more frequently a man masturbates between the ages of 20 and 50, the less likely they are to get prostate cancer. In fact, those who masturbated more than five times a week were one-third less likely to develop prostate cancer.

Looks like I’m safe, then…

Hopefully I’ve scared my manly men readers enough to give their prostates a check up, or at least get their fingers waggling up inside their heiny for the Big O – which is supposedly one of the most intense orgasms a man can have – so I shall leave you be. I hope you have a good weekend, and a long, happy, healthy life.

Oh, and since this is the JK blog, I’d be remiss if I didn’t do something ever so slightly frivolous:

Yep. Here I am.