We middle-aged men love to self-test. Any excuse to haul up the ball-bag - arm over arm as it's getting dangly these days - and check the plums for lumps and bumps. However, it wasn't until a recent pub conversation with a friend that I realised that it was possible to self-test the prostate.
In front of people he'd only just met, my respectable, professional friend regaled us with his experiences of jamming his hand up his own jacksie - the range of positions available ('The Missionary's Glove Puppet'; 'The Suckling Piglet', 'The James Herriott' and 'The Custom Officers Fist of Fun' are just a few) and the expected findings - grapes, donuts, hoops - he made it sound like it was a bit of a buffet down there. If I could only give one piece of advice, it would be to never Google 'Anal Buffet' with safe search off.
There's more that just soft fruits and patisserie down there though. A few years back, there was a reality TV series where a bunch of minor celebs were taken to an island and were given coffee enemas. This was a great premise for a TV show - imprison some annoying publicity-hungry no-marks on an island and see how much hot beverage can be stuffed up their bums before they burst. "It's time for Tradesman's Entrance! The Gaping Gameshow! With your host - Richard 'They-don't-call-him-Hamster-because-of-his-surname' Hammond". Like Channel 5 does Last Tango in Paris meets Papillon. Or pretty much any German porn film.
Unfortunately, this show was simply about the benefits of enemas. It was still worth watching for the stuff that was flushed out - half-digested pills, childhood toys, fire extinguishers and one of Jimmy Saville's bracelets.
What if you were caught self examining. How would you explain it away?
"I was washing my bottom and my hand slipped!"?
"Bloody hamster gets everywhere."?
"Now then! Now then!"?
Probably the only thing worse is to be caught indulging in some auto-erotic asphyxiation.
Auto-erotic asphyxiation has been surprisingly popular - Tory MP Stephen Milligan; Michael Hutchence and David Carradine all succumbed to that last fatal wank.
Why did they do it? To prove that men can multitask - that's why.
There's an enormous amount of rubbish talked about men and their inability to multitask. It's nonsense. For example, we can stand up, urinate and breath at the same time. OK. I accept that aiming is a step too far but even so...
Auto-erotic asphyxiation is the ultimate in multi-tasking. You have to do FIVE things at the same time.
1. Stand on tiptoe - not easy in a low friction gimp suit & mask
2. Suck on an orange. Like a healthy ball-gag but not easy to keep in place. The gimp mask doesn't help - the orange gets easily caught in the mouth zipper.
3. Tie a workable noose and keep it round your neck while the other end is anchored somewhere that'll take your weight. Ever tried making a noose? Not easy at all. See www.macrameformurderers.org for instructions.
4. Keep the porn in focus - not easy when you've got a gimp mask and a face full of citrus fruit. It would be a terrible way to go if you accidentally dropped the porn and bent over to pick it up and... Oh dear...
5. Far and away the most difficult - keeping a hard-on in the face of death. This is difficult enough at the best of times let alone when dicing with death. Realistically, you can only do this in the one place where an erection is unavoidable however hard you think about Anne Widdecombe.
On a bus.
It does seem a bit far fetched to go on a double-decker bus and find the stairway blocked by a wanking gimp (they need to be on the stairs for the noose to be effective) but friends who travel on London night buses assure me that this is a regular occurrence.
Oh yeah. Prostrate cancer. Get your hand up. Get your doctor's hand up. At the same time if you like.
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