Hope Is a Beast

So finally I get to the club for my daily torture, and as I am disrobing, Just-Call-Me-Jay, from Merrill Lynch, where we put the Tingle Trust money, sticks his head around a row of lockers and says, “Well, now I have got it.”

Pretty cryptic, but since mostly we have talked over the last year or so about my tales of woe, of one kind of another, I figure maybe he has some “woe,” and like got it from me, “So I say, Ray, good sir, what’s up?”

Where the hell did that “good sir” come from?  But I said it, and he says, “I have prostate cancer.”

And I say, damn or something to that effect, and he says, well, it could be worse. His father had it and died of it, and so he has his PSA checked every six months and so they caught it in the early stages.  It’s just a tiny thing he says, way inside the prostate, so it hasn’t spread and there is a specific procedure that a couple of doctors in LA have done about six hundred times between them for just this kind of situation, and they are good and can get in there and get it out with no nerve damage…

Because Jays says, “I don’t want to lose my hard-ons.”

And I say, Yea, good sir, it’s important to keep those hard-ons.  Life without them is not the same.  So we are talking away about hard-ons and getting them and not getting them and erections and our peckers, and a couple of other guys in the locker room keep sticking their heads around the corners of the rows of lockers to see what these two guys are going on about with their hard on appreciation time, but they disappear behind the lockers when they figure out we are talking about prostate cancer.

But really that’s a good thing, I think, about Jay; he is a pretty straight talker and doesn’t hold anything back and give me the opportunity and I don’t either.  So I find out he is a bit worried because these doctors are so damn good they are all booked up and he may have to wait three months before he gets in, though, and he repeats himself because one repeats things like this to comfort one’s self, it’s way inside and right now it’s very, very small.

So as he is walking out, I am walking out too but up to work out, and he says, “Man, I don’t want to lose my pecker. It has given me a lot of fond memories.”

And I punch him on the shoulder, real macho-like and say confidently, “Don’t worry, man.  You will make more memories.”

So now, where do I find a get well card for prostate cancer?   

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