I see that back in November I had a post musing about what to do with my prostate cancer diagnosis. The update is that in early April I underwent a radioactive seed implant procedure. That episode underlies the current post.
I expect that it is in junior high that 7th grade boys teach 6th grade boys a little poem. In fact it may be part of the formal curriculum. Actually it probably predates middle school by an unknown number of centuries. Girls have to wait until they form a close bond with a boy before they hear it. It goes like this.
No matter how you shake and dance,
The last three drops get in your pants.
I find that modern medicine has created a parallel rhyme for at least a subset of older males. Here it is.
No matter how you shout or pout,
The last three drops just won't come out.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
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