TWO TITS AND A DEAD MICKEY

THE PRESCRIPTION

Following some heavy treatment for a serious medical condition at the beginning of the year, I had an evaluation consultation with the consultant's registrar on the phone the other day.

Apparently the treatment had turned out well and the complaint was unlikely to be a concern for a good while to come, if ever.

So we were both reassured.

But I had one question which had been nagging me:

“There's just one thing I'd like to clear up. Since the treatment, my penis has shrunk and retreated back into its foreskin like when I was young.”

“Oh, that's not unusual in these cases.”

“Well I just wondered is there anything I should be doing about it? It's not really a problem unless I am trying to aim a pee.”

“Well, you know the penis is a muscle, and like any other muscle it needs to be exercised.”

“Oh, and what does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, you have a choice. You can either use the manual method or I can prescribe you Viagra”

“I see, well, I think I'll opt for the manual method but you have to promise me not to tell the Pope.”

“That won't arise. This is purely medical.”

So we parted on good terms. The doctor was satisfied with the treatment and I had a prescription for frequent masturbation.

A win win situation.

Later, I was reflecting on how this might have played out in my youth in the course of one of my many confessions involving illicit sexual activity.

“Now, my child, before I absolve you of your sins, is there anything else you would like to confess?”

“Well, actually, Father, I masturbate every day.”

“Whaaat, you know this is wrong, terribly wrong. It is specifically forbidden in the Bible.”

“Yes Father, but I have a prescription.”

“A what?”

“A prescription Father.”

“And where did you get this 'prescription' ? Who gave it to you?”

“The doctor Father.”

“What is this doctor's name? I will have him struck off the register.”

“Her, Father, she's a lady doctor. And I could not give you her name anyway.”

“Do you not even know her name?”

“I do Father, but I am bound by professional confidentiality.”

“But this is a very serious matter. We don't know how many innocent young boys she's putting on the path to Hell. I'll have to complain her to the medical organisation.”

“You can't do that Father.”

“Why not, may I ask?”

“The seal of the confessional Father. Any way, she said it was a medical matter.”

“How can that be? Masturbation a purely medical matter. Impossible.”

“Well Father, it's probably like someone drinking whiskey for purely medical reasons.”

“HOW DARE YOU!”

“What, Father?”

“I'll have you know that my drinking whiskey IS for purely medical reasons. Not at all the same thing.”

“Do you not enjoy it, Father.”

“GET OUT OF MY CHURCH YOU LITTLE PAGAN GOBSHITE AND NEVER SET FOOT INSIDE THIS DOOR AGAIN.”

Imaginary though it was, I have to confess that I really enjoyed that conversation. I left the church with a smirk, knowing that I was probably one of the few people in Ireland with a certificate to import banned books in the mid 1960s and now with a prescription for frequent masturbation.

Life can't be all bad.