WARNING: Political Correctness Is Completely Missing Below

I’m waiting for the day. It is bound to happen any time now. Caught up in the throes of sweaty passion I reach into the bedside table drawer and pull out a condom. (Safety is very important!) Tearing open the package I quickly apply the product as intended.

And there it is.

A Susan G. Komen (fill in the activity of your choice – shtup in this case?) For The Cure Pink Ribbon emblazoned upon that object of intimate necessity. How long do you suppose Mr. Johnson is going to retain that all-important inflated ego?

That is (hopefully) a slight over-exaggeration of the omnipresent spread of the ubiquitous pink ribbon, but not by much. From wrist bands and finger rings to pasta, soup and nuts, from the gasoline you buy to the books you read to the music you fill your MP3 player with there is inevitably a pink logoed product available to you. You might be the one to fund that cure, but only if you purchase that thirty-nine cent box of macaroni and cheese. Women die from breast cancer! How dare you reach for the store brand you selfish bastard?

Now don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against breasts. Some of my best friends have breasts. They have provided me with sustenance when I was a babe and encouraged me to perform my biological duty to the survival of the species as a man. Breast cancer does deserve to be taken seriously and a cure fervently sought, not just for reasons of esthetics and entertainment but for the very real reason that this disease claims lives. Very real, irreplaceable lives of our mothers, sisters, wives and daughters. And far more than is openly spoken about, breast cancer claims the lives of men as well.

However medicine should not be funded or practiced based upon which disease can garner adherents with the best public relations capacity. These days it is politically correct to Be For Breasts! To listen to the ad campaign going on you would think that women are dropping in the streets at just about the same rate as the aliens at the end of War of the Worlds (the 1953 Byron Haskin version, not the 2005 Steven Spielberg / Tom Cruise debacle). If we don’t act now, there won’t be a woman left alive on the planet. By next Tuesday at the latest. If we’re lucky. Slapping enough pink on enough products and extracting all possible cash from consumer’s pockets though will solve the problem.

Or at least let the corporate entities prostituting their products for the cause convince you they care. And really, isn’t the fact that they care – about anything – reason enough for you to spend your money with them rather than silly factors such as quality or efficacy of their product? Yeah, they’re pretty convinced you’ll think that way. And the pink ribbon storm this nation has been buried under in recent years would seem to bear that cynical assessment out. And if such actions by some chance result in a cure in addition to moving more merchandise so much the better! One more social victory they can claim credit for during the next round of advertising.

According to statistics released by the American Cancer Society, 3 of every 24 women over the course of their lifetime can expect to confront breast cancer.

4 of every 24 men can expect to contract prostate cancer.

According to those same statistics, from birth to death 1 of every 3 women can anticipate some form of cancer.

That’s a staggering number, but not as staggering as the 1 of every 2 men who can expect a close relationship with cancer.

Men are 33% more likely to get prostate cancer than women are likely to get breast cancer. Men are 50% more likely than women to contract any form of cancer over the course of their life. Indeed, the incidence of prostate cancer continues to rise as men age. The National Cancer Institute reports that by age 75 between 50% and 75% of all men “will have cancerous changes in the prostate”. Extending those findings to a logical conclusion, living long enough subjects virtually every man to the likelihood of encountering prostate cancer.

Where are the stories, the panic, the public service campaigns on behalf of men on the subject? Except for lung cancer, which is exclusively the fault of the smoker so they don’t deserve any compassion, about the only other cancer that has received press coverage comparable to breast cancer is the one that attacked Lance Armstrong’s testicles. Scary as hell for a guy to hear about – but he beat it, so we’re okay on that one! Back to the breasts!!

The fact is that medical funding should not be based upon grass roots funding, corporate cynicism, and slick special interest groups. Not even Jerry’s kids are deserving of special effort simply because their plight is often heartbreaking and makes most of us thank God he had the grace to let that particular challenge pass by our homes. Allocations of scarce resources would more ethically be based upon how broad-based the impact of the condition is and how likely research is to ameliorate or preferably cure the problem. Especially with the nightmare of socialized medicine looming over us, resources need to be focused where they can do the greatest possible good in the shortest possible time.

If we are going to insist on emotion, special interests, and non-profit foundations being the primary criteria for allocation of research dollars rather than reason and common sense, then I would like to announce the formation of my very own foundation. The “Jacob D. Vreeland, Jr. Brown Ribbon for the Cure Foundation” is committed to the elimination of prostate cancer in my lifetime. I will work tirelessly to extract as much money as humanly possible from every consumer in this great land – because I care, deeply and passionately about the ravages I will face personally when prostate cancer comes to claim me. Not to mention the trauma lurking in the shadows for an opportunity to pounce upon all the fathers, brothers, husbands and sons of this world. I want a Brown Ribbon on your breakfast cereal, your cup of coffee at the diner, on every cigarette you stick in your mouth and on every feminine hygiene pad taped to a pair of panties. I want you to see Brown Ribbons everywhere you go until you, too, become equally impassioned about making the digital rectal examination a horror of the past.

In fact, why not join me in tying a Brown Ribbon around your finger. To help you remember just what it is we are fighting for.

Don’t you care?