I wanna live with the cinnamon girl
I could be happy the rest of my life
With my cinnamon girl.
    — Neil Young  

You can’t make this stuff up, really…

Joe (not his real name) is an old patient, been seein’ him since I started practice some 25 years ago. Nice guy, but a little—shall we say?—quirky. Big into herbs and alternative medicine, sees a naturopath who performs prostate massage on him until it stops hurting (or death, whichever comes first). Has some chronic prostatitis, and his love life leaves much to be desired—especially since his Asian concubine left him hanging, taking all of her magic potions with her.

“The thrill is gone,” as B.B. King would say.

So he comes in for his annual checkup.

“How ya’ doin’, Joe?”

“Pretty well, although my prostate still burns at times.”

“Been on any antibiotics for that?”

“Naw, don’t take those things, you know. Too toxic. But I did try another treatment.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, you know that cinnamon has healing powers.”

“Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I had a stubborn rash on my leg, and it cleared up after using cinnamon on it.”

“Interesting.”

“So I decided to try it for my prostate.”

Gulp. “How’d … you do that?”

“Well, I filled up a condom with it, and put it on, and worked it into the opening.”

Reflexly, I cross my legs, holding his chart tightly on my lap.

“How’d that go?”

“Hurt like hell!”

Ya think?

“Did it help any?”

“No—and I don’t think I’m gonna try it again. But I’ve got some other ideas…”

Perhaps next time he should blend it with sugar and apples, and make a tart…