Warning: This post has been rated "Utterly Manky" by the Women's Institute Naked Calendar and Jam-Making Committee. Continue at your peril.
In my all-action life as internet guru and role model to millions, people are constanty asking me "Scary, why can't I be like you?" And, dear reader, with very little application, and for a small fee, you may.
The number one question I am always asked is one of relationships, and how to keep your partner sweet to your rugged, manly affections. "What shall I do?" I often hear, "I've got the house to myself, but my girlfriend wants me to tidy the place up and get the ironing done before she gets back. All I want to do is mooch around the internet and have an enormous wank over Sarah Alexander out of Coupling. What's it to be? Housework or hand shandy?"
You damn fool! Talk about getting your priorities wrong. The basis of a stable domestic relationship is to ensure that the chores are not only shared, but that she sees that you are doing your bit to keep your house running smoothly. If a tree falls down in a forest, but there is no-one there to hear it, does it make a sound? The same applies to all housework done by men. You can scrub and polish for all you are worth, but if there is no female witness, you may as well be sitting in front of a freshly culled internet looking at pictures of young ladies in various states of excitement. Which is what she thinks you are doing anyway, so why let the side down? The correct approach to your dilemma, therefore, is thus:
1. Spend five minutes tidying the house. Make the bed, dust the TV, do the washing up to an almost hygenic standar and tidy away all the old newspapers. Cleaning the pipework behind the bog (a place where ALL women look when inspecting men's housework - 100% of FACT) takes no more than two seconds and scores no end of brownie points. She may even do that thing with the baby oil as a result.
2. Enormous wank, after sitting on your hand for twenty minutes so you can imagine you've just paid some skanky old slapper for a posh one.
3. Time the ironing so that you've done exactly two shirts and a sock when she walks in the door. Such will be the amazement, she will offer to finish the job for you, and then do that thing with the baby oil, if she hasn't already offered after step 1.
Note: Start step 3 too early and you may consider repeating step 2 before all the ironing runs out, but this is not without its dangers. On no account should you allow yourself to be caught undertaking step 2 when she arrives home, particularly if you are wearing her underwear and are paying a skanky old slapper for a posh one, your eyes bulging in a mixture of horror and ecstasy, fountains of spooge ruining the duvet, as you realise, far too late, that the name you have called out is that of her twenty stone mother. This doesn't tend to go down too well, and contrary to what you may have read in certain adult literature, an invitation to join in a filthy threesome may end in disappointment.
Simple really, although I'm damn certain that Freud would have a field day with me, if he hadn't been killed in that enormous wanking accident they had to cover up. You may wish to learn more about my exciting celebrity lifestyle in my new publication "How to be a conniving bastard", available from all good book stores. And quite a few bloody awful ones, too.