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Five obviously terrible behaviours to avoid if you want to be a presenter: A BBC guide

BIZARRELY, BBC presenters are required to observe certain ‘normal’ standards of behaviour these days. Avoid the following if you wish to remain on the payroll.

Sending inappropriate messages

Sending messages to female colleagues that, for legal reasons, have to be cryptically described as ‘inappropriate’ is obviously wrong wherever you work. It’s especially terrible when you do it as a BBC employee though, because we’re already haemorrhaging public trust and people who hate the licence fee will use it to further stick the knife in. At least wait until you go over to ITV in a disastrous career move if you absolutely have to do it.

Getting your knob out

Yes, even if you are a charismatic gay man larking around on the set of Doctor Who 15-odd years ago and nobody at the time seemed to mind. It might have seemed like fun and games in the moment, but all it takes is for sensibilities to change and suddenly whipping your tackle out retroactively makes you look like a sex pest. Use this handy mnemonic: ‘If In Doubt, Don’t Get It Out.’

What Huw Edwards did

Everyone knows what our once-beloved news presenter did, so there’s no need to go into the depressing details. On an individual level it’s too grim to contemplate, but as a company it completely f**ks over our news archive from the last 20 years. We’re going to have to shitcan BBC Wales just to cover the cost of pixellating him out of footage of landmark events. 

Basically anything anyone did in the 70s

No need to examine individual cases on this one. We’d be here all day. Just play it safe and do the exact opposite of what you think a BBC presenter in the 70s would do. Avoid gaudy tracksuits, remember to say ‘women’ not ‘tarts’, don’t slap arses, and ideally go home to your stable, loving family without doing abhorrent crimes on an industrial scale. Sounds obvious but at this point it clearly needs to be explicitly stated.

Advertising a product on air

The most disgusting behaviour of all. Mentioning a specific product or brand name without quickly following up with a disclaimer that other products are available will prompt your mysterious disappearance in the middle of the night. When asked what happened to you, fellow BBC employees will feign ignorance and pretend they’ve never heard of you. This is your one and only warning.

Seven household objects I have f**ked while under house arrest. By Andrew Tate

MY pick-up techniques are foolproof, but it’s hard to meet women when you’re under house arrest. Undeterred, here are seven inanimate objects I’ve shagged recently.

The sofa 

I used my technique of breaking down a woman’s confidence to make it easier to get her into bed. ‘You’re a horrible shade of beige,’ I told the sofa, ‘I knew I should have got the red one.’ Once I’d asserted my dominance she was was putty in my hands and I slid my penis between the cushions and pumped away until I came. Another impressive sexual conquest for the ‘Top G’. 

The kitchen bin

It’s harder having sex with a bin than you might think, but luckily it was almost full and I managed to get enough friction off old teabags and yoghurt pots. Afterwards I didn’t want a bin hanging around cramping my alpha male gangsta style, so I told it to get its stuff and f**k off. It didn’t move and I had to physically carry it outside. Typical woman – no self-respect and way too clingy.

The kettle 

I told my 1.5 litre Bosch kettle it was gagging for it, like all bitches. It caved immediately and I f**ked it there and then in the spout. I only wish I’d emptied it afterwards, because when I made a cup of tea later I got a mouthful of my own spunk and I’m worried I might be gay now.

The toaster

I told the toaster if it wanted a drink it could buy its own, because I’m not pussy-whipped like most modern men. I could tell it was impressed and soon I was putting my penis in one of its slots. Unfortunately in my excitement I depressed the lever, causing the bread flaps to grip my knob tightly while the filaments quickly got red hot. Luckily I managed to withdraw with only minor burns and agonising blisters.

The washing machine

Even a top pick-up artist like me sometimes meets a woman who’s a challenge, and that was definitely the case with the Electrolux. I was using all my best seduction techniques – belittling her, invading her personal space, blowing cigar smoke on her – but she wouldn’t let me open her door until she’d finished her spin cycle. Was it worth it? Was it f**k. Now half my shirts have got jizz on them and need washing again.

A draft excluder

It wouldn’t occur to most men to have sex with a draft excluder, but they’re cucks. Luckily it was one of those in the shape of a snake with googly eyes and a felt tongue, so once I’d made a mouth with a pair of scissors it was practically like getting a real blowjob. I mean, yeah, I’d got a novelty snake on my cock, but it was definitely a more responsive lover than the radiator.

The juicer

I told her straight off I’m not the kind of guy to waste his time listening to women’s shit. She seemed get the message and we started going at it. Safe sex is for pussies, so I put my penis in her fruit and vegetable tube while she was still plugged in. I realise now that was a mistake. The doctors said they’ll probably be able to reattach the tip of my penis, but as far as I’m concerned it just proves what I’ve always said – never trust a woman.

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