International Men's Day? It's already here, chaps.

Today, readers, I am excited. March 14th holds a special place in my heart, and no, it’s not just the return of F1 that has me salivating and throbbing with excitement.

A month on from the exceedingly pointless, commercialised tripe that is Valentines day, it has come. Steak and Blowjob day is upon us. I’m no longer gagging with revulsion at phoney cupids and crudely drawn hearts, I’m…well, you get the picture. I don’t want this to blow up in my face, that’d be hard to swallow. Heh. Fellatio.

If you’re unaware what Steak and Blowjob day is, here’s the website.  It’s full of helpful facts, how-to guides (yes, really) and a store (although it doesn’t work- thought still counts though*.). Invented by the Romans in 269AD – it’s on the internet, so it just must be true –  and handed down as a tradition across umpteen generations of men, this is the BIG ONE. Forget May Day, Margaret Thatcher’s funeral, Christmas. This is the important one. In fact, Christ’s own immaculate conception was Mary’s reward for a perfect rump on this hallowed day – so it’s got the approval of the big cheese up there too!

Why’s this so bloody amazing though? Well, I f**king hate Valentines day, for one. The rampant commercialisation of love, coupled with the weird concept that there’s got to be one specific day where your partner suddenly forgets the love and care you have for them, and needs it reinforced with expensive meals, gifts and meaningless tawdry trinkets. This, then, is the perfect riposte. A day for the finer things in life, where the last ‘I love you’ before bed is earned from a job well done, and not just thrown out to adhere to a societal mandate.

Anything else? Steak, motherf**kers. That holiest of grails. That succulent, juicy, eruption of pleasure in and around your mouth. God, but it’s good. Just the scent is enough to send the most militant vegetarian weak at the knees. It is a little known fact that the Japanese cows from which Kobe steaks are sourced actually commit seppuku themselves, for there is no ending more honourable than bringing such unmitigated joy to those tasteless humanoids. The Indians even worship cows, simply for their taste! You can’t not like blowjobs either. I’ve never actually given one, but I imagine it to be a lot like eating a hotdog. Ish.

It’s the International Men’s Day we’ve all been clamouring for. Some more ardent feminists might jump on it as demeaning, claiming it’s a mere manifestation of the patriarchy. Not at all! It’s just like giving a bouquet of flowers, except without the added RISK to your sinuses. See? It’s positively beneficial. I’d go as far to say it should be a legal requirement in all relationships. The divorce rate would halve, it’d bankrupt marriage counsellors AND there’d be less of those malicious cows around rendering the polar bears homeless. Everybody wins!

If you’re single then there’s still hope. Medically, it’s now possible to have your ribs removed – no partner, no problem! And if that doesn’t appeal, well, there’s always sitting in a darkened room sobbing softly to yourself as you realise that you will never, ever experience love like a fine steak. Of course this would be monumentally stupid, and you should really just cook one yourself to the background of dubious pornography. It’s a public service, really.

*excuse does not apply if attempting to negotiate a ham sandwich and a sneaky reach around as a compromise.