There has been much speculation about the relationship reforms I proposed last week, that is to say, the fact that I asked you out. Much of this comes from persons with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo - specifically Ken, who practically dribbles with lust every time you walk into the room, and who once described me as a "pompous wanker". Then there are those whose negative stance is influenced less by rational analysis than ideological prejudice. Scott, that daft Stalinist, falls into this catagory. In short, you are being given misleading advice by your so-called "friends", so I have decided to present you with the facts in the hope that you will come around.
MYTH: I'm only after sex.
FACT: I am not only after sex. In fact, if you examine the figures, you will see that sex constitutes only forty-nine percent of my expectations. Due consideration is also given to such key facets of our (potential) relationship as: holding hands in public, curling up in front of McLeod's Daughters, and talking about our feelings. Sex is a factor, but let me assure you that I am an advocate of mutual obligation in the bedroom. Put it this way: you serve up the pie, I'll eat it. You can't ask fairer than that.
MYTH: I am a sexist pig.
FACT: This is nothing but a vicious calmuny put about by those who seek to discredit me. I have five sisters, three aunts, one mother and at least half a grandmother (her condition varies depending on the humidity), and I can honestly say I have never once subjugated them to my chauvinist will, not even accidentally. Yes, I do think that a woman's role, in addition to some light vacuuming, is to raise children, and if this marks me out as sexist then I suppose I am sexist. But I don't think I am, and neither do any of my mates down at the gentleman's club.
MYTH: I am a crypto-fascist imperialist.
FACT: Ideological hatred rears its ugly head. Scott (that cretinous collectivist) deployed the f-word in response to certain of my views put forth at a barbecue last year, and ever since I've had to put up with people who should know better calling out "Zeig Heil!" as I wander around campus. This is absurd. I merely suggested that we would be better off invading the entire Middle East and putting all insurgents to the sword - or the most efficient modern equivalent - before installing obedient puppet regimes. If that's crypto-fascist imperialism, I'll eat my new Patriotic Aryan Youth League of Australia hat!
MYTH: I am a dud root.
FACT: This chestnut is courtesy of Mandy who has been preoccupied with defaming my sexual prowess ever since I shagged her senseless during O-week and refused to buy her dinner afterwards. She claims I couldn't get it up and, as a result, was about as much fun as, I quote, "fucking a plate of lukewarm canneloni". Clearly this is a lie, as my athleticism between the sheets has been well documented by such libidinous luminaries as Catherine, Jess, Claudia, and either May-Na or Wing-Nu - I'm not sure which one I shagged, all those Asian chicks look the same to me. The data supplied by these sources - which roughly breaks down to ninety percent moaning, five percent panting, three percent calling-my-name-in-ecstacy, and two percent squirting of vaginal fluids - indicates that, should you consent to my penis entering your vagina and/or other orifices (this last to be negotiated on an orifice-by-orifice basis), a good time is all but guaranteed.
I trust this letter has put to rest any reservations you might have entertained about my proposal. To conclude, let me say that I envison a lengthy, mutually-satisfying relationship between us, as long as you give up those silly gender studies classes. You don't need them: we can easily study gender in the back seat of my Cortina, and you won't even need to take notes. I sincerely hope this letter has convinced you of my rectitude and suitability. I remain, always and forever,
Jason P. Crisp
President, Young Liberal Pig Shooting Social Club (Victoria)