I remember the first time Judy and I tried anal. We did it so much I was sure Judy wouldn’t sit down for a week. But, you know what? She did: she’s a bloody professional. Her stoic willingness to carry on is one of the very few things I admire about Judy. It reminded me of the time she was pounded by three members of Westlife only minutes before we aired. As the cameras rolled and the viewing audience looked on, no one would’ve known she had 2 litres of pop-sensation semen running down her leg. Judy’s experience carried the ‘My Badger is an Alien’ segment brilliantly. As my eyes watched, my brain started to wonder whether I myself, in the same situation, would’ve been able to pull off the transition with such aplomb. For example, had all members of S Club 7 been inside me before walking on to set to present the fashion segment to a live television audience, would I have been able to work to the high standards I have constantly set throughout my entire career? Like Right Guard, I wasn’t sure.
Now, I’ve never been jealous of Judy but I couldn’t help feel that her post-anal professionalism was a new level I needed to reach. In a strange way, it felt as if the anal beatings she had received from the likes of Joe Pasquale, Ian Beale and teen pop-sensations Hanson had actually given her an advantageous edge, adding a confidence and shine to her skillset. I then became aware this was not exclusive to Judy, that in fact many daytime TV presenters were experimenting with anal sex in order to give them that ‘edge’. This felt wholly unfair, my parents had worked hard in order to give me the genetic grounding to make me an exceptional television host; now my career was under threat from a new generation of charlatans no better than drug cheats.
Suddenly, I felt very vulnerable. Word on the studio was that Phillip Schofield – a recent convert to ‘anal jacking’, as it was known – fancied himself for a primetime mid-morning television slot and was making inroads for my job. Normally this was something that I would dismiss, laugh off as a childish joke; someone as weak-spirited as Schofield could never dare challenge the prowess that I possessed, no matter how many technicolour raincoats he put on. However, I was wary of the new phenomenon sweeping the industry and the advantages it could offer. It would’ve been arrogant of someone as amazing as myself to think that I couldn’t be usurped by that cretin Schofield. Only the day before, one of the show’s producers had declared me as an ‘idiot mong’ and was constantly dropping hints that the bosses were only considering those who were ‘anally free’. That code was easy to decipher.
I was at a cross roads. I’d often prided myself on avoiding drug enhancements, choosing to rely solely on my amazing talents and 9/10 good looks, but, as I was standing on set, sipping on my mushroom cup-a-soup and watching the make-up woman wipe ejaculate from Judy’s ankles, I got to thinking of Bob Dylan and how, when he made the switch to electric guitar, he was initially booed off stage. He could’ve given in, taken the easy route and reverted back to his acoustic dross. But Dylan didn’t listen to the boos, he knew the move to electric was the brave thing to do, not just for him or the world of music, but for humanity itself. I decided right there and then that if I was going to maintain my position as ‘Mr ITV’ and cement my place in the ITV rock n roll hall of fame, I was going to have to become like Dylan, and go full anal.
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All characters and events in this piece – even those based on real people – are entirely fictional. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.