Knock Off

Time was, an expensive hand-crafted watch was a status symbol, denoting great wealth and refinement. Ownership of, say, a Patek Philippe or a Rolex enhanced one's position in society. Beggars would happily line up to be kicked by such watch wearers, while women from all classes willingly dropped their knickers at the sight of the horological perfection of the timepiece's centre sweep second hand.

Sadly, however, this is no longer the case. Why? It is solely down to the malign influence of the Internet.

Every day, my e-mail inbox is full of Spam adverts promoting the virtues of replica watches which, it's claimed, are perfect in every detail, albeit at a fraction of the price of the genuine article. I've seen a few of these things fake Rolexes, Omegas, and so forth - and they are, aesthetically speaking, very, very good. Indeed, in many cases, unless you actually take the watch apart, it's impossible to tell the difference. As a result, the social cachet of owning the genuine article has been debased or negated entirely. These days, people won't even bother mugging you for one, assuming that your expensive watch is merely a cheap knock-off. In fact, I'm told that the Sultan of Brunei who, 20 years ago, purchased a diamond-studded Omega for about ten million pounds, now regularly has people coming up to him saying, "I'll give you five quid for that, mate." How annoying this must be.

But there could be worse to come. Having effectively rendered expensive watches apparently valueless, the Internet could soon do the same for sexual super-studs. I refer, of course, to all those "Give yourself an extra six inches" and "Make the bitch howl in orgasm all night" e-mails. If what they declare is truthful (and, given that the watch ads are, why shouldn't these be, too?), anyone can now effectively become an insatiable sex-machine. And if anyone can, how are women now to distinguish the genuine article from a cheap knock-off?

Gone, I suppose, are the days when, over dinner at an up-market restaurant, one could casually mention to a woman that one had a 12 inch dick and could go at it all night like an industrial-strength sewing machine, thus guaranteeing a shag. Today, she'd most likely say, "So what? Can't everyone?" (You can't even impress her with your degree certificates, either, because, nowadays you can get those over the Internet, too.) I suspect that, just as with watches, the only way to tell the difference between the fake and the genuine article is to take it apart. But I don't relish the idea of allowing a woman to take a scalpel to my penis merely in order to satisfy herself as to my bona fides. Yet, this may soon have to be incorporated as a regular feature of the sexual act.

I just thank the Lord that, if all else fails, I am still able to impress women with the quality of my cooking. But how long will it be before the junk e-mailers cotton on to this, as well, and start, and start promoting "Fantastic Replica Slavko Evening Meals" over the Internet?

I have seen the future, and it droops.

A typical replica Cartier