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I Snoop On My Man's Emails Because Other Women Are Slags, says Samantha Sick

Just because I'm beautiful, doesn't mean I'm not a paranoid mess.

Samantha Sick, with husband Pascal, admits that she checks her husband's emails and phone messages

My good friend, the Daily Mail writer Samantha Brick, is not the only woman who values her security. My personal safe is buried alongside my mother's corpse, within a luxurious coffin in an elite French graveyard. And within it, among the passports and birth control, is an ancient stone engraved with all the passwords for my husband’s phone and email accounts. To be honest, I don’t really need to glance at the combinations of numbers, letters, symbols and idols on that stone any more: I know each and every incantation off by heart. For, as far as I’m concerned, my husband’s secret emails, voicemails and sexts aren’t just for his titillation, they're for mine, too. I read, listen and check all of them daily, often with my hand plunged down my cummerbund. And I don’t mind admitting that I often tamper with his post, too, redirecting his bank statements to inconvenient spots across the continent. While you might be appalled, let me say I'd never consider my actions as spying or as the insane efforts of a paranoid schizophrenic. In fact, I consider it to be right and just behaviour akin to a devious Pope, or a tyrannical monarch. It’s not that I don’t trust my husband, Pascal – I do. I just don’t trust other women. Each one of them is a jealous orc with the moral compass of a Maoist pimp, desperate to ingest his rich semen and produce a fleet of money-grabbing bastards. And yes, I check his mail, and I glued a Catherine Wheel to his anus to ward off suitors; what loving wife would have done less?

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So I applauded Jools Oliver’s honesty – and agreed with her actions completely – when she admitted at the weekend that she did the same to her husband, Jamie. Asked if she felt confident about his dealings with other women, she said: "Yeah, I’ll check his emails. I’ll check his Twitter. I'll bury him up to his neck in the sand, cover his face in honey, watch the ants eat him alive and demand the truth. "Everything seems fine. He says I’m a jealous girl, but I think I’m fairly laid-back, considering." I’ve had dealings with Jools: She was briefly my Madame back when I was one of Britain's most celebrated sexual impressionists. It was her cruel tongue and loving hands that transformed me into the paragon of lust who would later take the Transatlantic snuff scene by storm. She was not yet a mother, and I found her to be a cruel and demented master; likely to fly into bizarre rages if she discovered I had bad-mouthed her to the Rosicrucian gimp or failed to invite her to a particularly grizzly honour killing. Anyone who writes her off as an insecure housewife does so at their peril. She is an ambitious monster of the most monomaniacal kind and it’s my belief that if we are to appease her, we must present her with a broadcasting career to equal Jamie’s and build her a cathedral from the headless bodies of one hundred thousand milking cows. Yes, she monitors Jamie's wandering eye with a rod of steel – by which I mean she will literally blind him with a metal bar if she catches him so much as crudely sketching a woman he's seen on the internet, or in his own mind – but I, too, take the domestic side of my life, and my marriage, seriously. I’m a wife first and part-time brutalist model second. I have two words to say to those women who dismiss Jools and me for being cruel, tasteless and having the rectitude of a virulent STD: Vernon Kay. In February 2010, TV presenter Kay murdered his wife, Strictly Come Dancing host Tess Daly. It was proven in court that he had exchanged "racy" text messages with five assassins, including a glamour model he had met while training with Mossad. According to Kay, the plot to bump off his wife began as "pretty innocent" before becoming "blood curdling". He and his busty assassin flung Tess Daly from the roof of the O2 Arena during a triumphant performance by the Manic Street Preachers. As she plummeted towards the earth, Daly remarked that, "The trust had gone." Kay got the blame, but for me a crime so deliciously devious could have only come from a woman's nasty mind. My experience has shown me that there are scores of women who are morally bankrupt when it comes to using every form of modern communication available to snare an already taken man and convince him to gut his wife. Which is why we must be vigilant. In today's Britain, the traditional marriage vow of: To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, would be better replaced with one maxim: Kill or be killed. And I, for one, welcome it.

Previously by Samantha Sick:

"Why I'm Hotter Than All of FHM's 100 Sexiest Women"

"There Are Downsides to Looking This Pretty": Why Women Hate Me for Being Beautiful

The Daily Mail's Samantha Brick Is Right to Fight Back! Says VICE.com's Own Beautiful Writer