Melbourne’s Pasquale “Nic” Ciampa may have ruled himself out as a contender for MasterChef Australia (see his post-wimpout interview here), but he sure as hell qualifies for a less prestigious award – MasterSook Australia.

This pathetic twat quit the show in a blubbering mess, insisting that he and wifey were “one and the same unit” – or some such shit – and just couldn’t bear to be parted any longer. 2 weeks with the other contestants in a lux Sydney apartment overlooking the harbour was too long for mummy’s boy Nic, and too long for wifey, it seems. Sobbed Nic as he announced his departure from the series: “It just shows how much we love each other.”

Bullshit, mate – it shows nothing of the sort. It shows that you and your wife have major dependency issues. This ain’t love that’s calling you home – it’s need.

Just how many of these knock-kneed mummy’s boys are out there, I wonder? And they ARE invariably mummy’s boys. These dependency issues generally start with some controlling mother too selfish to do the right thing by their kids.

This dangerous and alarmingly prevalent species of she-creature masquerades as the most caring and devoted maman in the world as she conditions her brood to depend on her. Instead of setting them up to lead independent adult lives, she seduces them with lavish praise and 5-star service, resorts to emotional blackmail when required, and otherwise manipulates them to rely on her and hang around the family home as long as possible, because without them she fears she is nothing.

Her identity is as a mother. Whoever she was pre-impregnation is long denied but present still, a ghost who haunts her, who threatens to re-possess her, to suck her into a vortex of nothingness, back into a state of semi-being where she drifts without a sense of meaning, or self. Or so she fears. So she does all she can to keep her place as the matriarch, the centre of her family’s universe.

The BEST her hapless kids can do without risking estrangement from mummy (and siblings, usually, who buy into mummy fuhrer’s warped vision of the world as unquestioningly as the Hitler Youth) is unharness themselves from her apron strings and slip on wifey’s…just like Nic the MasterSook.

There are worse outcomes – some unfortunate progeny end up at home well into their 30s, 40s or beyond, parental death being the only hope of emancipation. Often, Mummy AND Daddy combine forces to keep these types at home, neutered, like pets.

What motivates this lethal parental double-act? The loneliness of old age, mayhap? The terror of confronting the barren reality of the marital relationship sans the distraction of kids crowding the living space?

Or is it the great unspoken fear of forging new identities as middle-aged empty-nesters? Christ, if there’s a dirty word for the baby boomers, it’s ageing. So they feed their illusion of youth any way they can. You can’t be THAT old while the kids are still at home…can you? Never mind what this selfishness is doing to the kids. Fuck ’em – you have yourselves to think of. That’s the Boomers’ creed when it comes down to it, innit?

Thing is, the kids end up inheriting those values, and here’s where karma comes a-knockin’. How many self-centred me-first offspring are going to be devotedly tending to doddering parents in their dotage? How does the song go…teach your children well…?

Thing is, there are untold thousands of Nics around. I need look no further than the 50 year old eunuch next door. He has managed to stretch his trainer leash somewhat, living “away from home” as he does, but mummy calls around weekly to pick up his dirty washing and return his freshly ironed shirts. And if he happens to be there, she can be heard stoking his ego with every maternal sentence. It’s as if she’s trying to boost the esteem of a neglected child.

Result? The bloke’s ego-blown. He thinks he’s an expert on everything. He boasts of his cooking, yet never cooks. Advises visitors on gardening, yet grows only the odd plant mummy brings around – which she rescues from death by thirst, watering whenever she visits. And he’s a tightwad extraordinaire. He’s been brought up to expect the world (mummy) to deliver and projects that expectation. A few loyal lame duck friends oblige, nurturing his delusion.

Little wonder he can never keep a girlfriend. Who’s going to measure up to mummy – and who would want to? Not to mention having to pay whenever they go out (as the most recent ex complained loudly enough for the neighbourhood to note during their on-curb break-up argument).

Then there’s Rex (not his real name), the child of a long-term friend. I watched him grow up. All appeared normal until he entered adolescence, then he went off the rails and mummy responded with rationalisations and excuses on his behalf.

Now Rex is 22, and spends most of his life in his bedroom with his girlfriend. He rarely leaves the house. Why should he? Mummy cooks all his meals, doesn’t charge him board, defends him against all criticism (including his mounting list of petty crimes – pissing in public, driving without a license, graffiti, receiving stolen goods). Girlfriend tends to his other needs. And the odd casual job keeps him in petty cash. His costs are minimal, since girlfriend chauffeurs him (in her car) any time they do venture out.

A while ago, he and girlfriend went to Rottnest for a few days. He was on the phone to mummy daily, whining that he missed her and home. So much, as it turned out, that he returned early. Mummy thought it was “sweet” and showed how much her son “adored” her. I reckon it showed the kid’s fucked. And while he has to take responsibility for his state of indolence and emasculation, mummy surely has more than a bit to answer for.

My advice to the Rex’s out there: cut the umbilical cord and run as far away as your soft little legs can carry you. Better still, get on a plane and go overseas or move interstate. And don’t come back until you know who you are and what it takes to look after yourself in the big bad world without mummy’s protective shield. That’s going to be a while.

And Nic? Well, on one hand, I guess you should be glad you’re with a woman who doesn’t mind a man without balls. On the other, you better hope her development remains as retarded as yours, or you may just find yourself back with mummy.