Rent Me Out: Starring Wen-Jing Ho...

"Paddy, Paddy, Paddy. What have you let yourself in for?", I muttered when I first set eyes on Beijing's 'Sloppy Ping-Pong Ball Champion 2001'. There she stood, grinning like a Cheshire cat, fully in the knowledge that she'd had more come ups than an Ibiza nightclub dance floor, trying to innocently portray her eligibility as a credible participant on ITV's Take Me Out. Oh HO HO, we were soon to discover the truth, splattered (pun very much intended) all over the newspapers.

Wen-Jing Mo was, in fact, a dirty cock guzzling whore and, by freakish sex worker magnetism, it turns out her date, Aaron Withers, was also a dirty cock guzzling whore.


Let the Gigolo, meet the hustler! They got on like a brasshouse on fire.

It beggars belief that ITV didn't perform some form of background checks to ensure the integrity of one of its flagship programmes. Even the simple question:

"Have you at any time gobbled shaft for a quick buck?".

If they had, the following controversy may never have happened.


The newspapers ran a story that told of Wen's claims Aaron 'manipulated' her into bed after pairing up for the show's reward trip to the Isle of "Fernando's"- which sounds very much like a red light establishment in itself. I doubt, massively, there was any manipulation of any sort. With both adept at putting out for pocket money, in Wen's case reportedly to buy a loaf of Hovis and pay her council tax, I imagine the only discussion was a negotiation on rates.

Wen farcically went to on allege that she had used the £3,000 per WEEK she had earned taking bullets from businessmen strangers to put herself "through hairdressing college" before "taking a job in the property sector."

Well she was most certainly used to taking jobs, that's for sure.

The total she apparently saved over six months on the game would have come to an astonishing £72,000. Hairdressing college?!? Was she personally trained by Nicky Clarke? On a private jet to Monaco?? I think it would be more sensible to interpret the crafty slut's recollection as:

"I splashed out some serious wedge on the entire Gucci summer catalogue, snorted about 50 grams of coke a week then put down a deposit on a buy-to-rent flat in Hackney Wick".

Sadly, in the usual recap on the previous episodes' dates, they didn't show the rentboy and the smut vendor haggling over sexual favours, or, in fact, any of their date. Rumour has it that Aaron fell asleep and Wen left promptly with his wallet- provoking a violent altercation between himself and a West Indian crack addict pimp called "Street Daddy".

ITV are continuing to investigate the incident.

First Class Ticket to Being an A Class Wanker...

What is it about these grey, mundane wankers who ride the National Rail?

I get on a busy carriage, there's one seat free between the 6 section they're sitting on and they close up their ranks like a primary school to a surprise visit from Gary Glitter.

What do you think people are going to do, you grim faced commercial pricks, not sit down? Just because this mug with his Inspector Gadget jacket happens to be playing a giant game of solitaire on his iPad 2, does not mean he has exclusive rights to the arm and shoulder territories of seat 3b.

Never mind the knees.

MOVE YOUR FUCKING KNEES. Someone is trying to get to the vacant seat, this is not final stage of Krypton Factor and neither are your pinstriped legs a climbing frame that I should have to manoeuvre to beat Cliff from Halifax to this week's trophy. Absolutely, infuriating.

When someone happens to blow their nose, out of necessity - not mirth, it's not a spectacle, the person is not pulling a chariot of burning elephants through their face and it does not require any of you gormless dickheads to look up from the pages of your City AM to address the occurrence.

Additionally, the 'Brompton' folding bike owners need to be put through at least a month of water boarding for leaving their twisted metal obstacles in front of the doors. If you want to cycle from home to work- DO THAT THE WHOLE WAY. Don't piss off the entire remaining commuter community by leaving these treacherous antipersonnel devices lying in wait for an innocent civilian to impale themselves on before 8am- you neon clad, trend sucking, selfish cunts.

So, if any of the above descriptions match your behaviour- heed this warning:

The next time I travel by National Rail I will be armed with an arsenal of Ginsters Pies, fresh out of a 1000 watt microwave, that I will open and slap the molten contents across your faces, forever maiming you for your heinous rush hour crimes.