For weeks now England has been caught up in the great mystery of exactly which English Premiership champion elect was playing offside with noted socialite Imogen Thomas. Who exactly is Imogen, and what purpose does she serve on this Earth? That’s not entirely clear, she would appear to be famous because she has had sexual intercourse with other, more genuinely famous people. Fame by proxy, therefore.
If you have a Twitter account, a passing knowledge of the most basic English Premiership online forums and/or a brain, you of course already have some idea exactly who was caught in Thomas’s honey-trap. Let’s just say, the Welsh are none too happy with one of their prodigal sons.
The most mind numbingly stupid part of this is that the woman at the center of the affair is furious she can’t ‘tell her story’. The injunction placed on the British media by the British legal system is basically stopping Imogen Thomas from gettin’ paid. You can imagine the poor flower’s frustration. She goes to the bother of laying a classic honey trap, bedding the Premiership Superstar, assumedly putting all the physical effort in, and now what, nothing! She has absolutely nothing to show for it! The poor woman! Your heart can only bleed for her. There is just no justice in this world, is there?
Hilariously, her team has now started releasing stories of Imogen wandering the streets of Good Ol' Blighty fashionably dressed with sunglasses on, hiding crocodile tears. They are comically trying to create a new slant where Imogen is distraught the story has come out at all, and that she wishes she could afford the costly injunction. Note to Imogen and her crack team of PR Chimpanzees; probably best not to agree to interviews where Imogen says 'The truth will eventually come out' before changing tactics mid game.
Poor Imogen. She only wants to be loved. And then subsequently to be paid.
Say what you want about the flying winger at the center of all this, we don’t know the full story, and thanks to this injunction, probably never will. What is completely 100% clear is, some woman had an affair with a football player, and then tried to sell her sordid story to the media.
Oh those crazy soccer stars..
Really, is there a lower, more base form of disgusting money grubbing out there? There are complicated Nigerian wire transfer frauds with more class than Imogen Thomas.
Let's call a spade a spade here, like the brilliant movie 'Traffic', 'no one gets away clean', everyone comes out dirty at the end of this sordid little affair. The woman, the Premiership champion player and also the English tabloids. The latter play their part by gleefully providing the cash-money to these salacious women who think dignity is a new perfume by Victoria Beckham, and nothing else. The public are no saints either, because they buy the papers that print this sort of trash. They enable this whole filthy little process.
How about the Spanish newspaper that is set to 'release' the players name on the day of a forthcoming big competition final? That's pretty low, to say the least. Kinda funny, but, a low blow, none the less. Sadly, the left sided midfielder can't really complain too loudly about this. First of all, he spent £50k trying to shut this story up, that's how much the injunction cost. Secondly, it's not as if he tripped and fell clumsily into Imogen Thomas's open arms, is it now?
Just how stupid are these Premiership players? Seriously, how do they keep falling for this? It’s not like the warning signs aren’t there, there in glaring, shocking neon lights practically.
As with any debate, everyone is free to pick sides. However, someone is going to have to convince me how, when all is said and done, Imogen Thomas isn't the dirtiest of this particular cast. It was she who had a consensual affair with the hairy chested, fleet footed veteran (hey, if you still can’t figure it out, ‘A’ don’t ever become a detective and ‘B’ go read some Spanish soccer papers/websites, they aren’t afraid of the injunction!) and it was she who then thought to herself ‘You know what, now that I have had sexual intercourse with the Welsh Wonder, what better way to show my affection for him, and the pride and dignity I have in myself, by selling the story of said sexual adventure to a newspaper. Shouldn’t everybody be privy to what goes on in my bedchamber?!’ or, words to that effect.
There are no winners in this ugly little affair, only losers, and then losers who look even more sordid than the other losers.
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