Updated: Aug 28, 2021
WINNER: jimskinz
RUNNERS UP
Brexit related shortages in orange dye create havoc for Ulster Unionists (from Bobski)
Appalling Deep Purple tribute act hounded out of Legoland. (from SteveB)
The Purple Ronnie-themed Orange Parade did not sit well with some marchers (from FlashArry)
Boris hails return to normal (from apepper)
Pride Boys apprehensive about meeting the Proud Boys (from Sinnick)
A 47-year-old woman from Whitechapel in East London who had a passionate love tryst with her robot vacuum cleaner has told a local newspaper that she was desperate for love and that the six weeks the two spent together was the most wonderful time of her life.
Speaking to The East London Gazette, Tracy Dell, a housewife and mother of three, said: "My husband has never been a very loving person throughout our marriage.
"He's nice enough and doesn't drink or go with other women but he's just so cold emotionally.
"As the years went by I became more and more desperate for real love.
"So when I realised I was falling for our robot vacuum cleaner I seized the opportunity with both hands and decided to let my heart rule my head.
"We would seize stolen moments together at every opportunity when my husband wasn't around.
"The best times were when he was upstairs asleep and I would creep downstairs and have sex with the appliance in the cupboard under the stairs.
"It was truly wonderful and seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
"It ended just a month ago when I was doing the carpets on the hall, stairs and landing and the motor burnt out.
"I realise I'll never know love like it again but my memories of our time together will never fade no matter what."
Mrs Dell's husband, Toby 54, told the newspaper: "I suspected something untoward was going on between my missus and that Hoover when I used to hear her in the hall cupboard, moaning and panting, but I just thought she was struggling to get the clips off the dust bag before emptying it into the bin"
Friends are becoming increasingly concerned for a man who visited the restaurant toilet over 20 minutes ago, unaware that he remains unable to commit to any one of the seven available urinals. Colin Dobson is getting a right sweat on and an increasingly agitated bladder, as he attempts to narrow down his choices to enable him to perform the normal bodily function of urine excretion.
We have exclusive access into Colin’s inner thought process: 'Right. Think about this logically. If someone enters mid-stream which is the least-weirdest urinal to be using?'
'Okay. Not the ones right at each end, obviously. That just looks like I don’t want them to catch the slightest glimpse of my penis due to its smallness, or some hideous abnormality or they think I’m pretending to wee while I wait to meet a stranger for sex.'
'Good. We’re making progress. Not the middle one, obviously. That’s just basically, ‘come and look at my enormous wanger while I wazz like an excessively hydrated race horse.’
'That leaves two on either side. Hmmm. Any of those makes me look like I’m trying too hard to hide my small/hideous and/or enormous junk and/or that I’m just pretending because I’m waiting to meet a stranger for sex.'
'Right. Cubicle it is. Wait, what are you thinking? People will think I’m having a number two is way worse.'
'B*llocks!'
One friend commented: 'Yep, he’s still in there. If I had to guess, when washing his hands, he accidentally splashed himself in a way that makes him look like he’s wee’d himself, and so he’s busy trying to manoeuvre his groin area into the air dryer.'
'Am I right?'
