"Don't worry, once the hair grows back in, no one will notice we've fitted you with the crown of a much larger-headed man."

Some of the most gloriously online people are those that will post in a Legal Advice sub Reddit, "Hey Reddit, I'm currently being attacked by a man with a machete. Any advice on what I should do?"

Sorry, but Obama does not have the emotional bandwidth to deal with fascism right now and we need to respect those boundaries.

The lesser-known story of how Sooty was the second shooter on the grassy knoll.

This is a similar level of contribution as those Amazon reviews that are like, "Just ordered this. Hasn't arrived yet. Looks OK in the photos. 3 stars." Thanks chap, this changes things.

Everyone steer clear of the defibrillator.

Ha! I'd forgotten the precise put-down. I mean, I understand why the guy was upset but don't come for the earrings.

One of the most memorable lines of TV dialogue for me was when Roy was shouting at Pat (I think it was when he found out about her affair with Frank) and he concludes his rant with, "and another thing, your earrings are too big."

I know it's not the main takeaway from this, but wtf is a brown-bag lunch? Or a sack lunch for that matter

The boxes on the cat census are just:
- Bond villain cat
- Lady and the Tramp villain cat
- No hair cat
- Other

The casual euphemism of "relocate". What a merry time for everyone! Let's get Phil and Kirsty in to show Palestinian families around their new homes on the Trump compound on a military annex in Egypt!

Some toilet paper is just too damn thick. I don't want to experience the alarming few seconds when I worry I've accidentally wiped with my t-shirt or something.

Felt compelled to Google what Marti Pellow is up to these days and am now invested in the story arc of this woman who has just had her cataracts removed.

Ikr! Not that UK employers can't be flaming dicks, but they're typically less ostentatious about it.

Ah yes, the most feared of the apex predators. People cold calling to sell you office storage solutions from an industrial estate in Luton.

Although before anyone thinks my mum is a complete psychopath, Jane did (incredibly) survive the incident.

One of the most memorable phone calls with my mother was 30 mins of how the shed was rotting & someone grabbed the last pack of chicken kievs in the supermarket seconds before dad got to it. Then an afterthought, "oh, you remember your auntie Sue's friend Jane? She had her throat slit the other day"

It will be a great comfort as I take my last, gasping, terrified breaths in a burning building with no fire escape routes that my death will serve as the impetus for "buildings to have adequate fire escape routes" to be added back in to the legislation.

The fake tweets thing is pissing me off. In the past I'd have gone to twitter to verify, but since I deleted my account I'm reliant on others to call out this shit. And don't get me started on the, "but the point is, it's something he *could* have said" replies. That's a stupid non-point.