Jane and I submitted this. It made us laugh.
I guess they got more than a few in this vein.
Dan
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MR TRADE-ENVOY & THE BIG PARTY
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MILES:
A Royal Wedding is a bit like food poisoning: you wouldn't choose it, but the day you get off work makes it almost bearable. And this week it gained further momentum with the promise of its very own Mr Men book. The first in a series perhaps.
NARRATOR:
The sun was shining and Mr Trade-Envoy was having a barbecue for his very best friends. First to arrive was Mr Paedo with a big bag of sweeties.
'Hello, said Mr Trade-Envoy. 'Looking forward to the party?'
'Yes,' said Mr Paedo. 'It'll be nice to come across some fresh faces. Ooh this looks promising' he continued as two pretty Little Misses arrived, skipping past security thanks to their unfeasibly short skirts.
'Hello,' said Mr Trade Envoy while Mr Paedo licked his lips and offered the girls a gum drop or two. 'And who might you be?'
"I'm Little Miss Low-Self-Esteem" one replied and danced around the apple tree with her top off.
'Triple-barrelled. I like it,' said Mr Trade-Envoy.
'I'm Little Miss Kissentell' said the other 'Any Mr Celebs here yet?'
But before Mr Trade-Envoy could reply, an uninvited interloper strided over to them glaring furiously. Mr Trade-Envoy wasn't happy at all.
'Mr British-Public. How dare you? I told you never to come to one of my parties ever again!'
'I am not happy with your party at all, Mr Trade-Envoy,' said Mr British-Public. 'And I must say these unsavoury sandwiches are particularly distasteful.'
'Then why don't you f**king f**k off, Mr British-Public, you f**king f**k!' screamed Mr Trade-Envoy.
Luckily, two of Mr Trade-Envoy's best friends, Mr Gun-Runner and Mr Crazed-Dictator's-Son turned up and spoke to Mr British-Public in private.
Mr British-Public was never seen again.
But Mr Trade-Envoy lived happily ever after in his taxpayer-funded Castle of Iniquity.
END