Drivel Of Yore

Daily Drivel - Poodate: 7408


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The Daily Drivel is being updated!

Yes, that's right.  We know you've been enjoying the 
Daily Drivel for a long time, but you have to admit it is 
rather in need of a lick of paint.  That's why we have 
produced a brand spanking new and thoroughly enthralling 
publication called Stuff Today.  Loyal readers of the 
Daily Drivel may have noticed that they have already been 
receiving the new exciting and wholly amazing Stuff Today.  
However, because Stuff Today is sent from your new (and 
equally astonishingly brilliant) website pooclub.com it 
might have ended up in your spam folder because your email 
client doesn't yet know how fabulous pooclub.com is.

So, we are advising you to make sure that you can receive 
email from stuff@pooclub.com because some day pretty soon 
Daily Drivel is going to end.

I know it sounds bad but sometimes you've got to move with 
the times, embrace the new, and bid a stoic farewell to the 
old, no matter how cherished it is.  I'm sure you'll agree 
that this move is for the best and you'll enjoy Stuff Today 
even more than you have the Daily Drivel.

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Saturday 07 November 2020
-------------------------
Saint Justin's Day
patron saint of small penises

The Meaning Of Liff
-------------------
DOGDYKE (vb.)
Of dog-owners, to adopt the absurd pretence that the animal shitting in the gutter is nothing to do with them.

I Never Knew That
-----------------
The most popular pickle is the Dill pickle




Poem Of The Day
---------------

Tweep
(Kate)

The cold grey shipping forecast, 
That boomed around the shop, 
Had heeded to instructions, 
When confronted by the mop. 

Running through the autumn 
The cargo gently swayed 
And continued eating cakes 
That the Lub-Lub had just laid. 

The stairs were bent and loveless 
No gander wath the hoot, 
A lonely ship befriended 
By the hard heel of a boot. 

"John O'Groats, be with you! 
Now toss me to the shore," 
The Mandarin sang, he knew so well, 
As he bounced along the floor. 

Beacons they extinguished, 
God pulled up a chair, 
The smell of ulcers called amidst 
The sweetness of her hair. 

And so to end the fable, 
The night shook stormy red, 
And the lion shrugged his shoulders, 
And the Lub-Lub shook his head, 
And they both went off to bed. 


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The Shit At The End
-------------------
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If you don’t want this bollocks anymore you can deselect 
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