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Monday July 24, 1978

The YP landed on me with a resounding crash. The whole thing is simply too horrific to discuss. Well, it was like this. I was minding my own business in the fashion that I usually mind my own business in, and quite by chance I found myself on Wellington Street, a grubby, protrusion smelling of alcohol, abutting the famous City Square. Then it happened. Yes, a large, grey, slime~covered building leapt out in my path and before I could struggle or make a dash for it I had been totally devoured. It was the Yorkshire Post.

Ode to the Yorkshire Post

I believe you are a newspaper,
Keith's Mum seems to think so anyway,

Myself I prefer the Daily Mail,
I don't know why.

E. Jarvis Thribb.


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