Any bogan speakers out there? Surely they can’t mean “impressive” with a lisp? From Jen.
And Daniel sent one from Kobe Japan. Hunts Manwich with sloppy joe sauce. 
And Pete F loves the thought of a view of sand. 
And Meccano shows a new sacred site, Glenferrie Rd Malvern. 
 | Bill O'Slatter on Weekend Worstoff 188 |
 | rottobloggo on Drizzle on my stick |
 | B.T. on Drizzle on my stick |
 | Bento on Weekend Worstoff 188 |
 | orbea on Weekend Worstoff 188 |
 | shreiking wombat on Drizzle on my stick |
| shreiking wombat on Weekend Worstoff 188 |
 | The Legend 101 on Weekend Worstoff 188 |
 | Jaidyn-Jaxxon on Drizzle on my stick |
| Best ever list of fu… on The Wintoning Project | |
 | LeofromFreo on Drizzle on my stick |
 | NF#1 on Drizzle on my stick |
| The Legend 101 on Drizzle on my stick |
 | The Lazy Aussie on Drizzle on my stick |
 | BrownBook on Drizzle on my stick |
The Asia Beat
Impulssive.
It’s an SS, hence the double S.
I was thinking maybe implosive.
Yeah. Could also be implossive.
But an imploding car doesn’t sound like a good thing.
From the look of that bumper, the car might be too, TLA. And while I’m down there, I do hope Bento has got some nice tanuki shots for you on his travels.
Avagoodweegend.
Certainly not as good as an exploding car, which, I might add is much more fun
not in downtown kabul i’m thinking.
I think it’s more a description of the driver.
Manwich – bleurgh!!!
http://www.obesitypanacea.com/2010/01/hunts-manwich-sloppy-joe-sauce-full.html
http://store.vintagepaperads.com/catalog/AW1008.jpg
And I thought Manwiches could only be bought at Beaufort st Bathhouse
With Joe’s sloppy seconds, if you so wish…
Thanks, orbea. That’s a worst worst by any name.
Our esteemed fellow travellers at the Things Bogans Like blog have covered this issue very well in this post.
I too have a confession to make: I’ve had personalised plates in the past. Three to be exact. A rather incongruous and disturbing statistic for a TWOP (and general bogan-baiter) tragic like me.
I started my heinous addiction back when I was all of 19 and the first one I obtained was “2LITRE” for my (somewhat rough)yellow Escort panel van. The number plate was sold with the van thrown in as a bonus in 1996. Then I motored around anonymously in a light blue VH Commodore wagon, but not for long: I discovered that “BEATLES” hadn’t been taken. And as a bit of 2nd Gen (i.e. Generation X) fan, I snapped them up and promptly mounted them. There went my anonymity, shot to ribbons…I became known as “the guy with the Beatles numberplate”, thus carrying it on to Der Traktor and The Green Shark, both cars I was rather fond of. Unlike the lamentable and utterly shouse ’86 Toyota Corona, which had never deserved the “honour”. I also had inherited a third plate from my late Dad, with the family surname on it. However, I couldn’t bring myself to be so crass as to put it on my car.
At least none of my plates were neither spelt with Leet nor (sometimes admittedly clever) use of homophones in numbers as letters (e.g. “4N TOY”), which is often the hallmark of the bogan. But I got sick of the conspicuous consumption nature of fully personalised plates, so I offloaded the “BEATLES” to a family friend who was there first time ’round. When I purchased my current car new a few years ago, I opted to buy one of those classic 1970s black-on-white reissued former standard rego plates, featuring initials after the X and year of birth: distinctive enough to those who care whilst remaining understatedly elegant, but far too subtle for the average bogue. Also, happens that that particular plate had its original issue in the same year I was born.
So there’s my story. My fascination with numberplates is more akin to that of the trainspotter who understands the sequence and times of plate issues and all the codes for all the country towns in WA, rather than the “look at moi! Look at MOI!!!” aspect that is a factor in the purchase decision of all too many motorists in WA.
how do you feel about cocos palms?
“My fascination with numberplates is more akin to that of the trainspotter … rather than the “look at moi! Look at MOI!!!” aspect”.
I believe you Turnips; I really do, hehe. Not asking you to supply, obviously, but am nevertheless curious about how your family name numberplate would have read. Could be fun (and worst) if you sported a surname such “Savage”, “Dick”, or “Mycock”. Unlikely, I s’pose, given your professed Italian (?) heritage.
For the record, I have never owned a car and never intend to, less from any particular ideological persuasion (though that to, indirectly, plays its part) than years of student destitution compounded by inherent laziness. Even if I did have a car, I can’t imagine that at any stage of my life I would have opted for personalized numberplatew. Among other things, I cannot conceive why anyone would want to make their rustbucket/hotrod/whatever any more conspicuous than necessary to the constabulary, or to anyone else. Just me.
…and, how do you feel about cocos palms?
Hi NF#1, great to hear from you, as always.
I wish I was as ideologically sound as you: having escaped the grip of blue-collar middle-classdom, I at least had the good sense to drive smaller-displacement engined cars since I was 18. After borrowing my old man’s Statesman (V8, natch) for a fortnight at that time, I had trouble with coming to terms with double the fuel bill (and that was when petrol was 65cpl) and vowed never to own a gas guzzler, which I’m pleased to say I have not done. And yes, I’m half-Italian, so some petrol did course through my veins; couldn’t totally escape wogginess, but am sufficiently removed from it to be able to cast a critical eye.
And sad but true, I am indeed a numberplate spotter; when coupled with late adolescent egotism (OK, the car’s a lemon—not only its colour—but check the rego, eh!), there lies the seed of such a moral hazard as owning a vanity (an apt descriptor) plate. I am a recovering addict, thus the vintage reissue. As for my late Dad’s plate: nothing too bizarre, but still something you’d expect from the self-made second-gen Italo-Australian. Look at me, but with the chintziness often displayed by that subculture, yet free of the soullessness of CUB (anti-)culture.
And Mez, let me reassure you that I sincerely believe that cocos palms can verily get fucked. I might be part woggy, but I draw the line there: if I want a thirsty palm in my yard, it’s gotta have bananas hanging off it.
Hate the fuckers, but are they art?
:-D
You mounted the number plates? Was it good for you?
Could’ve used them as a “Censored” sign.
Watch out for prick.
And ‘Implessive’ isn’t even a Japanese car.
i always thought a manwich was a girl in between two guys - or maybe that’s my fantasy life
interrupting reality again……
If you read the excellent Scriveners Fancy, you will read of Tony Martin’s meeting with Burt Ward (60′s Robin) where Ward tells Martin that he and Adam West gave Catgirl a “Bat Sandwich”.
There goes that theory, then. But hey, who could resist ?
A perplexing, not to mention vaguely disturbing, photo MP.
Yeah I agree unspoilt sand dunes are bad. Not vibrant enough. Needs more Ferris wheels and shiny lights and cafes with small venue liquor licences.
or at a pinch, a messy stack of construction site tailings will do