Stuffed, Burnt & Reported

“Our passion are the true phoenixes; when the old one is burnt  out, a new one rises from its ashes.” Goethe.

And the same can be said for scooters. As Goethe also said, a grown man riding a scooter, is like an octopus with a mirror, both see a reflection, but neither can see how fucking stupid they look.

A lovely Willetton worst from David L. Vehicle reported alright –  as a bit player in a lame Willo stencil piece.

About The Lazy Aussie

Commended Haiku writer. A lover of The West's Worst. Perth stand-up comedian, photographer and writer.
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96 Responses to Stuffed, Burnt & Reported

  1. orbea says:

    I like the orange ‘this vehicle has been reported’ sticker.
    Adds a vibrancy Jan Gehl / Matt Buckels / She Ra / Russell Aubrey would approve of.

    I like the stencil too. A lame sherlockian Willo octopus would be worst, but this isnt.

    Considering the sticker, why the fuck didn’t the sticker-er just take the fucken hulk to the tip?

    Like

  2. Hugh Jass says:

    I remember many years ago in Bunbury some thugs actually managed to burn one of those green huts to the ground. They are mini-Telstra exchanges as far as I know.

    It was on the front page of the paper.

    At least in Willo they have the courtesy to simply paint grafiti on it.

    Like

  3. poor lisa says:

    I don’t think the stencil piece is lame, esp as it’s in Willo. It’s better than the sub-Banksy things around Mt Lawley. oh how quizzical.

    Like

    • I’m not seeing much merit in it. If it was on a Cocos frond maybe…

      Like

      • Pfortner says:

        you’re right about Mt. Lawley lisa but this particular case is also shit. Tentacles are just sloppy. What I don’t understand about this contemporary street art crap is why the half-concealed Chthulhu fhtagn? Fat wistful cartoon Mexican hipsters with tentacles where their pants should be? What’s the deal?

        Like

        • shazza says:

          There’s an artist in Freo goes by the name of Reboot. His stencil pieces are all over South Freo. They are wonderful to come across as you meander about the place. I agree the above are not quite up to par. Quirky but a little amatureish.

          Like

    • Ljuke says:

      I did however like the Bills (Hicks, Cosby, et al) that were pasted around the “Post No Bills” signs on the back of Planet Video.

      Like

      • Pfortner says:

        Planet are the worst offenders, what with their long-vanished space-tits mural (definitely not worst) and shitty Hunter S Thompson/ Ralph Steadman print-to-order window stencils (sucky beyond mortal comprehension)

        Like

  4. observer says:

    I like to think that the octopi are holding magnifying glasses which, in turn, burnt out the motorised cycle.

    Like

  5. Bento says:

    It’s always infuriated me that Willeton has no roads or streets. Oh, no, They have mewses, walks, rambles, turns, meanders, boulevards, and all manner of wank.

    And now they have reflective octopuses and flaming V-Motos, to boot.

    Like

  6. CB One says:

    I classify that as wheat-pasting, rather than stenciling, but then, I’d probably be outing myself as a wanker for knowing that…….

    Like

  7. Shreiking Wombat says:

    Could the scooter be part of the overall installation?

    And OT, but according to WA Today, ‘Buck’s nights have become a parody’ apparently. WTF? Don’t these people employ subs anymore?

    http://www.watoday.com.au/opinion/society-and-culture/bucks-nights-have-become-a-parody-20100215-o0zr.html

    Like

  8. BrownBook says:

    Finally, a chance to vent.

    OK, so they are easy to park (and burn), but they go really slow up hills. They struggle to get to 70. They are really loud and they interfere with my telly reception when they go past (which also makes me wonder about the testicular health of any long-term male rider).

    Any chance of moving this installation to Oxford/Beaufort St as a deterrent?

    Like

  9. David Cohen says:

    Andrew could smell the burnt scooter before he saw it. As he turned the corner the odour took him back to his Leederville childhood and the go-kart races they’d all have on Anzac Road. The tyres always went first: by the end of the evening, when they were called in for tea, there had been hasty repairs of rubber and knees below the eucalypt outside Mrs Jones’ haunted house at number 42.
    The view of the burnt scooter made him feel despondent. There was a itchy tickling at the back of his eyes. What beast inside us leads to graffiti and rape and arson, he wondered? His eyes met the gaudy diagram above the wreck but the tears were in the way. His consciousness couldn’t connect with the swirls and abstract shapes, and the images slipped and slopped in his vision like a teenage fisherman trying to catch his first garfish.

    Like

  10. Nevil walked past the graffiti splattered phone exchange shaking his head. Damn kids, he thought, scarcely remembering that he had been one once. But back then it had been different. Folks took pride in their local amenities; graffiti, so-called urban “art” (he imagined himself spitting out the word) were undreamt of, and far from assuming the ugly contours of ubiquity. Even the Evans kids down the road, whose mother was a little simple, and whose father came back the War not quite right, so that money was always tight round their way, had more respect. Ah, Becky Evans, he reminisced. His gaze passed over the abandoned, burnt out scooter propped against the desecrated exchange. Its charred metal made him think of her rust-coloured eyes; its skeletal frame of the thinness of her rickety legs. His first kiss. Nevil stopped and collected himself.

    Like

    • poor lisa says:

      That’s pretty good down to earthy, perthy, watery Wintoning there Natalia Fan #1. Or maybe it’s Pfortnering now.

      Like

      • Thanks, but I continue I bow down to masterful Wintoning of Pfortner. A new Perth public contest, not unlike a poetry slam, suggests itself – the Wintoff.

        Like

        • Duly noted. I did try to pay you the compliment of continuing your vignette with a short passage containing a suitable Wintonesque simile.

          Like

        • poor lisa says:

          Good effort LA but I think there’s too much actual perth in it, as opposed to nostalgic leederville or something, and no sea.
          Pfortner and Natalia should sign off on your final mark though.

          Like

          • Maybe because there’s too much real Winton in it, basically being the start of Dirt Music. I’ve only added Wolfy and Jenny Satan. Can Winton himself not cut the Wintoning mustard? Maybe he can’t.

            Like

            • Bento says:

              Winton’s a second-rate Pfortner clone.

              Like

            • WAtching says:

              I’d like to see “Our Pfortner” in a “Wintoff” with that lightweight Tim…

              The Dugongs are fucked.

              Like

              • Shielding his eyes from the glare of the spotlights, Tim shambled to his position in the middle of the field. Subiaco Oval is a stone’s throw from the happy hunting grounds of West Leederville, and yet never had Tim felt so far from home. As the expectant crowd quietened, he kicked off his bitten through sandals, waved a few strands of longish hair from his freckled brow, and fixed his shrewd brown eyes on his opponent. This one had bested several others to be here; “Wintoners”, they called themselves. The moment brought back all the times in Albany when he’d been humiliated in English class – made to stand up before his classmates and read out the poems Mr Abbey often caught him scribbling in the back of his exercise book. Not this one, no, he almost cried aloud: not the one he wrote for Becky. By the end of that class his head throbbed with the effort of keeping back the tears he knew would pour out of him, like a vast tumbling ocean, later on. Becky, like all the others, had laughed. No one understood. The pain of that memory jolted him from his reverie; winning the toss, he stepped up to the microphone and on the signal began…

                Like

  11. Looking at the bigger photo, I think the tentacles are holding tennis raquets.

    Like

  12. mez says:

    Lurching against his drunkeness Jon set off once again. He knew very well the way to Melville but but was, as usual at this time of night, fading into an unconscious sleepwalk – he would fade back in again, lost and facing a street he could not recall. The dumb pall of the suburbs would defeat him momentarely and he would find himself staring into the side of some lamp post, some bus stop, some street sign until he got his sway up and launched himself in the general direction of what he now knew to be home.

    London had been the golden years and where Jon had learnt to drink and bullshit and ingratiate himself into the society circles that suited his bonhomie. Attacking the clubs at night with the cream of the Young British Artists before Saatchi, before Matthew Collings. Jon knew Mark Wallinger when he had a habit and tried to kill himself, he knew Mat Collishaw before Sensation and when Mat had no fucking idea how a digital camera worked let alone anything at all about death, he had been propositiond by Will Self and appeared in Tracey Emin’s sketchbooks. Jon had known Damien Hirst and watched him become a cunt, had dined at St Johns nightly and stood on the table one night and declared himself “King of Shoreditch!” as the bright young Britart pack cheered and and called him “Fucking Convict!”.

    He leant his head against the side of the boarded up deli. Slowly he found himself focussing on the burnt out moped, the hum from the kerbside generator kickstarting the albumen in his brain. A sick, sorry, vomitting overcame him. On his knees know he noted the graffiti surrounding the bike. Tentacles. Fucking tentacles.

    Like

  13. S. O. says:

    Holly shit !
    My sister was putting them around with her friend (can’t tell names for obvious reasons)
    It’s not graffitis, it’s simple paper taped on surfaces.
    If you looked well, they are everywhere in willetton/riverton !
    I know the person who drew them ! She is totally awesome, and also aged of 16, hahah !
    And yeah my sister was putting them up with her one night. Great job the did, didn’t them?
    And then one or 2 weeks after someone had to graffiti in between them. Tools. I know inoe but seriously he didn’t have to do that there. By respect.
    The box on this picture is just next to Riverton IGA, on high road !

    Like

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