“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. 
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The Asia Beat
The Worst of Perth 
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?
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because that is the job of some other governmental employee.
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Not my job.
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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.
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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.
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I’m not seeing much merit in it. If it was on a Cocos frond maybe…
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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?
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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.
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I just spit on Yok and his ilk. Yeah, take that Yok.
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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.
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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)
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I like to think that the octopi are holding magnifying glasses which, in turn, burnt out the motorised cycle.
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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.
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Don’t forget their gullies.
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Indeed they are.
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I was going to say something like Willie Town, in relation to your ‘all manner of wank’ comment. Then I thought that would just be silly.
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That’s gold shazza!
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You are on fire today shazza
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and what about the trend to name the said slab of bitumen a Garden! That is usually green with grass, trees and flowery stuff not pavement.
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I classify that as wheat-pasting, rather than stenciling, but then, I’d probably be outing myself as a wanker for knowing that…….
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And since it is pre prepared rather than done on the spot, I still think it could have been much better. Tame, lame and boring.
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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
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“omnipresent lap dance’? There’s some good news boys.
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If it’s all one piece then yes, kudos.
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A “Stag Do”? What? Who the hell has ever called it that? Reminds me of how older generations still call IGA “Cheap Foods”.
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He he! we still call the IGA in Kalamunda – Crabbs which it was called in the seventies (after the owners).
and the Woolworths on Canning road Charlie Carters. But we just do it to annoy the kids.
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but do you remember tom the cheap? and woolworths?
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Yes! we refer to the area where the Merchant and Liquor Land are as Tom the Cheap.
(Please ignore my small identity crisis!)
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it must be the week for identity crises.
do you buy your hardware supplies from woolworths?
are we showing our age?
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Iv’e been known to slip R&I into the conversation when discussing a trip the bank.
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Do you buy Brashs gift vouchers as Xmas presents?
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Those fancying a stroll down the aisles of memory will find many of these featured in this magnificent archive.
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Ljuke don’t Brashs exist anymore?
Oh my, I am old.
I just told a young kiddy off for talking to me in a patronising manner over the telephone. I bet when he hung up he called me an old bag. Or is it old cunt these days?
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Don’t worry, I’m sure Jenny Satan gets called both of those too.
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I was born a Vox Adeon man…
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I’m more an Archie Martin woman.
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Or the double threat of Archie Martin Vox?
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Ljuke that’s sounding a touch Venereal Disease. As in, Iv’e got a bad case of the Archie Martin Vox’s
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how about fucken ‘Copperart’! We used to drive thru Midland laughing at Cop – a – fart and Macho Fartin’ Ox… ah my youth
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So that’s why mum always called David Jones Foy’s.
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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?
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Yes BrownBook they are annoyingly loud. They are the Silky Terriers of the motor world.
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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.
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And doesn’t Russell Woolf ride one of those poxy scooters?
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Correct – spotted Wolfy mounting the curb on one before entering the Flipside Burgers in Wembley a couple of years back.
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Russell Wolf mounted a curb? Dear god!
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Mounting ?
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Snap.
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Yeah, hard to believe the tires didn’t pop. Wolfy’s hardly a little fella – not that I can talk right now.
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MyNing has some tales of Wolfy in his resource journo days. I can’t remember if that included kerb rooting.
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One of me best mates is his spitting image – I’ve been mocking him for it for years. My mate was forced to concede defeat recently when asked by a stranger in Melbourne if he is Wolfy – haha!
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poxy, poxy?
that’s it
I’m tired of all the dissing of scooters
any more of of this, and I shall have to get the guys from Paradise Lost to come over and get all Northern Soul on your arse
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I wasn’t dissing scooters per se, but now that you have suggested Paradise Lost are a Northern Soul band I hope that Wolfy bites you sir on the arse.
A thinner, younger, more credulous me saw PL with Cathedral at Club Atlantis 15 or so years back. Cathedral carried the day.
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I actually got some shots of the Paradise Lost scooters down near the Belltower in January, skink. I don’t consider them at all worst, but I could send some to TLA, if too many mirrors counts.
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I get it now – PL are a local scooter club. Fuck I hate middle aged “mods”.
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“middle aged” is generous natalia fan
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However old they are, they can JAM their ska records and their vague English accents up their arses.
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Do I recognise any of those members, I wonder?
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you can recognize their members?
that’s too much information
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Moving DFOC.
I particularly like the Hitchhikers Guide To the Galaxy reference.
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yep, that’s pretty authentic, pretty honest.
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It’s not bad.
But it’s not Pfortner – you can just tell.
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is nobody going to attempt a haiku in Winton style?
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Just not possible.
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You’re just too right mate
There’s something special, y’know?
Inimitable.
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The Polish neighbour A dugong spruuts dirt music Fake nostalgia rules
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In my imagination, Dugongs do more in the way of bawling rather than spruuting, whatever that means. Good haiku though.
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Despite Pfortner’s protestations, there’s no reason why a Wintoff couldn’t have a haiku section.
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hey I love to haiku!
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ever seen a hippo shitting? ‘spruut’ is pretty accurate
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You’ll find a hint here, and the answer here, NF#1.
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And I can definitely imagine dugongs spruuuuting.
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Thank you – always good to learn a new smutty synonym.
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Colonic impulse
‘Honest’ dialogue betrays
Basest of natures
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That’s the spirit!
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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.
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heh
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That’s pretty good down to earthy, perthy, watery Wintoning there Natalia Fan #1. Or maybe it’s Pfortnering now.
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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.
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What about MY Wintoning?
https://theworstofperth.com/2010/02/16/sucked-off-the-planet/#comment-35820
Did I leave too much actual Winton in it?
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Duly noted. I did try to pay you the compliment of continuing your vignette with a short passage containing a suitable Wintonesque simile.
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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.
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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.
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Winton’s a second-rate Pfortner clone.
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I’d like to see “Our Pfortner” in a “Wintoff” with that lightweight Tim…
The Dugongs are fucked.
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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…
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I SAID
THE DUGONGS ARE FUCKED
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The Tim Supporters Club consists of several hundred lanyard wearing dugongs in a large glass saltwater tank erected on the west side of the Oval.
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Brilliant! This has got to be a band name.
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A environmentally themed grindcore band perhaps?
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I think the chief difference between that loathsome, reactionary hack Winton and the esteemed luminaries that comprise the TWOP comments community is that Tim has to churn out this garbage, pose for portaits in regional art galleries, be a celebrated West Australian etc etc etc, because his very livelihood depends upon it, whereas we brave few are at liberty, ready to fall victim to the hot iron of inspiration where’er it may strike, be it Hampden Road once or again. That’s why Tim sucks and we’re great.
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Looking at the bigger photo, I think the tentacles are holding tennis raquets.
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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.
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It always comes back to tentacles.
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Usually skink’s.
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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 !
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