Time’s winged Wintons

G’day records the first example of The Worst of Perth’s favourite author doing something useful. Unfortunately self adhesive so no jokes on licking the backside. What’s wrong G’day, Colleen McCulloch sold out?

About The Lazy Aussie

Commended Haiku writer. A lover of The West's Worst. Perth stand-up comedian, photographer and writer.
This entry was posted in irrational hatred, Uncategorisable Worsts and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

148 Responses to Time’s winged Wintons

  1. Time’s wing-ed Wintons
    Dugong sanctuary in flames
    Ponytail express.

    Like

  2. Shreiking Wombat says:

    Kill me.

    Like

  3. Has some over-eager Wintonphile spruuted on the envelope? I’m going to use that words all day now.

    Like

  4. Onanist says:

    So Tim has a sticky backside?

    Like

  5. Pfortner says:

    The case for triage
    Stymied; choicelessness prevails.
    Oz lit retch at ya

    Like

  6. shazza says:

    stamped his legacy
    dedication to the sea
    remaining hairy

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  7. Enraptured dugongs
    Cannot now contain themselves
    Envelopes of shame

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  8. Shreiking Wombat says:

    The sticky dugongs
    fuck linted navels
    in thornbird oceans

    Like

  9. mez says:

    stamped on Winton his
    bibliography remains
    a good paper weight

    Like

  10. Pfortner says:

    Tim stared excitedly down at the envelope, sitting in the milky, opalescent light of his downstairs kitchenette. Phwoar, he thought, so it’s finally come to this. Me own stamp. Not a bad shot, he considered, probably my best angle. Gut’s not in it – that’s got to be a good thing. Good smile – open, sincere – flashing like a cuttlebone in the Exmouth sun. Actually, he looked pretty good, certainly better than that fucken awful portrait in – where was it? Dunsborough. God, that had been a moment, alright – pretty hard to sustain the down-to-earthness when you’re up on the wall leering like some crucified, t-shirted manatee. He stifled a shudder. Safe here, at home. They can’t see you mate. Can’t point you out – can’t buy you a beer, or let you take that wave. God, he hated them. He shifted uncomfortably at the kitchen bench, hands fumbling for a better position, absently thumbed at a copy of ‘Your Inner Child for Dummies’. It’s alright mate.
    The envelope sucked at his gaze once again. Such a beautiful triptych – perfection. The casual denim, the strident, hawksbill nose, like some latter-day Amerindian warrior loosed upon the twilit dunes. He shivered, a cool ocean breeze shifting the curtains momentarily. He was all alone. Such beautiful stamps. Such a beautiful man. Such perfection. He inhaled, powerfully, abdominally, slipping one gifted, talented hand inside the brine-crusted fabric of his jeans. Oh, yeah.. such a talented, beautiful man. A giant. A towering prosemaster, a sensitive, authentic human being. So down to earth. Oh yeahhh… so in touch… with the West… Australian… zeitgeist…
    For a second, complete silence reigned. The soft ocean balm rolled in, whistling through the loose guttering of his house. Spruuut. Spruuuuut. A soft scent of sprouts.

    Like

  11. mez says:

    CrimeStoppers today’s West pg 47:

    “A woman took a sledge hammer to a car in a McDonald’s drive-through in Malaga last month.

    Four women were in a red Hyundai Lantra sedan when the enraged woman, who was driving a blue Commodore, began to yell abuse at them about 11.30pm on Saturday, January 2.

    She continued yelling at the women as she got out of her car, she then proceeded to smash the Hyundai’s front windscreen and windows.

    The offender was seen earlier in the evening in a pink Lancer with a sticker,2WOG4YOU, in the back window. She is described as overweight, fair skinned with brown hair. She was wearing a dark coloured T-shirt with white trim on the neck and arms with the word ‘love’ inscribed across the chest.”

    Winton-esque?

    Like

  12. Winton despisers
    Expel hate in spruut like sprays
    City of the damned

    Like

  13. Gregoryno6 says:

    Well at least the sender didn’t put Tim in a sandwich between Patrick White and Hal Porter.

    Like

  14. monkeypants says:

    as unaccustomed as i am to public posting, i googled “tim winton piss take” images – and i proudly acknowledged TLA that your site was the first return. Well done.

    Like

  15. orbea says:

    This is bagging shit on Winton because he’s from WA, and made it onto a stamp.

    The others in the series are Peter Carey, token woman Colleen McCullough, Thomas Kenneally, David Malouf and that insufferable cunt Bryce Courtney.

    Get some perspective people.

    Like

  16. rolly says:

    Posers.

    The bloody lot of youse cunts.

    I don’t read books. I read one once. I still can’t see what all the fuss is about. Waste of time.

    Like

  17. Shreiking Wombat says:

    I agree rolly.

    I get all my information from Paul Murray.

    Like

  18. my ning says:

    Three points:

    (1) skink (Feb 17, 1pm)
    ‘inner child for dummies’

    I think that sums up exactly why I hate Winton

    he still sounds like a teenager

    especially when he overdoes his one trick of juxtaposing faux-earthy Australian vernacular with some long word he just found in the thesaurus. orotund cunt.

    NEVER READ ANY WINTON, BUT THAT – TO A TEE – IS EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE LIKE…

    (2) Pfortner (Feb 17, 4.02pm)

    and gloatingly re-reading your own post about a writer masturbating over the success of his own wank is like…

    ERRR, THAT SOUNDS LIKE ME…..

    (3) Lazy Aussie on Pfortner piece (Feb 17, 12.33pm)

    NOT JUST A MASTERPIECE, BUT ABSOLUTELY FUCKING BEAUTIFUL…WHO NEEDS WINTON WHEN WE HAVE THIS?

    Like

    • Pfortner says:

      i’m touched, ning… shucks.

      You’re absolutely right, the ole chestnut about (not) judging books by their covers may have a grain of truth, but you can ALWAYS judge a book by its readership.

      Like

  19. shazza says:

    LA, you are probably correct that Winton would maintain a dignified silence even if his attention was directed to TWoP. Though, should he pop in, he could justifiably claim he is now bigger than Jesus (sorry Beatles)

    Like

  20. And noone noticed that Peter Garrett is being interviewed on ABC’s Book Club about his favourite book. Fucking Cloud Street.

    Like

  21. Unfortunately it seems that Ljuke does nt get Tim for a tutor.

    Like

  22. Don’t forget it’s Garrett on Winton tonight at 10

    Like

  23. For those on Facebook. If you had the chance to ask Tim Winto one question…
    http://www.facebook.com/timwintonauthor?v=wall&story_fbid=114561335260031

    Like

    • Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

      I am ‘liking’ Winton specifically for this

      Like

    • Natalia Fan #1 says:

      C’mon JJ – you put this FB group up, didn’t you?

      Like

      • Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

        Ok my question’s up. Feel a bit churlish reposting here, but so I am.

        Tim – there’s a place deep in the hearts of every West Aussie, from the cloistered glades of Nedlands to the storm-swept Naturaliste bluffs, where your writing really strikes a chord of fever-pitched quintessence. We can all of us look back on those personal milestones – one’s first, hesitant delvings into Cloudstreet, for instance – with a fine, heady blend of fondness and pride. There’s just something about a Winton. Something… ethereal, yet something at the same time so very raw, so very familiar. Something that speaks not only to the hearts of every West Aussie, but very nearly from our hearts, as well. It’s like the velvet song of the sea-cow as it drifts between the blond-fibred kelps and grasses in its sand-girt womb. I remember my first reading of Cloudstreet. We were headed back from training, me and Macka, we’d stopped to take in a couple of tinnies and savour the afternoon’s soft transition into dusk. Down by the beach, gulls swept and soared like an overworked family, scrapping, rankling, roistering, yet at the same time, so calm, so interdependent. ‘Phwoar,’ I breathed, astonished at my own profundity. That’s when Macka slipped me a Cloudstreet, from under his jacket. Anyway, I digress somewhat. My question is this. We all know you’ve done us proud – after all, no dove (or let’s be dinkum, magpie) soars too high, if on his own wings – but have you done us proud enough? Or are you yet to do us prouder still?

        Like

      • Natalia Fan #1 says:

        Oh I get it – it’s another of those vicious faux-populist Penguin Books viral marketing campaigns. Do any of the nuff-nuffs actually think Winton is reading their posts?

        Bronnie Hayes: Can you autograph my whole collection of your books..? If so..I will trade you yummy cakes.!

        Like

  24. Sea cows go big bump when you run over ’em in the tinny.

    Like

  25. Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

    Well as one might expect, his followers, though but simple folk, get pretty close to out-Wintoning us. No commentary, just think ‘menopause’

    ‘…MERCI. I’m just arrived in Australia for holidays and visiting my son and my daughter in law and everywhere I go I feel YOUR writing. I was expecting that, like a secret landscape.The one I had to meet. I would like to offer you the same joy in France. ‘

    ‘Can you say hi to my divine bookclub friends who have devoured and adored all you have given us’

    ‘How do your words manage to rip my heart out and make my eyes leak one moment and leap for joy the next?’

    ‘I love the mystery and fogginess of your stories, and this uncertainty is an instrument/keystone of your writing. ‘

    ‘Do you think that our relationship with water is the defining feature of australianism?’

    Like

  26. Some awsome wintoning happening on facebook.
    http://www.facebook.com/mengeloid?v=wall&story_fbid=150331944976974&ref=notif&notif_t=feed_comment_reply

    + thanks for the shout out TL. I’m thinking “Tom Wanton” would be a good handle for ripoff publications
    Yesterday at 10:01 · LikeUnlike
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    James Paul yeah yeah pilfer that Tom Wanton, change the spelling, tell mistruths. WHATEVER DAWG
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Bruder Pförtner Whatever dawg, he breathed, jerkily. Rough as guts, that’s how he felt this morning. Out in the cold like a discarded four-ex on the Lancelin sands. Bloody pilferers, he muttered. Pack of useless mongrels.
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    James Paul That’s pretty good, he mumbled, hoarser than a crook toad. He felt good, but it was an uneasy kind of good, like the calm before a rotto storm. It was a good idea, but now it was public the pilferers were lining up, scuttling in the shadows like gulls at Cicorello’s. Cowards, the thought, bloody wet dogs.
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Bruder Pförtner It was always the way – had always been the way, too, he reflected, like the glinting swell at that childhood cray-spot down by the rivermouth. Those had been the days, chasing each other wild-eyed down the whooping paths, feet muddied and bloody and carefree, hair streaming behind them. Little ferals, they’d been. Anyway it had been the way back then as well.
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    James Paul yeah i was going to retort with a Conan wintoning but FUCK THAT
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike · 1 personLoading…
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    Bruder Pförtner Mammaries of Ishtar, he breathed. It was too much. All around the fortress lay rent burning, the mingling odours of bubbling sap and scorched blood assailing the senses in a cataclysm of screaming grief, like the first tumbling crash of a breaker out on the silver-hued reefs where he’d landed that beaut groper out with Flynn.
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike · 1 personLoading…
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    James Paul hahaha gold.
    22 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Ben Hogan lol
    20 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Colin KLINE Like that zen serenity, ommm.
    19 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Andrew McDonald
    A Wintoning would improve Inception hugely. “The levels of the dream were as real as the layered decks of the Islander IV, the old tub the family took to Rottnest every year, even though she rolled like a keg of Emu tumbled from an old Ford… flatbed.

    The moronic mumblings of his dream wife he had killed as surely as the gidgied cobblers he’d catch with his old man, the primus light hissing and dancing its way alond the sand of Thompson bay burbled on.

    A hollywood blockbuster without sex scenes? The notion troubled him as surely as the pink Kokoda shirt he almost but thankfully didn’t buy from the tackle shop in Broome.

    The just avoided shame of it tightened his scrotum like a piece of sunbleached nylon rope wrapped around the propshaft of a crayboat…&ceteraSee more
    19 hours ago · LikeUnlike ·
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    Bruder Pförtner that last simile is just sheer bloody beautiful, like the undulating sponges’ spectral shimmering off the coast of… etc
    19 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Colin KLINE MU ?
    19 hours ago · LikeUnlike · 1 personLoading…
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    James Paul Christing crap, Chris clumsily conceded. Cantankerous claptrapping clatter cloyed like cottesloe crays. Caw, Chis cried, (Winton) can’t concisely create concepts.
    19 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Andrew McDonald I thank you, like the mumbled thanks he gave to the prostitute who took his virginity in the sands behind the old Surf lifesaver clubroom…
    19 hours ago · LikeUnlike · 2 peopleLoading… ·
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    Bruder Pförtner
    Phwoar, he breathed. So it had come to this. Alliteration for its own sake. The thread was floundering, like a flourbag on the barbed wire that day the willy-willy tore down the chookhouse. In a way, he still missed that hen. Millie – that …had been her name, a milky grey thing flecked with rust-brown, a battered Land-cruiser of a bird. She’d dropped ’em, too – those eggs – rich golden yolks glistening in their own steam like the innards of a fresh-cracked muddie. Dropped ’em like a camel’s turd, he mused, as wet and stinking as an asinine attempt at alliteration, auguring aught but the sickly stench of sulphur, wafting like beer suds in the near phosphorescence of the Doctor’s first stirrings, weaving its lingering trail from Coogee to Kojonup, carrying with it the dreams, the forgotten wistful half-truths, the heedless whistlings of a thousand barely significant souls… Phwoar, he breathed again.See more
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Colin KLINE
    A tad …

    Melodramatic?
    Histrionic?
    Termagantous?
    …Bathetic?
    Pathetic?
    Melpomenetic?
    Euterpian?
    Calliopan?

    Ah .. yes, Terpsichorean !!

    I shall muse some more on this.
    See more
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    James Paul Looks like fucking SMUT, he fumed. I can’t believe they let this shit onto the ‘net. Some net, he thought. He remembered the old shark net at Whismy Bay. Sometimes the Dolphins would try and swim into the bay, sadly mewling as they tangled and thrashed. A fuckin’ shame. It felt like the time the old cinema got sold out to that big chain, took out all the soul and filled it with garish neon. Fuckin’ smut, he sighed. It’s all just fuckin’ smut t’ me.
    18 hours ago · UnlikeLike · 2 peopleLoading…
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    Bruder Pförtner Liked it at ‘Whimsy Bay’, he typed, fingers chattering away, blithely, like a family’s first outing for babycinos under the soft autumn sun, just a trace of salt-spray hanging, like a gutted goanna, in the breeze.
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Colin KLINE

    Meanwhile, until Maggie PINKNEY turns up … could this help :
    http://viewonbuddhism.org/resources/zen_poems.html

    PINKNEY couldn’t be the standard, could she? See critique –
    http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/592942.The_Essence_of_Zen
    See more
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Bruder Pförtner ‎’Since I purchased it on impulse one day from the bargain bin at a major bookstore, I just keep returning to this book time and again.’ shit that *is* pretty zen
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Bruder Pförtner ‎- he breathed.
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Colin KLINE Zen again, it could be pretty shit ?
    18 hours ago · LikeUnlike
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    Graham Albrey How do I “like” a whole thread ?, or do I have to “like” each individual comment ?, like the cool respite of each shady peppermint on the track down to the beach on a February afternoon, the taste of fresh blue mannas sticky on my fingers and clinging to my lips.

    Like

  27. Pingback: My 2010 Best Worst Picks | The Worst of Perth

  28. The Legend 101 says:

    What the hell.

    Like

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