When Thomo emailed that he had shots of a bum in an alley I was hesitant. Should some poor devil down on his luck be a part of the freakshow? After all, it would probably have turned out to be Paracleet, WAtching, Outrage or Bento, maggoted after a bender or council meeting. The actual photos were however even more outre than a shot of an unconscious Cookster lying drunk in a pool of his own filth would have been – in an arty kind of way. The two dudes with the thongs are a nice touch too. Obviously thinking, “There butt for the grace of God…”One looks like Daniel Kerr, but I don’t think he can walk at the moment. William Street. 


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Aren’t they looking for the hole-in-the wall pubs in the illustrious laneways of Perth? Or just Perth gloryholes?
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Well it’s not my bum. Too small.
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Bums on Streets, or Arses up the Alley?
this is exactly the sort of vibrancy that we were promised with the development of the alleyways and She-Ra deserves all the credit.
hopefully every back passage in Perth will soon be brimmimg with ooshta.
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that fag end adds a certain je ne sais quoi
two butts for the price of one
although they missed the opportunity to have the ciggie actually in the ring
that would have been smokin’
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Four, if you count the two arseholes walking past.
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yeah, typical stodgy bog fucks. though Captain Sunshine in the back has a certain je ne sais quoi
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Not worst.
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Worst:
http://blogs.abc.net.au/wa/2009/08/drop-your-gear-for-drop-your-jocks-2009.html
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Yes to Ian, no to Russ.
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What is that on Eoins back?
Is that where they plug him in?
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Eoin. oops
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Thats ecaxtly what was said at the birth and when they were filling out the birth certificate.
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completely and utterly not worst.
perhaps inserting his cock in one of those new small laneway bars?
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Scraping the bottom of the barrel here, TLA.
Weak.
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Really, I quite liked this one, wait – “bottom”. I got you. Carry on.
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Does Tim Winton know about this?
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Wayno stopped in his tracks. Far out, he said, see that Shayne? They took a closer look. Struth, he said. It’s an arse. Makes you think.
Shayne stepped back. Dunno, mate. Dunno. He shifted uncomfortably. A bus hurtled past, its cargo a flashing blur like some mottled turtle in the surf. Everything returned to quiet – a magpie warbling from the leaves, Shayne’s heavy, laboured wheezing. Behind them, footsteps emerged from the silence – Vic, the Macedonian, approached. How you explaining this? he asked, stabbing a leathery finger in the direction of the arse. This fun for Australia? How you explain?
Wayno struggled for an answer. Nothing. Shayne wouldn’t meet his gaze – no help there. They were all at a total loss. Dunno mate, he murmured softly. Dunno. Overhead, a westerly blew in, the first hints of the Doctor sending the dried leaves ascatter, rattling the plate glass where it reflected the cerulean sky. A bird landed nearby, its descending wingbeats echoing Wayno’s tremulous heart. How does it look from up there, he wondered. Me, Shayne. Old Vic. The arse. Is this all there is?
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Wayno’s hangover was a bastard: he felt like he had been repeatedly dumped on the Cottesloe sandbar in front of the pylon – but by a dry wave. He tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as they tried to avoid all the hurrying, jabbering city slickers. I hate this place, Wayno thought, and tried to picture the haystacks outside Wagin in which he and Sally Brown would sneak in…
But then he saw the dismembered body in the dark laneway, and then – no! – it was only a plastic torso. But it was too much: he heard Shayne say something – like ‘Mate, look out’ – and then he had one hand on the gritty brick and the other on his gut as he heaved up a bile three degrees greener than the oldest rotting seaweed his brother used to throw on him at Seconds.
It didn’t take long. Afterwards, when he was gulping for oxygen – but finding none in the soupy CBD air – and Shayne was still snickering – he heard a voice close to his ear and the odour of cabbage:
“You make-a me sick and you is sick, mate,” said the Middle European voice. “If you don’t-a like the city you leave it, mate.”
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Bringing out some great bum lit.
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Cheeky.
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Stop talking shit.
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Mannequin buttocks:
Guerrilla art or simply
Waiting for the man?
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Last Chance gluteii
Phlegm-specked bitumen attests
Life’s futility
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Does that tag say ‘Tush’?
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I took the bum pic
It was smelt before I dealt
Stale smoke and plastic
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Holding the gate open with its pubic nub.
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Isn’t that the advertising sign for the location of one of those new coffee enema joints?
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‘Captain Sunshine’ playing pocket billiards in the background was the bum sighter who suggested this was a TWOP moment.
He is a certified Arse Clown.
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he’s not really Macedonian is he
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Michael Winslow (the sound effect guy from Police Academy) is coming to Perth!
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At first, I thought it was a joke website.
Then I realised that Supanova is like Sexpo for the ultra-nerdy!
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It’s real all right. And Lou Ferrigno will be there.
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Wow!
I wonder how much I would have to pay for his autograph?
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Strange to see these two arse sections in the laneways of Perth. know She-Ra is amenable to the Pride Parade, but it is fully six months away. Are they perhaps on a reconn-arse-sance mission, to suss out where to locate the latest laneway LGBTI-friendly bar, have it set up in time for Pride?
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Oh that’s so typically Perth. Why oh why does the LGBTI community have to be the butt of every joke?
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