Weekend Worstoff 119

Kizz responded to the nostalgia merchants with a shot of the Allenby Leyland building in Ossie Park, exposed when Midas signs came down recently. It used to have a Mini on the roof. Kizz’s father was outre enough to purchase a P76 from here. I’m a bit intrigued by the Ouzo sign. A spirit definitely in my worst of category. You don’t want that stuff coming back up.Orbea identifies the source for at least some of the bogan stickers. This font is in Bali. No wonder Schapelle is going mental with these just round the corner. Vomit Rod?Liluri gets a snicker out of saying “drug arm” and also captures a worst worthy interior. I don’t know where this is, but on a Morris Street somewhere. BTW Ljuke reports that the interior of Cash Twon is worth a look if you get the chance.And Bento sends in “One for the haters” from the Arrondissement.

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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43 Responses to Weekend Worstoff 119

  1. richarbl says:

    Thats a great juxtaposition of signage.

    According to legend, everything that Midas touched turned to gold.
    On the other hand everything that Leyland touched turned to shit.


  2. shazza says:

    Well I, for one, am really looking forward to spotting a Suck my Vomit Rod sticker around Perth some time soon.


  3. JaneZ says:

    I like “Tuffin Up Princess”.

    I considered going inside Cash Twon last week but decided I wouldn’t fit. I am quite small.


  4. JaneZ says:

    It is totally full of crap – Ljuke’s picture does it justice. I could do no better. It’s like bulk rubbish collection, only indoors. Makes the Nulsen Haven et al up the street look like DJs.

    Anyway, the proprietor sort of looms out at you as soon as you enter the doorway. I’m too scared.

    I was looking at the xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxx xx recently though, wondering if that was Worst enough. It’s exceedingly bad, and next to a dog grooming salon, for bonus grossness.


    • JaneZ says:

      Now that is one sensitive censor.


    • Bag O'Turnips says:

      Geez, I indeed work for Nulsen Haven!

      Mind you, not at the NH op shop, though…given my Midas touch, it might look more like a Leyland dealership circa 1973, but in a retro-cool way. Complete with P76s, Minis and yes, bloody Marinas, but in a groovy shade of magenta. Which was about the only thing to recommend it. But then again you could plump for a TC (MkIII) Cortina in that same hue, as well as musk pink LJ Toranas. I wish modern cars, welcome as their general reliability is, would not be almost always presented in such drab and unadventurous tones.

      But I digress, which is nothing new. Speaking of Leylands, my folks bought a Mini S new in 1976 in chocolate brown from the ludicrously named Winterbottom Motors.


      • Marinas had a wild cyan/teal colour too.


      • Snuff says:

        Once again, BO’T, the State Library delivers. Check out Winterbottoms in 1970, and Winterbottom Motor Company Limited in 1927, decorated for the visit of the Duke and Duchess of York. Here’s a fantastic Dodge van circa 1925, with Mt Eliza in the background, and here’s W. J. Winterbottom himself, outside Perth Motor House, circa 1908.


        • Bag O'Turnips says:

          Well done Snuff.

          I too am a bit of a fan of Battye Library, spent many a school holiday trawling through the pictorial collections and microfiche of The West, well before it became The Worst. And to think that this, and all the other blogs are being recorded for posterity there too.

          It truly is an amazing resource, encapsulating some of the ephemera of this state, no doubt pieces of it Truly Worst. Heck, they even have PROSH archived since waaaay back when, even when Jim McGinty was their editor!


  5. JaneZ says:

    Fair enough… sorry.


  6. Bag O'Turnips says:

    Winton comes to Innaloo…

    Bag thought aloud to himself that I might cozy up for the night and bring both my interior decor deftness and bad habits after hours to the somewhat depressing ambience at the Innaloo branch. He tipped himself inside discreetly through an improvised chute, into somewhere far roomier than your average charity bin, although just as musty and manky in its slummy ambience, unfurling onto his favourite floral soak, whereby he pondered his imminent bedtime regimen.

    Bag then extended his preferred drug-arm along the equally flowery cushions copious in number and copious in bedbugs, after fashioning implements improvised in-store mere moments before to channel the spirits of Jah, Morpheus and Fleetwood Mac, recreating his very own reenactment of the Los Angeles Blizzard of Winter 1976-77, whilst Rumours revolved and crackled on a teak-finished Sanyo with a busted cassette deck. Bugger married life, he slurred to himself, content that he was somehow able to both acquire his mind fuel and find a restful alcove in this most unlikely of locales, recalling hearing “Go Your Own Way” at Cooksley’s, where he went clothes shopping with his mum in tow, as a mere thirty-six-or-so month old lad, recalling contemporaneously burnt orange haberdashery and music on the AWA store speakers, as well as remembering Chicago’s “Baby, What A Big Surprise”, which puts this memory quite firmly in the summer of ’78.

    What a big surprise indeed, such a precocious tacker then was Bag. Suitably addled, he now recalled the innocence of thirty-two summers past and mused whether his mum knew what was in store for her only begotten son way back then? That he would again repair to the Morris Place strip at the dawn of the ’10s, finding that by some happenstance he would somehow return, that despite the area having faded far from its halcyon days of thriving small family businesses, and find both long-players from which those tunes were featured in, in the rack of scratched and dog-eared vinyls? Heck, even some of the soft furnishings in this erstwhile emporium were of correct vintage, such the nearby lounge suite finished in a mix of black leatherette and striped velour cushions of shades of blue. Which was not nearly quite as comfortable as the one from the next decade that Bag’s flabby frame had become recumbent upon.

    This eclectic tableau was far to much for even his own already amply warped sensibilities: well fuck my brown dog, Bag slurred, wondering if it were just the drugs, or if it was indeed the reality. Er, I’m just gonna crash, after I skin up another reefer, and wait until I’m awake and the effects have subsided, he continued to himself, setting up an alarm clock with flip numerals to ensure that he’d rise and scarper in sufficient time as not to have to deal with the consequences of having to explain his accommodation to the constabulary, for despite his shabby self-obliteration, discretion was everything. This was his only concession to order and this suited him just fine.


  7. skink says:

    I really do want the one that reads ‘Fuck you, you fuckin fuck.’

    that’s me, right there

    never before have I seen my entire world view so succinctly encapsulated

    I am considering it for my gravestone

    or maybe ‘Tongue my Ass’


  8. David Cohen says:

    Krazy Kym and I were on Teh Diss this AM – Soto, don’t you know – and I detoured up to the bookstore.

    But the penguins have been usurped by Alain Fabregues.

    The person we met had just returned from Bali and had many sticker photos, as well as a stubby holder for me and a knock-off Tiffany & Co brooch for KK.


  9. Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

    I love the selection in that store. I mean, it’s comprehensive, innit. 75 new PP’s. You know what PP also stands for? Paranoid Psychosis


  10. Onanist says:

    That “Drug Arm” op shop is in Morris Place, Innaloo and appears to collect the stuff other op shops reject.


  11. Ljuke says:

    Drug arm looks like Hollywood Hospital compared to Cash Twon.


  12. skink says:

    I went in the bookshop today
    it’s very nice, but rather short of books.

    I saw Colleen Egan’s book about Andrew Mallard next to a sign that said ‘humour’

    I thought about taking a photo but I was the only one in the shop


  13. ronggly says:

    Have sat in the back seat of many Marinas. It was the car of choice for early 80’s dolebludgers. In all of them the side window handles had been broken off, and to wind the window down you had to painfully wrench the remains of the handle with thumb and forefinger.


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