Came for the nip, stayed for the wedding gowns

John C’s sharp eyes spotted a nip on Snow White. I thought it was graffiti, but the cu seems to show it’s original. The greasy fingerprints may be a later addition. He also kindly includes a view of a vanished worst in its current existence, the former very sinister Cityside Church, AKA Discipline and Punish.

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 Came for the nip, stayed for the wedding gowns

  1. shazza says:

    Never mind the nip, what about the face on that prince?

    Like

  2. rolly says:

    What happened to my xxxxxxx xxxx xxxxxx xxxx xxx??

    Like

  3. Pete says:

    The dwarves have only one mouth style between them. Must be hard to do the manical maw.

    Like

  4. Natalia Fan #1 says:

    What woman would not be aroused by the prospect of an imminent gangbang with an inbred aristocrat and his seven height challenged friends? She’s showing a bit of leg too.

    Like

  5. Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

    Mega Video – the only place in Perth where a “Mortal Kombat : The Movie” VHS still costs $24.95

    Like

    • Bag O'Turnips says:

      Flippin’ ‘eck, that’s me local: now has new name and likely, new owners, and is called Major DVD. At the furtherest end of Route 53 (aka The Arrondissement), before you continue by hooking a left into Beechboro Road North, all the way to buggery in the Gnangara pine plantation (which, no doubt, was the scene of such violations, before wasting the poor sods and tossing them into a shallow grave. No, come to think of it, it’s usually just bogans on a spree, burning hydrocarbons, eroding the soil and winding themselves into A&E, after being just a tad too maxxtreme with their various RVs, becoming quads after overestimating their abilities on a quad).

      Apologies for the tangent…back to the video library: they got rid of most of their videotapes last time I checked (some time last year; I don’t hire many DVDs), although I remember a veritable shitload of them going out cheap, stacked in bread trays, in a darkened corner.

      No doubt there’d have been many tapes from best-forgotten sub-genres of cinema, such as the erotic thrillers so popular during the late 80s to mid 90s (no thanks 9½ Weeks, Wild Orchid, Basic Instinct, et al), straight-to-VHS B-grade slasher flix and even some (of the not-so-cool) Ozploitation VHS tapes with faded oversized box covers too, if you were prepared to sift and fossick through them.

      And if I do decide to hire something, it’s generally going to be found at Planet, if nowhere else. What a fucking Arrondissement ponce am I. Typical. Even if it’s at a far end of the said road.

      Like

      • Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

        You’re talking my language BoT (veritable shitload, darkened corner, sift and fossick)- but seriously I’d rather trawl Anglicare for 3 years and still not find it, than hire from Planet. Planet schmanet Janet.

        Like

      • For some reason I thought they were in the same location. The ex disipline and punish is closer to Grand prom, or “Grand Schlong” as it is often known.

        Like

  6. David Cohen says:

    What is the dwarf in the orange cap up to??

    Like

  7. skink says:

    I thought you would enjoy this story about the John Butler Trio assuming crash positions:

    http://au.news.yahoo.com/thewest/a/-/newshome/7853701/cricket-team-john-butler-in-qantas-mishap/

    several things to note:

    1. it says they were at the front of the plane – so was the man of the people travelling first class?

    2. how big is his carbon footprint? I thought they went on tour in a pedal-powered Kombi

    3. how long does it take to get the smell of patchouli out of an aircraft seat?

    4. were any banjos damaged in the incident?

    Like

    • Was the plane about to crash into Ben Elton?

      Like

      • skink says:

        it does trigger a mental image of a plane containing everyone we love – John Butler, Ben Elton, Basil, Patti, Barra, Sattler, Rick Ardon, and the rest – packed with jerry cans of petrol and crashed into the bell tower.

        close your eyes and imagine the screaming

        Like

        • Bell tower? Not convention centre? And who would be saying “I love you,” to who?

          Like

        • Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

          trying very hard to imagine Rick Ardon screaming but it’s just not happening

          Like

          • Or Tim Winton. He’d be thinking the plane crashing “Was like that first time on The Wild Mouse at the Royal Show, when he was up in the smoke for Country Week…”

            Like

            • Natalia Fan #1 says:

              Go on JJ – a monologue of TW’s life flashing before his eyes.

              Like

              • Jaidyn-Jaxxon says:

                Phwoar, he screamed, scarcely capable of believing it himself. They were falling, plummeting, tumbling now, he could feel it – a traditional Harvey hokey pokey of light and golden cloud streaming out of the yawning sky like the effervescent spume of a pie’n’sauce chunder down behind the bulkheads at Trigg on one of those restless afternoons when we’d all pack in the footy and scamper down to the waters edge, to bask in summer’s feverish glory and revel in our first timid glimpses of the pleasures of adulthood. Vera, that had been her name – bronzed and brazen, wily and willing – pumping away with a twinkle, or perhaps it was a cackle, always lurking in the wrinkled corner of her gleaming stromatolite eyes. Those had been the days, he reminisced breathily, clutching at the oxygen mask that draped and swirled above – no, around – no, behind his silvered noggin like a D’Entrecasteaux stinger in the swell. He sucked at it desperately, clinging to the fleeting febrile possibility of – what? survival? – like that injured possum Shep had found out by Jonno’s shed in Dongara that time, after the festival got cancelled. Poor little bleeder. It’d really struggled, fought back like he’d had to do himself, so many times, that slow, sapping crawl against the ever-thirsty rip. You can fight your whole life, he thought to himself under his breath. And at the end of it all – you still haven’t won. Struggle. An important word, it seemed to him, a simple, Anglo-saxon word, borne here by God only knew how many of those sullen, salty settlers, drifting in like so much wattle on the shifting, stirring, surging breath of the Doctor on one of those balmy late afternoons when we’d all go down to hear the seagulls cry their song of hunger and shame. Struggle. He had to struggle. Bloody Ardon’s arse was smothering him, blotting out the air, pinning him against the whirling fibreboard as dreadlocks and mealtrays spilled against his skin in seemingly equal measure, like Chrissie Island crabs in a torrent, out by the stormdrain near Mick’s shop. He planted his firm, talented hands against Ardon’s rigid flesh and heaved. . .

                Like

          • Natalia Fan #1 says:

            Snapsies.

            Like

          • skink says:

            Rick may be worried about how flammable his hairpiece is

            Like

  8. Bag O'Turnips says:

    Look closely at the steel cladding where the sign for the erstwhile church was: you can see the outline of the whiter paint that had not weathered behind the sign. Such skinflints not to bother repainting the fascia to hide the evidence!

    You may run to a paradise of bomboniere and reproduction French Provencal furniture, but you can’t escape your past!

    Like

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