Sir Mixalot. Baby got back.
Kudos to the City of Wanneroo for putting some money into public art, but guys, if you put a sculpture in the centre of a roundabout, there’s a reasonable chance that some people are going to see the back of the bloody thing.
One of the most hideous signs in town. Is that supposed to be blood? I also seem to see the Beijing Olympics logo in there a couple of times.
And the awesome Upsetters with Dollar in The Teeth. Some appropriate music for taking in this North Perth worst. And also for the soundtrack of Grand Theft Auto apparently. (If youtube is blocked at work etc, you may not see the video below.)
Named by a seafarer too long away from port? Unfortunate that they wimped out with East and West. Front and Rear Intercourse Islands would have worked much better. And why no Intercourse Passage? A display from the WA Museum showing the Dampier Archipelago, or The Leg-over Archipelago which was the original name. Yesterday The pre-eminent Rottnest blog Rottobloggo was asking if Rottnest was twinned with any other islands, sister city style. Go no further than Mid Intercourse Island Rottos. You have your twin. I always thought Rottnest was Intercourse Island. More people will have ended up with sand in their cracks on Rottnest than any other island besides Ibiza no? I’ll leave Rottobloggo to dig up the sand/cracks ratio.
Robert Louis Stevenson, Intercourse (Treasure) Island
Welcome to the first Weekend Worstoff. Since it was taking me so much longer to do this type of wrap up, I’m going to make Weekend Worstoffs last the whole weekend from now. Since there is more than double the content, it should last you through two days without too much whingeing. 
I had the idea that these would be mostly outside material, but here I am giving you at least 4 original photos again. What’s wrong with me?
Now last week, Skink was kind enough to explain the term “Spanish” from The West personals. OK, then Skink what’s a Sicilian Secretary? They cut your nurries off, shove them in your mouth and then do your banking? Or as Bedford crackpot suggested, you wake up with a horse’s head ?
Worst fan Poetsquib emailed me this week with an amusing list of Perth Hairdresser name pun/crimes. Thanks squibby. Many of them will be even more distasteful as they are probably ripped off. I hope you saw Anysex Hair Squib. Not a pun, but fantastic. Weekend Worstoff is a chance to air some of my world worsts. Squib’s list of hairdressers gives me the excuse to put up a picture of a beauty salon or “Beauty Saloon” I saw in Beijing. You may well need a drink after the leader cut if Mao’s hair was anything to go by. 
I went down to see the arse and boozie sculpture in its new home at Gomboc Gallery on the weekend. It has been parked next to another of the same artist’s (sans assistance from the yoof) pieces. It actually does fit the new location quite well. Gomboc’s sculpture park has a large collection of works, some shiny new, some in disrepair, some returning to the soil like this one. It is an interesting place to visit. Golden1 sent me what she thought must be a tribute to the arse and Boozie in Camberwell Melbourne. It is also painted by yoof. Why can’t these youths keep their damned legs together?
Some nice worst seen via 1+1=3 Design. For those that love Valiant Chargers, Toranas, George Lazenby, wise cracking Asians and Kung Fu, (and who doesn’t?). The trailer from the Man from Hong Kong. “What were you expecting, acupuncture?” I have just realised that it is the same director (Brian Trenchard Smith) that made the worst of Perth classic The Day of The Panther. A movie I actually worked on. 6 degrees of worst.
After some thought and suggestions, I’m going to change Friday Worstorama to Weekend Worstoff, with enough local and world worsts to last the weekend, so expect that tomorrow. Today feast your eyes on this cowskin bag in a shop in Subiaco. Have a look and see what part of the cow you think has been used.
Another excellent submission from Glenn. Unfortunately this apparition on Beaufort Street Inglewood is now covered over. Looks like a man who would be into “Spanish” to me. I am actually getting through some reader submissions in the past couple of weeks.
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Breaking News! Some of you may have seen that The West journos have put a series of questions to Kerry Stokes about the future of the paper. TWOP has just received a leaked summary of the questions several of the scribes are putting to Kerry.
Pam Casellas. “Mr Stokes, have you ever noticed how funny the difference between cat and dog owners is? I have a follow up question. Old people having trouble with technology. How funny are they?”
Paul Murray. “Mr Stokes. “If you start a new paper, will you be looking for someone who is always right? I think you should be, and I am always right about these things.”
Stephen Scourfield. “Mr. Stokes. Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day? A jug of wine, a loaf of bread?”
Mark Naglazas. “Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me? I don’t see anyone else here, are you talking to me?”
Speaking of Paul Murray, has no one else noticed that there hasn’t been a single Murray borefest since TWOP exposed his last effort to ridicule? Spooky. I hope we haven’t broken him. (My Ning, I blame you.)
First time submitter John Cooke emerged from boozing and bowling to snap these sinister wedding children in North Perth. Thanks John. Somewhat Dr Who. The hands will drop open to reveal guns. Don’t tell me, you came back the next day and the shop wasn’t there? Personally I never trust a child in a white tux. NEVER I tells youse.
Another worst sculpture for you. This damn library computer won’t let me check my email, so I can’t check who sent me this. I have got so many from so many people lately. Skink was it you? If not I’m really sorry. Please correct me in the comments and I’ll fix it up later. I actually wanted to stop and shoot this one myself, but was beaten to it. I actually had the feeling that one of the punters was emerging rather than being sucked into the horse’s arse, but, different strokes… Skink (I think) says…
Two of these horse sculptures appeared last month in the roundabouts outside Ascot. I drive past them every day. At first view I thought they were inoffensive enough – not so much art as signage for the racecourse – but on second viewing I noticed all the waving people, and was not sure if they were cheering on the horse or being run over by it. On third view I noticed the little guy at the back who appears to be being sucked into the horse’s arse. He is flailing his arms madly in the hope that someone will save him. Perhaps the Mexican in the sombrero next to him will grab his arms and stop him disappearing up the fundament.
Submitted by Skink. Very nice one
I thought it was about time I contributed to your excellent blog after enjoying it for so long. Since sculture and art always seem to elicit the most febered debate, I have sent an old fave. Attached is a pic of my favorite Perth sculpture. It sits in the foyer window of an office building at 191 St George’s Terrace, on the corner of Mill Street. I have no idea who the artist is, the title, or what the fuck it is supposed to represent. I used to walk past it every day for three years on the way to work, and never got any closer to what it might be trying to say. It is hewn from a solid chunk of marble, badly. I am not sure if the womans tits are on backwards, or her arse is on frontwards. Perhaps this is a literal interpretation of Poor Lisa’s ‘front bottom’. as for what the gentleman is about to do with his finger – we can only imagine I normally refer to it as ‘The Proctologist’ The photo is with my camera phone, through the window, late last night, after a few whiskies, so is not the highest quality enjoy. Skink
Couldn’t they have got a few severed heads on sticks for this playground in Mt Lawley? I’m reminded of Kurtz’s house in Heart of Darkness.
“-and there it was, black, dried, sunken, a head that seemed to sleep at the top of that pole, and, with shrunken dry lips showing a narrow line of teeth, was smiling too, smiling continuously at some jocose dream of that eternal slumber…” “The manager said afterwards that Mr Kurtz’s methods had ruined the district.” Conrad. H.O.D.
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