Wednesday, April 20, 2011

“WHO IS THE LOCAL PIG?” – Part two

Inge, Lady Friday interviews the proprietor of PRS Defence again.

Inge – You were suggesting (part1) that Queensland was a rough and ready place when you were a young adult: that there are still plenty of skeletons in numerous closets . Where would you like to go from there?
P – “Back then a right bastard ran Queensland.
Funny that. He wasn’t supposed to be premier – a bloke by the name of Jack Pizzie (added by Inge) had been anointed but he died suddenly – for some strange reason.”

Inge – Some strange reason?
P – “Well, he looked as fit as a fiddle when he visited to pay his respects after learning of my grandfather’s death. That was a few days before he officially became premier.
Anyway, Jack’s replacement.
Like Hitler, I doubt whether he had any real clue what harm he engendered by his confident belief in the righteousness of his cause.
The politics of Queensland then were no more than the reflection of  a ‘TonkaToy’ mentality – he, a dozen or so of his mates and anyone else prepared to stuff cash into the coffers for a consideration ruled the roost.
If there was any difference between his tactics and the games played by the present mob was that in his day the cut-throat stuff was usually confined within the inner circle.”

Inge – Hang on one furry little minute. In your last interview you spent a fair deal of time talking about the harm ‘they’ caused.
P – “ Didn’t I. But then I was talking about the purely local situation and the bottom feeders taking advantage of the lack of oversight and accountability in governance and society then.
I mean, how in hell could he run Queensland for all that time without having a clue about the first principles of democracy? (added by Inge)
Those people I mentioned in part 1 were essentially ‘collateral damage’. They most certainly were not intentionally harmed – just that once they were harmed – how can I put it?
Regrettable, definitely avoidable, but once they were harmed it just didn’t matter.
Meanwhile, what the inner circle were up to defies description. - and
They made Al Capone look like a straight arrow but usually confined their skullduggery among their peers and government employees.
Unless, of course, some peasant came to their notice or pissed them off.
Then the cack hit the fan”

Inge – How?
P – Say, by being different or owning something someone ‘more important’ than you wanted for themselves. The tall poppy syndrome, don’t they call it?
Take custom vehicles.
I used to build my own custom motorcycles.
To keep the story short a certain person and his mate who reckoned that they were the only people in town allowed to do that sort of thing decided they wanted to ‘acquire’ one of my scooters ‘at the right price’.
It was only a hobby for me then – to them it was money.
To me it was fun – to them, serious stuff; serious enough to cause me grief compliments of another of their mates who happened to be a bent cop.
I was on my way home one evening when next thing I know I’m being driven into the gutter by some loonie in a car.
Indeed it was a loonie. A loonie cop (IF any cop wants to dispute this – when the dropkick was supposed to appear in court the first five adjournments he was in Brizzo receiving psychological treatment.)
So what do most people do when loonies try to drive them off the road?
Take evasive action, don’t they?
Anyway after he had his fun waving his gun in everyone’s face and had my scooter impounded it took six months, a thousand dollars of my money and an instrument signed by the Transport minister to end up with no conviction and to get my still road registered scooter back on the road.
All that to cover up the fact that he’d been in bloody LaLa land since someone less polite than me had shown him the error of his ways a few months before.
While that’s happening those smarmy bastard mates of that twitchy, corrupt, chained dog, cop offered to ‘buy’ my motorcycle ‘at the right price’.
That was back in 1980/81.”

Inge – Can you prove that?
P – “Doubt if I could directly, Inge, from court records or anything official – but I can tell you for free that the fat timeserver is retiring at the end of this week. Remembered his name and googled it last night. What a coincidence. Big writeup in a regional newspaper.
I’ll bet it’ll take the local bigwigs a long time to train up a replacement for that corrupt bastard.”

Inge – Oh come on. You’re being a bit hard on them and not backing it up with fact. Show me something that can be verified.
P – “ How about Harry Akers, then. More to the point, Harry Akers and his pooch.”
Hey Inge, how many Scotsman did it take to constitute a riot according to the Poms?
Don’t know?
Ah well, someone told me that Just after the battle of Culloden it was three.
Get that, three Scotsmen meeting in a public place was a riot.
Gee, they must have been scared out of their tiny minds about those poor, skinny little, underfed, Scotsmen.
So how many Queensla –“

Inge – You’re really trying to burr me up aren’t you fella? C’mon smartie – how many Queenslanders were a danger to the civil power? Ten? Fifty? C’mon then, tell me an’ then prove it, dammit!
P – “Delighted, and to provide the record –
Are you with it?
A police force on the one hand so completely politicised they’d do anything for their masters and on the other so completely stupid that they decided that one man and his dog going for a walk, in the middle of the night, down a one way road, leading to a cul-de-sac, was a subversive act and such a threat to the peace that the local wallopers had to turn up in force in order to prevent this act of terrorism.
We tough Queenslanders certainly make the rebellious Scotch look like a mob of woozes, don’t we Inge?”

Inge – I wouldn’t believe this if it wasn’t staring me in the face out of this laptop.
Can we have a break and a beer or ten?

No comments:

Post a Comment