Gee green magic must be good for cancer.
After all, Brian Toner apparently had the dreaded Spanish Dancer 13 years ago, and here we are in 2017 and the old c*nt with the dodgy as fuck eyes is still looking at the world with them.
How good’s this pot hey?
And the doctors told my old man it was only useful for pain and nausea relief, and to stimulate a dying person’s appetite and desire to eat. Lying bastards – they should all be struck off the medical register.
424 plants for medical use.
Two and bit million worth of marijuana, all thrown in the Wedgewood fine china teapot as a cure for cancer. Anxiety and depression too.
‘Course it is son, course it is.
Boil up the well-watered bush grown Mary-Jane in the billy and whack it in your tea, with a couple of sugars and a bit of milk. Mind you only chuck one plant at a time into your tea mug ya mug – they ain’t that bloody big that they can take a six-footer in one infusion you know!
Puh-lease! Are we all just morons? Or are we simply draw that way by journalists who tell us tales that the men with lots to hide so want us to hear?
At around the same time that Toner faced court and copped a suspended sentence, a bloke named Jason Neale also stood before a judge and pleaded guilty to a similar crime after charges had been laid against him under the same act.
Neale, who had been caught growing just thirteen plants – unlucky for some that number – copped a 15 month lag behind bars.
He was a first offender.
And was the caregiver for a six-year old child (his) whose mother had cervical cancer.
It didn’t matter the Judge said, and the Court of Appeal agreed. He was growing a dangerous drug in a commercial quantity – 13 plants don’t forget – and whatever he had coming he had brought upon himself.
Fair enough too I suppose. Do the crime, do the time. That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
Except when it doesn’t.
Toner, who had been caught growing four hundred and twenty four plants – copped a slap over the back of the wrist with a wet bus ticket. His lag was zero – a suspended sentence.
He was not a first offender, and looked after no-one but himself.
No sportsfans, our man Brian Earl Toner was not a first offender, not by a long shot.
Quite to the contrary, Toner was a willingly violent participant in a gang attack on an innocent young effeminate man who was viciously raped, bashed with a tree branch, and almost died. According to the sentencing judge in the Supreme Court it was one of Queensland’s most vile crimes.
Toner was sentenced to six years hard labour for his involvement in the crimes.
His friend and co-offender, a man named Douglas Leslie Meredith – ‘Doug’ or ‘Dougie’ to his corrupt later police friends – was sentenced to five years hard labour.
Doug Meredith of course later became the number two witness in the Garry Dubois trial, the man whose oddly decreed admissible third hand evidence corroborated the just as fetid four-decades of silence splitting testimony of a hapless half-wit gunman named Peter Hall who shot a bloke he was intent on killing three times from point blank range and still didn’t stop his heart.
Strategically placed together before an unsuspecting jury of ordinary people the combined stories told by this lying pair of lifelong career criminals under immunity put Dobois away for life, in the process creating one of the greatest miscarriages of justice seen in Queensland since the white fellas sailed down the Breakfast Creek River.
‘Yeah Archie, that’s interesting’ I can hear you thinking. whilst in front of your eyes you see visions of a broken record spinning on a deck.
Douglas Leslie Meredith and Brian Earl Toner were, and I reckon still are, coppers dogs.
The blokes who were convicted with them for the violent crime, and received sentences 3 to 4 times heavier – 15 and 20 years we are talking here, a lot of it served – clearly abide by the Geebung Code and haven’t, and won’t I suspect, give their mates up. But I’ve researched this case and I’ve read the material from back in the day, and I can tell you that the pair who copped the heavy lags were found by police in a remote bush camp out the back of Bourke and a bit north, and hadn’t been spotted by a single soul since they’d pitched their tents.
The fifth bloke in the vile crime was a blow in that the other four had only met while out on the piss that night. He’s probably the most unlucky pot drinker in the world, but he couldn’t in a million years have know where the 2 blokes who eventually copped it all for the crime had, in their horror at what had unfolded, bolted to hide until the pair of sadists who’d taken a simple bash and grab over the edge were caught and blame apportioned proportionately.
That fifth bloke was just pissed and got caught in the wrong rip.
There are only two people could possible have known were the other offenders who’d taken off to the desert were.
That pair were Brian Earl Toner and Douglas Leslie Meredith.
Tony Murphy and Ron Redmond’s dogs.
The two members of the corrupt rat pack of Queensland Police who neither received an indemnity – that was Jack Herbert – nor went to jail (sorry Terry) during or in the aftermath of the Fitzgerald Inquiry, even though both were knee deep in blood and up to their necks in the mire of the murderous crimes of the 1970’s that made them, Lewis and Herbert, and a whole lot of politicians filthy fucking rich.
When you owe a cop a favour your debt is handed down the generations until it is paid. There is no statute of limitations on murder.
But backs scratched are backs scratched back.
Brian Earl Toner copped a suspended sentence for a crime that should have put him away until he was old and grey and older again. Take a look below – his cultivation crime carried a 20 year sentence.
Toner got nought but clean air.
Dougie Meredith got slung an indemnity, and did the right thing in return. If you reckon wrong is right.
Garry Dubois copped a life sentence.
Soon the inquest into the Whiskey Au Go Go atrocities will be reconvened, 43 years and one day after the seemingly nondescript nightclub on a quiet Valley road went up in flames and 15 punters just like you and I were incinerated.
And no-one’s saying a word about bent cops, or Sydney and Melbourne big shots, or about standover, or heroin, or Nugan Hand, or about anything that is remotely with in the realms of truth at all.
A couple of mug crims just decided to drive up and drop a napalm bomb in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs of a night club packed with people. Fuck that night they must have been bored, and possessed of a strange sense of macabre humour.
Santa’s coming down the chimney in a few months too. And the Easter Bunny’s just been.
We’re just stupid.