Hey sweetheart! Weren’t those two hot young beauties that we had the foursome with last weekend called Private and Confidential?
G’day Jonny Duhs
How’s it hanging old son? Long time no see. Forever even. In fact, do I even bloody know you bro? Remind me where and when we met. Ah, that’s right, no place and never stranger that’s where.
So what are you doing interrupting my late night punt on the English, Scotch, French, Welsh, German, South African and Italian ponies (and the Irish and Uzbeki yappers), with your rude and uncouth email missives?
Just because poor old Little Dickie Morrison’s got a sad on after I outed him for having his hand in the lolly jar, the pair of you reckon it gives you the right to throw a defamation bomb through my deep web door late on a Friday arvo and upset the trouble and strife and the little tin lids does it?
The bloody hide of you New South Welshman!
I suppose though that when you can’t win an Origin series to save yourselves, and there’s no bloody water in your dams because Eddie Obeid sold it all to his mates, and your Premier’s named Gladys thenyou have to try to take the cheap shots when you can, even if does expose you to ridicule.
We’ve been pissing ourselves laughing about it all day.
But Johnny, given that we’re not acquainted, who the f*ck do you think you are running around all over email town on a Friday race night calling me misguided? Have you been hacking into my TAB account and looking at my bets or something? I may be on a bad streak Mr Snide Sydney Solicitor (funny name that for a bloke who spends half his life instructing barmen isn’t it? Solicitor I mean. It’s a sort of a double entendre when you think hard enough about it) but at least my hitherto vain attempts to pin the tail on a few winning foreign donkeys has a bolter’s chance of one returning a dividend – your little client Dickie Morrison’s highly misguided Mankad-style slander shy at the Butterfly stumps hasn’t got a shit show in hell.
Now let’s get one thing straight from the start. Who’s actually paying the bills for you to write this high priced, wildly inaccurate Friday night bully boy tripe anyway Mr Duhs?
I doubt it’s Dickie, and it can’t be Knight Frank ‘cos he doesn’t work for them anymore, or so he says, although my mail is that the name R.H. Morrison still regularly appears writ large on plenty of the company’s remittance sheets.
It wouldn’t be Mirvac, he’s never worked for them, or at least that what’s we’re told, and certainly not on the books.
Of course it can’t be the Brisbane Racing Club either can it Mr LLB?
After all, Dickie was acting at arms length when he copped the $150 large for his old company when he did the business on the Ascot Green development – you say so yourself, in fact it’s the fundamental basis of your whole defamation thesis – so it would be wildly inappropriate from an ethical governance perspective for the club/company to foot his legal bills, and in my humble mug punter’s opinion a breach of every member of the board’s fiduciary duty to its closed shop of members if that were the case.
This is the problem you get with blurred lines when a bloke wears two hats Jonny, sometimes one falls down over his eyes and he can’t see the good gee-gee’s for the fleas.
So who’s paying your bills on this one son? The sportsfans are dying to know. Surely you’re not doing it pro bono are you? Nah, million to one of that. So c’mon Jonny, in the interests of open disclosure and fair dealings spill your guts son.
I won’t hold my breath.
I can hear your beautiful melodies with the angels from here Dr G. Don’t rest brother, sing.
Now moving right along, my alleged imputations that Little Dickie’s has a conflict of interest between his role as a BRC board member flogging the family jewels and his role as the highly paid Knight Frank salesman working the job are indefensible are they sunshine? You’re dead set trying to pull my chain aren’t you, and you have to be kidding; yourself at least Duhsta, cos you ain’t fooling me.
I’ll let you in on a little secret son. I was smashing beamers over the Oxenham Park fence when you were still in nappies, long before your client’s BRC board mate Svenson even knew where the Toombul ground was, and although I got caught in the deep going the bash plenty of times during my two decade lower grade career spent batting at number nine, I can tell you right now that no kookaburra chucker’s ever flung a ball fast enough to take this Bunger boy’s bails, and neither you nor Dickie are going to be the first.
Let me tell you another thing too mate. I don’t like it when some stranger sends me letters saying I’m a liar, and in fact I consider it to be the absolute bloody height of rudeness. Don’t they teach you manners in the flash lad’s grammar schools down there in Steak and Kidney town Jonny Boy?
I guess you must have just gone to the wrong college son, because the blokes I know down in the Emerald City – fellas like Gorgeous George and the lads from Burwood – are always courteous to a fault, and pride themselves on behaving with impeccable decorum at all times. You’ll never catch Gorgeous and his mates running around the place like Blacktown boys disrespecting fellas and accusing them of being full of shit; no Jonny you won’t, because these lads have manners and they show others respect.
If the boys have a problem with a bloke they won’t be sending him word-heavy wanky letters, they’ll just pull the fella aside and have a quiet face to face chat with him to calmly suggest that he may well be misguided in his views, and that he’s perhaps holding the wrong end of whatever stick it is that he’s been waving around all over town.
I’ll tell you what too, 99 times out a 100 the mature, measured, and absolutely civilised approach works a treat and the bloke usually finds himself so impressed by George and the crew’s courteous approach that thinks harder about whatever it is that he’s being spoken to about and realises he’s in the wrong, apologises, and offers to make amends, and then before you know it the problem’s solved and Bob’s everyone’s Uncle once again.
You’d do well though to take a leaf out of Gorgeous George’s book and adopt a much politer approach to problems Jonny, because George is a very successful businessman who is well respected by racegoers the length and breadth of town, and it’s just because he’s Archie Butterfly’s mate, although of course we can’t deny that it doesn’t help.
Anyway enough of the deportment lessons Jonny. It’s obvious that you’ve made the choice to abandon the common sense ‘my cummerbund should match my date’s corsage’ approach practiced by genteel folk like George and I, and have made a rash decision to go the bash instead. It’s not the course I would have recommended old chap, but I guess you are a big boy now and are free to do what you want. I just hope you remembered to figure Einstein into your strategic calculations son, because E always equals MC squared and that’s immutable.
With that short rejoinder delivered and out of the way here now are my preliminary responses to the bullshit assertions you hurled at me 20 minutes before kick off in the first game of the Friday Night Footy double.
You’re barking up the wrong tree lover boy, but that’s your problem and it’s you that bears the onus of proof.
Duhs you ever hear the old saying about ships and loose lips though Jonny?
Yeah, thanks for letting it slip that while your client was both a shareholder and director of Knight Frank, and a Director of the BRC, he actually NEGOTIATED THE JOINT VENTURE AGREEMENT. F*ck me, that bit wasn’t in any of the published literature, and I had been wondering who it was that got the gig.
Are you sure that you Duhs got it right though young Jonny, because the BRC have made and published repeated representations saying that the advisors who helped them do the business with Mirvac were independent from both the club and the transaction, and Blind Freddy know that Knight Frank couldn’t have been given that Little Dick was simultaneously a Director of both, given that it’s impossible by any definition to be independent when you’ve got a hoof in each stall.
On top of that there’s the issue (according to your own advice) that Knight Frank were engaged to herd the property developing punters into the ring to spin the pennies off the kip, just like Joe Taylor’s boys used to do back in the heyday of Thommo’s in the old Emerald City. I’ve got nothing against two up, especially on Anzac Day, but the fellas herding the mugs in off the street to spin ’em up wouldn’t have been the blokes a disgruntled punter would call in to ‘independently’ a mediate dispute would they?
No bloody way.
So please explain how and why you reckon your man Little Dickie Morrison could have been independent Jonny, ‘cos I’m dying to know.
I don’t mean to harp on about it, but did Little Dick really NEGOTIATE THE JOINT VENTURE AGREEMENT?
I’m not sure if you’re up with the play on this one mate, but the BRC traded off future profits from the joint venture and used it as collateral against a huge multi-million dollar loan advance to them by Mirvac to build the Eagle Farm infield.
If then what you are telling me is correct must be informing me that Brisbane Racing Club (BRC) Director Richard Morrison:
(a) Left the room during a board meeting at which Knight Frank were selected to flog the (Eagle) Farm;
(b) Did so because he knew that held a conflict on interest of such a magnitude that he couldn’t participate in a vote on the issue;
(c) Was aware that the board had appointed the company he directed to flog the assets, and shortly thereafter personally assumed the role of marketeer for the flogging, the ran around screaming sell! sell! sell! to cashed up property developers at home and abroad;
(d) Directly participated in the short-listing of the potential joint-venture partners;
(e) Under the guise of being an independent adviser recommended to his board mates at the BRC that Mirvac were the best bet as their preferred partner;
(f) Proceeded to negotiate the actual joint venture contract between the BRC and Mirvac; a contract that included terms under which the BRC would borrow tens of millions of dollars from Mirvac as an advance against future profits, thus placing the asset rich club/company in a super deep debt hole;
(g) Copped $150 large from the BRC for his exertions, with the cheque payable to Knight Frank*
(h) Reckons that this is all totally kosher and 100% above board.
(* For the avoidance of uncertainty I do not impute that Little Dickie personally copped the sixth of a mil)
Yeah right sunshine. Pull the other one, it plays Fleur de Lies.
Are you sure your client wants to sue me for defamation Jonny? Hasn’t he ever heard the parable about wrestling with pigs?
The process of discovering financial, contractual and other forms of documents could get very bloody interesting I reckon, real interesting indeed.
Wanna tip for free? Have a quiet word in Little Dick’s ear and tell him to read the form guide on the Oscar Wilde and Bertie’s Dad Stakes, and tell him to take a long hard look at the results; or perhaps point him in the direction of Jeffrey Archer and ask him if he can identify the direct cause the un-good Lord’s ultimate fall from grace all the way down to a jail cell. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread sweetheart, and I’ll leave it at that.
Ever heard the story about the bloke who grabbed the wrong end of the stick and thought it was his dick Jonny? Ever read the 2015/16 BRC annual report at page 53?
Oh, of course so you have, that’s the one that you f*cked up when trying to quote at (6) below. Did you miss this bit?
Director Richard Morrison was formerly a Director at Knight Frank Australia (Brisbane) Pty Ltd. In this financial year Knight Frank Australia (Brisbane) Pty Ltd was paid $150,000 as commission for securing Mirvac as a Joint Venture partner for the successful campaign of the Eagle Farm Residential Precinct.
Commission Jonny, commission.
Who’s the dickhead now hey?
Pull the other one it jingles son. What competitive process? Closing your eyes and pointing at a company name on a piece of paper doesn’t count when there’s only one name on the sheet.
I’m not of course suggesting that your client’s bullshitting you when giving his instructions, I’m just saying that eprsonally I’m by no means a true believer in his tall tale.
I guess what we turn up during discovery or the interrogatories will settle this one for us.
Didn’t you read the bloody article your client’s so upset about son?
I KNOW that the BRC knew about Little Dick’s association with Knight Frank. Why the hell would I question the commercial dealings between the two companies if I believed that they didn’t? That’d be a pretty stupid story wouldn’t it? Little Dickie’s INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP WITH BOTH COMPANIES is the whole point of the tale mate.
I’m not sure if your bifocals are on the blink or something son, but just make a good thing of it take a quick Captain Cook at the top of the story that your boy finds so objectionable and its a London to a Brick that you’ll discover that I jumped the story from the barriers by actually quoting Little Dick’s relationship with the BRC direct from the annual report. So while it’s nice of you to point out such matters Jonny, its a bit like telling TJ Smith how to train horses, or tipping grandma how to suck eggs, and given that your client’s on the firm’s ticking clock and being charged in 6 minute blocks it might be a better use of his dough to focus on the main game instead of wasting everyone’s time just regurgitating the bleeding obvious.
Just saying, that’s all.
That was very nice of your client to leave the room while his mates on the board were ticking off on a $150k earn for his company, and good on him too.
But where was he during the mysterious so-called competitive process when the board made the call about which company to award the marketing contract for the joint venture?
Where was he when the ‘independent advice’ was given to the board about who the joint-venture partner should be?
Where was he when the contract that put the BRC into massive debt and gave up their future earnings for who knows how many years was struck?
And what hat was he wearing the whole time?
What was that they used to teach us in first year law? Never ask a question unless you already know the answer wasn’t it?
I’ve seen copies of all the board minutes mate.
You know how we were talking about eggs a couple of minutes ago?
How does it feel to have ’em all over your face?
It wasn’t the 2014/15 annual report old son, it was the 2015/16 iteration.
Get your facts straight, or you’ll end up a laughing stock.
Now that we’ve covered the Pick Six mate, let’s move onto your next assertion.
Let me start by saying that I’m pleased that the punters are reading my stuff in droves. The editing may be awful – I write most of the stuff at 3 in the morning while pissed and stoned, I call it the Hunter S Thompson school of art – but the content’s a cracker, and you learn all sorts of things on my site that the mainstream media will never tell you.
Like for example that I went to law school with your business partner Rowan Lyndon, not that I’d expect him to remember me for lectures weren’t really my thing on race days, and its goes without saying that tutorial time was far better spent in the Rec Club bar. I did Commerce as my 2nd degree rather than Science, in part because the birds were better looking but mainly because I failed Year 9 biology when I spewed up while cutting out a rats heart and told the teacher I was calling the RSPCA. It’s all apropos of nothing at all of course but my memory was that Lyndon was a full-time student, so how come he took 5 years to finish a 4 year degree? Did he fail a couple of subjects along the way or something? I can’t imagine it, but I guess stranger things have happened.
Things like your boy Little Dick leaving Knight Frank just after the business with Mirvac was done and setting up that company of his, Morrison Project Consulting. What did he do that for when he’s mainly just consulting back to Knight Frank anyway? There’s no ulterior motive I’m sure. Well sort of sure anyway. But how come he swapped the silks when he’s still riding the same old horse Jonny? I’m just curious mate, that’s all.
Moving right along and here are my answers to your Friday night demands, and may I preface my remarks by telling you that your client has about as much chance of putting this matter behind him by getting me to bend over and be fucked by you as Cyril the Clydesdale has of beating Winx in the W.S. Cox Plate, and about 1/188th of the chance again. He’s not a shit show in hell on a horse dung hailing day.
But anyway, here’s your response:
- Kiss my arse.
- See (1) and (2) above.
- It would be like me releasing Jecinta Franklin from the silk scarves I’ve tied her arms to the bed with and saying ‘no J, I just can’t do it, you’ve put on point 2 of a pound and I just can’t get it up for fat chicks’. Imagined.
And you don’t need to tell me that you’ve Calderbanked me boy, ‘cos I’ve been Caldebanking c*nts for years, although I usually don’t bother spelling it out in offers made on defamation matters because it’s all statutorily captured in the Act. You know that as well as I do Jonny boy, you’re just trying to act tough and put the frighteners on a bloke that you have seriously misjudged by believing to be an ignorant mug punter who actually gives a f*ck.
The only fellas who scare me enough to ask how high when they say jump little lawyer boy are fellas like Mick Gatto and George, and I have lunch with them and visit their homes, so I’d advise you to give up on the bully boy tactics right now because you’re simply wasting your time and your clients money trying to intimidate me.
You really should do a bit of research and conduct a spot of due diligence before you shoot off your gun or your mouth Jonny.
Similarly, if you are going to be a smart arse and pretend you’re a legal genius by citing lead cases, then you might also wanna try citing them correctly.
It’s not Calderbank v Calderbank  3 All ER 33 you f*cking idiot, it’s 333.
And if you do insist on misquoting cases for which you can’t even get the citations right, perhaps you could at least attempt to enunciate the core principles drawn from the judgments correctly, or perhaps get one of your stablemates to explain it first.
You’ve given me just four clear days (you missed the Friday arvo C.O.B. cutoff so the clear day count starts at zero on Monday) to respond to your offer, despite it being well within your contemplation that during that time I may need to:
- make an appointment with Legal Aid
- attend the appointment and fill in the paperwork for an application to get all lawyered up
- have legal aid determine my application
- receive advice on the matter if my claim is successful
- collect up the missus’ belongings and cart ’em down to the pawnbrokers to hock for a bank to pay a privately instructed lawyer for advice if it’s not
- receive advice that way
- consider the advice
- go back and meet with my lawyer again after I’ve considered it
- provide them with instructions about which way I want to play it
- have them draft a response according to my instructions
- check and review the response
- send it to Sydney
Are you seriously suggesting that, given the above, your offer is capable of acceptance by a mug punter who doesn’t spend his days playing dress ups and wearing wigs in a lawyers office? Puh-lease Jonny, haven’t you even bothered to read the uncited ‘related cases’ to which you refer? Try Edwards Madigan Torillo Briggs Pty Ltd v Stack  NSWCA 302 for a start son, you mind find it enlightening.
And re-read the last paragraph of your right hook – sorry, Concerns Notice – fell and explain something to me:
If your offer is made on a one-time only basis at this early stage, on a how many times basis will you be repeating the offer in the middle and final stage. Don’t forget that under the Australian Rules of Racing you can only use the persuader 5 times before the 100m mark son.
Really? In whose view, because its certainly not mine. Life’s too shorts for regrets Jonny and I’ve never had cause for a single one in all the time that I’ve been writing about individuals and their potential misuses of other sportsfan’s collective funds. I did know a colt from Old Regret once, but he got away. Your client Little Dickie won’t though, don’t you worry about that.
Terms substantially more onerous to me? What, like being sexually abused by a teacher and another teacher to be when I was thirteen years old? You’re living in a glass castle little boy and need to get out and about in the real world a bit more often. Take a walk down to Martin Place and see how the other half live at lunchtime mate, have a butcher’s hook at the poor buggers living rough in the makeshift tents. That’s what onerous is mate and I know, because at a certain stage very early in what should have been my carefree life after I was criminally assaulted by adults in positions of trust those blokes that you are looking at were me.
So don’t ever try to tell me about onerous you little privileged snot, and go and stick your f*cking wank of a Calderbank offer up your arse and tell Little Dickie to stick it up his too, and don’t for a second delude yourselves that this is the end. To paraphrase and mangle Churchill just like you did Calderbank, it’s not even the beginning of the start of the end I can assure you. To pinch a line from poor old Karen Carpenter, we’ve only just begun.
A word to the wise though son, even though you don’t deserve it – blood and stones, blood and stones. You aren’t the first lawyer for an aggrieved fella who’s been outed to threaten me with a defamation action, and I’m sure you won’t be the last either. But Bunger boys are fast learners Mr Lawyer, and always try to stay a step or three ahead of the play, so if you or your client or Magnum P.I. or anyone else can find a single asset in the world that I own then they are either Mandrake the Magician or they’re faster with a bricked up verbal than the entire 1980’s police force in Queensland put together.
Your client went to Nudgee College. Didn’t the brothers teach him anything about Jesus? Didn’t have two bloody dimes to rub together that bloke, couldn’t even buy his own feed, but he threw money-lenders out of the temple, and healed the blind, and raised the dead, all the while being subbed for punting money by a couple of hot ex-hookers. He was my sort of bloke that cunning Mr Christ, and although I prefer my rides a little less well-used than his own, I totally concur with JC’s proposition that there is a deep form of dignity and an exquisite sense of freedom that flows from the pairing of deliberate poverty and a dedication to public service, just as there is a certain pleasure to be gained in keeping bastards everywhere honest.
‘What would Jesus do?’ in a situation like this is something my recovering alco and druggo jail bird team-mates in the Salvo’s soccer team used to ask themselves every time they arked up and were about to blow their parole by clocking a bloke from the opposition side senseless. It’s a question I often ask myself too, and I find myself asking it now.
What would Jesus do?
Jesus would tell your client to go and get fucked.
And who am I to argue with the Son of God?
After all, he’s Gaz Ablett’s brother!
So Go and Get Fucked.
Archibald J. Butterfly Esq.
Sportsman, Horse Player and Lover of His Wife’s Big Boobs
No you bloody idiot! Private and Confidential’s what the lovely young ladies were calling the twins. (They really are the missus’ pair in the picture too, and if you think I’m showing off then you’re bloody well right. Wouldn’t you? What would Jesus do?)