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The hangdog look works a treat Poo, but there’s a bit of lint on your jumper son

Wayne Francis Innes – aka Wayne Solomon and Wayne Solomon Innes – is presently on bail facing more charges of crookedry and corruption than you could poke seven sticks at, and if the odds on shot gets up as expected and he is convicted a proceeds of crime recovery order is quickly sure to follow.

Save the trees is my advice.

The Poo ain’t got nothing. Well not in his name anyway, for our favorite fraudster and one-time Balmain Tiger turned turtle has toddled along the well trodden path down to the sewerage works – stopping via ITSA along the way to falsely declare a few things and swear that stuff that is not true is – and plunged head first into every crim’s favorite pool dirty water, the Bankruptcy Baths.

Yes sportsfans, to none of your surprise the dodgy earthmoving contractor facing fraud-style charges relating both to the Brisbane Racing Club great Rock n’ Roll track rip-off and to Paul Taking the Pisasale’s corrupt kingdom in Ippy – a rare double indeed – has declared himself stony broke.

That means that when he eventually nods to a small clutch of reduced charges as part of a deal struck with the DPP in return for rolling over and naming names, the good folk and bad that the Poo robbed blind won’t be getting a goddamn cracker unless his bankruptcy trustee comes down to the members at Doomben one Saturday arvo, hides behind a tree until the Poo approaches the bookies, and jumps out and grabs a couple of grand in crisp green banknotes out of his hand before he gets on.


Either that or the trustee can park up out the front of one of Brisbane’s most elite Anglican Church owned private schools and waits for Waynie Poo to rock up with 22 large in his paw in untraceable used bank notes to pay his kid’s school fees, but I suggest that the ITSA fella brings about a decade’s worth of lunch packs with him on the stalk because it’s highly likely that it’s going to be a long wait both for him and the Bursar waiting to cop the fees.


It won’t hurt Waynie overly I guess, or the kid, because I’m sure he won’t need more than chump change inside – if he can keep away from the temptations of exotic betting options offered by the jailhouse SP that is, which is no certainty at all – and surely a good Christian school will offer a fee remission to a nice kid whose father is through no fault of the offspring banged up for a bit, and the Anglican Church has squillions and can afford it, so at the end of the day everyone’s a winner.

Except those who got ripped off of course, but hey that’s just capitalism sportsfans and every time a pie comes out of the oven some bugger gets a big slice and another bugger gets none, and that’s just the way the cookie or the pie crust crumbles.

Don’t worry too much about the Poo either, he’s a survivor and in just 30 odd months he’ll be as free as a bird, his debts will be wiped forever, and he’ll be back in the game and will soon be firing again on all cylinders, probably in Tasmania or New Zealand or somewhere where he hasn’t already pulled his pocket the up-fronts and mid-terms off the invoices and don’t pay or performs before, and as such nobody knows his name or is aware of his form.

A smile and a shoeshine, a new name, a gullible head contractor, and a greedy chief procurement officer fond of a drink and a punt is all Waynie Poo needs to pull his magic, and as careless as he is in getting continually caught he is by all reports pretty slick as he’s travelling along the way between recuperatory spells in the Eastern Seaboard’s best free bed and breakfast high-fenced farm accommodations.

We all have our skills I guess, and Waynie Poo’s is the grift.

As PT Barnum used to say, there’s a new sucker born every minute.

Ain’t that the truth Mr Innes.