Chopper Unchopped (244 page)

‘NOW, if they had a “shoot a drug-dealer in the eye competition”, I am sure I would win the gold.’

‘ONE drug dealer I killed – as a matter of fact, he died of shock halfway through a knee-capping – had bragged of overdosing about 50 prostitutes and junkies over a ten-year period in the western suburbs. How could his death be classed as murder?’

‘I’M no murderer … I’m a garbage disposal expert.’

‘SHOOT a terrorist and they give you the keys to the city. Shoot a drug dealer who is killing our kids for money and you get eight years. At least the terrorist believes in what he is doing.’

‘I FIND the selling of drugs to be a girlish, limp-wristed way to earn one’s living. It is the wimp’s way to gain wealth and power. Why should I steal or deal drugs when I can simply rob the drug seller?’

‘THERE are two main reasons why I target drug dealers. First, they are the ones with the big money. One is hardly going to make a big profit from kidnapping and torturing men who pinch washing machines for a living, so it’s simply a matter of logical economics.’

‘I DON’T know why Sydney crooks don’t stick to what they know best, pimping for whores and selling drugs to kids. Every time you see a Sydney crook on television, he is either lying in the street after being killed by an imported Melbourne hitman, or giving Crown evidence against some poor bastard.’

‘I HAVE been described as a monster, but what sort of monster am I supposed to be?

I am a monster who has never hurt a woman, a child or an old person. The general public screams for the blood of child killers and child sex offenders, but when Chopper Read bashes or stabs one of these vermin, the courts turn on me and call me a danger to the public.

The general public screams for the blood of drug dealers, but when I put a blowtorch to the feet of a few drug peddlers, and shoot a few more, the courts declare me the dangerous one. I am a monster who has not turned his hand to an innocent member of the general public, except for the time I attacked Judge Martin, and even then we ended up writing to each other. He forgave me for what I did and I still feel bad about it.

The courts say that the people I have hurt are members of the public and should be protected. Hang on; I thought the public was meant to be protected from sex offenders and drug pushers.

Yet, when I spill a little of their blood, suddenly this lot of vermin are promoted to general public class. Are members of the criminal underworld really members of the general public?

Should they be protected? Do they deserve the same rights as the rest of the community? Or is the truth that they have chosen a path in a dog-eat-dog world, so they should cop what they get and not whinge about it?

Justice Cox, in Tassie, said that it appeared that all my violence had been directed towards members of the criminal underworld, and then declared me a danger to the public.

Now, call me a social buffoon, but what is what and who is whom?

A drug dealer is either an enemy of the public or a member of the public. He cannot be both. The whole argument is nonsensical to me. I am ‘a danger to the public’ because I have shot, killed and tortured a few members of the criminal world.

If that’s not Irish logic, I’m a Dutchman. You may as well charge rat catchers with being kidnappers as far as I’m concerned.’

‘While Eddy was lying in the freezer for five days waiting for disposal, me and the Jew did another two other jobs of work. Busy, busy, busy. Ha, ha, ha.’

‘WHEN I look back on the jellybeans I have shot, stabbed, bashed, iron-barred, axed, knee-capped, toe-cut, blowtorched, killed, and generally upended, I look at it like this: If I hadn’t done it, then somebody else would have. I am not the only lion in the jungle, but I am the only one with no ears and a smiling face.’

‘THEY’RE like taxis. If you miss one, another will be along shortly. And they both smell bad, too.’

‘THE crims today come from quite affluent backgrounds. It’s shocking when you think about it. There is no excuse for some of them being inside. Some of them have matriculated and some have been to university. It’s drugs that have got them here, you understand.’

‘PEOPLE want me to be Dirty Harry, cleaning up the world like a vigilante. I never said I was a hero. I robbed drug dealers because they had cash and couldn’t complain. Steal your second-hand Commodore and you’ll go to the cops. Steal twenty grand from a drug dealer and he keeps quiet. You do the sums.’

‘IN Tassie there are three classes of criminals: white collar, blue collar and no collar.’

‘I’D lived with murder contracts over my head for years.’

‘DON’T ask for mercy from a man who has been shown no mercy.’

‘ALL I can do is put my best foot forward. But if, now and again, I put my best foot on the thick neck of some smartarse, that is not returning to crime, for God’s sake. But just because the lion has left the jungle, it doesn’t mean that he automatically turns into a monkey. I am what I am and I am who I am and I cannot and will not change my mental and emotional makeup. Walking away hasn’t meant that I have gone through a personality reconstruction.’

‘THE screws joke with me about marrying into the landed gentry when they see the Jag-driving farmer’s daughter come to visit. Ha ha.

Grave digger I may be, but gold digger? Never.

Mary-Ann has no brothers and only one sister and there were various crude jests about Mr Hodge not losing a daughter but gaining a Chopper, and at least I’d have plenty of room down on the farm to bury the bodies. (Memo to all authorities and potential in-laws … the bodies bit was a joke).’

‘AS with old football players, boxers and sportsmen, in any physical high-risk area there comes a time to walk away. The ones who end up dead are mostly men who overstayed their time. When the barman yells ‘last orders’ you leave, and I left.

Had I stayed on, I would have become more a figure of comedy than a figure of fear. There is nothing more embarrassing in my opinion than some over-the-hill old fart who still thinks he’s a tough guy.’

‘IT’S like a dog on a chain. You put the dog on the chain for the night then let him off the chain in the morning and he runs around and around the back yard like a raving nutter.

You lock a man in a cage for a year or two or longer, then let him out, and you’re going to be a sad girl if you think he’s going to come home and sit in front of the telly with a tinny 24 hours a day.

When a bloke gets out of jail after a long stay, he runs around like a mad rat, drinking all the piss, eating all the food and pinning tails to every donkey, or should I say ass, he can find.

It doesn’t mean you don’t love the girl you have at home, but it’s like boiling water and having nowhere for the steam to go. Then one day the lid gets removed and something’s got to blow.’

‘IT is 5.30am as I write this. I must let my chickens out and feed them and start my general duties on the farm.

Paul Manning and I cut several tons of wood the other day and I think we have some other nice jobs lined up for today.

It’s either dipping sheep, drenching sheep, crutching sheep or shearing fucking sheep or bloody ploughing up the paddocks with the tractor … And to think I spent years fighting to get out of jail, to do this.

Isn’t that weird? I have seen men die, seen bodies, poured lime on the cold corpses of drug dealers who deserved to die and then stopped for a mixed grill on the way home, yum.

But the sight of Big Gloria [the hen] dying while she fought for her chicks was too much for the old Chop.’

‘AS a city boy with simple tastes, I find the bush great fun. I’ve always been an adaptable fellow and I’ve quite taken to country life. Chainsawing the guts out of everything is great fun. It’s nowhere near as good as turning up the heat on a drug dealer, but it’s better than nude Twister.

Trees are in their own way far more dangerous than drug dealers. Put the chainsaw to a drug dealer and they will wriggle and scream and beg and moan. They’ll call to God and call their mates on the mobile phone and everything’s sweet. But when you give it to a tree at night, it can pay you back big time.

One time under moonlight I was giving a big gum the big lash when it paid me back. I had always believed that all things are based on logic.

To me it seems perfectly logical to cut a tree down with a chainsaw at night by the light of the moon without being sure which way they may fall. It’s sort of Russian roulette with a giant hardwood.’

‘THEY reckon you can outrun a tree – after all, it doesn’t even have runners, but they keep coming very fast. And in the dark it’s luck, either good or bad, on which way it falls. As I ran in the dark, I knew that if I lived I would always remember the following three lessons …

Lesson one:
never cut a tree down at night;

Lesson two:
never cut a tree down at night when you are pissed;

Lesson three:
if you do cut a tree down at night when you are pissed, make sure the cool box is in a protected spot.

‘IN the old days you’d just wave a chainsaw near a drug dealer and he’d put a grand in your hand just out of good manners. Now as a man of the land I am expected to work like a slave around the sheep shit and flies just to keep the wolf from the door.’

‘ONCE, when he was young, Dad got the idea that the next-door neighbours were mistreating their family pet. Every time he looked over the fence the animal seemed to be getting thinner and thinner.

He complained to the neighbours, and said he hated cruelty to animals. Every time he asked them if they were feeding the dog, they swore they were. But it seemed skinnier than ever, and one day dad could take no more. He jumped the fence, threatened the neighbour with a beating, then took the dog and drowned it to put it out of its misery.

It was the first time he had seen a greyhound.’

‘IF Jesus, the son of God, came down to earth in the 20th century and walked the streets of Melbourne or Sydney, blessing people, healing the sick and turning water into wine, he would be arrested immediately and declared a crackpot.’

‘SLIP, slop, slap has been my motto. Slip on your shoes, slop some Irish whiskey into ya, and slap some lap-dancer on the arse.’

‘KEEP a mad person confused on a tight rope between anger and kindness and you keep him fascinated.’

‘I LIKE the Queen of England and the royal family, although a few of the younger ones could do with a blindfold and a last cigarette. The Queen herself is a lovely old dear.’

‘IF you’re quick on the uptake and able to read between the lines the truth threads its way in and out of every yarn.

It’s like the bloke who is writing this book.

He has got ears … you just can’t see them.’

‘YOU must remember I was in prison when political correctness crept up on the outside world, which makes me a member of some sort of deprived minority, when you think about it.”

‘THE more I see of people, the more I like my dog.’

‘IT’S like the monkey who roared like a lion at night and made all the animals in the jungle run away in panic and fear.

The monkey started to think he was a lion because all the animals ran in fear of him at night. It was dark, none of the animals could see that the roaring monster was just a little monkey and so the monkey continued to rant and roar.

Even the elephants ran away with the wolves and jackals, and the monkey roared out, “I am king of the jungle”. Then one night the monkey came across a lion and the monkey roared and growled, but instead of running away in fear the lion charged forward and pounced on the monkey and tore him to shreds.

In the morning, all the animals came to look, and when they saw the dead monkey they all cried and asked the lion why he killed the poor monkey.

The old lion looked at the dead monkey and, feeling a bit puzzled himself, he said, “He’s a dead monkey now, but last night he was a lion.”

I guess the moral is if you’ve got a banana in your hand you’d better eat it and stop waving it about trying to pretend it’s a shotgun, and if you’re a monkey stay in the trees and don’t run around the jungle pretending to be a lion. If anybody wants to roar like lions then they better make sure they have the teeth and claws to back it up. I for one have no tears for dead monkeys. The world is full of real dangers, and police are no different from any other people. When you hear the lion roar, you either fill it full of lead, or run like a rat. You certainly do not stop to check if it’s a real one or you could end up dead. And I’m no police lover, I’m a lover of self-defence and I am a great believer in every human having a God-given right to self-defence.

I reckon the jungle is becoming too full of monkeys who roar like lions, and when they die all that anyone sees, in hindsight, is the poor dead monkey and they all blame the poor old lion.

I’ve shot a few of these roaring monkeys myself. Personally I can’t stand the little bastards. Mind you, some of them gave me a few “gorillas” if I ever put my hand out. And some were more chumps than chimps.’

‘HERE is a story told to me as a small boy by my dear old dad, who was a sort of a bent Aussie version of Rudyard Kipling or Aesop.

In relation to the equal division of funds, there is a yarn of the lion, the fox and the donkey who agree to form a partnership and go out hunting. They were the very best of comrades in arms and staunch and solid friends and plundered and killed with scant regard.

At the end of their hunting adventure, the lion told the donkey to share the proceeds out.

The donkey divided the booty into three equal parts, making sure to be extra careful and correct that each pile of goodies was exactly the same size and weight.

When he was done the donkey said to the lion, “You are king of the jungle so you have first pick”. The lion said “Thank you, my dear friend donkey”. Then the lion looked at the three large piles of game, gold and goodies and all manner of good things to eat and he turned and sprang at the donkey in a fury and killed and devoured him.

When the lion had finished licking the donkey’s blood from his claws, he looked at the terrified fox and said, “Dear old foxy, my fine fellow, would you be so good as to share out and divide the proceeds again in two piles. The donkey, bless his heart, won’t be needing his.”

The cunning fox then set about collecting all the piles of goodies, gold and game and pushing it into one giant pile leaving only a few small left over tidbits in a very tiny pile for himself. Then the fox said “Lion, my dear fellow, please take your pick.”

The lion looked at the tiny pile and then at the large pile and picked the large pile, then turned and said to the fox, “By the way, my dear foxy, who on earth taught you to share things out in such a manner?”

“The donkey,” replied the fox. Ha ha.’

‘A PHILOSOPHER is someone who points out the bleeding obvious to people who are too thick-headed to think of it themselves.’

‘GOOD blokes are good blokes be they in the bush or in the city and a maggot is a maggot wherever you find him and the bush is no exception.

However, when it’s all said and done, where would I rather live? The bush or the city?

The bush, of course. The snakes are just as deadly but they move a little slower.’

‘A MURDER today is a tragic horror, but a murder yesterday is history and all men have a fascination with history.’

‘I THINK my trouble is that I have become a bit of a sceptical old dinosaur. I’ve seen too much and I’ve become jaded and very suspicious. The world is changing and I don’t seem to be changing with it … The whole nation is turning gay or green in a vomit of political correctness. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or shoot.’

‘I’M not saying that a legend is nothing but a pack of lies. What I am saying is that one cannot create a legend without the help of a pack of lies. We start with some truth then add lies to build it up. Everyone adds another story to the story until we end up with a skyscraper of a legend. The lies are the glue that hold the whole thing together and as a result the lies within each and every legend are the most secret and protected part of the structure.’

‘I HAVE become philosophical about the old hand of fate, particularly when that hand is attached to some arthritic bureaucrat. They are all the same. They are stiffer than a body six hours in the boot. They are given a teaspoonful of power and they want to swing it round like a baseball bat. Oh well, never mind, it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry.

A rooster one day, feather duster the next.’

‘MOST of the country people I’ve met could get work as trick knife tossers in any circus because sticking knives in people’s backs is their favourite pastime.’

‘IT shows me that none of us can ever leave the past. It lies dormant in the back of our skulls and like a dirty big wombat, comes out at night for a sniff around and a scratch.’

‘WITH the entire human race dancing on the edge of its own grave, who gives a rat’s about a few bottom bandits.’

‘I RECEIVED yet another phone call from the movie people wanting me to sign yet another contract. I’ve taken a few contracts in my time, but nothing like the one the movie people keep running past me.’

‘THE funny thing about rope is that if you give people enough of it, they insist on hanging themselves, and my smiling face and readiness to agree to the most insane arrangements is not politeness; it’s rope.’

‘THE lawyers were paid more than a grand a day. I got a cheese sandwich.’

‘IN those days Alphonse should have laid off the cake, but what does it matter? Cholesterol didn’t kill him, unless the mate who later shot him blew him away with eight cheeseburgers in the back.’

‘WHEN a man can admit to himself and others that the world is full of men, twice his size, who could beat him in a fight, then he is well on the way to never being beaten. I learned that a long time ago.’