Chopper Unchopped (52 page)

The poof took off, with Dave running after him. Then the bloke fell over and Dave was on him, pistol whipping the poor bastard. The police accusing Dave of being a faggot had turned our minority-loving, articulate friend into a homophobic madman, out for blood. We had created a monster.

The three of us had to drag the Jew off this half dead poof. From then on, we had to keep an eye on Dave, and keep him away from homosexual areas. He was a stone killer, and could not be trifled with. He didn’t want to beat up poofs for fun, he wanted to kill them, all because two policemen in St Kilda had thought he was queer.

It was some time before Dave got over his homophobic condition. But even today, I would fear for the life of any misguided gay gent who made himself known to the Jew, with any rude offers.

Dave had an upper class refined manner and an educated, private school, speaking voice, which he sometimes tries to disguise with an Aussie-style slang tone. Dave thinks his educated voice made the police think he was of the limp-wristed persuasion. It gave the Jew quite a psychological complex. Our adventure into the world of poof bashing sent an already mentally distressed Jew into the world of even deeper insanity.

Poor Dave. Ha ha.

IN READ’S second book, he discussed the growing trend in Australian jails for criminals to align themselves with bizarre cults and groups, including ultra-Right Wing factions such as the Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan. He wrote at length of convicted murderer Dane Sweetman, a self-confessed Nazi and skinhead. Read described Sweetman as a lightweight and suggested that in World War 2, Himmler might well have placed Sweetman in a specimen jar and displayed him in the Heidelberg University. He also discussed Sweetman’s wedding, in H Division, to his long time girlfriend, Lynwen. The couple were married in traditional skinhead gear.

Sweetman was not impressed with Read’s irreverent thoughts about National Socialism and other matters. He asked for, and was given, the right of reply.

Sweetman was sentenced to 20 years jail for the murder of David Noble in April, 1990. The Supreme Court was told that he and another man were celebrating Adolf Hitler’s birthday when they killed Noble. Sweetman is not eligible for parole until November 18, 2005.

I RECEIVE a steady flow of hate mail, most of it boring, humdrum, predictable, a total yawn, unsigned, with no return address, and calling me every foul name under the sun. All of it goes into the bin. But when I got a lovely letter from Dane Sweetman in Pentridge, I decided it had to see the light of day.

It was so well written that it obviously took him a long time to put together. He has abused me in such an upmarket manner, never at any stage lowering himself to cheap insults, that you’d hardly guess his lips move as he reads and writes. In fact, as far as hate mail goes, it is quite highbrow, even state of the art. Anyway, I enjoyed reading it so much I thought I might share it with the public. It is only fair that I give a member of the Chopper Read Hate Club a fair hearing and right of reply, because at least he had the honesty to sign it. Dave the Jew told me that his old Hebrew teacher was a Rabbi named Sweetman and Dave’s dad said with a name like Sweetman, Dane should call himself the Yom Kippur Nazi.

Spectators don’t win wars and in my view Dane and his ilk are dithering, effeminate drama queens, gadding about like a high camp Nazi version of the Village People. Dangerous, by all means, but an embarrassment, not only to themselves but anyone who views them, parading around in their Nazi gay gear, with a collective bloodline as pure as Himmler’s porridge.

What the modern Nazi movement forgets is that the Jews of today, the Israelis, had the best teacher of all time, Adolf Hitler. Having survived the fires of Hitler, it is laughable to think that the Jewish race will fall into a screaming heap at the hands of Neo-Nazi gay boy false pretenders.

Your worst enemy is your best teacher and after Adolf, anything else is a walk in the park. Dream on, Dane, because that’s all you’ve got. Seig Heil.

P.S. I sent Dane a short letter of reply advising him not to lose his sense of humor and wishing him a happy Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Ha ha ha.

THE best jail house lawyer in any prison in Australia is a man from one of the biggest crime families in the country.

Mind you, the rest of his relatives make the Addams Family look like the Brady Bunch. They are a collection of police informers, old bags and toothless, tattooed, brain-dead, gutless, limp-wristed morons, and that’s the best half of the family tree. Of the whole mob, the jail house lawyer is the brightest spark indeed. He got involved in drugs and crimes of violence. If he had been brought up in the right family he could have been a brilliant lawyer rather than a drug dealer. Of course, some would say the morals of both trades are roughly the same.

He is a man who has studied law while in jail, and when he is not moving drugs, spends his time learning about legal history.

He told me once about a famous case in London, at the Old Bailey, where there was a very old judge, believed to be well over 90.

It was an important case, because it made the British legal world question how old a judge should be allowed to be before his judgment may be called into question.

This old fellow was well known for falling asleep during trials, and then waking up with a jolt, not really knowing what case was before him.

This time he was sitting, or sleeping, through a murder trial. A farmer from Kent had been charged with killing his good lady wife. He had been accused of strangling his wife and tossing the body down the well.

The wife’s pet name was Pussy. The case dragged on and the details unfolded slowly. The old judge began to take short naps, with his head nodding forward. Back in those days no prosecutor would dare declare the old fool was asleep. The trick was simply to raise your voice and hope he was a light sleeper. That way you had a chance of waking up the napping judge – and maybe startle a couple of members of the jury before they nodded off as well.

The farmer was being cross-examined, and the prosecutor loudly accused him of brutally strangling his dear wife and then tossing the poor woman down the well.

The old judge awoke with a jolt and began laughing. He then said: ‘Ho, ho, ho. No doubt a case of ding dong dell, Pussy’s in the well.’

The whole courtroom erupted in uncontrolled laughter with the old judge absolutely delighted with his quick wit. He was so chuffed that he cried out again: ‘Ding dong dell, Pussy’s in the well’.

It was all too much for the prosecutor, especially when the old judge nodded off half way through his own summing up.

It is a funny story, but the point is that not a real lot has changed. Judges live in a small world of their own. They live a sheltered life, a life of privileged advantage. They have a certain immunity, they are waited on, protected, and what most of them know about the real world is limited indeed.

Yes, there are some notable exceptions to the rule, but most judges know an enormous amount about the law, and bugger-all about real life.

They are, in short, a most stupid breed.

Many I have struck (I wish literally) have proved ignorant, overbearing, ill-informed, presumptuous, flatulent arseholes, and that’s only their good points.

One is forced to question the sexual likes and dislikes of some of them. After all, they are in a job where it is perfectly normal to wear a dress and a funny wig during working hours. One has to wonder what they do for kicks afterwards.

When will judges wake up and start to consider the victim? Oh, that’s right, they do consider the victim in certain circumstances. Frighten a bank teller with a shotgun and you’ll get 15 years; frighten a six-year-old girl by involving her in some sexual perversion, 15 months. Bash a full-grown gangster and you’ll get four or five years; bash the crap out a child and you’ll get four or five months, plus free visits to a shrink.

If judges refuse to protect children, why should they be treated with respect? There are exceptions, but most judges are a total waste of public money. On the whole, they are a collection of fluffy ducks who can’t find the pond.

I remember one time when I was waiting to be sentenced. In the next cell was some piece of vermin who had been having sex with his two daughters and bringing home other men to do the same. He was charging them money to screw his little girls. They were aged nine and ten. It had been going on since they were about six.

I was there because I had shot some chap who had put a hole in his manners. I got two years. The other fellow got a bond and was ordered to undergo medical treatment. I would have liked to give him some medical treatment, with a meat cleaver.

The judges have it wrong. They are outraged when one crim shoots another, but when the deviates have their way with unsuspecting children, they get a 12-month bond. The next thing they will be handing out medals for perversion.

As far as I am concerned, the rape of a child should be punished twice as hard as the rape of a woman. If a violent sex attack can upset the mental and emotional wellbeing of a woman, the mind boggles at what it must do to a child.

Any judge who can look the world in the eye after letting a child sex attacker off with a bond or a 12-month sentence is, in my opinion, a party to that crime and should be spat on in the street.

I have jammed broom handles up the bums of child sex attackers in jail. I have kicked the scum near to death and I have been punished for it and called a monster, but the judges who refuse to protect the little children are the real perverted monsters.

I spit on them all.

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 blow torch 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, then declared me a danger to the general 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.