A fibber or a fool? Old mate Peter ‘Typo’ Gleeson demonstrates News Corpse’s requisite Alice In Wonderland approach to numbers. And the good news about Gore – he’s gorn.

It is now likely this Prince of Rorters and his missus will no longer have their grubby presence hanging around the Hinchinbrook Resort in Cardwell, scaring off potential investors.

In other matters, State of Origin and gay marriage make strange bedfellows – or do they? Resident ‘toonist Bentley has a view.

In politics, is there an LNP turncoat lurking about the place? You’ll never believe who is barracking for Labor hopeful Cathy O’Toole in her tight contest to gain ALP pre-selection for the seat of Herbert at the next Federal election.

We look at an eye-opening campaign ploy in the United States which we fervently hope will not be copied by our mayor come election time … or Cathy O’Toole for that matter.

And eat your heart out, Astonisher, with your piddling little exclusives …The Magpie has an extra exclusive on the untold story of the shabby treatment handed out to Townsville’s secret bid to for a major sporting event. And one of the cleverest photographs you’ll ever see.

But first.

Bentley.

For the ever-alert Bentley, this has been a week of over-lapping developments which have married sport and culture … with ‘marry’ being the operative word. Wednesday night’s Maroons victory over NSW sealed his long held suspicions.

The other sport getting the headlines is soccer, or football as the fanatics will have it. Soccer supremo Septic Bladder remains a fetid, steaming rebuke to all that is decent in sport by refusing to step down after widespread bribery charges were laid against senior delegates and FIFA officials. Blatter fell behind the Colonel Kling defence of ‘I know nuthink’ .

The ‘Pie reckons he’ll be forced out by the real moneymen in the game, the international advertisers, who will face a crippling backlash if changes aren’t forthcoming. The New Yorker’s Christopher Weyant is just the start of a wave of toxic and bitter commentary on the scandal

Words and Numbers … both are a challenge to Peter Typo Gleeson.

Apparently, Typo Gleeson was invited/involved or inveigled himself into the recent beano, the Noosa Food and Wine Festival.

Strange involvement for someone so professionally tasteless (and he doesn’t drink), but there would be little doubt that he was on a company mission to spruik the death rattle mantra that everything is fine and dandy in NewsCorpland. That would appear to be the case when he provided the organisers with these program notes.

Unprecedented readership growth?

Pull the other one, Typo, it yodels. Perhaps you were wearing your tinfoil hat with the wire coat hangers when you wrote that one. You now have the choice of being an innumerate dill, or a deliberate purveyor of porkies. The ‘Pie’s bet, given your track record, mate, it is a bit of both.

Just for the record, these are the Roy Morgan figures for the last three years.

2013:

2014:

2015(to March)

In 2012 – pre-Typo editorship, the Sunday Mail boasted 1,010,000 readers, which by the following year had shrunk to 896,000. Then along came Typo Gleeson, with his ‘unprecedented readership growth’, which saw readership drop to 869,000 by the end of his first year at the helm.

By the end of March this year, another 40,000 readers decided they had better things to do with their weekends (knitting, looking at the ceiling fan, waiting for a Sunbus in Townsville – all more interesting) and the sad old dog’s dinner that is the Sunday Mail shyly boasted just 829,000 glancers.

So under Mr Gleeson’s stellar stewardship, the Sunday Mail has shed more than 12% of it’s audience. Can’t really blame him for an overall trend, but he can be blamed for the emperor’s-new-clothes approach to the truth.

So maybe a food and wine festival is exactly the place for Typo Gleeson with those numbers and his claim of unprecedented growth – people attending these events tend to swallow anything.

Gore gored (sorry, too obvious?)

On Friday, a bright ray of sunshine pierced through the clouds of gloom hovering over the financial world, when Federal Court judge Justice Richard White banned Craig Gore for life from providing financial services.

Justice White was of the opinion that if ‘left unrestrained’, there was ‘a very real risk’ he would commit similar offending in the future.

Gore’s wife, Marina, is banned from providing similar services for the next seven and a half years. In particular, the couple and four other former associates (Mark Adamson, Jason Burrows, Jeffrey George and Justin Gibson, all of whom also received bans of varying lengths) are specifically warned off anything to do with superannuation.

Gore and his cohorts raised $4.75 million from self-funded retirees to purportedly buy distressed properties in the US, but the Gores managed to keep most of the money to fund their lavish lifestyle involving Gold Coast mansions, luxury cars and a private jet. More than 200 investors were fleeced before ASIC stepped in in 2011. (ASIC’s report on the outcome of their court action is here.)

In an entry for understatement of the year, Justice White described Gore’s conduct as ‘dishonest’. To which The ‘Pie cannot resist the rejoinder ‘No shit, Sherlock?!’ No one is likely to get any money back and there remains the question of Justice White’s order that the defendants pay 95% of ASIC’s costs. Good luck with that.

Now comes the test of ASIC’s resolve, following the statement from ASIC Commissioner Greg Tanzer that the outcome had shown the courts, ASIC and the community will not tolerate behaviour that seeks to destroy people’s lives.

There will be many who will be outraged if, given Justice White’s findings, ASIC doesn’t now pursue criminal charges. Jail would be well in range.

But at least potential investors are on clear notice: if Gore continues in his ‘consultancy’ role in plans for a highly speculative investment scheme for the Hinchinbrook Resort in Cardwell, then the best ‘resort’ would be hid your dough under the mattress.

The Preselection Polka.

The periodic Labor Party hate-fest known as a pre-selection contest is in full swing for the right to take on Ewen Dumbo Jumbo Jones in the seat of Herbert. Veteran ALP hoofer Cathy O’Toole figured this was her turn at a very real chance of jumping on the Canberra gravy train, and was said to be mightily miffed when she unexpectedly found she had a challenger for the job in one Patricia Schluter.

Ms O’Toole isn’t taking the challenge lightly, and has mobilised all the left-wing union support she can gather, along with the backing of brother-in-law Capt Snooze Mike Reynolds.

But The Magpie hears Cathy has eager support from the most unexpected quarter. Indeed from within the LNP.

And that would be … Ewen Jones himself.

If The ‘Pie’s informant isn’t just messin’ with him, the word is that internal LNP polling shows that Jones would easily beat O’Toole, but he might have a tougher time against Schluter, who some in the party see as having some political smarts and a wider agenda than the deeply embedded and easily challenged left-wing O’Toole platform. (The ‘Pie is dismissing the noble, well intentioned but pointless nomination of Mark Enders, who even he knows is there just because of the democratic principle of it.)

The behind the scenes slug-fest continues apace, The ‘Pie hears, with a lot of fibbing about who will back whom, but O’Toole remains the favourite because the arcane labor pre-selection system will see the Electoral College have the definitive say, unless there is an unlikely Schluter landslide. Because the El.ectoral College is dominated by Cathy’s left-wing chums from Brisbane, no matter what the locals say.

For those interested, the choice should be announced sometime around June 20 or so. Can’t (yawn, stretch) wait.

Grab The Wire Brush For Your Eyes.

And in the United States, another gal is awaiting her pre-selection.

But in Hillary Clinton’s case, she would seem to have the Democratic nomination sewn up, with no serious challenger in sight at this time. But Ms Clinton is a political veteran, and knows that whatever Republican fruitcake she has to finally face, her profile with all sectors of the community has to be as high as possible from now on.

So it would seem that she has come up with a ploy which she hopes will appeal to the younger, racier and cool young Democratic dudes, while proudly flying the flag of equality for an older paunchy-and-proud demographic.

Or of course, this could just be Sydney Daily Telegraph photoshop job, awaiting the suitable time for front page treatment.

Will Cathy O’Toole or Jenny Hill adopt this strategy? Oh, find me a wire brush for my eyes, you cry.

Quite.

Incredible photograph.

Now here is a truly amazing photograph, and no kidding this time, it is genuine … and is guaranteed to catch you by surprise. Explanation attached.

Best Thigh Slapper of the Week.

You have to be a trusted and respected publication to indulge in some straight-faced leg pulling, so it’s hard to understand the following. Because they have to be kidding.

During the week, The Astonisher regaled us with the intriguing story of our fair city being ‘snubbed’ by London’s Tate Gallery, which, apparently unexpectedly and churlishly turned down our request for a lend of some dead Spaniard’s daubing called Three Dancers. Well, really, the cheek of them. Bloody Poms, wadda ya expect.

That the painter was Pablo Picasso, that his seminal work Three Dancers is valued at $148 million (huh, chicken feed, that’s only 75% of a footy stadium) and that the painting had never been seen in Australia before, is no reason for this high-handed treatment.

Perc Tucker gallery manager Shane Fitzgerald – you get the impression he was the verge of tears while relaying the horrendous news – is extensively and selectively quoted on the non-existent issue. If he wasn’t taking the piss (easy to do with Astonisher reporters) then he needs to check his medication schedule before tripping off with the fairies. Or the media. (see Sandgroper’s trenchant comment in the comment section of last week’s blog.)

However, The ‘Pie will not be outdone in local revelations about missed opportunities. So he can exclusively reveal the similar fate of Townsville’s bid to host the 2032 Football World Cup.

Distraught bid organisers Beryl Flange and Herb Sprocket were incensed when their carefully crafted bid was rejected out of hand.

‘We well knew the games they play behind the scenes, so we knew we had to – ah hem – grease a few palms, as we in the bid negotiating business call it,’ Beryl told The ‘Pie. ‘So we started out offering all delegates eight free passes to Billabong Sanctuary (excluding weekends), and a permanent two-for-one bar arrangement Flynns Bar on Via Vomitorium.’

Fighting back the tears of frustration, Beryl said that when they met officials and outlined their plans for temporary stands at the Tony Ireland Stadium for the opening ceremony, strange things started to happen.

Herb Sprocket said he was mystified and a bit put off when from time to time, various officials had to leave the meeting, doubling over and with hand to their mouth.

‘Looked like they had stomach cramp, poor blighters. They would come back a bit later, all red-faced, expressionless and and trying to catch their breath. Must’ve been some of that foreign muck they eat over there,’ he said.

‘But that’s not all,’ Beryl chimed in,’ Even the representative from Less Microrevolta quietly suggested greater incentives would be needed. Well, I can tell you, we weren’t born yesterday, we could see that coming a mile away, I tell you, and we ready. So we stopped playing games and laid it all out plainly for them – we could go to ten Billabong passes – including weekends!! –  and maybe, just maybe, an open tab at Ribs and Rumps on Thursdays. ’

Herb Sprocket was a proud man, and drew himself up to stand tall. He cleared his throat, the better to speak in a voice reminiscent of Lawrence Springborg.

‘That stopped them in their tracks, I can tell you, and they were obviously carefully thinking about it, staring at us silently and then at each other, before filing out of the room. Really, I reckon we had ‘em.’

That was two months ago. Yesterday, Herb and Beryl received the formal letter of rejection … Townsville’s bid had failed.

‘They said they couldn’t risk being seen to be taking bribes, and turning up at Billabong Sanctuary and not paying would be a dead giveaway.

But then, Herb visibly brightened up. ‘However, things aren’t completely dead yet.’

‘They suggested we could maybe redo our bid, using several of them as consultants. For a fee of course, all they asked was $50 million Euros. Now you how all these foreign currencies are in big numbers to make them sound important, what with their inflation and all that, so we’ll probably be able to get back on track pretty quickly, probably won’t take much to get the dough from the NAB. How much is a Euro worth, anyway, probably a couple of cents.’

Herb had regained the enthusiasm for which he had always been noted at the Rising Sun Rotary Club. “Reckon we might have another shot at those la-de-das at the Tate … you can bet we’d bring ‘em around, eh, Beryl?”

At that, Herb and Beryl seemed cheered up, and wandered off, hand in hand, to Michel’s for their lunch special, a main course AND a glass of wine for just $21!

That would be 13.92 Euros.

Really, what we need is someone with brains who can size up a situation and think on their feet. Like this quick thinker in the Mercedes ad.

Let’s end with another pic, which is the epitomy of anticipatory humour.

Despite it’s cruelty to a fellow bird, it made The ‘Pie laugh long and hard, imagining the next second. Bloody pigeons, deserve it anyway.

Keep a lookout for a crossed-eyed pigeon with a loose cloaca.