HOW TO START A PUBLISHING EMPIRE BY GETTING PISSED WITH KERRY PACKER AND WINNING HALF A MILLION OFF HIM AT BITCOIN BACCARAT

 They say there are only two things certain in life : Death and taxes. This may be true of mere mortals but Kerry Packer was no mere mortal. He didn't fear death or taxes. He didn't believe in either of them. Death was for losers, he used to say to me, and taxes are for the weak and feeble-minded. For many years the friendly tussle with the ATO would go like this

ATO : Mr Packer, you earn a lot of money. It's time to pay some tax

KERRY PACKER : Fuck off

ATO   You're right of course. We'll just ...ah .. fuck off. Is this far enough ?

KERRY PACKER   More  ... fuck off some more

So how did I meet Kerry Packer, and how did that lead to the founding of this cult comedy publication now loved and revered by literally dozens of the International Discernarati ? This was wartime. Lots of wars, all the time. Lots of wars in deserts and they're always the best sort. I was a country boy with a pocketful of dreams about writing lots of short sentences about war. And in the other pocket three or four grams of finest Cairo White. Kezza was just looking for a bit of excitement and a place to play with the million in cash he always kept in his back pocket. It spoiled the line of his suit but he didn't give a shit. Packer men are like that.

 We ran into each other in a bar on Macau. An illegal but well-reviewed casino called Eagle Eats Chicken. I was a war correspondent for the Otago Daily Times at the time , looking to escape the horrors of actually being there, in Aleppo, when those two bombs exploded, destroying the Press Club kitchen and decimating the wine cellar. I lost so many good friends that day, and i still get a bit shaky just thinking about. Weeks they went without Louis XIV armagnac, single malt scotch, absinthe. It was fucked. Supply chain nightmares. One night the boys from the Darwin Deadly Times had to drink Fosters. It was hell. Kerry was just plain pissed off. The ATO had gone all Super-posse on him and he'd flown to Macau to get away from them. Even bought his ninja accountant Cato Cato with him, so I knew he was worried.

And it went down so fast. Kerry and I had been drinking. A lot. His favourite tipple at that time was Sucker Punch (whisky/OP Rum/Tabasco/blood of Alan Bond) They say you shouldn't drink if you're playing Bitcoin Baccarat Macau-style, trouble is you have to be pissed to think it's a good idea to play Bitcoin Baccarat. It's high stakes high pressure brain bending stuff. I can't explain all the rules but there's a third deck (Tarot cards for fucksake) the dealer has to be a Scorpio with Sagitarius rising. and the rules change every 30 minutes. Punters lose shit at the tables; fingers, girlfriends, their minds. And there was blood spilt there that night. Kerry and I had already seen off a couple of Chinese warlords and a guy who claimed to be Khun Sa's PR man, and I swear I saw Tony Blair's chief weapons inspector in the shadows making side bets. All of a sudden I had the bank and Kerry was looking at me like you're fucking kidding, son, you're going up against me ? 

Then this little guy, Arthur Featherstone, identifies himself as the ATO's chief forensic accountant and serves Kerry with legal papers. Packer turns away from the table at just the wrong moment and forgets to play his Hanged Man card. Looks up, realises he's done his dough, and calls me a c--t. And not in a friendly way. I thought we'd have a bit of a laugh over it. I was wrong. And I'm pretty sure that's why I lost when I went on Sale of the Century that time. 

Anyway. That's how it all got started. I took Packer's half a million and turned it into this non-profit organisation you see today. You're welcome.

But hey, don't thank me, thank Kerry. And yes, as far as I know, he's still dead.

As the years have passed I have become convinced there are in fact three certainties in life :

Death. Taxes. & you can't smoke in the shower (Trust me on this last one)