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Littlerooter vs Princely The full story.


Trouser Area

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[Hi everyone,

Alot of my posts I'll never see again, but I managed to have this saved deep in my computer. It's self-indulgent, a bit of fun and it reminds me of happier days in the old country:

Cheers TA]

 

Good day to you.

Some people might need some context for this post. A while back, I noticed that Littlerooter was producing reviews of a quality that some people were beginning to rate as "good as Princely's". It got me thinking about how far this might go. So I wrote a few excerpts from a fictitious crime novel for my own amusement and to wind up Littlerooter. Anyway, like all things in my life, it got out of hand, as you'll see.

Steelmaster recently requested that I put the whole thing in a single post (all OK'd by AndyJ, by the way). Very flattered I was indeed! So here it is.

 

It began with my response to Littlerooter's remark that he could never be as good as Princely, which was:

 

Princely caters to the high-brow, classy, latte-sipping readership, whereas you produce a read more suited to the beer-swilling, Hustler magazine-reading types. Both are legitimate styles, so don't sell yourself short. I suppose you don't really directly compete with Princely, but all the same, I bet his marketing department have been put on notice to try and get to you:

 

Episode 1

 

Phone rings

 

LR: Hello

 

Oily voiced marketing dude: Good afternoon, is that Littlerooter?

 

LR: Erm, yes, who is this?

 

OVMD: My name is not important. I represent Princely Corporation. We need to talk to you about your posts on FIA..

 

LR: What about my posts?

 

OVMD: Are you near a window, Mr Rooter? Do you see those big chaps in the car?

 

LR: Yes I do.

 

OVMD: If you'd like for those chaps to stay in their car and keep driving, then I would respectfully suggest that your posts become a little more bland and a little less, how shall I say it, "descriptive" in future.

 

LR: Are you threatening me?

 

OVMD: Oh, perish the thought, Mr Rooter. I myself am a huge fan of your work, but we at Princorp felt that it might be useful to you to make a friendly suggestion, as a way of ensuring that everyone stays happy....and safe. I hope you'll think it through, and have a lovely day. *CLICK*

 

LR: Hello? Hello?

 

You've been warned. Expect a call. TA

 

Episode Two: Gary's last day.

 

[The scene is a sterile, undersized and underventilated office, lit only by the harsh and unrelenting light of fluorescent tubes. Gary Mundane, a Foxtel production exec. stares indolently at his computer screen. His index finger abruptly taps his computer mouse with something like impatience, that has become a habit over time, as his uninspired mind evaluates the uninspiring parade of tired ideas dressed as new concepts, that pass before him. This is the world of commercial television. Such is his ennui, that not even the ringing of the telephone causes him to look away from the screen. After five rings, the caller won't go away. Irritated, he picks it up]

 

Gary Mundane: Hello?

 

Slick legal dude: Good morning, Mr Mundane?

 

GM:Yes, who's this?

 

SLD: I represent an organisation you may or may not be familiar with; Princely Corporation.

 

GM: Oh, yeah, and what do you want to sell me, Tiger? And how did you get through to my direct line?

 

SLD: Oh dear Mr Mundane, I'm not a salesperson, I represent Princorp in a legal capacity. I believe you are the Executive Producer on your new television series, the one based in a brothel, am I right?

 

[Mundane's eyes narrow. No-one except the big boys even know about this new show. Something's not right here.]

 

GM: How do you know there's any such show?

 

SLD: Mr Mundane, I don't wish to waste your time, or mine, by playing games. It's a show called "Satisfaction", based in a brothel and my client has seen what you plan to produce and feels there might be an issue over some of the material.

 

GM: [rising] Listen, buster! You don't know anything. No-one could know. We haven't even started.......

 

SLD: Getting angry will serve no-one Gary. I can assure you that my client has had access to the scripting and production material. As a major player in the consumer end of the sexual gratification industry, my client feels that much of the written material you intend to use is in fact owned by my client and is, as such, valuable property.

 

GM: Bullshit, that's just bullshit. This has to be a joke. No-one's seen that stuff except......[Gary freezes as he realises the ramifications of what he's saying]...except.....the......oh...

 

SLD: Yes, now you see. Look Gary, you're a reasonable man. As a happily married chap with three teenage boys at Scotch and a large mortgage on your house in Brighton, the last thing you need is the upheaval of...well....you need to think this through. You've years ahead of you as an EP and you didn't get this far by ignoring helpful advice.

 

GM: Do you want money?

 

SLD: No Gary, we want it pulled.

 

GM: You want the show pulled? I can't do that. I won't do it. The directors won't agree to it.

 

SLD: Officially not, but rest assured, the directors understand the situation. There will be an expectation on you, Gary, to "read between the lines" on this.

 

GM: You slick, bully-boy bastard! You're just some clown pulling my leg. The show will be aired and there's nothing you can say to stop it!

 

SLD: You ignore me at your peril. Good day.

 

*CLICK*

 

 

 

Next week, Kevin Rudd gets a visit from a smooth guy in a tie who says he works for someone who thinks HE has the rights to the "pissed in the strip club" story.

 

'"The election may not be the walk-over you thought it would be, Mr Rudd.............", smirked the menacing stranger........'

 

Stay tuned.

 

 

Episode 3: Princely makes his move.

On a quiet Sunday, we find Princely at his desk. Just time for a quick look at FIA before heading off for a pre-arranged punt and lunch. Nothing to worry him on the forum this morning. The new reviews are not up to his own standard and his reign as Prince of Punting looks set to continue unchallenged. Scroll down and....what's this? Littlerooter has posted something. He reads and his anger builds, "Damn him, this is too much! This bastard's going to ruin me". His reply to LR's post is short - "Well done LR, that's a great review and here's hoping you live to post more like it."

He reaches for his phone, "Narelle? Can you get Rocky and Crusher to come and see me ASAP, please?...Oh, and I'm going to have to cancel my eleven o'clock, one thirty and three o'clock punts. Can you please see to that?.....No...leave the five thirty and my evening schedule as is, thanks".

He hangs up. "Right then, Littlerooter", he mutters to himself, "Time to clip your wings, Sunshine".

By the time the boys knock on the office door, Princely is incandescent with rage. "Bring this Littlerooter to me!!" he screams, pounding the desk, "I've tried to be nice, I've tried reason, but now the gloves are off. Go! Go!"

Rocky and Crusher head for the door. Even these two tough-nuts are a little rattled when the boss is looking for blood. Before they can get out, Princely calls out "Wait, Rocky!" The big man stops, "Yes boss?". The calm control has returned to Princely's voice and he smiles the smile of an assassin, "Today's a Sunday, why would I concern myself with unpleasant business on such a lovely sunny day? Go and find our friend, Mr Rooter but don't bring him here. I'm tired of him. Why don't you just take him to the Westgate Bridge to show him the view. It would be lovely up there today, and the Yarra's deep. You understand?" "Yes boss" Rocky winces, "Consider it done", and he quietly closes the door.

Princely reaches for the phone, "Narelle? Have you cancelled my punts? No? Well don't bother. In fact I feel like celebrating, bring a bottle of bubbly and your good self in here, please. I'm feeling good"

LR, you're in trouble, TA

 

 

Episode 4: Princely sees a ghost.....

 

A sunny afternoon finds Ivan "Rocky" Petrov at home enjoying dinner with his family. Rocky heads the Competition Limitation division at the Princorp organisation. This area of the company, which began as a couple of "wide boys", including Rocky, doing odd jobs of intimidation where needed, now has a staff of 47 and it's own budget. Ivan Petrov heads the department where his strong personal work ethic and brutal nature are legendary and enshrined in policy. He always carries out his orders to the letter and in his time serving the company, he has only once let his employer down. Rocky answers only to one man and that man is Princely. A man who will not tolerate mistakes.

Recently a job went wrong and since then, Rocky has had trouble meeting his employer's cold and calculating eye. If Princely were ever to find out about the error there would be trouble.........to say the least.

The phone rings. His wife speaks briefly to the caller, exchanging pleasantries and laughing at something that's saïd, "I'll get him for you, Mr P" and before he can do or say anything, the phone is in his hands. "Rocky, are you free to come and see me this afternoon? Something's come up", Rocky fights to keep his cool and tries to sound casual, "Anything wrong, Boss?" There's a pause, "Um, there might be. We need to talk............"

 

........"How dare you lie to me!!" The mighty fist of Princely slams the desk, "This morning I am looking at FIA reviews and what do I find? What do you think I found, Mr Petrov?!" Rocky's blood runs cold. Princely never uses his surname. As long as he can remember, it's been nicknames, "Ã have no idea, Boss". "Really? Let me enlighten you. I found a post by Littlerooter", he puts his face close, "How can Littlerooter be posting, when you have assured me, and I have the report here, that Littlerooter is 'punting with the fishes' in Port Phillip fucking Bay!"...........

 

........."I must finish him off myself", Princely ponders. He is lying back, relaxing in the afterglow of a wonderful punt with an old favourite. The rage has passed and his calm analysis has returned, as it always does after an afternoon's punting. "Be a love and get my computer for me will you?" As his lovely companion bends over the lounge to get it, Princely quips "Bring the laptop and put your top lap here where I can see it". He scans Littlerooter's posting history, "I must find the the secret to Littlerooter's power"...................

 

.............."Is this what you're looking for, Princely?" says a quiet voice nearby. The screeching cries of the panicked W/Ls and his frantic searching of the Melbourne Colosseum have put him in a frenzy and he has not noticed the dark and silent figure, now standing behind him.

Slowly Princely turns and in the gloom of the kitchen he can make out a large jar containing honey and the barrel of a gun. His eye travels north and he meets the gaze of his arch enemy. "Littlerooter!" he gasps. Princely knows it's the end. Littlerooter's hand is steady, "Next time you send someone to finish me, make sure they have a stomach for the job", he gives a look of mock disappointment, "Such a pity. Such a pity it must end like this. At one time we might have been allies, but now.........."

 

 

Next week, Trouserarea stops pissing about on a forum and tidies up the garage.

 

 

That should be the end of this. I've killed off Princely, so that's that.................................................or is it?

 

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[There was a suggestion by some readers that there could be a non-fatal way of settling the LR vs P feud]

 

Or perhaps a "shag-off"?

 

......Princely wiped the sweat from his brow and eyed the tally board with horror, "I must reduce my DATY time or I'm done and dusted...."

 

....."You better check your facts, mate." Littlerooter squared up to Princely, "Look here at the rulebook; there's nothing in there about honey being a performance enhancing drug! You lose!" Princely smirked, "That's where you're wrong, amigo", he took a long pull at his cheroot, "who do you think wrote the book?"............

 

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Episode 5: The return.

 

The year is 2017. Since the demise of Princely, Littlerooter has become the No. 1 reviewer on FIA and his own empire has muscled in on many areas where Princorp once ruled supreme. Age has weakened the great man and these days, Littlerooter is finding it difficult to perform all his own punts and retains a staff to carry out the actual tool-work, leaving him to write the reviews, with a brace of editors on hand to tidy them up for posting. More and more, forum moderators are picking that his work is less and less his own. Messages such as, "..we'd have expected better, LR. Maybe it's time to give it away, love from Deejay jr." are not uncommon.

We now find Littlerooter contemplating his future in his spacious jacuzzi with a glass of bubbly and a bevy of selected W/Ls to hand. The girls know it's easy money. Littlerooter's little rooter ceased function many years ago and these days, he just likes to lounge around in the spa with a few lasses, a little DATY, a smear of honey and alot of Champagne. Some things never change, though: he doesn't allow anyone to get out for a wee. Enough said.

"What's on today, Nathan?", LR calls to his dashing new PA. "You're expected at the Colosseum this afternoon, Sir. You have a punt scheduled and then you're meeting with the directors afterwards. The Future Erections meeting. Don't you remember?" "Yes, alright Nathan," a note of irritation at the younger man's slightly patronising tone. LR Group bought up many of Melbourne's establishments years ago and has steadily built what amounts to a monopoly. The meeting today really amounts to planning a strategy to clean up the last remaining vestige of competition: Regal Towers. This is a highly successful and massive, 5-storey brothel that mysteriously sprang up five years ago shortly after Premier John So relaxed the rules, effectively allowing bordellos to operate entirely unregulated. It has ever since been a thorn in the side of the LR Group............................

 

..............."We'll meet with the RT directors," Littlerooter turns to face his board, "I'm sure they'll see sense. Who owns the joint anyway? Have you been able to find out?" LR's managing director pipes up, "We've done a little digging, LR and it seems it's owned by an outfit called Nicely PR. Some organisation that handles promotion, publishing and other stuff. Funnily enough, they own the firm that's been handling Littlerooter's editing this last year. You know, all those guys from Lyric Pen?" Littlerooter writes down the names and suddenly gasps. All eyes are on him.

"Look at the names, you idiots! Look at the names!!!...................

 

 

Next time: Trouserarea writes himself into this thing AND gives himself the best bloody lines!

 

 

Praise for this book:

 

JK Rowling: "I prostrate myself at the feet of Trouserarea. This is stacks better than my lame shit"

 

Peter Temple: "I have seen the future of crime writing and it is Trouserarea"

 

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[i've been racking my brains about whether there was ever any more Princorp shit to gather up into this blog and I remembered that the following was written in response to some WA-based punters trying to get Amber J Lee to tour interstate. It got me wondering about just how far the Princely influence might reach:]

 

 

The scene is Tullamarine airport. Amber waits in the long queue for the Virgin check-in. The irony is not lost on her as she is warmly welcomed as a Virgin customer by an over enthusiastic Branson employee. Soon I'll be winging my way to WA, she thinks, with a GnT in hand and a pile of bookings ahead of me.

Everything is going smoothly until Amber's details are typed into the computer. An alarm rings somewhere and two big burly individuals move to the counter.

"Problem?" asks Amber, trying to ignore the heavies who are now either side of her.

"Erm, I'm afraid so. It says here that your movement interstate has been banned."

"That's ridiculous. Is it a police thing? The government?" she glances at the fellow on her left and notices a logo on his beautifully tailored jacket. It's a coat of arms she's seen somewhere before. Where has she seen that before? Before she can think any more, the desk employee answers, "I can't really say who the authority is, it's not a code I know....."

One of the men beside her pipes up, "Listen lady, if you know what's good for you, you'll get back in that taxi and head home".

She is quite shaken as her taxi moves into traffic on the freeway. What's going on? Almost by way of an answer, her mobile rings. A familiar voice, "Hello Amber, it's Narelle from Princorp here, ringing for Mr P. Any chance you're available to see him for lunch and a punt today?".......

 

 

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[This was a tack-on after Princely retired off FIA]

 

* "............but I haven't got a clue how this has happened", wept a distraught Rocky, "I been with this firm for twenty years and now it's gone. Just finished and...". He broke off and his big frame shook with sorrow. Crusher gave his shoulders a squeeze. He didn't know what to say or do. To see Rocky, a man with a fearless and ruthless nature and a propensity for violence, sitting before him blubbing like a baby had him tossed. "I gotta go, mate" he said awkwardly and taking a last look at the building, with it's huge neon coat of arms, stepped into his car. He started it up and then paused for a short while. It really was over. Time to go.

 

Narelle went on to become a nun.

 

Rocky went through a rough patch and drank too much, but he now runs a semi-successful strip joint where he does the door.

 

Crusher hits bastards for no reason and sobs into his beer. He's never coming back.

 

Littlerooter owns everything. Everything.

 

The W/Ls of Melbourne held a candlelight vigil for a whole week and then went back to work realising that a little bit of their lives had gone for ever.

 

Trouserarea retired two years ago and we don't know where he are.

 

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So now I can sleep easier. Cheers TA

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