TheSpoof.com Annual Writers' Awards event held at the prestigious Lancaster Working Men's Club last night, went down like a lead balloon when only three people bothered to turn up - the site's owner, Mark Lowton, his brother Paul, and a gentleman who introduced himself as 'Mr. Johnson!'
Johnson! told the Lowtons that it was he, personally, who had saved the Spoof when it was "dying" a few years ago, but neither Mark nor Paul remembered this. Johnson! also brought up the fact that he had never been reimbursed for his efforts at the Spoof, to which the site owner said he had been paid exactly the amount he had deserved.
But, said Mr Lowton, seeing that Mr Johnson! had made the effort to get to Lancaster, he would probably relish the opportunity to act as MC for the night, and this is exactly what happened.
MC Johnson! read out various nominations for Best Writer in the Male, Female, Magazine, Snippet, US, UK, World, Entertainment & Gossip, Sport, Science & Technology and Business categories, as well as Best Newcomer, and Best Overall Writer.
Various writers' names appeared with monotonous regularity: Dave Henry, Mike Peril, Chrissy Benson, Ben Macnair, Paxton Quigley, j.w., Dr. Billingsgate, K.C. Bell, Gee Pee, Jaki Treehorn, Tim Neill, Joseph Winter, Matt Birkenhauer, Ralph E. Shaffer and Gail Farrelly (the MC spat when he said her name) all made appearances in the nominations, and some won and some did not.
As the cermony went on, the MC began to look frustrated, anxious, perplexed and then annoyed - in that order - as his own name repeatedly was not on any of the nomination papers. The Lowtons sipped beer.
Finally, the evening reached its climax, and the MC perked up. This must be what he'd been waiting for; this would be his crowning glory; this would make all of his wayward scribbling worthwhile, and put all the other writers into the shade. This was the winner of the 'Writer That Saved The Spoof From An Early Grave' award. He opened the envelope slowly, savouring every moment, feeling a warm glow inside, radiating through his person, along his arms, into his hands and fingers, and into the piece of paper he was holding with the words 'Queen Mudder' on it...
Forlorn, the MC tried to sniffle back a tear, but he was not even very good at this. The floodgates opened and he wept openly. The Lowtons watched. They had done this. They had brought this writer to his knees, crushed him with their pedanticism, their 'edits', their evil ways. Now he was a broken man. Mark looked at his brother with a serious expression on his face, washed down the remnants of his last pint and said:
"See you at me mam's on Sunday for dinner!"