Satire site sweeps awards ceremony Satire site sweeps FATUOUS AWARDS

Writers become scrubbers, too

by our correspondent who is not unfamiliar with broom handles, Denim Sue

The Fatuous Awards for Utter Crap, held at the prestigious George W Bush Memorabilia Barn in a remote part of west Texas, broke up in disarray last night when a contingent of Utterpants writers gate crashed the awards ceremony

Utterpants were protesting at their exclusion from the awards for entering articles which were deemed not to be utter crap and sometimes even mildly amusing. Having listened open-mouthed to the fullsome praise heaped upon such satirical gems as 'President Bush vetoes birthday card' and 'John Ashcroft Has Tightest Sphincter Ever', the Utterpants' contingent finally erupted in righteous indignation — or possibly jealousy — when the 'Best Picture Award' was presented to Faux Nudes for 'Debris That Struck Space Station Found To Be Turkey'. Suiting her actions to the winning entry, Utterpants' formidable webmistress, Miranda S Givings (34-26-36), hurled a Kentucky fried chicken at the stage.
Her writers and supporters, whom eye witnesses described as 'a violently drunken and degenerate mob', immediately started throwing rotten fruit, vegetables and eggs indiscriminately at all the assembled contenders and officials.

Master of ceremonies for the occasion, Crew Slut, Chief Executive of the Fatuous Mutual Appreciation Society, beat a hasty retreat from the podium by disappearing up a back passage with egg all over his face and the sartorial elegance of his second-hand gold lamé Clifford & Wills outfit somewhat marred by the impact of several dozen mouldy kiwi fruits.

Having managed to find an undamaged courgette, Ms Givings retired early from the fray to a quiet corner to contemplate the meaning of life while Utterpants staff writer, Barry Subchimp, kilt flying, and uttering some obscure ancient highland war cry, charged into the seated crowd, his rotten plums flying in all directions. Australian gentleman to the last, Utterpants journalist, Robert Carey, whose aim at distance had become uncertain, launched himself amongst the foe, expectorating bravely over the remaining guests, with only the occasional chunder to remind his fans of his antipodean origins.

The charming and delightful Jennifer Gardner, a lady who is not renowned for her alcoholic exploits and who gets very pissed on half a pint of lager, brought her own pickles especially for the occasion although Utterpants' office slut, Keli McTaggart, had to explain to her that she was supposed to throw them at the assembled crowd, not use them as suppositories. Meanwhile, veteran party-goer and society hostess, Felicity O'Toole, having called the judges 'a bunch of anally-retentive wankers who wouldn't recognise a satire story if it bit them on the bottom', skidded violently on a rotten tomato, ending up arse over tit at the base of the stage. Shocked guests were then treated to the spectacle of her scarlet Anne Northington gown wrapped around her head, revealing to all that the diamond studded suspender belt holding up her La Perla Seduction stockings was her only deference to undergarments. Utterpants' publicity manager and eminent Hobbit historian, James Haines, gallant as ever, quickly revived her by loosening her clothing and the timely administration of mouth to mouth resuscitation.

The debacle was over all too quickly. The contestants, officials and cleaners had all fled when the gorgeous Keli McTaggart lost her frock whilst attempting to extricate Jennifer Gardner from the clutches of a glossy-haired newsman who was trying to wrench the Ku Klux Klan banner with which she had been belabouring two American satirists, from her hand. Clad in nothing more than a rather lurid red thong, matching bra and white stilettos, Keli then attempted to contact Brianna Banks, who had declined to take part in the proceedings on the grounds that she was too well known in the area, but had promised to pick everyone up afterwards. Unfortunately Keli's mobile telephone had suffered a nasty encounter with an over-ripe kumquat, or possibly something equally sticky, and she was unable make contact with the Texan taxidermist.

Before anyone could lay their hands in wrath on Miss 'Kewl' Keli, the entire eighteen-strong Fort Stackton Police Department suddenly burst into the barn, led by Chief of Police, Shreeve Cinderella, closely followed by Lt. Julienne Castrato, head of patrol operations, and Sgt. Sam 'brown' Esperanza of the criminal investigation and drug section.

We were all immediately arrested. Mercy Dannenberg, glasses askew, ranting gutturally, her sagging woollen bloomers a damp testament to her over enthusiastic use of overripe aubergines and mouldy melons, was placated somewhat by being handcuffed to the handsome and charmingly caddish Alexander de Ville. Despite my protestations of innocence, and whipping my press card out of my suspender belt in front of Chief Cinderella, I was rather ignominiously rounded up with the Utterpants mob and taken to North Main Street. There I was subjected to a disappointingly amateurish body search by Lt. Julienne Castrato which left no orifice unexplored, from fingers up nasal passages to a rather unpleasant rectal examination with what looked remarkably like a limp cocktail sausage. I was rather annoyed that Ms Givings was spared this particular indignity, though by the way she was limping when she rejoined us, I fear that her claims that Chief Cinderella confined his interrogation to an oral examination should be taken with a pinch of salt.

Having unsurprisingly not found any illegal drugs, it was decided that Utterpants should appease the sacrilege to the sacred shrine to the glorious President of the USA by cleaning the place up. Returning to the hall and left under the supervision of two officers, and after Derek Tree demonstrated, meticulously and very patiently, the correct and incorrect use of broom handles to all the female members of the party and how to become an enthusiastic scrubber, work began. Apart from a slight altercation when the lady members of the group accused the men of not pulling their weight, and 'I'm not used to this kind of thing' being robustly countered with 'then bloody well get used to it', the work proceeded apace.

By the time the exhausted figures — or in the case of the male members — slightly weary figures, had finished it was already light. Everyone was bundled into a particularly smelly bus and after a further lecture from Chief Cinderella about the dangers of vegetable abuse and low-slung pants, we were unceremoniously dumped across the state border in New Mexico, with a warning never to enter Texas again. Sgt. Sam 'brown' Esperanza's parting gift was an enormous box filled with discarded Marks & Spencer knickers that nobody wished to claim and that he maintained had been found during the course of the scouring.

When asked for her reaction to these events, Utterpants webmistress, Miranda Givings tearfully declined to comment, referring us to her therapist, Ms Marit Sigmundsdottir.

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More of Denim Sue's groundbreaking journalism can be found here

Story © 2004 The Interag. Picture & design © 2004 utterpants.co.uk / 141004

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