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The Obscure Golden Throne Awards

And why I won’t write an acceptance speech!

Old lady image by Dmitry Abramov and red carpet image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay. Compiled and enhanced by Author.

Krystal Mossbarger was a visionary, responsible for the disdainful and much-maligned Golden Throne Awards. She is not quite the whipper-snapper she would have us believe; her eyesight is waning, possibly explaining her lack of foresight and the dreadful occasion that was the awards ceremony night. Summing up — it went right down the crapper!

Sometime before the “night of nights”, Krystal approached me with the idea I might like to host the event, and because I have no vision, visionary or otherwise, I agreed.

This explains why I won’t write an acceptance speech. I wasn’t attending the awards to receive a trophy! Oh no, I was there to kick-off the proceedings with one of my (s)hit songs, and present golden dunnies to unfortunate recipients.

As it turned out, I was merely a pawn in KM’s ill-conceived game.

She promised me — a beautiful gown would be hanging in my dressing room, (with a star on the door), and that I would be celebrated as an up and coming go-to presenter. Instead, my starless closet was more like a black hole. An outfit of daggy slippers and dressing gown hung in place of the haute couture I was expecting.

Instead of Vera Wang, I received Kaye Marte evening wear. (I didn’t mind the pink jammie bottoms; they were quite chic).

The curtain went up and I use the term up quite loosely. Two old guys were struggling to manage unruly curtain ropes backstage when one of the codgers suddenly sling-shot up and over, landing splat in the dress circle; the other died of a heart attack as the curtain collapsed in an inglorious heap centre-stage.

But, the show must go on!

Trying not to “break a leg” — God knows why that gem is considered good luck — I navigated the pile of dusty red velvet, and launched into my best ever version of, “I Got Stoned and I Pissed My Pants”.

When the boos and heckles had calmed to a dull roar, I cleverly joked about peeing my pants backstage, hence, my less than glam outfit.

Then I began my encore, “I Fooled Around and Fell in the Moss Pit”.

Unfortunately, I really was stoned, and promptly did just that. Also unfortunate, was the conspicuous-by-their-absence, big crowd of supportive onlookers, waiting for me to crowd-surf myself offstage. Nobody was there to catch me.

The upshot is — KM will be hearing from my court-appointed lawyer!

One or two muscle-bound security guards did lift my broken old body from the front stalls, to launch me back from whence I had flown.

It was time to introduce the Golden Clapper Statues.

KM dismally followed my performance with, Somewhere There’s a Shitshow, and truly, that is what it was. We were all surprised she didn’t give herself an award, right there and then.

Because she didn’t want to appear completely self-centred, KM allocated one or two minor awards to Kristen Stark, for singles off an album that had been played at least once.

I summoned KS, the only real whipper-snapper in the room, to the stage. She bowed, scraped and trounced her botched Halloween-remake dress up the aisle. (Good Lord, was that soiled toilet paper trailing beneath)? I began to feel a whole lot better about my Kaye Marte design!

Impatiently, KS snatched her award from my hands, murmuring, “Who gave this wrinkly old prune the job?” This uncalled for comment was followed by a screeching version of her (s)hit, You’re So Plain, and an unseemly battle with a seedy doughnut-throwing, venue caterer, in the back row.

Surprise, surprise! The Golden Throne for the Shittiest Album of the Year, went to, When Turds Rise, by KM. This was met by great audience disapproval.

KM crapped on for ages about shitty music dominating the charts, so I did everyone in attendance a huge favour, and shoved her into the moss pit. It was poetic justice — Krystal needed a taste of what I had suffered in the name of performance art.

That’s when Kristen realised what side her bread was buttered, and decided to pal up with Krystal. This is called brown-nosing in Australia — it means, sticking your nose up someone’s arse to curry favour. Yuk!

Kristen rushed to help KM in the moss pit. Meanwhile, the two burly security guards lumbered up the stage steps and promptly threw me back in, on top of the struggling stars.

It was the only time in the whole sorry mess that the audience cheered and yelled for more!

Consequently, I finished the night, Laying Back in the Arms of the Mortician, who stopped the embalming process when I managed to scream that I wasn’t dead.

Dropping like a fly at the right moment always gets you a ride to somewhere. I don’t mind what turns up; ambulances and hearses are great for a free ride, especially when you want to make a quick exit, and gain audience sympathy!



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Raine Lore

Raine Lore

Independent author on Amazon, reader, graphic artist and photographer. Dabbling in illustration and animation.