To say the fight was gentlemanly and most certainly not destructive would be both an extreme understatement and blatant lie. People screamed and shouted as they ran for their lives. The stoic ones merely walked away at a fast paced trying to keep a straight face while chairs were flung around them.
Needless to say this was the last straw for Flappy who, saving the microphone out of pity, ran out the back exit as fast as she could dragging Rose and a cameraman with her.
"I dare say that's the first awards ceremony that's ever ended in a stadium destroying fight," the cameraman said.
"Could you both be quiet about this? I'm already annoyed about how I can't keep to a damn schedule. I mean I had practically the whole year to write the damn story and it's nearing the end of February two-thousand and eleven," Flappy complained.
"Isn't it pronounced twenty-eleven?" Rose asked.
"And what do you mean about writing a story? Besides its still the same night the ceremony started, the fifth of the seventh in the year two thousand and ten," the cameraman pointed out.
"I could tell you the truth or I could just not bother to explain that. I choose the latter," Flappy declared.
"Well I grabbed the envelope for the award!" Rose exclaimed, waving an envelope in the air, "Let's see who won!"
Flappy grabbed the whit envelope, opened it and read the sheet of paper with an odd expression on her face. "And the award goes to the Narrator," she said.
"Who's that?" Rose asked.
"Beats me," Flappy replied and put it in her jacket for safe keeping.
"What do we do now?" the cameraman asked.
"I'm going to go and check who this 'Narrator' is," Flappy declared and begun walking off.
"Wait! We'll go to!" Rose cried, bringing the hapless cameraman with her. Personally the poor man had had enough of insanity for one night.
And thus we have reached the rather anti-climatic end to this story.