John, I never entertained any delusion that I might actually win, so the prize money was always irrelevant to me.
I feel ripped off because I was led to expect that the winning entry would be a limerick of legendary proportions--a breathtakingly elegant confection of filth, invective, and clever wordplay.
That, and not £1000, is what I was hoping for, and indeed felt promised.
The poem that would have won (had the contest not been rigged to favor friends in high places) may be just such a work of genius. But it unjustly remains in the shadows, where we cannot appreciate it as it deserves. Why? Because the judge couldn't resist the temptation to plant a very public kiss on an inferior contestant's famous arse.
Yea, verily, this was a crime against literature itself.
Granted, it's only a misdemeanor. But a crime nonetheless.
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