What dimly creaks into the very back, dark, hallway of my brain is: when the screen projection on stage came on to reveal the basis of the award, so many people crammed in the room just kind of froze trying to figure out, I suppose, what the word 'performance' really meant then, because it was obvious what was on tape was 'real'. Just one example of the majic you all worked there.
The only other time I heard it that quiet in the room was during the judging of a body modification category prize won by an eighteen year old twink who, on stage displayed his prize piercing only at the off-stage horse-whispered entreaty of Daddy who revealed to the Empress, then on stage officiating, that the young piece of chicken had something in his pants of interest to the judges. The boy whipped out his cock, pierced by what must have been a two pound paddlock. All the straight women in the crowd practically fainted right then and there.