The politics of prestige: Why the Nobel Prize still captivates those in power

At an urgently summoned press briefing, a White House spokesperson announced the appointment of a chief of stuff for the president. When asked by an inquisitive reporter as to why a chief of stuff was required when there was already a perfectly serviceable chief of staff to do presidential bidding, the spokesperson, who was, in fact, the recently appointed chief of stuff, replied that while the chief of staff was required to attend to all the routine matters of the White House, the chief of stuff would oversee all the non-routine stuff that the White House was increasingly getting up to.

On the top of the list of all the non-routine stuff was the prez's agenda of Nobelesse oblige.

When the same inquisitive reporter - 'The guy's a pain in the butt! Make sure he can't sneak into these briefings again!' - pointed out that the correct phrase was 'noblesse oblige,' the chief of stuff clarified that Nobelesse oblige was part of the stuff the prez did, and which involved the Nobel Prize.


For example, though the Nobel Prize for Peace Committee sitting in Norway - separate from the committee for the other Nobels that sits in Sweden--in an obvious fit of senile dementia, had overlooked the prez for the peace prize and given it away to some Third World would-be illegal migrant called Machado, ignoring the fact that the prez had brokered peace in no less than eight conflicts -'Yeah, count 'em, eight wars!' - the prez had in a spirit of Nobelesse oblige graciously accepted the prize from the original recipient, like a baton being passed on in a relay race.

However, to teach the Norwegian Nobel Committee a lesson for his having to get a second-hand prize, the prez wanted to take over Greenland - which he thought was Iceland, even though Greenland had nothing to do with Norway, but was an autonomous part of Denmark, which the prez seemed to confuse with Norway.

Nobelesse worked in mysterious ways its oblige to perform, the chief of stuff said, adding that the prez was throwing his hat in the ring for the Nobel Prize for Economics, having engineered the so-called 'Mother of all deals,' the Indo-EU FTA of which he claimed to be the 'DADDY', at the risk of making himself liable to a paternity suit.

The presidential Nobelesse was also up for obliging the Prize for Literature, having created the literary genre of MAGAcal Realism based on the impenetrable 'covfefe,' the enigma of which scholastic ingenuity had been at its wit's end to decipher. The prez had also been mooting the Nobel Chemistry Prize, based on the secret formula for the gel that gave his hair that signature Day-Glo Orangeade hue, but had got sidetracked by the Nobel Prize for Physiques, as his physique was in darn good shape.

Before the inquisitive reporter could jump in - 'Goddam pest!' - the chief of stuff hurriedly said that when he was told that the Nobel Prize was for physics, whatever that was, and not for physiques, the prez said that he'd raise the matter with the Nobel committee to change that to 'physiques,' or else he would take over Sweden, or maybe Finland - or what about Botswana? - just to spite the Norwegians.

In the meantime, the chief of stuff announced that the prez had generously accepted the special award being presented to him by the International Animal Lovers Society for his recorded and well-documented - indeed, some might say overly well-documented - fondness for Felix Catus, the scientific term for what in colloquial usage is referred to as 'pussy'.