The morning of the Nobel Peace Prize announcement, the President of the United States woke up surrounded by gold-plated everything at the White House. He excitedly kicked off his covers and checked his phone.
An icy chill ran through him when he read the text. Some unassuming diplomat from a country most people had forgotten about had been awarded the Peace Prize by the Nobel Committee. Not to him, the leader of the free world, whose many posts about how he deserved the prize resulted in a nasty case of strained thumbs.
“Outrageous!” He said to his gold-framed mirror.
The mirror, being a mirror, said nothing back. But the President told himself that it agreed. How could it not?
He summoned his advisors. Generals with stars on their lapels, lawyers carrying briefcases full of loopholes, and a few trusted reality television producers among them quickly stampeded into the Oval Office.
“Listen to me. Norway has offended me and therefore us. Someone else received the award. That’s like slapping America in the face with a pickled herring.”
One advisor, the one the president calls “the egghead with glasses,” raised a hand. “Sir, although it is given in Oslo, Norway, it’s not like they owe it to you.”
“Owe it? I deserve it! I’ve made big deals. Massive deals. Peaceful deals. I’ve stopped many, many wars. Stuff nobody thought could happen until I did it. And what do I get? Nada. Zip. Absolutely nothing. We’re going to war.” the President snarled.
The generals were gleefully startled. War meant unlimited budgets and expense accounts. More money for Cohibas, boner pills and Pappy Van Winkle.
“But sir, all Norway has is fjords and oil and those goofy sweaters.” the egghead pleaded.
“You’re not listening! I didn’t get the goddamned prize! We’re gonna invade and make them give it to me! Oh, and you’re fired! Your parents are getting audited!” the President yelled.
A few minutes later the President stood on the White House picnic grounds, formerly the Rose Garden, to make a quickly arranged declaration of war. A breeze blew his hair, straining the hairpins. Reporters wrote and cameras flashed.
“My fellow Americans, by not recognizing my intense peacefulness, Norway has committed an act of aggression. So, as of now, we are at war. Our brave and unmatched military will free the Nobel from those Scandinavian communists. They’ll never know what hit ‘em!” He yelled.
The reaction from around the world was immediate and overwhelming. Russia toasted and laughed. China manufactured and sold cheap popcorn. The UN called an emergency meeting, but everyone was too busy trying to figure out how they could profit from the war to vote.
Meanwhile, in Norway, the Prime Minister sipped coffee in a cozy cabin. “War? Over a prize? That’s weird.”
The Norwegians remained typically passive. They emailed a polite message.
“Dear Mr. President, we sincerely apologize for causing you to feel this way. Have you thought about starting therapy? P.S. Our military is mostly suited for skiing competitions. Best wishes always”
Unswayed, the President ordered the Navy to go into action. Loaded with planes, bombs and various brands of fast food, aircraft carriers steamed toward the North Sea.
The strategy was easy. Blockade Oslo, send in Navy Seals to liberate the prize, then organize a big production to declare victory on prime time television.
But predictably, things went wrong midway over the Atlantic. A submarine hit a global warming sabotaging iceberg. A squadron of fighter jets got lost in fog and ended up in Sweden where the Swedes offered the pilots meatballs. The troops, expecting action, found themselves seasick and started doing the math to figure out when their enlistment was up.
Anti-war protests broke out at home. Signs read: “No War for Awards!” and “We’re Against Whatever This Is!”
The stock market fell, then rose, because war is good for corporations and Wall Street speculators.
On his app, the President posted: “Winning bigly against Norway! Fake news says otherwise. #NobelMine.”
In the end, no bombs were dropped. A diplomatic agreement was struck. Norway sent a replica prize, inscribed with “World’s Best President.” The President accepted it on live television, declaring that he restored peace.
“See? I won the war without firing a shot. That’s why I deserved the prize. They should rename it after me. What’s a Nobel, anyway?”
The Nobel Committee continued giving prizes to people who actually earned them. And the President? He wore his fake medal for a few days and quickly tired of it. He ended up hanging it on the gold plated tin crown he got from South Korea.
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