Nobel Prize Committee: "May The Farce Be With You!"

Over a thousand years ago the Vikings reduced the civilized world to tears. Today, they did it again!

I feel like I’ve been biffed in the belly by one of those huge rusty wrecking balls so beloved of demolition crews the world over.

The Nobel Peace Prize!

For Obama. President Zero of Zilch Gulch. La Nada Nueva del Circulo Grande. That cold, smooth marble slab ever in search of a cadaver worthy of its emptiness. That sack of wind always in need of a teleprompter to ease the bloat within. That ideological Black Hole into which all our hopes and dreams are remorselessly sucked. That O that Chicago spat into Washington. The con in conjuror, the hood in hoodwink, the ray in betrayal. This spoilt priest who would be Pope. This soggy canapé who would be main course. This paltry resident who would be awesome president. This woeful accident who would be shining essence. This little one who would be the Mighty All. This Judas who would be Jesus. This mess who would be Messiah. The Preener as Redeemer.

As for the therapy group that is the Nobel Committee, their collective delusion is surely the tipping point when all men, women and suckling infants of common sense will decamp to Tora Bora and rise up with Osama to sweep away the squalid stumps of what is left of a great civilization. For what is worse than living in the very midst of the tendentious triviality that is now our lot? Our worst nightmares have been surpassed.

We feared the soft tyranny of welfare state totalitarianism but find ourselves overwhelmed by the soft-headed tedium of the terminally trite. Our politics have become an endless Princess Di funeral complete with troops of caterwauling hysterics and squads of soap opera narcissists. Vital legislation is penned with less care than a thirteen year old with a spray can gives to his assinine defacements. The Moguls of Malibu beat their grotesquely enhanced breasts and rend their shimmering Armanis in defence of a fugitive child rapist while regarding babies in the womb as disposable as so many crumpled tissues. Kilimanjaros of citizens’ money are wasted daily - hourly - on socialistic schemes of social engineering which even the most addle-pated ideologue knows have failed time and time again and left millions upon millions the world over both despairing and destitute.

We have all become characters in an Ionescu skit.

Yes, this Nobel Peace Prize marks not the beginning of the end, nor the coming of the end. It is the end. The terminus ad quem beyond which it is not possible to pass because even the darkest absurdity has its bounds and we are at them.

We started with Homer those long centuries ago. He gave us the Illiad and the Odyssey.

We end with Gomer. He gives us gas.

Shazam!