Yumpin' Yimminy! It's Krugman!

Meeting of the Nobel Prize Committee for Economics; sitting around an IKEA card table, in the Nobel Prize Headquarters of the Swedish Royal Academy, situated one flight up over the King Gustavus Adolphus Pastry Shop, are the four committee members: Olov, Bengt, Erik and Sigvard. Olov and Bengt are smoking ornate porcelain oom-pah pipes, Erik is chewing on a dry-cured Sumatran cigar, and Sigvard – a non-smoker – is simply rubbing his eyes and attempting to suppress a strong desire to cough.

Olov: I tell yew, boyss, de Literary Committee really stepped in de reindeer pewp dis time, tellink de Americans dat dere noffle writers are yust a bunch of hayseeds hew need not apply.

Bengt ( who is also a director on the board of Volvo, and is nervously puffing little Cheerio-sized smoke rings from the side of his mouth): By golly, yew said a mout-ful, Olov! A lot a’ dem American noffelists are Volvo customers – or dey yewzed to be, anyvay – an’ exports fall off mebbe ten, fifteen percent next yahr, I betcha!

Erik: Vell, vhat about dis, boyss? How ‘bout ve gib de Economics avard tew an American, dis yahr? Mebbe sqvare tinks vit dem?

(General murmur of assent)

Erik: Hmm…Let’s see, now. Vhat about dis Valter Villiams guy? Ve ain’t niver gib de avard tew no black feller, before.

Olov: Bah! Dot’s no gewd, Erik. Villiams is a conservative.

Bengt: Vhat about dat guy hew writes doze economics columns fer de New Yurk Times? By yimminy, dere’s a reliable Boosh-basher fer yew!

Sigvard (Having thrown his head back to place some Vizine in his eyes, he speaks softly – by all appearances, directing his question to the chandelier): Yew mean Marine Dawd?

Erik: Ach! Dunt be such a bewby, Sigvard! Marine Dawd’s not an economist. She’s…she’s…vell, by grannies, I dunt know vhat she is, ‘zactly, but she ain’t no economist, no sirree!

Bengt: I got it, fellers! Paul Krugman!

(More murmurs of agreement)

Erik: Okey-doke, den, yentlemen. Er…by de vay; does anybody know vhat kinda shtuff he’s written at de academic level? Ve can’t openly gib him de avard based yust on his newspaper columns; I mean, dey mostly been wrong.

(Erik looked at Olov. Olov looked at Bengt. Bengt looked at Sigvard . Sigvard was still looking at the ceiling – hacking loudly, as his eye-drops had accidentally gone down his throat. All of them shook their heads in the negative)

Olov: I tell yew vhat I do, boyss. I google Krugman, and find sometink dat he wrote fer vun a’ dem academic qvarterlies, and ve put dat down on de plaque. How’s about dat?

(A boisterous round of cheers, interspersed with “by yimminies” and “tank Gud’s”, as the committee members adjourn for princesse tortes and coffee at the pastry shop.)