To ensure deniability on their side and poetic license on Dave’s, the Nobel Prize committee visited Smiling Dave in the dead of night. They had read his recent series of articles about Vickrey, and seen the mass protests demanding Dave get Vickrey’s Prize.
SD: Come in, guys. Where’s the check?
Committee Member: There are conditions.
SD: Such as?
CM: Vickrey keeps his prize. Yours will be for Literature, not Economics. No more exposing our laureates as buffoons.
SD: In other words, you want me to sell out?
After some haggling, a deal was struck. Dave would get his award money in gold Krona. The Nobel Committee would advertise heavily on his site, for all time. Speaking engagements would be arranged, with suitable honorariums.
In return, Dave makes no future mention of Vickrey’s prize. Dave will get his in Economics, for researches into bitcoin. Nothing in the acceptance speech about Austrian Economics.
CM: And enough with the stupid jokes on your blog, already. I mean, seriously.
Dave went to bed that night a happy man. He turned on his favorite song, There Ain’t No Cure For Love, by Leonard Cohen.
All the rocket ships are climbing through the sky
The holy books are open wide,
the doctors working day and night
But they’ll never ever find that cure for love
There ain’t no drink, no drug, ah tell them, angels
There’s nothing pure enough to be a cure for love
Somehow, hearing this was unsettling to Dave.
It’s written in the scriptures,
it’s written there in blood
I even heard the angels declare it from above
There ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure,
there ain’t no cure for love
“What about gold Krona and honorariums?” Dave asked the now silent room.
“There ain’t no cure for love,” was the haunting reply.