I am astonished that even after all these years, the Nobel Prize continues to be the most prestigious award in the world. Win it and you are not only an instant millionaire, but you will be widely quoted on any number of subjects about which you know nothing at all. Plus, you will be able to phone anybody on the planet and not be put on hold. As if all that's not enough, when you die, you will be guaranteed a large and largely complimentary obituary in the New York Times.

The reason I'm so surprised that the award has maintained so much glitter is that among the Nobel laureates in recent history have been the likes of Le Duc Tho, Yasir Arafat, and Jimmy Carter.

Last week, I heard about an award that deserves far more attention and respect. It's called the Ig Nobel. The fact that the Ig Nobels have been handed out for the past 15 years, and this was the first I'd heard of it, says something sad about the state of the world.

Each year, the awards are presented at Harvard University by Annals of Improbable Research magazine. Their stated intention is to celebrate the offbeat, creative and wacky side, of science.

Unlike the Nobel Prize, which taints the entire enterprise with oodles of cash, the Ig Nobels convey only recognition. But for Gregg Miller, this year's recipient in the field of medicine, that's enough. Mr. Miller won for Neuticles. For the uninitiated, those happen to be prosthetic testicles for neutered dogs. The silicone implants come in a range of sizes, shapes and weight. The advertising for the product claims that Neuticles allow the pet to retain not only his natural look, but his self-esteem.

Now, frankly, as the owner of a neutered dog, I confess it had never entered my mind that Duke's self-esteem might have been damaged three years ago when he was fixed. He's certainly never mentioned it, and judging by his overall attitude, I'd say that if he were to receive a pair of Neuticles for Christmas, it would be a case of gilding the lily, so to speak, and he just might be impossible to live with. As borne out by such overbearing folks as Donald Trump, Ted Turner, and Hillary Clinton, I'd say there's such a thing as too much self-esteem.

Besides Mr. Miller, there were other Ig Nobel award winners who deserve recognition. In the field of economics, Gauri Nanda won hands down for an alarm clock that runs away and hides.

Benjamin Smith won the biology award for studying and cataloguing the scents emitted by a hundred species of frogs under stress. According to Prof. Smith, some smelled like cashews, some like mint or licorice, others like rotten fish.

In the field of fluid dynamics, a couple of Europeans won for a study titled "Pressures Produced When Penguins Pooh -- Calculations on Avian Defecation," which actually appeared in the Journal of Polar Biology.

Only when it came to the field of literature was I disappointed with the award. It went to the Internet entrepreneurs of Nigeria "for creating and then using e-mail to distribute a bold series of short stories, thus introducing millions of readers to a cast of rich characters, including General Sani Abacha; his wife, Mariam; and Barrister Jon a Mbeki, Esquire."

Fictional characters?! I knew them all. Rarely a week went by that I didn't hear from Sani, Mariam, Barrister Jon, and my own personal favorite, Femi Babalola.

The worst part of it is that, in recent years, whenever people have let me down, as is often their wont, all I had to do to get out of a sulk was to remind myself that I still had a ton of friends in Nigeria. I had even considered taking a vacation, and getting together with the entire gang.

Even though I never sent money -- and early on, before we'd formed a relationship, I used to send them e-mails promising millions, signing off as Donald D. Duck -- they never gave up on me.

Maybe I'm a fool, but Ig Nobel or no Ig Nobel, I can't believe they're all just fictional characters. Even when I was a little Prelutsky, I didn't have imaginary friends. Why in my sixties would I suddenly start?

Besides, nobody since Dickens could make up a name like Femi Babalola.

You can learn more about Burt and his latest book, Conservatives Are from Mars (Liberals Are from San Francisco) at his home page. Write Mr. Prelutsky at: