Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. “I shot the sheriff, but I didn’t shoot no deputy” — Bob Marley, 1973 “I love a serif, so I had to shoot the Calibri” — Marco Rubio, 2025 The United States is breaking up with a font because it’s just not their type. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has ordered American diplomats to use the Times New Roman font in official communications and drop Calibri, which was brought in during the Joe Biden administration and is now described as a “wasteful” diversity move, according to an internal department cable seen by Reuters. The State Department started using Calibri because it’s easier for people with visual disabilities to read. But these are the Donald Trump years, so those people seemingly no longer matter. As well as being yet another blow for those with poor eyesight, this is surely yet another example of the EU being shut out by the Americans. Calibri was the brainchild of a Dutchman, Lucas de Groot, whereas Times New Roman was designed for The Times of London newspaper. It does, however, fit with studies that have been carried out into the politics of typefaces, which suggest that sans serif fonts (such as Calibri) are more popular with liberals, while conservatives prefer a serif font (of which Times New Roman is one of the most popular). This being the Trump administration, it was something of a surprise that the font Trump Mediaeval wasn’t chosen (and yes, that is an actual font — dating from 1954 — and not a description of how ICE raids are conducted). Maybe they should have chosen an American font, such as (and you knew this was coming) Comic Sans or, perhaps even Wingdings. Speaking of which, back in 2019 the British Conservative Party tweeted that “MPs must come together and get Brexit done” in Comic Sans, in what may have been a low point even for Brexit. It’s not just fonts that are being targeted by Trump, it’s also tourists, who may have to hand over five years of social media activity before they are allowed into the U.S. (imagine reading five years’ worth of someone’s LinkedIn posts? The horror! The horror!) The new rules would also require travelers to provide emails, phone numbers and addresses used in the last five years. Maybe the customs and border agents can reply to all those unopened and unwanted emails offering to “redesign my website.” CAPTION COMPETITION “Guys, we practiced this, it’s high-five, fist bump, jazz hands.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “Look, if I were you I would take over Pakistan.” by Albrecht Rothacher

Paul Dallison writes Declassified, a weekly satirical column. Looking for a Christmas gift for someone who is a) interested in French politics and b) loves often poor writing? Then fear not, because Nicolas Sarkozy’s prison memoir is here! The former French president’s “Diary of a Prisoner” comes to all good prison libraries and bookstores on Dec. 10, but POLITICO has an advance copy and has read it despite common sense dictating it was a terrible idea. As a reminder, Sarkozy (prison number 320535) spent 20 days in prison, and his book is 216 pages long — that’s just under 11 pages per day of incarceration. Sarkozy, 70, was imprisoned after being found guilty of allowing “close collaborators” and “unofficial intermediaries” to try to obtain funding from Moammar Gadhafi’s regime in Libya for his 2007 presidential run. That made him the first former French head of state to end up behind bars since Nazi collaborator Philippe Pétain. “I want to make it clear that this is not a novel,” Sarkozy writes in the intro, thereby dashing any lingering hope that the book might have an interesting narrative arc rather than being an account of one man’s stay in jail for less than three weeks with two bodyguards in the cell next door. In terms of suspense, there’s little, as Sarkozy describes his prison cell as being like a “low-end hotel.” Although that, of course, relies on the reader’s believing that Sarkozy has ever stayed in an Ibis budget hotel (breakfast not included, with a view of the car park). Sarkozy’s acclimation to life behind bars provides quite an insight into a man who has enjoyed the wealth and trappings of fame. Early on he tries to open a window and “immediately regretted it” because of the noise it caused. “A prisoner was relentlessly striking the bars of his cell with a metal object. This racket lasted several minutes. It seemed endless to me. The atmosphere was threatening. Welcome to hell!” It’s unclear if the bar-striking prisoner was also the “neighboring inmate [who] spent part of his time singing ‘The Lion King’ and the other part pounding on the bars of his cell with a spoon.” Here’s hoping it wasn’t a soup spoon, as that would have been a massive faux pas. Thankfully, despite the noise and the inadequacy of the bed — “I had never felt a harder mattress, not even during my military service” while “the pillows were made of a strange material, perhaps plastic, and the blankets were blankets in name only” — Sarkozy managed to sleep until 7 a.m. his first night behind bars. That’s despite knowing that “my future neighbors would be, depending on the case, Islamist terrorists, rapists, murderers, or drug traffickers. A delightful prospect!” There are some lovely details in the book, including that Sarkozy’s cell had been adapted for “inmates with reduced mobility, for example, people in wheelchairs.” As a result, “the mirror was firmly fixed to the wall at a height that allowed me to clearly see all the details of the belt of my trousers. On the other hand, I had to bend double to comb my hair or trim my beard.” Thank goodness Sarkozy is only 1.65 meters tall (or 5 feet 5 inches, if you prefer), quite a bit below the average in France. We also get details of the daily routine. “Wake up early. Make the bed immediately. Wash, shave, dress properly. No pajamas, no negligence.” That would make a great Sarkozy family motto: Sine pyjamatibus, sine negligentia. Lunch is delivered at a scandalously early 11:30 a.m., “and I truly had no appetite. I don’t think I missed much by declining the meal offered in small plastic trays, which, without meaning any offense to whoever had prepared them, were not very appealing.” He later says the smell of the food trays made him feel “nauseous” and decries the “soggy baguette” offered at lunchtime. To be fair, that does sound awful. Sarkozy’s wife Carla Bruni’s “first words upon waking were: ‘What a nightmare! What have we done to deserve all this horror?'” — which is definitely how ordinary people speak. | Henrique Campos/Hans Lucas/AFP via Getty Images He spends the day reading. Before his incarceration Sarkozy told Le Figaro that he would be taking with him a copy of Alexandre Dumas’ “The Count of Monte Cristo” — the story of a man who escapes prison after being falsely accused of treason and locked up without trial — along with a biography of Jesus Christ by Jean-Christian Petitfils (which tells the story of, well, you probably know how that one goes). But there is the customary exercise break. “The walks in the courtyard were surreal,” Sarkozy writes. “There were few words exchanged. Each man remained locked in his own thoughts, his own story. Pain has a way of making people silent. Suffering rarely likes noise.” Unless you’re banging a spoon against the bars of the cell while singing “Circle of Life.” He uses the gym equipment daily, imagining himself running in the forest of Saint-Léger-en-Yvelines or the seashore of Cap Nègre. Alas, the post-workout shower was a challenge. “Perhaps out of fear that an inmate might hang himself, there was no showerhead, only a thin trickle of water.” He adds: “The worst part was that this thin stream of water stopped very quickly, like a timer. You constantly had to find the button and press it” — which sounds like the showers in any given public swimming pool. Before we get to the time in prison, there are precious moments of pre-prison life. His wife Carla Bruni’s “first words upon waking were: ‘What a nightmare! What have we done to deserve all this horror?'” — which is definitely how ordinary people speak. Sarkozy also writes about his meeting with current President Emmanuel Macron at the Élysée Palace, days before he headed to jail. “I had nothing to say to him and had little desire for a friendly chat.” Macron, however, told Sarkozy that he would have him transferred to another, supposedly safer, prison. Sarkozy was having none of it and refused “preferential treatment” — apart from the bodyguards next door. Bruni is a regular visitor, of course, but Sarkozy reveals that former Prime Minister Michel Barnier also requested a visit. Having been the EU’s point man on Brexit, Barnier is used to dealing with impossibly grim conditions. Lots of other political figures get a mention. Sarkozy thanks far-right leader Marine Le Pen for her support, and far-left leader Jean-Luc Mélenchon for not saying anything. But he slams his electoral opponent Ségolène Royal for “claiming, without a hint of irony, that she lost the 2007 election because of Gadhafi’s money!” and says former Interior Minister Bruno Retailleau “called me regularly, but did nothing more publicly.” Thankfully, after these 20 days of “hell,” Sarkozy’s appeal is held and he is released from prison and able to start penning his jailhouse diaries — just in time for them to become a Christmas best-seller (maybe).

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. Who’s the greater danger to society — a drunken raccoon, the average user of an e-scooter in Brussels, or people who have to walk in front of the EU’s diplomatic service? That was a trick question. It’s all of the above! This week, a raccoon (let’s call him Rocky to honor our elders and betters) in the town of Ashland, Virginia fell through the ceiling of a liquor store, smashed some bottles, got very drunk and passed out on the bathroom floor. We’ve all been there! We didn’t use to have raccoons in Europe — like baseball caps, Flaming Hot Cheetos and guns, they’ve been imported from America. Yet even raccoons, drunk or otherwise, have yet to make regular appearances in the EU Quarter of Brussels. For those readers who are unfamiliar with this small area, which is home to the European Union’s main institutions, imagine a sodden, post-apocalyptic wasteland where every other building is a construction site that may never be finished. A wasteland that is populated not by zombies with ripped clothes making ungodly growling sounds, but by people in mid-range suits making ungodly growling sounds (or French, as it’s sometimes known). To add to the tension, you need to be on the lookout for people riding e-scooters with reckless abandon (fun, er, fact: the collective noun for e-scooters is an annoyance). However, if you want to hop on an e-scooter in the center of Brussels, you’ll soon need to scan your ID and maybe even take a selfie so the two photos can be compared. This is at least in part because the enterprising drug dealers of Brussels are using the scooters to get around, and definitely won’t think to buy their own scooter, or walk, drive or take the bus etc. If you survive the eurocrats and the e-scooters, the next challenge in the EU Quarter is to traverse the Schuman roundabout, which was once a major construction project but is now more like a permanent museum commemorating the Battle of the Somme. Right next to the giant hole where a roundabout should be is the HQ of the European External Action Service (don’t be fooled by the A word), which was this week raided as part of a fraud probe launched by the European Public Prosecutor’s Office in what sociologists are calling EU-on-EU violence. Thankfully the raid took place in the morning, as Belgium has rules on the timing of such incursions. A decade ago, Belgian secret services located Europe’s most wanted man — Salah Abdeslam — in a Brussels flat two days after the Paris terror attacks, but weren’t allowed to raid the premises between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m. CAPTION COMPETITION “The new Carpool Karaoke looks awful.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “Have you even said thank you once?” by Thomas Wilhelm

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. Happy Orgies in Brussels season to all who celebrate! It’s been five years (where does the time go?) since right-wing Hungarian MEP József Szájer was caught trying to flee a gay orgy during Covid lockdown. And it’s been a scarcely believable decade since soldiers and police in Brussels reportedly held an orgy while their colleagues hunted for terror suspects in the wake of the Paris terror attacks. A police spokesperson later said that no such orgy took place, but the officers were instead having drinks to honor a colleague who was leaving, which begs the question — how many drinks did they have? Rumors about the orgy were started by “certain female police officers, jealous for not having been invited to the evening,” Johan De Becker, then chief of the Brussels West policing zone, told the newspaper La Capitale. So remember the golden rule: Don’t mess with Belgian cops. Speaking of whom, the police have, in addition to their usual orgy-related activities, been trying out snazzy new uniforms. However, in what can only be described as Peak Belgium, a nationwide rollout of the uniforms has been delayed because they only have the word politie on them and not the word police. Plus, there have been complaints that the color scheme — a seemingly classic combo of dark blue and yellow — is too close to the black-and-yellow found on the Flemish flag (the Vlaamse Leeuw). That flag features what is purportedly a lion, but appears closer to a dragon that’s making an ill-fated attempt at juggling. Police in Italy, meanwhile, have been taking a break from patrolling cafés for cappuccino-after-lunch offenders and thwarted the crime of the century by apprehending a man from Lombardy who had allegedly been dressing up as his dead mother in order to claim her pension. Suspicion was raised when the man, complete with a wig and wearing makeup and jewellery, tried to renew his mom’s ID card. Local media reported that instead of registering her death, the man allegedly hid her body in his home — presumably so they could watch the movie “Psycho” together. Cops in France have of course been chasing the criminals behind the Louvre heist, and this week made four more arrests. The first batch of alleged thieves were charged with organized theft, which carries a 15-year prison sentence, and criminal conspiracy, punishable by 10 years in prison. If Nicolas Sarkozy can write a 216-page book about his 20 days in jail, imagine how long the prison memoirs of these guys will be? CAPTION COMPETITION “Wow, that’s the biggest turkey since my tariffs plan.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “Emmanuel Macron contemplates post-presidency career as professional 10-pin bowler.” by Susan Allen

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. Quiz question for Italian readers: Which is the bigger food crime? a) cream in a carbonara b) cappuccino after late morning c) pineapple on pizza Answers on a postcard to the supermarket in the European Parliament and/or the International Criminal Court. It’s been a challenging week for Italian foodstuffs. Italy’s agriculture minister, Francesco Lollobrigida, was livid when he saw a jar of carbonara sauce on the shelves of the Delhaize store inside the Parliament in Brussels that contained pancetta rather than guanciale — the cheek of it! (Guanciale is pork cheek, get it? No? Oh.) Lollobrigida said such products represent the “worst of ‘Italian-sounding’” foodstuffs and called for an “immediate investigation.” Thank goodness there isn’t a war (or several) going on. That said, passing off food as Italian is a big financial deal. Agricultural group Coldiretti reckons the “scandal of fake Italian products” costs the country €120 billion a year. Italy has also applied for Italian cuisine to be included in UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list (which basically means you can’t f**k with it). On a side note, already on the UNESCO list is “shrimp fishing on horseback” in Oostduinkerke, Belgium. I didn’t know shrimp could ride horses! Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni’s party plans to write to Parliament President Roberta Metsola to complain about the use of the Italian flag on the offending jar of pasta sauce. Mind you, Meloni’s party is the Brothers of Italy and — shock — they are not all brothers! “On the record: no one should put carbonara in a jar,” Metsola’s spokesperson told my colleagues at Brussels Playbook, in what may or may not have been a reference to the 1980s film “Dirty Dancing.” However, Metsola’s team pointed out that while food labeling is an EU competence, it is not the Parliament president’s job to intervene. As we all know, the Parliament president’s actual job is to, er, let’s circle back on that one. The battle over Italian cuisine is not just being fought on the shelves of the Parliament’s in-house supermarket, of course. The European Commission is to present a list of sectors that it wants exempted from U.S. tariffs, and that will likely include pasta. Donald Trump loves Italian food, which we know because he made a genuinely horrific advert for Pizza Hut in the 1990s in which he ate the crust first. Shudder. Trump’s Italian cousin — in deed if not by blood — is Silvio Berlusconi, who was a vocal defender of his country’s food. In the early 2000s, negotiations were being held to decide on the location of the European Food Safety Authority, with Parma and Helsinki as the competitors. Berlusconi was unknowingly overheard saying that Finnish food was inedible and disgusting and that he could barely endure it during his visits to the north. “Finns only eat marinated reindeer meat! They don’t even know what prosciutto is,” Berlusconi said. That’s nonsense, everyone knows that prosciutto is sparkling wine! CAPTION COMPETITION “Frenchman stumped when asked how many prime ministers he has appointed this month.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “Don’t let yourselves be fooled. He also is more intelligent than he looks (just like me).” by Gregor Pozniak

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. “Good evening and welcome to the BBC News at 10. Today’s top story… Donald Trump is wonderful, and brilliant, and oh-so handsome, and his suits definitely fit properly. In other news, wars are still raging everywhere. Here’s Darren with the weather…” Is this the future of the British Broadcasting Corporation now that Donald Trump has set its sights on it? The U.S. president said he has an “obligation” to sue the BBC over a badly spliced edit of his speech on Jan. 6, 2021, in a documentary that aired last year. His lawyers want $1 billion, which is a lot of money (about the same as an average European family’s monthly energy bills). Asked by Fox News (which isn’t presented by, catered to, or often watched by actual foxes) if he would go ahead with the lawsuit following his Friday night deadline for a retraction of the documentary, Trump said: “Well I guess I have to, you know, why not, because they defrauded the public, and they’ve admitted it.” Trump of course always tells the truth and was definitely doing so when he said that he’d cut medicine prices “by 1,500 percent” (which would mean paying Americans to take the drugs); or that “there’s no inflation” (there is inflation); or that he “turned the valve” so that Los Angeles could have water (there’s no valve that magically makes water appear in Southern California); or, I mean this could go on for some time. There are other problems at the BBC, of course. The leaked internal memo from Michael Prescott, a former independent external adviser to its editorial standards committee, that kicked off the entire Trump drama also highlighted issues with the broadcaster’s coverage of the transgender issue and the Israel-Gaza war. And so the BBC’s director general and head of news have resigned, which means someone has to run the ship (at least until Nigel Farage becomes prime minister and disbands the whole thing, makes himself the lead news anchor, and replaces all the lovingly made David Attenborough nature documentaries with repeats of the Benny Hill Show). Who could take on such a gargantuan task as running the BBC in such politically charged times? Here are the 5 leading contenders, according to a high-level source within the BBC (OK, I give in, it was Tinky-Winky from the Teletubbies): JD Vance Who? U.S. vice president, author of “Hillbilly Elegy” and victim of shocking internet rumors that he had sex with a couch. Owner of retailer JD Sports (probably). Why he could get the job: Close to Trump, so could oversee a dramatic overhaul of the corporation. Not a fan of woke or “childless cat ladies,” which would help him achieve that aim. Why he won’t get it: Has made it clear that the U.S. won’t always be there to bail out Europe, whether that’s aid for Ukraine or the TV channel that made “Don’t Scare The Hare”, in which contestants had to complete tasks without alarming a 4-foot animatronic robot hare. Nicolas Sarkozy Who? Former French president and legal trouble enthusiast. Why he could get the job: Angry and motivated after recent stint in jail. Wife Carla Bruni would bring glamour to grey old Britain. Why he won’t get it: French. Liz Truss Who? Blink-and-you-missed-it former British prime minister (yes, that actually happened). Why she could get the job: Has experience of bringing about major change (crashing the economy) to a once-respected international brand (the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland) in a short space of time (49 days). Why she won’t get it: Would immediately ban any cooking shows that involve the use of lettuce, thus damaging the profit margins of British farmers. Cataclysmically unpopular. József Szájer Who? Former right-wing Hungarian MEP caught trying to flee a gay orgy. Why he could get the job: Would not be fazed by scandal and adversity. Used to getting out of sticky situations. Why he won’t get it: Cost of replacing BBC Broadcasting House’s doors with drainpipes could prove prohibitive. Andrew Mountbatten Windsor Who? The royal formerly known as Prince Andrew. Why he could get the job: Won’t break a sweat running the BBC, because he doesn’t sweat. Has had strong friendships with important figures in the American entertainment industry. Plenty of time on his hands. Why he won’t get it: Erm… CAPTION COMPETITION “I love this guy. Go Turkey!” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “Here, Lars!  You take the plastic podium. The steel one, I will protect.“ by Fred Myers

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. Surely we can all agree that there’s one big question that needs answering in French politics. No, not who will be this week’s prime minister (my money is on Vincent Cassel), but what on earth happened to the second (and rather beautiful) camel gifted to François Hollande by the country of Mali? In France’s P.M. era (that’s pre-Macron), Hollande was the president whose popularity once slumped to a mere 4 percent (which is Truss-esque), and — in a case of what can only be described as Peak France — was photographed driving around with his lover on a scooter. He was also once given a camel by the government of Mali in a show of gratitude for France’s assistance in driving out Islamist militants. Hollande took one look at the camel and decided that a creature with a bad attitude and terrible breath would be an ideal addition to the back benches of the National Assembly, preferably sitting next to Jean-Marie Le Pen. Alas, it was decided that the even-toed ungulate (camel, not Le Pen) should remain in West Africa, and it was given to a family in Timbuktu for safekeeping. They promptly slaughtered it and used it in a tagine. Obviously, that was a rather embarrassing (if also potentially delicious) diplomatic error, so Mali jumped into action. “As soon as we heard of this, we quickly replaced it with a bigger and better-looking camel,” an unnamed Malian official told Reuters at the time. That was 12 years ago and the camel has been barely heard of since. Declassified can now reveal that the creature is preparing for its Bal des Débutantes and hoping to secure a place at the prestigious École Nationale d’Administration. Choosing a present for a senior politician is a tricky business, of course. Sometimes, a country absolutely nails it: just this week, Danish Foreign Minister Lars Løkke Rasmussen gave his Egyptian counterpart, Badr Abdelatty, a Lego pyramid. That works on many levels as Denmark is the home of Lego and is one of the so-called Frugal Four fiscally conservative European countries — and you can buy the Lego version of the Great Pyramid of Giza for just €139.99. Even cheaper were the two potatoes that former U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry presented to his Russian counterpart Sergei Lavrov in 2014, presumably so Lavrov could have a chip on each of his shoulders — or throw them at a Ukrainian! Lavrov suggested the potatoes may have a symbolic purpose ahead of negotiations on a peace conference for Syria (oh, the irony). “The specific potato which John handed to me has the shape which makes it possible to insert potato in the carrot-and-stick expression. So it could be used differently,” Lavrov said. Nope, me neither. Making much more sense was noted japester Xi Jinping of China, who this week gave South Korea’s president Lee Jae Myung a pair of smartphones and then joked that they contained spyware. I say joked … U.S. presidents get some lavish gifts. In 1972, China gave Richard Nixon two giant pandas following the U.S. president’s visit to the country. Ling-Ling and Hsing-Hsing were given to the National Zoo in Washington DC, which sadly did not rename them Woodward and Bernstein after Watergate. George W. Bush received 300 pounds of raw lamb in 2003 from Argentina’s then-president Nestor Kirchner, and Bush’s dad was gifted a Komodo dragon by the president of Indonesia in 1990 (handy if there was any of that lamb left). Then there’s the European Commission and its fabled “Ali Baba cave”, a sort of clearing house for nice gifts (they sit there for a few months and then get sent to auction). As POLITICO discovered on a 2016 visit to the “cave”, there are some odd things in there, including at the time a didgeridoo given to former European Commission Vice President Jyrki Katainen. Alas, there are no camels (alive or served in a tagine) kept in the bowels of the Berlaymont, as far as we know. CAPTION COMPETITION “Please welcome to the stage the finalists of Germany’s Glummest Man.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “The sad state of today’s so-called supermodels.” by Mr LJ

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. What does a far-right gal have to do to get a quiet day at work in this political world? Surely, that’s what Italian Prime Minister and Trump-whisperer Giorgia Meloni must have been wondering as her Hungarian counterpart Viktor Orbán came to Rome this week. The Hungarian leader was on a mission to chew bubble gum and make erratic statements to the media — and it appears he was all out of gum. Italian media had a field day covering the meeting, splashing headlines about Palazzo Chigi’s “embarrassment” over how to handle the awkward friendship. And Meloni’s coalition partners weren’t shy either: “We have different ideas,” said Forza Italia leader — and man deeply devoted to his summer holidays — Antonio Tajani of the Hungarian prime minister. Poor Giorgia. Imagine spending most of your time at work trying to stop your international teammates — all with authoritarian ambitions, a flair for the dramatic and extremely thin skin — from accidentally starting another war, trade or otherwise, by offending one another. Or merely pointing out someone’s bronzer is fading. Then Orbán showed up at her door, turned to the cameras, and announced that U.S. President and makeup enthusiast Donald Trump “has gone too far” with his sanctions on Russian oil. Orbán vowed he would personally fly to Washington to talk the American leader out of them and fix the situation himself — like a real strongman would. And to make sure no world leaders felt left out, Orbán then pivoted to Europe, declaring that the EU “has no role” and is “out of the game” when it comes to Ukraine. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen will be thrilled. Giorgia must have been exhausted by this point — and that was all on day one. She had probably hoped Orbán would have at least started the day on a holier note considering his morning began at the Vatican, but to no avail. “I’ve asked His Holiness to support Hungary’s peace efforts,” Orbán said of his meeting with the Pope. One can only imagine the pontiff’s reaction, likely a mix of shock and confusion as he restrained himself from questioning the Hungarian leader’s definition of “peace.” Next time, he might just call Giorgia and ask her to mediate. CAPTION COMPETITION “My hat might say USA, but my body says YMCA.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “World domination, one coloring book at a time.” by Val Flynn

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. The cold steel door of Nicolas Sarkozy’s cell swung shut on Tuesday as the former French president and legal trouble enthusiast began his prison sentence. He’s the first former French head of state to end up behind bars — a fate almost worse than being named prime minister — since Nazi collaborator Philippe Pétain. Sarkozy told Le Figaro that he would be taking with him a copy of Alexandre Dumas’ “The Count of Monte Cristo” — which tells the story of a man who escapes prison after being falsely accused of treason and locked up without trial — along with a biography of Jesus Christ (no spoilers about the end of that one, please). But Sarkozy hasn’t just been reading while inside. He has also been working on his prison diary, and has shared an extract with Declassified (in exchange for a packet of cigarettes, the ultimate French prison currency). Prison de la Santé, Paris. October 2025 As if we needed any more proof that France is a far greater country than the United States, French prisoners do not have to wear a uniform, and especially not a bright orange jumpsuit (Carla would never visit me if I had to commit such a fashion faux pas). But that is some rare good news from this hellhole (at least the prison is in the 14th arrondissement, which is kind of acceptable). I am staying in the laughably titled VIP wing of the jail, which means I get my own room with a television, although it is not high-definition and I cannot fully enjoy my favorite TV show, “L’amour est dans le pré.” My biggest fear is that, because of prison overcrowding, I’ll one day be forced to share my cell with the people who robbed the Louvre. A few things give me comfort in these difficult times. One is the famous names that have been in this place over the years, including Carlos the Jackal. In my new role as a hardened — albeit innocent, very innocent — prisoner, maybe I should have a nickname too. I used to be called President Bling-Bling, which I quite liked, and Le Top Cop, but that might not go down too well with my fellow inmates. Speaking of whom, many of these prisoners are downright rude. They have been singing “Oh Sarko, la ch*tte à ta mère, réveille-toi!” at the top of their voices in order to keep me awake at night. For my English readers and admirers, that sentence is an extremely defamatory statement about my mother and I have instructed my lawyers to take action. Another famous inmate in this place was Michel Vaujour, who escaped by helicopter after threatening guards with a fake pistol and nectarines painted as grenades. His wife took helicopter lessons so she could be the getaway pilot. Carla says she is too busy to take such lessons but I have strong hopes for my son Louis, who is already a high flyer (that is a little joke). It was darling Louis who urged my fans to come out and show their support as I was headed to jail — and as many as 100 did so. That’s how beloved I am. Vaujour also once escaped from another prison by making an impression of a key in the rind of a Babybel, but I would never stoop so low … as to eat a Babybel (I prefer Époisses de Bourgogne). Nicolas, aged 70 CAPTION COMPETITION “And in his search for food, Pavel the Polar Bear decided to leave Russia’s sphere of influence, so I sent a fleet of drones and had him killed. The end.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “No, you don’t know how to play rock, paper, scissors.” by Stephen Robinson

Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column. Our new robot overlords are not that different from our old robot overlords, at least when it comes to sex. As far back as the 4th century B.C.E., the Taoist philosopher Liezi wrote a story about an inventor who presented a life-sized automaton to the Chinese king. The machine danced. It sang. It winked at and made advances toward the women of the royal court, which greatly angered the king, who had the inventor executed on the spot and the machine taken apart, where he discovered that all its internal organs were made of leather, wood, glue and lacquer — a bit like the insides of Donald Trump! Nothing’s changed in the centuries since then. This week, OpenAI’s Sam Altman (who looks like he really wants you to come and watch his band: “We play acoustic versions of jazz-rock classics.” “No thanks, I’m busy.”) announced that ChatGPT will soon allow erotic material. First up, a new version of ChatGPT that will allow you to customize your artificial intelligence assistant’s personality (I’m going to have mine set to “passive-aggressive regional manager of an insurance company.”) “If you want your ChatGPT to respond in a very human-like way, or use a ton of emoji, or act like a friend, ChatGPT should do it (but only if you want it, not because we are usage-maxxing),” Altman added — and the part in parentheses has strong added-in-by-the-legal-team-because-we-don’t-want-to-scare-people vibes. There was more and it was, er, saucy. “In December, as we roll out age-gating more fully and as part of our ‘treat adult users like adults’ principle, we will allow even more, like erotica for verified adults,” Altman said, which is a sentence that manages to be both forward-looking and backward-looking at the same time (Schrödinger’s Chat?). “Treat adults like adults” sounds like the kind of slogan that a Viktor Orbán or a Nigel Farage would use to bemoan the modern world — “Remember when adults were treated like adults and used to make their own decisions, not have them dictated by the nanny state?” Yeah, and people used to die of cholera and be sent down the coal mines at age 7. Anyway, Altman didn’t give any details about what ChatXXX would actually look like but I think we can all agree that it’ll be about as sexy as being forced to listen to an endless loop of speeches by Valdis Dombrovskis. Plus, permanent access to AI erotica could be dangerous in the workplace and lead to repeats of the incident involving former British MP Neil Parish, who in 2022 admitted he had twice watched pornography in the House of Commons chamber. Parish, who is a farmer, told the BBC: “Funnily enough it was tractors I was looking at. I did get into another website that had a very similar name and I watched it for a bit, which I shouldn’t have done.” For the purposes of research, I have googled the intersection of pornography and heavy agricultural machinery and am now wanted by the police. For those who are less concerned with the erotic possibilities of AI and more worried about if it will take your job (that reminds me, we need to talk — ed), fear not: It’s still massively flawed. We know that because Boris Johnson has been using ChatGPT to help him write his books. “I just ask questions,” Johnson admitted. “You know the answer but ChatGPT always says: ‘Oh, your questions are clever. You’re brilliant. You’re excellent. You have such insight.’” Praising Boris Johnson? AI is either seriously defective or someone set the “irony” button to 11. CAPTION COMPETITION “So we’re agreed, loser of the staring contest has to be French prime minister.” Can you do better? Email us at pdallison@politico.eu or get in touch on X @POLITICOEurope. Last week, we gave you this photo: Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best one from our mailbag — there’s no prize except the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far preferable to cash or booze. “So, they tell me you’ve been with Goldman Sachs, then Bank of Canada, then Bank of England, and even Bloomberg!  You finally figured out the real money’s in politics, eh?” by Frederic Myers