A friend of mine recently has a young girlfriend. Not because he’s handsome or smart, but he’s just rich. And you know: a certain type of women is sensitive to that. Not the smartest kind. Or maybe yes.
How much younger she is? Almost forty-five years. On Thursday, at the age of 71, he made his Christmas dinner debut at his new parents-in-law’s, where her brothers had put him at the seniors’ table out of annoyance. His fresh sweetheart was sitting with her peers at the lactose-free vegadis. And then also in the gluten allergy corner.
The group consisted of almost fifty family members spread over two richly decorated tables in a large family home in the Achterhoek. He was sitting next to his new girlfriend’s grandfather. He is ninety-nine and immediately let him know that he will reach a hundred next year. And then he dies happily. Euthanasia injection. Agreed with the home doctor. Been nice. Breaking down in a diaper is only for dumbasses.
Then he asked my friend who he was and what exactly he was doing there. He said that he was the new love of his granddaughter Rosalie. Whereupon the old boss immediately started: “Oh that’s you. You’re that rich pervert who is nibbling on our young leaf.”
It was not without reason that Rosalie’s brothers had placed Grandpa next to their new brother-in-law. There was also laughter at such an annual lame family dinner. In no time Grandpa was screaming and wondering why on earth he had to sit next to this filthy Prince Andrew. And what should he talk about with this child molester? His teddy bear collection?
He immediately demanded another place at the table. The problem was that no one wanted to sit next to grandpa for years. My friend cautiously offered to join Rosalie at the youth dinner, but no one at that table was interested in this mature carnivore. Grandpa was also strongly against that. That creepy Woody Allen had to stay as far away from his granddaughter as possible. No, just next to him. Then he could keep an eye on this pedo.
According to grandpa, Jake Paul was a metaphor for our planet
Then grandpa went wild. Cheerfully spiced opinions about the Gaza genocide, the cunning Rutte who taught the geriatric peacemaker Trump how to cover up the truth, about the Winter Olympics without snow, about Greenland that will soon change hands without bloodshed, about Putin who has a sense of humor because he thinks the US should not invade Venezuela, about the slaves in the Amsterdam Saint & Stars gym who had to clean up the mess left by the committed belt brats…
At this a girl shouted from the vegadis for him to say ‘enslaved’. Whereupon grandpa shouted that he didn’t like their woolly woke words. Suddenly he started drinking his expensive Burgundy through a straw. He did this in solidarity with Jake Paul, who had recently had himself remodeled by a real boxer in front of eighty million viewers. He was left with forty million dollars. Plus a head that is temporarily held together with four titanium plates. According to him, Jake Paul was a metaphor for our planet.
Finally, he raised a toast to the last legal fireworks season, which has already been a resounding success. The seriously injured can no longer be counted on one hand. That is, if you still have that hand. Although lately he also had the impression that many women had lost their eyebrows due to a flare-up. He saw so many ladies with tragic felt-tip pen marks above their eyes. While we need our eyebrows more than ever. There is a lot to frown about. A lot, in fact.
After this he stood up and wished both tables a cheerful continuation of the meal. Both the green food nibblers and the elderly deer brutes. He further advised Rosalie to quickly marry in community of property. And then get a divorce. My friend finally got a wink. A very cool wink.
After this, far from dramatically, he shouted: “Dear people, this was my last Christmas round. I wish you all the best.”
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