I was just laughing out loud at the fact that there is now a special sunscreen for tattoo patients, when I received that report from Martin van Rijn. It went well. Bullying, racism, discrimination, spitting in the face, pulling hair, adolescent sex talk about pulling carrots, grabbing the throat, dragging over the table, pressing against the wall and of course going to bed with the boss.
I think it’s great that they already have the program in advance The world goes on had mentioned. That must have been a visionary. After all the mess that came out, the police seem to be opening a permanent branch at the Media Park. This will be located next to the additional Emergency Department of one of the Gooise hospitals. There is also a rumor that there will be additional series The Family Dinner and The driving judge, both of which are exclusively about our never-boring broadcasting world. The somewhat too understanding Jan Slagter becomes the driver of that white limousine as punishment because he shouted in every program for a year that everything was not too bad. And the Driving Judge? That will be Khalid Kasem. He has a solid legal background and is currently looking for a job. He wants to take Hanneke Groenteman with him because she regularly calls him ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darling’. That is good for his shattered self-confidence. Sophie Hilbrand becomes his sniffling emotion coach.
In the meantime, the world continues to turn happily on all fronts and indeed: madness reigns. For example, at the same NPO I saw a bunch of stiff ladies from menopause who were steaming their vaginas with steaming herbal tea. In India or Sri Lanka? No, in the West Frisian town of Wervershoof. It was a hilarious minute in the corny program I leave. Duffy hats sat uncomfortably on a jar of Earl Gray with their old box. On the television. That’s the funniest thing. I understand that someone at home, alone in an attic room, freshens up the old pubic slit with a game of rooibos, but just on the TV? I also recommend that Mediapark have its own psychiatric care clinic. On the other side of that police station.
In the meantime, I understand that the tattoo types not only have their own sunscreen, but also a special ointment and a lightening lotion. I think of my youth when only tough sailors and muscular truckers had stickers. Without a fussy tattoo care line from the Bayer company.
The world continues to spin happily. In my beloved Sicily you occasionally see a viaduct overgrown with weeds, rotting away in a sweltering piece of no man’s land. Dutch tourists like to sneer about wasted tax money. But I will teach my Sicilian friends to just say ‘Lelystad Airport’. A complete airport worth almost 250 million with a runway, a control tower, a terminal, parking lots and a few restaurants.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to explain to the Italians that we are so vulgarly and filthy rich. I wasn’t able to do that with our Sywert’s face mask business either. And not that the stolen money has still not been returned.
Then my best friend called. He warned me about Elon Musk’s brain implant, which was presented with much fanfare this week. Never start. This not only allows you to operate your phone by thinking, but according to him, your phone also shows what is going on in your head. His advice? Don’t leave your phone lying around anymore. His wife would have a stroke.
Meanwhile, the world is racing in desperate circles. I think of the 50 billion euro bonus from the same Musk that that poor man does not get. I muse about the most expensive cruise ship floating in the plastic soup with 10,000 obese American seniors. Too bad we’re out of icebergs. Then I hear from a friend that her neighbor’s dog has been fitted with braces. Not made up. Really and truly. I call my wife and ask if that will help our hangover? Her answer is short and sweet: first bleach his anus!