So the elderly talk show gentleman, who once mistook a vagina for a candlestick in his youth, used the word liquidate in his well-watched television program when he meant eliminate. This happened when he was talking about our national unvaccinated village idiot. Our Treasury Secretary had indirectly called him a spy because in her early years she had attended some English school where a real spy had also been a student. The children of a friend of mine went to the same high school as Klaas Bruinsma and it is true: my friend regularly misses a charging cord that one of his sons almost certainly took to his student room.
The elderly talk show gentleman spent at least fifteen minutes of his program the next day on his own embarrassing senior moment. According to him, half the world was turned upside down by his slip of the tongue. His world I fear. I really hadn’t heard of anyone. Meanwhile, the unvaccinated village idiot has reported the elderly mustache. You will work at the Public Prosecution Service and have to treat this toddler case seriously!
When the unvaccinated village idiot insulted the minister, she resigned demonstratively. The entire cabinet joined her in solidarity. I thought: quit? So they can.
The village idiot’s wife, who was giving birth at the same time, saw her husband on television bellow his ridiculous plot into the room and cried to her birth coach: “And I’m going to have a child from this madcap!” The contractions stopped spontaneously.
The sad scene between the village idiot and the cabinet took place in The Hague, where the day before poor Princess Beatrix stood in front of a window, waving desperately at a carriage, which she could not see because angry peasants stood in front of her royal nose. Farmers who would later boo her family during the balcony scene. I’ve never seen the Oranges flee in so quickly. Wave-wave & go. By the way, the king had just heard that he and his family were the only Dutch to make significant progress next year. They gain almost five tons. So the waving could have been a little longer and more grateful.
Willy asked me yesterday if I would like to be his reading coach at the next Prinsjesdag. Because he also felt that he made a mess of it last Tuesday. I think it would be nice if next year we put the now retired Chamber President Vera Bergkamp next to him and that she, like a real school teacher, just let him read every jumbled sentence again. And maybe it would be nice to make it a little more theater anyway. After all, it was in a theater. So when he reads that he is the only Dutch person to earn more, that he raises a fat middle finger at us and in plain Haags’fuck you‘ shouts.
It seemed to me to be a tough day for our monarch, who had just arrived from London and had been ringside at Queen Elizabeth’s funeral. What an unprecedented spectacle. All the British dress-up boxes had been completely emptied and it was a beautiful carnival. The highlight is the sailors who pulled the late Queen towards her tomb. 98 Sailors! Gerard Reve’s ultimate dream. And the lonely 26-year-old pony Carltonlima Emma, who looked sadly at the long-drawn box with her owner’s shawl on her back, also moved the world. Plus the howling dogs! I want this entertainment twice a year from now on.
Endless lines for a chest. In this way we automatically arrive at our national disaster Schiphol. I have a solution for that. The suspected supermarket boss Frits van Eerd has been released. He has been sidetracked by Jumbo for the time being. But I think Frits once thought that if there are more than four people in front of a cash register in one of his stores, then the fourth would receive the groceries for free. Isn’t that a brilliant big stick at our airport? So? Frits as CEO of Schiphol. Life is so simple!
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of September 24, 2022