Gerhard Schröder, Thierry Baudet and his right-hand man Gideon van Meijeren would actually go to Crimea for a long weekend because they maintain warm ties with the Russian regime. But they canceled all three. They are afraid that the tires will become a bit too hot in the coming time. The Ukrainians are sending missiles that way.
“That’s just rude,” said Thierry, “as a civilized country you don’t just attack your neighbor.”
“Strongly agree,” I said to the former Pied Piper and asked if it might be fun to choose a different destination. It also seems to be nice and warm in Bordeaux at the moment.
Right-hand man Gideon immediately started to sputter that all those forest fires had nothing to do with the climate. Did I say that? No, but he was afraid I was going that way with my cowardly left-wing jokes. I reassured him and advised him to stoke up all the forest fires so that we won’t need any Russian gas at all next winter. Gerhard thought this was an inappropriate comment. He asked if I knew he was Vladimir’s gas ambassador. I knew that. A German for the gas. Special combination.
By the way, I think it’s a remarkable schnabbel for a former Chancellor. Especially now that he is also demanding that the German government rent an office for him to arrange his mafia affairs.
I started about the nuclear power plant in Zaporizhzhya. I suggested that Vladimir will soon no longer have to use nuclear weapons at all. Two bombs on the barrels of nuclear fuel and an area the size of the Netherlands is pleasantly contaminated. And if Putin needs some more expert information on nuclear weapons, he should call his friend Trump. He seems to keep some boxes of atomic bomb info in one of his villas. Why? Maybe one day to invade the Capitol after all? Is that junk just with Donald in a shed? Besides the ampoules of nerve gas? Or did he only keep the instructions for use? Sometimes I’m just scared.
Why? Because it’s five to twelve. How do I know? I’m guessing. My Rolex is in a safe because otherwise they will be waiting for me at my house and screw my arm off my body on the spot. And I don’t run as fast as Dusan Tadic. A wealthy friend of mine wears his Rolex on his cock these days because he doesn’t want to wake up criminals, but wants to impress stupid women.
But I think it’s late. Very late even. Due to the sum of forest fires, global drought, nuclear disaster, desperate refugee flows and then Frenkie de Jong also owes another nineteen million euros from FC Barcelona. Disaster upon disaster upon disaster. And actually I’m afraid that Vladimir will soon come ruthlessly in our direction and then immediately penetrate into the Torentje. Thierry shows him the way. In that Torentje he immediately names Schröder as Head Slochteren and he asks right hand Gideon to lick his heels.
Why do I think Putin is coming here? That’s what I think ever since I saw the media bitch Tim den Besten sniff loudly at Natasja Gibbs for fifteen minutes. Why did the treasure have to sob so much? Because he was completely off the hook. Monkeypox on the buttocks? No, much worse. During the Pride, he had sung a Sinterklaas song against a boat full of cousins, live on television, and there was a racist word in it. He sang ‘Sinterklaasje, come in with you…’.
I dare not type the last word of this line. I don’t take that risk, for fear that I will be canceled for the rest of my life by all kinds of soft and woke types.
What does Putin have to do with this? I fear that if he sees this pitiful video on YouTube and understands what it is about, he will immediately come our way. And to his defense secretary will murmur: “This kind offers no resistance.”
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of August 13, 2022