I’ve been a so-called for a while now pensionomador an older man without a permanent place of residence. If it were up to me, it would remain that way for a while. Especially now that I have read that Dutch supermarkets sell stroopwafels with cheese. A well-founded reason never to set foot on national soil again. I think humanity can really stop now. A mass suicide is completely justified. Syrup waffles with cheese. What lonely welfare bastard came up with this scumbag? The village idiot of Gouda?
Or is it a way to address our national migrant problem? That the recipe comes from blonde Mona’s kitchen in Volendam. That the rough right is going to split this rubbish into the empty stomachs of the refugees during some vague integration course. I fear that after a careful snack, those poor fortune seekers will immediately sprint to their rubber boats in the Loosdrechtse Plassen and row hard back to their devastated homelands.
There is also good news. Wonderful to read that the friendly broadcaster Ongehoord Nederland is in financial trouble. They had to pay eight hundred thousand euros to lawyers to settle their mutual disputes. Even Marco Borsato knows that those lawyers are not cheap. When he received the final bill from the Knoopsjes this week, he spontaneously fell off his bike.
It would also be quite a shame if that sympathetic brown shirt broadcaster, which in our home is called FC Plasterk, will disappear. I will especially miss their frothing at the mouth news broadcasts during the afternoon. That is an absolute must for anyone who enjoys a bit of schadenfreude.
I am writing this on May 1 in Aix-en-Provence, France, where I see a friendly demonstration moving along a wide boulevard. On Labor Day, a left-wing parade is part of France. They walk through this soft yellow-painted town and mainly shout for world peace. And of course they are against the extreme right. So civilized people. A police car drives at the head of the demonstration and accompanies it at walking pace. I wonder whether the police officers present already know that they will soon be pelted with heavy fireworks and street tiles. Is the driver of the police car already aware that his vehicle is about to be turned upside down and attacked? Or have they not gotten that far yet?
The only thing that disappoints me in this peaceful parade are the wheelchair users who have to propel themselves with great difficulty. None of their friends help them move forward by pushing a little. Of course, that’s also because all those red guys have to hold up their banners. But doesn’t ‘left’ mean that you help the people with less luck a little? Or is your protest chalked on an old sheet more important? Good question.
Our army is currently training very seriously on the ‘scorched earth tactic’
As the procession passes by, I read on my phone that we are heading for a serious drinking water shortage in our country. The abundance of private swimming pools is one of the causes. Every country has its own problems. As I read on, I think that fire-fighting water is more important than drinking water for the time being. Because our army is currently practicing the ‘scorched earth tactic’ very seriously and, according to a general, we will continue with this for a while. The fact that we have a real drought protocol and a serious professor of forest fires in our country makes me happy. A few days earlier I read that the Veluwe is trampled every week by the thousands of day trippers who rush through it every weekend. This problem was completely solved in a week.
Yesterday a Frenchman asked if I have a holiday home near here and advised me to leave it as soon as possible. The forest fire season starts next week and could last until at least the end of September. Everything is going wrong. He talked about the precautions taken by the fire brigade and the army.
“The what?” I laughed.
“The army is helping to put out the fire,” the man said, irritated because I was laughing so hard.
The firefighting army. Tears ran down my cheeks.
