Bullet dialogue

In the US, right-wing folk hero Charlie Kirk was fatally shot in the neck. This is a rich tradition in cowboy country. Many people have gone before him. John F. Kennedy was allowed to say goodbye in exactly the same way almost 62 years ago.

Wonderful nation. All a weapon to give you a healthy dose of rant and rabble. I understand that the religious victim himself saw it as an everyday risk. Now it's his turn. The Bible has been saying it for a while: "He who handles the sword will perish with the sword." True words from Jesus Christ himself. To his friend Peter, who wanted to defend him with a sword against the Romans.

Kirk's supporters are currently praying en masse for Charlie and his family. God is listening to it all, shaking his head. Meanwhile, the murder weapon has been found. The owner had some words engraved on the bullets. That seems like a strange visit to the local jeweler. Walking into the shop with a handful of bullets and asking if they could have some words engraved on them. True words, that is. Well, to the shooter, they're true. Back in the day, you spoke those kinds of words. Just with your mouth. It was called a discussion. But that's so old-fashioned and outdated.

But now we also have something in our drinking water. Some kind of substance that's making us aggressive and completely insane. On Friday, almost all the schools in Beverwijk and Heemskerk were closed because there were fears of a full-blown village war breaking out among the local youth. On the internet, cobbled-together videos are floating around in which the two picturesque towns, under the carcinogenic smoke of Tata Steel, are transformed into a kind of screaming Gaza. With the help of AI, of course.

Speaking of Gaza: that desperate corner of Israel is causing a lot of commotion. Some good things, too. For example, our country is threatened with not participating in next year's Eurovision Song Contest if Israel participates. Personally, I find that a wonderful prospect. Then those poor Gazans won't have died in vain.

Speaking of prayer: I saw our king in a synagogue last Sunday, where they were praying for the blessing of the Israeli army. I don't know exactly what they were asking Yahweh for, but I hope they didn't ask their god for more starving Palestinians. Our king kept his royal jaws tightly shut during this quick prayer. Clever of him. It's impossible for that man to have to pray for an army that's committing genocide.

He's probably been thinking about other things. Lighter things. Like the brother of his Belgian colleague who, a few days later, confessed to having a bastard. Conceived by Wendy van Wanten. Pure Efteling news. A boy who looks exactly like his father.

A breath of fresh air in the jungle of murder and mayhem, where even a golf course on the tidy Tespelduyn estate is temporarily closed because the lawn mowers were no longer safe. They were beaten up by frustrated golfers and insulted in affected tones by their riled-up Botox bitches. So bad that the place was closed for a while. To give everyone a chance to cool down. Just like those high schools in Beverwijk and Heemskerk.

Once again: there's something in our drinking water. A substance that's making us aggressive and crazy. For example, in our country, there's the artificial ski slope Snowworld, which wants to expand with a so-called zipline. It involves pathetic people hanging from a steel clothesline, floating a few hundred meters above the ground. Something for screaming bachelor parties. There's just one problem: beneath the cheering former beer bikers lies a cemetery where grieving families try to hide a dead body under the green turf.

So you leave a world where people carve words into bullets, openly commit genocide, high schools and golf clubs want to wage war, and above you floats a drunken fatso on a string. Then you want to leave. Far, far away.