Do we actually realize that we are on the brink of the third world war? Something with Ukraine. And after the Olympics probably with Taiwan. I mentioned this to my neighbor yesterday, who immediately asked if Putin had sent a dick pic to Biden. Or vice versa.
I got the neighbor. We’re in the midst of a national penis pandemic and can’t help but talk about pencil peddlers. They used to be dirty losers in stained raincoats who suddenly asthmatic jumped out of the bushes by the pool. But now they’re just brave guys in the prime of their successful lives. Like our Linda’s fiancée from Zeeland, who recently had to openly admit that he shared pictures of his ferocious weasel with innocent girls without being asked. He even had a special cell phone for that. That was in his Porsche. You expect a third-hand Fiat Uno or a rusty Hyundai with that kind of messy jerks. No showy pimp.
Or is it right? Are they indeed the men who were born with Joris’ seven ticks on the right side of Sander’s gorge? Who have a credit card that never refuses and therefore go looking for more, more and more?
Now the best director Ajax has ever had is world news because he harassed several women for a long time with talks and pictures that they were not really waiting for. So you work in the parking tickets department of the Johan Cruijff Arena and suddenly you have your boss’s prick in your phone. Between the baby photos of your children and the touching snapshot of your niece on the playground swing. Shot his Veluwe phallus on the toilet, which you recognize by the sad tiles. And why did he send his jeering jodocus? Because he had just sold Frenkie to the bankrupt Barcelona for more than 75 million? The transfer from Matthijs to Juve was still in the making at that time. So his phone was probably already in heat growling on his desk.
Coincidentally I saw the almost deceased Willibrord Frequin this week murmuring a bit Beau and that seems like a boon to the filthy football director. That this journalistic pit bull is ill and can no longer wait for him in front of his house to subject him to a thorough cross-examination. Nice word in this case. Like pecking order.
I think Marc should urgently call his ex-colleague Dirk Kuijt to ask for the number of his plastic surgeon. That doctor has made the Katwijker so cleverly unrecognizable that the little football director should also succeed. And then? Then he can try to be happy in Dubai, the refuge for all the rich distraught. How do I know? Gordon loves it there. His two dogs too.
Meanwhile, a journalist from The Telegraph, who reported extensively and indignantly in his newspaper about the sexual misadventures of Marco Borsato, who had been suspended on the spot because he harassed female colleagues with his blaring charging station. We call that a gossip. This man was also happy to have a word in talk shows. We won’t be seeing him there again for a while. He is being treated. Seems like a chore to me.
If he is looking for a lawyer, I advise him to call the money laundering company Pels Rijcken in The Hague. Why? They get it there. This renowned firm recently had an 11 million accounting glitch investigated by a former partner, who couldn’t handle it and forgot the most essential things. Funny to know that Pels Rijcken is our state lawyer.
Deep in my soul rumbles a very eerie feeling. The state of our country. Summed up in the picture that mayor Bruls van Nijmegen asks his wife when the weighing moment is again. Symbolic? Yes!
That is why I asked my neighbor yesterday: “Do we even realize that we are on the brink of the third world war?”
A version of this article also appeared in NRC Handelsblad on 12 February 2022
A version of this article also appeared in NRC in the morning of February 12, 2022
#penis #pandemic