King

He’ll wear stoat fur in front of the world. Tradition before justice. The country loves him.

Walking though Roosendaal helps me realise that indeed, Amsterdam is a superior town. This place is dull and spineless. I cannot even find a supermarket after a 40 minute walk which includes crossing the centre. Yet when I see the portrait of the royal couple in the display window of a shop, I feel at home.

The country hates him. All he does is take up space. He and his beautiful family enjoy their mansion in Greece. Who pays for that? The crowd. We live in 2013! How can a man be granted dominion over a whole country purely because he left the right womb at the right time? Of course we know that he’s no more than a puppet like all of us, but we want our cage to be golden like his!

We love his wife. Man, can she dance! For a Dutch girl. And so smart! Much better than her dad. We’d rather forget her dad, but we understand if she doesn’t. That’s just who we are.

And his kids. Three girls. How cute.

Great interview he gave. Planned, but so what? A real man will rule. No beard, but he stands for our past. And our future. Present, he stands for us all.

So we’ll watch the crown besiege him. That’s how much he’ll take for us. Thus will be our lives. Happily tied to his. So what if some threaten that? That’s not what we’re drinking to. That’s not what we’re singing to. We believe in miracles.

As if you do better.

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