By: Borut Korun
Do you know a country ruled by blondes? I do. Of the three highest political positions in this country, two are held by blondes. Real ones. But the third position is also steered by a blonde, though in reality she is dark‑haired (we should not be too picky about hair colour). This dark‑haired blonde – although she helps govern the country – is in fact a specialist in human‑animal coexistence. Her portfolio ranges from bears to coypus to bees. Her latest scientific‑political achievement is the discovery that humans exploit bees. Yes, we take their honey and give them sugar in return. (Even though the symbiosis between humans and bees benefits these insects more than us. How many bees would there be if they still lived only in the wild?)
Of course, I must not forget another leading blonde, who is also dark‑haired. And so, we have a quartet. What does that word remind me of? Ah yes, China. There once sought to rule the ‘Gang of Four.’ Well, with our quartet there is no need to fear that. Above all because they already rule. Thus, they can enforce the so‑called feminist politics, which is a nice expression for something else. This terminus technicus was supposedly invented by another leader of another country, Annalena Baerbock, the former German foreign minister. Just like her colleague who helps govern this strange land, she too was irresistibly drawn to places where real men still rule. One could call this a ‘hormonally conditioned foreign policy.’ And so, Annalena experienced that the bearded leader of Syria refused to shake her hand, even though she offered it. At least she saw what ‘real men’ are like. Experiencing a real man is, after all, the dream of such blondes. If it does not happen otherwise, they order them into parliament in the evening. What are real men – grim, hairy fellows with a Koran in their backpack, storming into Europe by the thousands, as if it had no borders and no army – was experienced by another blonde, named Angela, who in the face of such a mass of real men could only utter: “Wir schaffen das!”
This crowd of men, to whom blondes across Europe waved signs saying ‘Refugees welcome,’ experienced their arrival in Europe as the foretold victory of their prophet over the unbelievers. After locking up their women in harems and wrapping them in rags, they now see paradise fulfilled in the lands of Europe. In their lifetime! Wherever you look, you see barely dressed blondes, elegantly swaying their hips, with that inviting ‘welcome’ still reflected in their eyes. It is impossible for such a man not to take what he believes is his due! Sometimes he even invites his friends to the party, and this is then called gang rape. If the court so decides, where feminists usually sit and rule. I cannot imagine what these ladies feel in such deliberations. (One such court recently ruled, Solomon‑like, that the rape lasted too short a time to be considered rape, which could be understood as an invitation to ‘real men’ to finish the job properly.) Thus, foreign policy, by all sociological laws, turns into internal feminist politics.
The all‑understanding, self‑critical feminist politics does not stop, in its foolishness, even before tragic events when members of minorities beat, intimidate, and even kill members of the majority nation. When they behave like rampaging ‘real men.’ Then the highest‑ranking blonde sets off to the places where these never‑tamed newcomers live. Like a true blonde, she manages to smear the tragedy into a tragicomic performance. She understands them, claiming they are victims of circumstances, victims of the majority nation, and understands that this is why they are angry. And the moved fellow villagers of the killers and thugs solemnly promise not to shoot with machine guns anymore.
At this achievement, which has no equal even in humorous literature, even the pen of Fran Milčinski would fall silent. He would realise that his literary characters are only pale shadows of the achievements of Butale‑like reality.