Grabbing power in the Netherlands? Hitler should have just asked nicely.

Quite a few Dutch fools thought that after fourteen years of lies and destruction, we finally got rid of Mark Rutte, our national gravedigger, the apple-chomping caricature, the cardboard grinner, swaying on his Gazelle bike.

Markie Mark’s moving box, complete with his panda bear and WEF tote bag, stood on his desk in the Torentje half a year ago, ready for that lonely journey to the SS rune shaped offices in Brussels. 

The one-way trip all of the Netherlands had been eagerly waiting for. 

And for a moment, it seemed like our nemesis was actually leaving. Of to play with his little tin soldiers. 

The rape of our democracy would finally come to an end. Farmers and fishermen would be saved. Injustice and plunder would stop, as would the sellout of our independence. All the insane woke rules and climate madness would be curbed.

We, the Dutch, would finally get our beautiful country back, led by this all new “right-wing” political team. 

Even the sun, absent for months, would shine again for us. That’s what Wilders promised us.

But nothing could have been further from the truth.

I knew it.

I saw it in Mark’s blank gravedigger expression, when he announced he was surely leaving politics, probably to go teach school children in the Hague.

Mark Rutte is far from done with the Netherlands.

Rutte won’t leave our country alone, until all his classmates who once peed on his cardigan and shoved his laced boots under shower after gym, are utterly destroyed. And not just them, but also their friends, families, and the entire Dutch population.

Rutte is like a herpes infection. A screeching piece of fireworks forever finding its way into your trousers. That stalker who, even after 20 years of being scorned and feared, throws soiled condoms and beer bottles into one’s backyard.

The fact is, Rutte never left us really .

His stunts during the “demissionairy” episodes, which he used to reign, without parliament’s control, turned out to be mere dictatorial appetizers. 

Only now has he truly taken our poor country into his iron grip, while heading the powerful military organization, where he, ironically, a cuckold draft-dodger is now Secretary General.

And, of course, he did it in true Rutte fashion: slyly and treacherously. Bei Nacht und Nebel. By staging a paper coup, circumventing everything remotely democratic.

Because in July 2023, as one of his final acts, Rutte committed the Netherlands to far-reaching NATO commitments—without any parliamentary influence or attention from the press.*

After which, he took the position as head of that same mighty military organization. 

Check and mate.

And so doing, this revolting clerk, thou thoroughly rejected by the people, became the sole and untouchable ruler of the Netherlands.

Beware. This is not an exaggeration. Since by signing these documents, both the Dutch parliament and cabinet are now sidelined, when it comes to energy, healthcare, transportation, and, of course, war or peace—life or death.

Even worse. No one knows the exact extent of NATO’s power over us. Because, naturally, it’s all classified.

Deliberately vague. Just the way Mark and his unelected secret service stand in, who is now Dutch prime minister, prefer it.

And our new “right wing” cabinet?

It turns out the freshly elected team of ministers and state secretaries had been coldly presented with this fait accompli, notably by the AIVD and NCTV; the Dutch MI6.

Boom! “Your bicycle now belongs to the German Reich.”

The truly weird part?

Nobody in the new Cabinet sounded the alarm or even resigned. You’d think that would be the bare minimum, when a coup is staged against your newly-formed government.

Not a single minister or state secretary made his way to the talk shows, to raise hell about this clear coup. 

Not one called the NRC or Volkskrant in outrage.

Nope.

They had a drink and took a leak—probably on some posh rent boy.

(This is pastiche of a very telling Dutch expression. “Ze dronken een glas, deden een plas en alles bleef zoals het was”, it means. “Something is of critical importance, but we choose to disregard it.) 

If Minister Agema, our vice prime minister, hadn’t stammered like a clueless schoolgirl in parliament and “accidentally” admitted that eh, eh certain policy areas eh now fell under eh NATO… If Dutch journalist Marianne Zwagerman subsequently hadn’t interrogated this Minister and if Forum for Democracy hadn’t filed parliamentary questions and requested documents, we, Dutch citizens, would never even have known that we we still under the yoke of Rutte. 

This coup would have passed like a ship, or is it a thief, in the night.

And here’s the craziest part. Now we do know, but even the most sensationalist paper stays absolutely silent. The main stream world of luke warm opinions, remains mute. And even now, In our chamber of parliament, Ralf Dekker’s proposal to debate the matter, was collectively sneered at.

That got me thinking.

What if those pesky Germans hadn’t invaded Holland on May 10 1940, with their roaring Junkers, pot helmeted paratroopers, Panzers and SS men…

What if, on that balmy day in spring, they simply had cruised to The Hague in an open-top Mercedes Benz, paid a courteous visit the Binnenhof, and after that, had tea with Queen Wilhelmina in her little Veluwe castle, treating her to some knuspriger Apfelstrudel?

If Julius Count von Zech-Burkersroda, the German ambassador to the Netherlands, had politely, but firmly, handed our Prime Minister De Geer a confidential parchment stating that “Ab Heute”, the Netherlands fell under Berlin’s authority and that a confidential briefing would soon follow at the Ministry of General Affairs—not a single soul in this low and feckless country would have even raised its voice.

There would not have been any need for panicked refugees, no bloody Grebbeberg battle, no Cleveringa speech, no firing squads, military cemeteries, no Dutch resistance or curfew.

“Toutes” Netherlands would have gawked at the sharply designed new uniforms of its military, that no longer needed to ride bicycles and the shiny new fighter planes at Ypenburg airfield.

Many Dutch families would have eagerly flocked to the harbor, waving freely distributed little red-white-black flags, to welcome the Bismarck as it participated in the 1941 fleet review—in a proud and undamaged Rotterdam.

Because that’s the Netherlands: a nation of “shoulder shruggers.”

If Hitler hadn’t been so foolishly noisy and had simply informed the Dutch government politely but firmly of his takeover—and if he’d kindly given the handsome Leibstandarte Prince Bernhard von Lippe a ceremonial role, say, “Stadhouder”, instead of calling him a “Trottel”—then the Netherlands would have seamlessly merged into the Third Reich, just as it has now done with the Fourth.

Without one fight, not even a single shot.

Last week’s event proves it.

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*Important addendum for Non Dutch readers. 

Beware of Mark Rutte. He may look like an innocent desk clerk, but he is not. He slowly but surely destroyed one of the most happy and prosperous countries in the world. The Netherlands. And he is not finished with humanity yet. Especially Western Europe is in grave danger. 

I suspect, he is the designated manager, to first rob us blind, then send our kids to the Ukrainian front and when they are all gone, turn our countries into one huge glassy parking lot. 

His main weapons are deceit and underestimation.

Please make sure that you invert every one of his statements and promises. As crazy as that may sound, you will find the true meaning of his words. If he says that there will be peace soon, grab kids and chickens and immediately run for the hills.

Only when he says something that is too ludicrous to be true, he probably speaks the truth, for his karma’s sake. Never disregard what he says.

What ever you do. 

Never trust him by his word. 

Never underestimate him. 

Ask any Dutchman.