started as I write from my life I have political issues sometimes completely left outside. I must add not all, my mustard, I thought. wrongly. There is probably a water cannon on the Senftube rolled and all the mustard came out.
When a city from the political Deep sleep is torn as it is done in Stuttgart, one can hardly resist the other hand, yes. Unless one has tomatoes on the eyes and ears. At first I am still quite the thing accepted sense of humor, laughter and stories planned holes have written. But my old antagonist Ernst has used the situation and robbed me of the joke. Fast. Ernst is a large, dark type. He is the accomplice of the little despot that has hijacked recently, the power in our country itself. Was probably not even as a child taken seriously, so he has to Ernst became friends and decided one day to show it all. If he were first up, then they would fear him, take him seriously now, no one would laugh at him. Suddenly he was above all fear him. Almost all of them. But not the happy colorful group the front of his palace and marched bothered him and his entourage at the fiddle. The pass is still the laughter, thought the little despot and sent his wildest dog on the pack. The colored troops fought back but not (apart from a couple of chestnuts), they suffered the attack. They did not flee, but was getting bigger and is now threatening to storm the palace.
The little despot is far failed, but one thing he has done: His ally, the dark shadow Ernst has crept into the colored troops and spoils the soul. Anger, Sadness, anger, hatred and despair have taken root in the hearts of those who got to feel their powerlessness against the band of despots.
Enough of the kitschy, crooked pictures. I would have also Schnappus can tell the little crocodile that wants one day all the other animals in the zoo to bite. Can not anybody princess to kiss Schnappi mercy so that it turns into a toad? Which is smaller and does not bite.
I notice as the anger robs me of my joy of life and thus my strength. But I still need for the day when we hunt the small crocodile back into his enclosure. If we are fighting mad then we play by his rules. And it knows better. If we want to make it really, we must push for what it is afraid of the vampire as the garlic: humor. As long as we take the little crocodile is not serious and can not rob us the joy we have the chance that the Rumpelstiltskin himself driven into the ground. Now is really enough with crooked images.
Here's my plea: let not hang heads. Outrage, despair and sadness stuck in a box and buried deeply. The world looks at us with admiration for our peaceful creativity, and that is it, who fear the black band.
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