The integration mask. Integration course and the brain fart

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie


There they sat, one hand tied to the back, the left hand. "The left hand is the devil's hand," thought the speaker. A bracelet was placed around the right wrists. He walked past the tables, a small LED light lit up on every bracelet. "They are all on," he thought. He took the remote control out of his pocket and pointed to the nearest person. He aimed the sensor and pressed the obedience button. The bracelet lit up briefly, 'Bzzzt', and the hand on the wrist tightened with pain. "Ahhhh," it sounded muffled from the integration mask.

"Great," thought the speaker, "it works."

He pressed the teleboard with the controls. The sign buzzed for a moment, and the armed officer who sat next to the door on the seat, put his gun on his lap, but ready to fire. Another afternoon wasted, where he had to observe endlessly the babbling men in soup dresses. Nobody was allowed to leave the 'Holland good' day early. "Well, sometimes it was entertaining," he thought. 'They actually looked like the doctors with their plague masks from the Middle Ages. He nodded at the colleagues at the back of the room. They too had a taser on their lap.

"Yes," he thought, "they looked like those plague doctors with their beak-like masks, with the difference that no scent had been attached to them like by those doctors."

The presenter was facing the group, with a mask on, but it was clear that the mask was turned off, she too had a remote control in her hand and was the only woman without Burka.



A large portrait of the blonde king appeared on the teleboard. 'a Good man', it sounded from the loudspeaker and the words appeared beside the king, they stood there flickering for a moment. The speaker walked over to the first babbler and pointed from him to the telebord. Again the words "a Good man" appeared next to the blond king and the mask sounded "Goo mann", followed by a cry of pain as the speaker pressed the button. On the telebord the king appeared again with the text a Good man, but now pronounced very slowly.

The speaker pointed to the second babbler. and a little later he cried out too. The third tried very carefully and a muffled guut man sounded, the presenter and the speaker pressed their obedience button almost simultaneously. A long-drawn ahhh was the result. "That was a brain fart," the officer thought.

Now the presenter was designated. She stood and glanced full admiration at the portrait of the king and said with a clear voice: "a Good man." She pointed to the group with an arm-embracing gesture as if she wanted to embrace it and then on the teleboard. Everyone muttered something that could be considered good man. "They'll kiss the whip," thought the officer, "that's a bit in their character." When the presenter sat down, her clogs clashed.

A flag now appeared on the screen with the words "a good flag" the red white and blue were brightly displayed on the teleboard. After five obedience zaps, the babbler was able to repeat it flawlessly with a  Den Hague accent. The next babbler did not pay attention and muttered: "a good flack" while the portrait of the king had appeared again. The obedience punches followed each other up quickly and after only half an hour everyone knew that the head of state was a good man and that the flag was a good flag.

In his integration course report, the speaker noted under the heading Isis: our national flag was taught with good pronunciation and also recognition of our good king. He nodded satisfied, he would give the babble people a minute to get back to themselves. Some hung over the couch. "There is no progression without pain," the speaker thought.



He made a compelling gesture to his assistant to the door. She understood him, the trial and food round would take place in this way with the help of the higher, almost integrated newbies.

The speaker tapped his clog on the floor for a moment and everyone looked up.

The telebord showed a pig with the word nice next to it. The speaker roared nice! Now a babbler was appointed and after three obedience punches, he also roared nice and with his right hand he made a foolish gesture beside his ear. "You can teach any dog faster," the officer thought, watching with interest. The time passed and after everyone had blundered that a ham, a pig or a stew or farmersgrub with sausage or cheese was tasty or good, the speaker nodded approvingly.

The door swung open and five nearly integrated ones walked in, with wide Volendam pants and some bowls and a spoon and a wine bottle. The speaker knew what it was, pea soup with bacon. "Pig is good," said the most senior  almost integrated one, "here pork soup .. tasty" and the spoon disappeared into the mouth of the first babbler who saw the word nice appear on the telebord and roared nice out at top of his lungs. The speaker pressed the remote control and a wonderful scent filled the mask and accompanied the pea soup.

The third babbler fiercely resisted and shouted "no, not right." the remote control first caused a considerable pain and then the mask filled with a pungent scent. "Another brain fart," thought the officer, "for crying out loud, the money that we are wasting here on the unworthy ones." After a number of obedience events, this man also shouted that pork soup was good and that wine was nice.

When the speaker came home, he first kicked off his clogs. "Had a hard day, honey," his wife asked? "I'm fine," said the man, "I had to integrate some of those guys." "Did it go well," she asked with a sweet smile? "Yes," said the speaker, "it's thematic, isn't it, the royal family and our national tricolor, dishes, things like that."



"That soundss pretty hard," she thought. "Well, no, not really" said the speaker, they want nothing more than to integrate quickly and then enjoy the social security here. "Tomorrow again," asked his wife, in an understanding way? " "Yes," said her husband, "then the themes are church and society, so the pope's good and modern clothing, things like that. I don't want funny robes no no just give me pants. good pants and then repeat that a bit. "He already could see them wriggling on their benches," I'm hungry, "he said.

San Daniel. 2019

20/09/2019 08:13

Reacties (2) 

20/09/2019 23:44
Wel grappig, en een beetje bizar. Integratie door brainwashing?
Misschien wel een manier om teruggekeerde IS-beulen onschadelijk te maken. Pavlov revisited, maar dan met nieuwe technieken.
Wat zou Amnesty hier wel niet van vinden?
21/09/2019 00:11
Ach..het gaat om de integratie.. de koning herkennen, de driek kleur .. gerechten waarderen.. kleding aanpassen .. kleine dingen eigenlijk
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