Right Honourable Boris Johnson, I now really have the Schnauze voll. All the time I hear in our Wetterbericht: Tief from the British Islands. Again und again und again. I can say you: We are not amused!
Since three years you quäl us mit your Brexit. And why? Just for Innenpolitik. Sometimes I think: We had you rausschmeißen sollen. You were never wirklich in the EU. Own Insel, own money, own Extrawürste. And now: No Abkommen, no deal, no Verständigung. Aber bad weather obendrauf. You take what you want and give us the Müll.
I always loved Britain. Green country, tiny streets, this funny wrong-way-traffic, quaint houses, strange Essen. I came over hundertmal, just to see my daughter und my Schwiegerson and my Enkel. I liked the pubs and the parks and the Kirchen and the Autos and all the nice people, who wear kurze Hosen in December.
But now I‘m wirklich angry. First this bescheuerte Brexit-Maker Cameron, then the weinerliche Lady May, now you. A Johnson in the Porcelainladen. I can tell you: I will never buy a British Anzug or British shoes anymore, when Britain is out of the EU. You can‘t imagine, what that bedeutet for the British Outhandelsbilanz. Catastrophe. Ask my family.
So. Last chance. The Beste would be to stopp the whole Quatsch.
Do you hear me, Mr Johnson? Sofort! This ist a letter from Hannover. You know Hannover? The Welfs? Or Wulfs? Egal. In gewissem way your Queen is my Neighbourin. Listen to Germany! And the world would be glücklich.
P.S.: I have a comb, which I do not use anymore, because of less hair. I schenk ihn you, if you want.
Von Bert Strebe