Micky Beisenherz on the nobility and the raid on the Reich citizens

M. Beisenherz: Sorry, I’m here privately
Castle ghosts – the nobility urgently needs to go to the blue blood wash

© Illustration: Dieter Braun/stern

Confused by Gloria, evil by Heinrich, sentimental kitsch by Harry: Our columnist thinks that the German nobility is becoming increasingly free.

By Mickey Beisenherz

No, it was not a good December for international nobility. For the German nobility it was even a downright lousy one.

In the Advent season one should light the candles, but somewhere between from and to some people seemed to have the lamps on. The fuses may even have blown.

On the one hand, there is Gloria von Thurn und Taxis, who briefly satisfied her lack of attention by being a guest on the internet channel of populism trombone Julian Reichelt. A man who not only drove Kurt Krömer into early retirement, but who can also attach it as a lifetime achievement that new “Bild” editors-in-chief first have to take a drug test.

Micky Beisenherz: Sorry, I’m here privately

My name is Mickey Beisenherz. In Castrop-Rauxel I am a world star. Elsewhere I have to pay for everything myself. I am a multimedia (single) general store. Author (Extra3, Jungle Camp), presenter (ZDF, NDR, ProSieben, ntv), podcast host (“Apocalypse and Filter Coffee”), occasional cartoonist. There are things that strike me. Sometimes even upset me. And since the impulse control is constantly jammed, they probably have to get out. My religious symbol is the crosshair. The razor blade is my dance floor. And just now it itches in the feet again.

At the same place, the Princess of Darkness once again revealed a world view that would be a little too backward-looking even for Qatar’s energy ministers. In view of the current developments, it must be seen as a particular injustice that no place was provided for this premium noble in the shadow cabinet of the recently confiscated Reich citizens.

That was a heavy blow for corduroy pants in Germany, what happened in the middle of last week. Our prevented head of government named Henry XIII. Prince Reuss was taken away as a fillet of the major raid. “De Prinz kütt!” shouted the police officers and accompanied an old, careworn man, dressed like almost every second person in a Hanseatic golf club. The Nine Monster. Many a reign ends in the bunker, this one was conceived there.

I mean, as creepy as this fascist parallel society is, there’s something touching about the underworld order of something like a constitutional monarchy, doesn’t it? Own Ministry of Justice, Ministry of Health, plus a military arm.

Harry and Meghan, Netflix’s Crowndashians

The fact that swords or crossbows were also seized during the Reichsbürger cashier’s check-in suggests a missed opportunity: such a nice cabinet reshuffle using sword fencing, well, that would be something! “We’re sorry, but the popular health minister was unfortunately lost to us in a duel at dawn today.”

With the Teutonic veneration for blue-blooded horses, one must inevitably get the idea that the traffic-light-weary populace would rather replace the Bundestag with a royal family. Most recently seen when an entire nation gathered in front of the TV for pack condolences to say farewell to the Queen between Diana mugs and Kate and William plates. If fan miles weren’t a bit irreverent, they probably would have existed.

However, you don’t have to be a royal peddler to be interested in the recently released Harry & Meghan documentary. There is enough enthusiasm for celebrities who see private life as an inexhaustible quarry. Omma probably wouldn’t have liked seeing her grandson as a central part of Windsor’s noble goats. Or: the Crowndashians.

Before you rashly comment on the comparatively discreet doings of Prince Henry XIII. and Co. – in due course they would have gone public. I’d rather see an embarrassing Netflix documentary than a scary government statement.

So it remains to be said: if there are trustworthy nobility in Germany, then please king of the jungle. He is even democratically elected. Oh, that’s my BRD.

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