An Open Letter To Spain’s King Juan Carlos

Hola mi amigo valiente!

Please forgive the familiarity, but I feel as if I have known you all my life.

Africans and Spaniards have much in common. We both enjoy cheap wine and even cheaper women. You have bullfights, we have knife-fights.You hang cured ham in your bars, we hang incurable criminals in ours.

Well done on choosing Botswana as the location for your recent elephant hunt. As you know, the country is currently being rented by the CIA.

I expect one of their objectives is to keep elephant numbers down since they are not only the symbol of the evil Republican Party, but they also never forget. Dangerous to have around in an election year.

Comrade King, let me just say that you are so much braver than those girly Trump boys, Eric and Donald Jr, who went to Zimbabwe to hunt tortoises and meerkats.

And you are also the honorary president of the World Wildlife Fund in Spain. Olé! What a cunning cover for a hunter. Franco would have been proud of you.

Ignore those insufferable hippo-huggers who clutch their protruding foreheads and pretend there is something wrong with a leader who jets off to hunt elephants in Africa while his country thrashes about in the grip of a terrible economic crisis.

In my view, there is nothing that boosts national pride more than a monarch who acts decisively in troubled times. And there is nothing more decisive than driving up to the fattest animal in the bushveld, looking him squarely in the eye and then having a servant shoot him in the back of the head.

What what they have had you do? Nip off and conquer a smallish empire over Easter? You’re not Hernándo bloody Cortés. If I were in your zapatos, I would round them up and have them executed on the Ramblas at dawn.

I heard you broke your hip while in Botswana. As we say out here, jammer om van jou kak te hoor. What on earth happened? It’s not your typical hunting accident, is it? My wife Brenda said you probably fell off your bar stool after one sangria too many.

You will be pleased to know that I hired a man to whip her soundly and then chain her to the basement wall where she will remain until she learns to sing the Spanish national anthem. After a month or so, I will tell her that your anthem does not, in fact, have any lyrics. She will have a good laugh about that.

I hope you managed to get Queen Sofia a souvenir from your trip. There is nothing a woman likes more than a hollowed-out elephant leg to keep her jewels in.

Come to South Africa next time. We’ll go to Hermanus in my boat and you can bag yourself a couple of whales. Now there’s a sport for real men.

Adios cazador blanco grande!

 

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