The Great Mark-ening
or: How Rutte Played Trump Like a Royal Recorder

It began with a message.

Not just any message—but a text crafted by the Dutch Prime Minister, Mark Rutte: mild of manner, lethal of mind. A man so understated, he could walk through a revolution unnoticed. But when opportunity called in the form of Donald J. Trump—ego unchecked, thumbs tweeting—the mask came off.

“Mr. President, dear Donald…”
“Your action in Iran was extraordinary…”
Honeyed words, dipped in irony, served on the silver tray of ego.

Trump beamed. “Extraordinary,” he repeated aloud. Aides nodded nervously. Somewhere in the Pentagon, a general wept. But Rutte continued.

“You are flying into another big success in The Hague…”
“We got them all signed onto 5 percent!”
Five percent of what? Who cares! It sounded like a treaty, a triumph, a toast-worthy milestone. Trump, chest swelling, imagined parades in Delft. Europe would “pay in a big way.” He had no idea what that meant, but it felt presidential.

Meanwhile, back in The Netherlands…
The people laughed.

From Amsterdam to Almelo, the Dutch cackled themselves into history books. Memes exploded. The EU WhatsApp group was in flames—Macron posting crying emojis, Scholz sharing clips of tulips applauding.

And Rutte?
He sipped wine next to His Majesty, eyes twinkling.

“Safe travels, Mr. President.”
“See you at dinner.”
Mission complete. Trump was dazzled. Europe was untouched. Mark Rutte had orchestrated it all with the elegance of a violinist and the mischief of Loki in a three-piece suit.

Fin.