Our Dear Leader

          

Reading North Korean press releases makes me want to write a story. Is that weird? I don't think so, it actually seems pretty natural. I mean, these things are meant to inspire some sort of feelings, right? Honestly, I have actually considered writing a series of adventures for our newest and dearest leader and may use this blog to do so if I get good feedback. You could consider this short example as a pilot episode of sorts. If you enjoy the following story, then I recommend you check out the sites Kim Jong-un Looking At Things and Kim Jong-il Looking At Things. I wish you good reading, comrades! 

OUR DEAR LEADER

         
          Kim Jong-un -- our cherished and Dear Ruler, Supreme Leader of the Workers’ Party of Korea and the Korean People’s Army, Great Successor to the brilliant Songun Commander, profound proponent of socialist and communist rule which by nature is free of corruption and exploitation, vigorous opponent of capitalistic evils, and lover of all things skiing, basketball and James Bond -- was hungry for barbecue. Hungry for the patriotic charbroiling of political prisoners, that is!


          The Great Leader stood on the concrete path outside of one of the Nation's many first-class labor camps. He looked upon five pathetically pale faces lined up in front of him. These were the faces of scumbags, traitors and all-around fascist pigs. These men, all unshaven and smelling of some putrid and rotting fruit of the tropics, looked back onto the shinning and flawless face of the Supreme Commander. They were then filled with great shame for what they had done.

          “Final words?” came the voice of the Peerless One. It was a perfectly worded phrase; each syllable floated blissfully in the air as if it were part of a springtime sonnet composed by a thousand lovebirds. One of the shabby conspirators opened his mouth.

Kim Jong-un has always had an affinity for music. Sometimes his speeches are confused for concerts! 

       
          “We are filthy and morally decrepit. Not one man among this treasonous lot deserves to live in the pristine utopia that is the Democratic Peoples' Republic of Korea. I would gladly throw myself into an eternally burning crypt as punishment for my heinous crime against the most prominent of all the world's states.”

          Kim Jong-un, in all his wisdom, stared at the cluster of cowardly criminals. Not one wrinkle folded up on his awesome brow, for the General does not extort any great effort to reach decisions most would find quite taxing. Our Great Leader raised a nicely-formed right arm up from his right side until it came to be at a geometrically-precise 90 degree angle with the rest of his profile. He extended his index finger out from his otherwise clenched fist and pointed it at the group of men. “Done,” he said. Our Dear Leader has such a way with words.

Kim Jong-un, killing unpatriotic machines

         
          Instantly, every one of the insatiable villains fell to the ground. The triumphant national anthem of the Great Republic of Korea bellowed through the air as if it came from the heavens. The world now had five fewer ABBA fans.