Well, Pyongyang wasn’t that bad.
“Fair enough. Thank you Leader. You and your people did us a solid.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Well can I have my tiger back?”
“Dimitroff my man, not so fast. Don’t you wanna taste some kimchi, perhaps catch a game?”
“Dear Leader, I kinda got this report to write, to Moscow of course. You know Anna, she can get pretty iffy during this time of the month…”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. Don’t you dare shit on Anna man… She is like the last radiant thing left in that cesspool nation of yours. Don’t you fucking sully her.”
“Oh… sorry dear Leader. I thought we were buddies, you know, shooting up the shit,” backtracked Dimitroff.
The great leader paced the great room with the great rug and a great view. He slowly circled Dimitroff, who absolutely needed to get out and drown himself in a Smirnoff distillation tank. The Leader was giving him the creeps. Not classic serial killer creep but more of a soap drop creep.
The Leader began, “Ok. If we were buddies… where were you when the Americans were giving me shit about those tests back in July? It was just one test. And it wasn’t even a new one. Ever since I was a kid, all I wanted to see was some fireworks on the 4th of July….”
“Dear Leader, please…I am just the messenger, my hands are always tied….”
“Just fireworks man. Ever since I was a kind, I have always wanted to see the 4th of July celebrations from the Brooklyn Bridge. But you… and the fucking Chinese wanted my family as the bogeyman. So no one in my family — not me, not my dad or grandpa has ever seen the fireworks… Because of you, the Americans have denied us the 4th of July.”
“Oh Leader, I understand. I can’t stand the Americans either. Hollywood huh? What a racket? Have you seen the latest…?”
Oops. Dimitroff had pushed the wrong button.
“Don’t you dare speak ill of Hollywood inside My Korea. I swear on the sickle, I will fucking cut off your Johnson…”
“Jesus man. Relax.” Dimitroff was furiously searching through his wardrobe, mentally. He was trying to locate his ‘I Love Kabul 2’ t-shirt that he had custom made to rankle the American ambassador to Bratislava.
“Ok, dear Leader, why don’t you buy a massive LCD… say 1000 inches, I am sure we, Russia, can get you one, from the Japanese… hah see I know you hate those other Koreans… and then you can live stream the 4th of July fireworks from New York.”
“Yo Dimitroff, what kind of an ignorant punk are you man? Don’t you think I haven’t thought of that? The fucking American’s are blocking our internet man. They block their TV shows, movies, they cancel my iTunes account and… and… deleted all three of my Facebook accounts.”
“Oh…” said Dimitroff.
“You think I would ever deny my people of sweet shows like Rizzoli and Isles? Or Grey’s Anatomy? Or the Good Wife? No way man. No way. I have always wanted my people to be exposed to strong, self-respecting women… but the Americans… they fucking block everything.”
The Leader began to sob.
“And last week… last week…”
“What happed last week, Dear Leader?”
“Last week… they even blocked the porn.”
“Block a man’s porn? Oh that’s low… Real low.”
“Even VPNs are down.”
Dimitroff needed to pulls some diplomatic magic, “Oh damn. That sounds rough Dear Leader. You know what I’m sure that the sewer we have called the FSB records and stores everything that comes out of America. I will get you a copy of this Risotto woman… and Gary’s anatomy, Dear Leader. Please don’t cry.”
The Leader opened his eyes in horror and shoved the Russian hard. Dimitroff landed in a fluffy sofa and bounced right back, albeit extremely terrified. He hadn’t given any standing instructions to his chauffeur. It could take the Russian embassy and the Foreign Ministry years to determine whether he was just cut up or cut up and fed to the crocs.
“What makes you think I like to watch replays? I am not some loser with a 60hr job, who has to DVR his life away man. I am the fucking Leader of the DPRK and I demand to see every episode as it premiers on the American East Coast. Not after a fucking five minute ‘safety’ delay or in some wretched Mountain Time. And definitely not from your FSB dump.”
“Ok, Leader. I have made a note of your concerns. I will make sure the President gets it. Now if you will release our tiger, I will be on my way.”
“Hey asshole, this ain’t the Hangover, where you come here like a white Mike Tyson and demand your tiger back. I am the Tyson here. I have always wanted to be Tyson. I will fuck you up so bad man. You know what I am talking about right, Dong Ki?”
The Leader suddenly turned to the silent Dong Ki, who stood nervously like the last freestanding statue of Lenin in Kiev.
“Huh?” responded Dong Ki.
Realizing that Dong Ki was patriot, the Leader softened and asked him, how he handled the one hour delay of broadcasts when daylight saving time was in effect.
Without a thought, Dong Ki responded, “Anal with my girlfriend.”
“Anal… Classic… Classic,” gushed the Leader as he fist bumped Dong Ki, “Anal… maybe I will try it this year.”
Sensing a deflection in the mad man’s focus, Dimitroff said “Okie dok. Thanks for your time Great Leader. I will see myself out,” and absconded from the scene.
“Yo wait. I got a Bears-Packers game in ten. Don’t you want to see the Packers deflate the Bear’s ball sack?”
“Maybe next time, Great Leader,” echoed Dimitroff’s voice.
“The bears are a metaphor for your sorry ass country, Dimitroff. You got that?”
“How could I not?” came the reply from the parking lot.
As Dimitroff’s limousine zoomed out, “At least he has sweet, sweet Anna as a compatriot. That should be comforting,” observed the Leader dejectedly.
As he was the last one left in the room, other than tiger, Dong Ki Moon felt obliged to respond, “Yes your leader. She is very beautiful.”
“Ah my man, I knew we were kindred spirits. So who do you think Anna Petrova looks like?”
“Like someone in Pyongyang?
“No dude. Like someone famous.”
“Oh ok. Hmmm,” after pretending to think for seven seconds, Dong Ki came back with “Teri Hatcher.”
“Whaaat? Teri Hatcher? How are you getting Teri Hatcher…? Dong Ki, we are so not kindred man…”
“Oh, I am sorry Dear Leader. I thought she is real and spectacular.”
“Ya whatever man, I myself thought Olivia Wilde. But whatever, it’s not like my opinion counts in this world.”
Unlike Dimitroff who had a tiny bit of diplomatic protection, Dong Ki was out on his own. His only option was to suck up real hard to the Leader.
“Oh Leader, I truly believe your opinion matters. I mean think about it, the Russians sent their top man to plead with you. After what you did to him, I am sure the Russian Foreign Minister is going to have to suck up now. Russia has no choice… all because of you.”
“Hmmm. But you don’t know these guys Dong Ki, they are absolute conniving bitches.”
“Sure they are. But what more can they do to suppress our great nation. There is nothing left to take away. Nothing to rob. We are a lean and mean nation. Super resilient and completely independent of outside meddling.”
“Hmmm. Well you may be right… I don’t know. My dad, his dad and myself have played this game long enough to know that there are seldom any winners, man.”