Not for one minute will I even begin to insinuate that I would crawl into bed with North Korea’s own strapping young man, Kim Jong-un, and wrap my hands around his plump little belly and give him an innocent kiss on the cheek to say goodnight before petting his underbelly and singing him to sleep, but let’s just say hypothetically that I was able to obtain a roundtrip ticket to North Korea and had the very unique opportunity to spend a night in the house of Kim Jong-il–who is normally in bed by 9pm after “building a thriving nation to victory,” all day–which he has been doing, by the way–then, and only then would I maybe accept the very gracious offer to walk the little guy to his bedroom, read him a bedtime story about knights in shining armor, or nuclear holocaust or the total annihilation of his neighbor to the south, and then pull the blankets up to the adorable grouping of pudge that is his neck, and give him a warm hug while letting my head rest upon his vast expanse of chest, listening to the soft heart beat of this big psychotic teddy bear, who if you didn’t know yet, is now officially the heir to Kim Jong-il–as confirmed by yesterday’s appointment of the little bugger to the position of National Defense Commission chairman. Well-deserved, I’d say. Of course, such a bizarre and ill informed opinion largely depends on whether or not you think the guy should be dressed as a 4-star general when his virgin hands have yet to have even made a sandwich, much less held an automatic weapon, and are as smooth and pristine as a kitten’s anus, and he has barely reached 30 years of age, but you get the point.
The kid is a spitting image of his towering father, who at this point is wondering who will have enough time to torpedo South Korean warships and blow up South Korean commercial airliners when he’s long gone and nothing remains but a mere 200 expensive bronze statues placed haphazardly around the entire country, and a larger-than-life photo looking down on motorists from gigantic roadside billboards making sure no one uses the internet. And really, I’ve never felt the need to hug a tyrant before, but this one is just so damn adorable; and I honestly really don’t care that he’s a monster and that his face is a bit off center, and that he is allegedly obsessed with nuclear weapons. He may as well be stuffed with cotton, as far as I’m concerned, because the little bastard is just so plain cuddly.
I wouldn’t necessarily go out of my way to put him in a flowered dress, tie his hair up in pigtails and prop him up at a miniature table for afternoon tea with my expansive collection of Victorian era baby dolls and stuffed rabbits, but if the opportunity presented itself I think it would be disrespectful of me not to.