North Korea: The Jong and the Restless

Part II of Sigmund Freud’s exclusive interview with Supreme Leader/Marshall/Great Benefactor/Divine Inspiration/Father of Most of the People/He Who is Wise Beyond Belief/Our Dear Pal in High Places, Kim Jong-un.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: You’re back. So soon?

SF: There was trouble at the airport, I never left. Thank you SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP for ensuring I had a cell all to myself. Quite restful. The cigarette burns were a thoughtful touch, helped to keep me warm. But enough about me, how have you been?

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP (sniffling and wiping his eyes on the sleeve of the nearest aide): Terrible, just terrible, I’ve hardly slept since our last interview.

SF: You missed me? Strange way of showing it but that’s cultural diversity for you. I must tell you though, SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP, you’re not really my type.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: You are an ignoramus doctor, besides all the other things. I did not give you one teeny-weeny, itsy-bitsy thought as I have been kept awake (his voice chokes and he wipes his eyes again on the aide’s other sleeve) by the dastardly, inhumane, cruel and unusual punishment tactics of those sub-human devils running that part of Our Dear Homeland, correction, My Dear Homeland that is yet to be liberated by the stunningly brave and courageous sons and daughters who will follow me to the death except that I will be commanding them from well back as is my wont.

SF: That’s a very long sentence. Did you know that in spoken language it’s best to keep sentences to an average of about 15 words, as I have just done? Your very title is a hurdle.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: You must help me, you must!

SF: Then what’s the problem and keep it brief.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: Loudspeakers.

SF: You know, you can be too short.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: How dare you make malicious, hurtful, libellous and a generally unwise comments about my stature.

SF (shaking his head): I meant no disrespect. I just need a little more information about the loudspeakers.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: They are on the DMZ, the false border, playing music 24/7. Ever since the glorious 8^th of January when we let off a hydrogenic-cracker to celebrate my birthday they have not stopped playing the song. Round and round it goes, ceaseless, unending, relentless. Oh, if only the swine would bring back the propaganda broadcasts of yesteryear.  

SF: What song?

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP (now blubbering uncontrollably): It’s a small, small world.

SF: One of my favourites, but I always had a soft spot for Disneyland.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP (falling to his knees as his aides flatten themselves on the floor): Please help me, please!

SF (Soothingly and reaching into his briefcase): Of course, of course. Here, take two of these with your evening bottle of cognac. And please, do remember your dreams. They can’t possibly be any wackier than your waking moments.

SLMGBDIFoMotPHWiWBBODPiHP: Don’t bet on that.