My Sincerest Apologies

I’m not completely out of the loop. For example, I happened on this news item on TV and looked up the particulars on the Internet.

Kim Jong Il’s era comes to an end with grand memorial service in North Korea

Dec. 29 (Bloomberg) — Kim Jong Un, North Korea’s new leader, stood on a balcony above Pyongyang’s Kim Il Sung Square named for his grandfather, where tens of thousands of people gathered to hear eulogies that ended a period of national mourning for his father.

“Well,” I thought, “So much for that.” One wacko, delusional dictator out, another one in to take his place. For some reason I thought of “As the World Turns.”

Then I sat upright. There was something like a soft wind blowing in my ear, a cool hand on my heart.

I had forgotten to send a card, much less flowers. To say nothing of neglecting to hustle over to that Worker’s Paradise to attend the ceremonies.

The consequences were dire, I realized. The face on TV reminded me that the entire country of South Korea had failed to send an official delegation. Only 18 civilians made the trip north to have the last laugh at Kim’s passing. The North responded to this hostile act by threatening wholesale retaliation. Memories of 1950 were resurrected.

So, I was thinking, what kind of chance do I stand? The U.S. has 30,000 troops facing north at the 38th parallel, plus there are several hundred South Korean troops in place. South Korea could possibly stand a chance in case Kim’s youngest son (aka, The Great Leader) wakes up with a bad hangover. I, on the other hand, don’t even own a gun. Forget about a concealed carry permit. The Commies are going to come at me with T-72 tanks.

So, that’s it for me. No card, no flowers, not even a friendly Tweet (“Deepest regrets to learn of the untimely passing of your supreme, exalted father figure”). I am so screwed. So, there’s nothing left for me to do. As I always (sometimes) say, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

So here’s to you Kim Jong Un, if that’s your real name. Up your nose with a rubber hose. And the same goes for your sorry excuse of a carbon life form, your sawed-off, over-weight, size-one hat, barely male parent. He managed to consume many metric tons in excess of the Earth’s precious oxygen that was due him.

And don’t expect a card from me next Christmas.

OK, I feel better now.

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