Supreme Leaders Just Wanna Have Fun
I’m riding high in the morning light,
Tall on my tank, just lookin’ for a fight,
My missiles streaming in the noonday sun,
North Koreans just wanna have fun, now,
Supreme Leaders just wanna have fun!
I got weapons aimed at the USA,
A few addressed to San Francisco Bay,
When you see them comin’, better start to run,
North Koreans just wanna have fun, now,
Supreme Leaders just wanna have fun!
My generals tell me that I won’t last long,
The Yankees will be back with a Neutron Bomb,
But I’m livin’ it up til my race is run,
North Koreans just wanna have fun, now,
Supreme Leaders just wanna have fun!
He’s Got The World On A String, Sittin’ On A Rainbow….
When we were kids, on non-schoolday mornings we’d jump out of bed, grab a quick breakfast and race over to one of our friend’s houses to call him out to play. This was accomplished by finding a spot somewhere outside his kitchen window, standing there and hollering his name at the highest possible decibel level over and over until either (a) the kid bounced out his door, the day’s play equipment in hand, or (b) his mother arrived to advise us that little Jackie was being punished for dumping mung beans in his sister’s oatmeal and was relegated to “cleaning his room,” the ultimate catastrophe.
This is how the day began for all neighborhood males. We had no idea how the girls got one another out of the house but we assumed it was some kind of ESP since they were unwilling to subscribe to the gauche practices of us boys. Now, as in all things, there was a certain hierarchy on the street, which meant if you were called by some kid undeserving of your interest you could either ignore the summons or deliver a cursory brushoff and wait for a better offer. And if it was Leo Monte calling you, well, you might want to hide in the closet.
Leo Monte was, for several reasons, at the bottom of the Garfield Street food chain. For one thing, he was….ahem….grimy. A thin veneer of light soot seemed to cover Leo’s outer parts at all times, not unlike the Pigpen character in Charles Schulz’ Peanuts comic strip. In addition, Leo was reticent to speak, preferring to communicate in grunts, words of one syllable or head nods. To understate that Monte was unathletic would be like announcing that Elton John was not the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. There were other kids, of course, near the bottom of the totem pole, but with substantial assets to consider. A hoop in the back yard. A bicycle worth borrowing. The perfect baseball bat. Compensating factors for their deficiencies in talent, intelligence and personality. Monte had none of these. If Leo came to your door, it was closed, the radio was turned off, the house was silent as Grant’s Tomb. After a short time, Leo Monte drifted off, wandering the streets like Typhoid Mary in search of her next victim, locks clicking all around him.
Kim Jong-un is the Leo Monte of the International Community. Every morning, he rushes out to Barack Obama’s house, imploring him to come out and play. Barack is unpersuaded, peeking out the window, covering himself with the draperies. Next time out, Kim comes back bouncing a basketball, tempting the hoops-conscious president with the offer of a game, even enlisting the support of ex-NBA hermaphrodite superstar, Dennis Rodman. It might work on Garfield Street, but still no response from the White House. What’s a Supreme Leader to do?
Well, on the eve of the Chinese New Year, Kim Jong-un launched a long-range rocket testing ballistic missile technology. Experts in the field believe that on a good day the thing could reach the West Coast of the United States. The United Nations Security Council jumped around in fits of apoplexy, calling the launch another “intolerable provocation” and promising “significant new sanctions” on North Korea. U.S. Ambassador Samantha Power told reporters that “it cannot be business as usual” after two successive North Korean acts that are hostile and illegal.” Reached by reporters in his posh Pyongyang digs, Kim Jong-un just smiled. “Boys just wanna have fun!” he said, raising a glass. “Boys just wanna have fun.”
The Supreme Leader kindly acquiesced to a recent interview with representatives of The Flying Pie during a break from basketball practice at his personal gym. The text follows.
The Interview
Kim: Yo, Mister Bill! Good I speak with you again! Still playing hoops?
Bill: Still at it, Kim. Slowing down a little in my old age.
Kim: Ha ha ha! Me, too. Got my own personal basket, though. Eight feet high. I can dunk on a good day.
Bill: Listen, Kim, what’s all this long-distance missile talk I’ve been hearing?
Kim: Oh, no problem, Mister Bill. All just for peaceful purposes. No you worry. Even if war come, we don’t blow up San Francisco. Too close to home of Golden State Warriors, world’s greatest hoops team. Maybe Salinas, instead. No interruption of NBA schedule.
Bill: Well, that’s a relief. I guess you know we’ve got a presidential election coming up soon. No more Barack Obama. What do you think of the other candidates?
Kim: Big disappointment—no hoops guys. Everybody talk big. This Trumpster—very funny man! We get him on the BB court, I eat him for lunch. Marco Rubio—no height under the boards. Chris Christie—he’s a big one! Makes Kim look like Slenderella ad. Ha ha ha!
Bill: Do you think you could work with any of the Republicans?
Kim: Oh, no. Republicans always starting wars. Big money for pals in defense contracting business. We all like Bernie the socialist in North Korea.
Bill: But you’re not socialists over there. You’re dynasts.
Kim: Shh, Mr. Bill! Don’t wake up the people. We got good scam going over here. We like Bernie because he wants to feed all the poor people. That’s us.
Bill: Well, good luck with that. I just wanted to get in touch to make sure nobody was getting irresponsible with those missiles.
Kim: Oh no, Mr. Bill. Just a little saber-rattling among friends. Mr. President Obama won’t come out and play unless we have some toys to show him. And my generals over here—have to keep them happy with the tough talk. It’s hard job being Supreme Leader. Everybody looking to knock you off top of hill. Sometimes, underlings try to sneak up on old Kim, plot coups, bad business like that.
Bill: Yes, so I’ve read. What do you do about all that political intrigue?
Kim: Firing Squad.
Bill: Alrighty, then. Listen, Kim, we appreciate the time you’ve given us. We hope you can hold on over there and things calm down over time. Our best to the missus.
Kim: You come visit soon, Mr. Bill! We make big party, play a lot of hoops. Best thing--we promise not to make you political prisoner. Ha ha ha ha ha !
Demise Of The Penguin
When we last left Marco Rubio, he was dancing in Des Moines. After finishing an unexpected third in the Iowa Caucuses, the jammin’ Miamian was headed straight to the top, an express elevator to the penthouse, a hit song with a bullet. Then, a funny thing happened on the way to Nirvana.
Rubio, who has a well-known penchant for sticking to his script, went into overdrive at the Republican debate preceding the New Hampshire primary, repeating the same paragraph over and over while scuffling with New Jersey Governor Chris Christie. It was Christie’s finest hour. He was the hammer in a frantic game of Whack-A-Mole, smacking down Rubio’s paragraph every time he repeated it. “There it is again,” Christie would announce, “The 25-second sound byte!” Marco, apparently swept up in some evil and inescapable vortex, inexplicably went on like a robot on speed, an out-of-control automated telephone message. No matter what button you pushed, it wouldn’t stop. The proud penguin of post-Iowa plaudits had been reduced to a mere squid, groping around the depths of his own private ocean for a morsel—any morsel—to sustain him. The audience was agasp. Whether you like a pedestrian or not, it’s stunning to see him run over time and again by the same voracious bus. Rubio dropped like a rock in New Hampshire, eventually falling through the floor.
Somebody named John Kasich wound up second. Christie rode off into the sunset, abandoning his quest for the Republican nomination. He might be dead in the water but he took the other guy with him.
See, Alice—Some People LIKE The Ferris Wheel
A Houston man and a New York woman are facing felony charges after nosy authorities say they were recorded having sex in public during a 30-minute ride in a glass-enclosed cabin on a Ferris Wheel 550 feet above the Las Vegas strip. A Vegas judge set a March 9 date to determine whether charges against Philip Panzica and Chloe Scordianos can be resolved without trial. The two were arrested on February 5 after ardently celebrating Chloe’s birthday together in a cabin on the famous High Roller. Police say rude surveillance cameras captured the act and impolite riders in another car shot cellphone video. Security personnel swear they warned the couple to stop but we aren’t sure how. Maybe they held up signs.
Scordianos’ lawyer contends his client believed the couple had an expectation of privacy in Cabin 16 and we agree with him. Hey, whatever happened to “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” Phil and Chloe maintain they were just having a good time and didn’t think anyone would notice. The police complaint notes that there have been previous complaints of public indecency on the ride, which is billed as “The Happiest Half-Hour In Vegas.” Bill and Siobhan are getting married in Sin City on June 25. Siobhan says we’re not going on the Ferris Wheel.
Take It Off!
In Wiltshire, England, police community officer Mike Ober was on foot patrol on a typically slow evening for crime in the tidy town. Turning a corner, he noticed the back door of a social club propped open, an unusual happenstance. Officer Mike ventured in and was met with a hail of wild cheering from a large group of women. “It’s the Stripogram!” one of them yelled, the rest rushing up to view this lusty phenomenon. Ober was forced to beat a hasty retreat, all the while protesting his innocence. The sex-crazed women refused to believe the beleaguered officer until the real Stripogram showed up.
“I suppose it was sort of flattering….but also scary,” said Officer Mike. “I guess it was a case of real life imitating an episode of The Golden Girls.”
Apparently, this sort of thing happens all the time in the UK. A couple years back, a female officer investigating rowdy pub behavior was also mistaken for the scheduled stripper, according to the Telegraph newspaper. One fellow began dancing in front of her, got a little too lathered up and started whipping the cop with a bar towel. Reinforcements arrived and he was arrested for lewd behavior and resisting a police officer. He claimed he wasn’t resisting her at all—she was resisting him.
That’s all, folks….
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