The Great Clowns
The Great Lights Kim Il-sung and his son Kim Jong-Il. They’re standing on the rim of Paektu Mountain. What few people know is that, as well as a cameraman, a sound recorder was on the spot to record pronouncements from the Great Orators. Although it was supposed to be later edited and dubbed, at the behest of the Great Fakers, some of what was really said was smuggled out of the country. Now, for the first time a translation has been made available, and here it is:
Dad: Look, Son, see all that. It’ll all be yours one day.
Son: That’s wicked, Papa. Thanks a lot.
Dad: See those work camps over there–all yours. You can work those bastards till they drop. Those camps are self renewing. We’ve got people who are born and die in there. It’s like a perpetual motion machine, only with humans. A constantly replenishing slave force.
Son: It’s like a factory farm, Papa.
Dad: Haha. Good one, Son. You’ve always caught on quick.
Son: Hey, I like that outfit. The Godfather, right?
Dad: You got it in one. Yeah, Brando, he nailed that part.
Son: Looks good on you. Kind of suits your, er, our business.
Dad: I thought so, too. But what the hell is that you’ve got on.
Son: This guy, a designer in Pyongyang, he said it’d impress the ladies.
Dad: Well, yes, it is time you found a wife.
Son: I know, but I’m worried about, you know, home life.
Dad: Oh, have all the affairs you want.
Son: You mean dancing girls are OK. They really spice my kimchi.
Dad: Haha. That’s my boy. Don’t be shy. They usually have the best asses.
Son: They’ll call me the Great Impregnator, won’t they Papa?
Dad: Hahahaha. A sense of humor just like your old man. Hahaha. Haha. Ha.
Son: Oh, yeah, I was at show the other night, you know, up on stage, and I told the one about getting free money and food by threatening nuclear war. Oh man, they loved it.
Dad: An oldie but a goodie. Sucks ‘em in every time.
Son: And I was up there doing the stirring the air with hands thing, you know, and swingin’ my hips like this, and everyone’s going “go Jongy, go Jongy, go Jongy.” Oh, man, I rocked the Kazbar that night.
Dad: That’s my boy.
As we knew all along, they were just Great Regularly Guys back in the day. But for the life of me, something about that photo fills me with loathing. Perhaps its the sense of pompous self-assurance and arrogance of people presiding over an Orwellian world controlled by fear, poverty, corruption and work camps.
