The things is, a thing is, N. Korea does not regard their miserable little turd as we do our president, as subject for mockery.
One time I was watching video of a tour of reporters visiting N. Korea under the watchful supervision of minders. Deadly serious minders. One reporter stood next to a statue of the miserable little turd's father. Then mounted the base of the statue and then laid horizontally with his head up on his hand, amusingly, for the shot. A young rail-thin guard freaked out.
And not just regular-freaked out. Impressively massively freaked out as if he himself would be shot on sight for not preventing the effrontery to State, to religion, to sacred icon, to personal self, to humanity, to art! The guard's reaction amazed the whole group.
Kind of like Egypt in the old days, you just don't do that. Gaaaawl! Everybody knows that!
But then, oddly, it is a little bit like here. Hollywood makes a movie about assassinating Bush Jr., then falls all over itself piling on the awards for capturing the national zeitgeist and for being so brave and forward-thinking, applauding like trained seals, but would soil themselves publicly then display their soled garments, and write endless essays and excruciating exegesis about how that is so, so, so very wrong on earthly and spiritual levels.
Ha ha ha. La la la. #caring.
The music for the film, better than the original, I think by this brief sample, is out on CD, but who buys those anymore?
