I find the possible death of Kim Jong-un intriguing, but I’m more concerned about confirming the death of his hairdresser. That guy could still be out there leaving people’s hair like parallelopipedons. Trump needs to stop spying on North Korea’s nuclear proliferation and focus on the major current threat to the West, that hairdresser, who developed his technique at the best cattle-shearing academies, and cuts hair to the same level that communism solves a country’s economic hardships.
The latest news indicates that Kim Jong-un might not be dead but drunk, surrounded by beautiful young girls, on a luxury ship, safe from the coronavirus. If that’s true, I’m sure his hairdresser is on board with him. Bombing the ship would be a good option, but if you prefer a more subtle and precise operation, we could drop a crack team of New York hairdresser commandos in by parachute. Just threaten to harm a hair on his head and Kim Jong-un himself will gladly order his hairdresser to walk the plank and feed the sharks. I saw something similar on The A-Team once.
In communist regimes, leaders don’t die. It’s everyone else who dies. Fidel Castro died so many times that right now I can’t remember if he’s alive or dead. Chavez is not dead, according to Maduro, who revealed that he receives visits from him, time to time, in the form of a little bird that gives him advice. It’s the first little bird in the world to give orders to torture the entire population of a country. An interesting research subject for National Geographic. And a great opportunity for Trump: an old Winchester 73 would be all that’s needed to end communism in Venezuela. What is he waiting for to open the hunting season?
Even Lenin isn’t quite dead. His mummy is on display in Moscow’s Red Square. After his death in 1924, more than 200 scientists worked on his body to keep it looking fresh so as not to put a damper on revolutionary spirits. If you want a good image of communism, picture the annual expenditure for the maintenance of Lenin’s mummy: in 2016 it was $198,000. In addition, experts in paranormal phenomena have discovered that the revolutionary leader moves slightly some nights. With that kind of money, I would expect the mummy to do Travolta’s Pulp Fiction dance all over the mausoleum.
The big difference between Lenin and the rest of the dead communist leaders is that the Russians had his brain removed before having him embalmed. It’s possible they couldn’t find the other’s brains. German neurologist Oskar Vogt was commissioned to study the dictator’s brain in depth. In 1930, Vogt published his exciting findings: some of Lenin’s neurons were larger than those in the rest of the world. They weren’t yet aware that size doesn’t matter. On the other hand, with the excitement of the moment, nobody realized that this finding could also reveal the difference between being a normal son of a bitch, or a son of a bitch of above average dimensions.
Of all the immortal communists, my favorite is Kim Jong-un’s father. His name was Kim Jong-il, and that was a little confusing for those phoning the palace, asking to talk to Kim. The secretary would ask, “Jong-UN or Jong-IL?” To which the caller would often reply, “Miss, could you stop doing sit-ups and just get Kim please?”
In 2011, when Kim Jong-il died, it took the regime a couple of days to announce it on the official news channel. The anchorwoman burst into tears. I guess they were pointing an AK-47 at her from behind the camera. The woman then stated that during the moment of his passing, the dictator, to whom the regime attributed special powers over nature, performed a miracle, making thermometers read the winter’s lowest temperature.
This all started years ago. The communist regime claimed that the dictator was born on a sacred mountain and that during his birth a rainbow sprang up in the sky, bringing an early start to springtime. That is why at his death, according to the regime, strange weather phenomena occurred, including high waves. Of all these North Korean funeral tales, my favorite is the one about the crane. According to the official agency, at the time of Kim Jong-il’s death, a crane landed on his statue in the city of Hammhung, obviously grieving with a sad, thoughtful posture and, to quote KCNA, “mourning the loss, unable to forget him.”
So ever since the first rumors of the death of the bloodthirsty communist Kim Jong-un, I have been looking out of my window, eagerly searching the sky for cranes, confined inside, with my binoculars in one hand and a large bottle of champagne ready in the other.
Itxu Díaz is a Spanish journalist, political satirist, and author. He has written nine books on topics as diverse as politics, music, and smart appliances. He is a contributor to the Daily Beast, the Daily Caller, National Review, the American Conservative, the Federalist, and Diario Las Américas in the United States, and columnist several Spanish magazines and newspapers. He was also an adviser to the Ministry for Education, Culture, and Sports in Spain. Follow him on Twitter at @itxudiaz or visit his website www.itxudiaz.com.
Translated by Joel Dalmau