A Foreign Policy Post Mortem: Why the Trump-Un Talks Really Failed

Written by D. L. Hawkinson

Saturday, 2 March 2019

image for A Foreign Policy Post Mortem: Why the Trump-Un Talks Really Failed
A handshake belies their hidden passion.

According to evidence gathered by Politico, Mother Jones Magazine, and the New York Times, and corroborated by TMZ and Eddy’s Weekly Shopper, the failure of the United States and North Korea to reach an agreement has little to do with a quid pro quo involving nuclear weapons and sanctions reductions—and everything to do with an aborted fashion/makeover/pillow party.

It’s true.

The sole source for this story, Soy Du Ling, a wedding videographer and rice speculator, admitted to videoing through the window of the Hotel Ho Chi Min Hyatt-Marriot while security was otherwise occupied picking worms out of their various orifices and frying them for dinner.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Soy Du Ling said in disbelief. “We have perfectly good food in Vietnam, and yet those North Korean guards would rather fry their own worms. They don’t even use fish sauce for seasoning. I tell you, they’re real barbarians. Americans no better. All they eat is pizza. Canadian bacon. Looks like worms, too. Barbarians.”

After receiving the equivalent of five bags of short-grained rice, Soy Du Ling handed over his surveillance video and wandered off with his water buffalo, Earl. Intelligence officials analyzed the video and found it to be authentic.

It reveals images the likes of which have never before been viewed in history (nor should they be):

Trump is sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing only a towel. His hair rests on a nearby dresser. Within a few moments, he gets up to answer the door. In walks Kim Jong Un, with several bags in his arms. The bags bear the logos of North Korea’s finest fashions. He closes the door, locks it, and tugs at Trump’s towel. It falls freely to the floor. Un smiles, giggles, and covers his mouth. “Now your turn,” Trump insists.

“You wait, naughty boy,” the Pillsbury Pugsley says, in his smoothest, most murderous voice. He pulls a satin cocktail dress from a bag and slips it over a plump—no, technically, obese—Trump. Trump wiggles his hips and the dress slides effortlessly over his blotchy, hairless legs. Only a mushroom shaped genital interrupts the flow of the dress.

“If this is what you say it is, I love it!” Trump says, echoing an unrelated conversation that will soon bring down his administration. “I’m a beauty the likes of which the world has never seen before.”

“Now, you sit down, big boy,” the murderous dictator quips flirtatiously. “I give you makeover.”

Trump obliges and sits down at a mirror, rubbing his fingers over the dress admiringly. Un pads Trump’s bulbous face with variously-colored asbestos powders, slobbers a bold Hot Pumpkin lipstick over his lips, and applies concealer over his horrendous age spot shaped like Mexico. Finally, Un tries several wigs on his bald head until Trump falls in love with an oversized black piece designed with beads and corn rows. “I love you,” he says, “but I love myself more.” Trump throws kisses to himself in the mirror.

“Fantastic,” Un cries out in North Korean, which sounds a bit like a chipmunk getting run over by a Subaru. “You are Number One woman in entire world!”

“I know,” Trump utters modestly. “I am the best. I really am.” He drools noticeably. “Melania has nothing on me, and Ivanka can’t even compare to my hotness!”

Trump springs to his feet and pirouettes, singing . . .

I feel pretty, oh so pretty.
I feel pretty and witty and gay . . .

Un claps with glee and hops like a monstrous rabbit. The room shakes. Surveillance cameras fall from the ceiling.

“Now you do me,” the maniacal leader of one of the world’s most starved countries says. “Do me. Do me.” He begins to get undressed. “I prefer burlap to silk, just so you know, big boy!”

“Well,” Trump hesitates. “I would prefer to sit here and admire myself. You understand.”

“Do me. Do me,” the portly dictator insists. His cheeks become flushed. His glasses steam over. “You said ‘I like you, you like me,’ so do me. DO ME!

The secret service barges through the door. The lights go off. The video ends.

Analysts who have studied the video frame by frame are now just beginning to understand the back-story to the failed North Korea-American talks. One thing all analysts agree on, however: The North Korean dictator gave a whole lot more than he got. Once again, they conclude, Trump took advantage of a younger, suppler, but equally attractive partner, even without the makeover.

Updates to follow.

Hanoi, Vietnam. This just in. By bicycle.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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