“So that dude says his army is willing to fight us to the death, even if it takes hand-to-hand combat?”
My friend Eli, listening to the news.
Dangerous.
“We’d kick their tiny, malnourished asses.”
That’s probably racist, or sexist, or something bad. We’re more concerned about how things sound than the North Koreans, who are worried about … how badly we’re treating Dennis Rodman.
“Seriously, Dennis Rodman? That’s the best they could do?”
My smart friend Ralphus. He’s usually on point.
“If you’re going to get a rebounding and defensive freak, get Bill Russell. Bill Russell speaks, people listen. Dennis Rodman speaks, nobody can hear him, over the techno music and gun battles between rival entourages at the after-hours club.”
Good points, as always.
Kim Jong Un reminds me of a business rival who spends his days, nights and weekends trying to pick fights with people who won’t pay him any mind instead of doing what he needs to do, namely, try to put his business in a position of making money.
Kim would rather pick a fight with the United States than, you know, make sure his people have food.
“He wants a fight? He’s got it!”
That’s Eli again, almost ready to enlist.
I say almost. Eli wouldn’t make it past the recruiter.
“Is there an out on having to shine boots and mop the head? I just want to shoot North Koreans.”
So some of us are worked up. Others of us …
“Maybe they’ll invite that idiot Andray Blatche over next time they need PR. Not as good a rebounder, better scorer, much bigger eff-up than Rodman, if that’s possible.”
Scouting report courtesy my smart friend Ralphus.
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