K & D 4 Life!!! (our lowly intro)
The Anthropologist notes: “To explain the circumstances by which we have arrived at Kim Jong-un and Donald K. Trump inhabiting a small isle. about the West Pacific, the rationing of Hot Purkets (TM) must be noted:
“for each, K & D, respectively, were 12 Pepperoni Hot Purkets (they being the favored intestinal milieu of one particular misshapen Secret Service (SS) Member, now lay dead) plus ONE purk unaccounted for.
“The Unknown Hottie is the source of MUCH lament, and brought K & D to blows on the island. The location of the Hot Purk made of them mortal adversaries where initially they had got along swimmingly.
“Prior the the Purk incident they had made fire of the aircraft salvage and sat round roasting marshmallows and discussing their dictatorial sex conquests (in this realm of conquest, Kim was the definite winner).
“Also they did engage in several hours of reflection & healing as regards Donald’s teensie hands; this confiding among sociopaths brought them great love and some hidden lust for each others loins.
“They were even to scrawl K & D 4 Life!!! on the walls of a cave where it is suspected much anal coitus did occur between the aforementioned.
“All being well until the absence of the unaccounted Hot Potty, upon which, during a disastrous onslaught of rain and lightning, Donald found himself upon a crag, and in the flashes of blazing electricity, his hair stood on end, flaming & swaying.
“He chiseled into the face of said crag:
“THIS ISLAND IS ONLY BIG ENOUGH FOR ONE DICTATOR
“He was suddenly strucketh about his person by a bolt strong enough even to arouse Melania.”
In the fading evening of the island with its swaying palms & fireflies, the crashing of waves upon the sands & other real beautiful shit, one could hear the mournful cry of an injured baby.
This was Donnie Trump.
Kim Jong woke from a coke stupor (SS always had coke on them, and Santiago, the officer assigned to their plane, loved some sweet sweet Pamtri) thinking himself hallucinating.
Had he fucked another coke-fueled vagina last night? He did a double-take. Naw, just marooned on an isle in the Pacific again.
No sea turtle with the face of Ke$ha this time though, so that was kinda disappointing. Who was he going to screw now? Then he remembered: Donnie Walber-- Donnie Trump! Ol Trumpo! They had fought, no? During the storm!
Kim heard the cries yet again and swiveled about in search of comfort, of Donald. No Don. Huh. And no Hottie Pock. Doubles Huh. Had he ran off with the last of their food? Shit damn.
He consulted his Hello Kitty pack Ri Sol-ju bought special just for his visit to Washington. No foodies in there either.
Then he heard the sound. That sound that sounded like the sound you hear at the start of a trailer for Inception, or any movie that came out after Inception.
A kind of a WOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPP.
WOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPP.
Kimmie Boy: “Ohhh no! Ah-shit is-ah going-to go-ah down!” He shuddered. His English was getting too good.
That sound only meant one thing in his giant deluded forehead.
Another player was entering The Matrix.
TO BE CONTINUED.
