I have read with disinterest the story of Sony vs. Kim Jung Mini Me. I figure if you make a satire about assassinating a crazy foreign leader, you deserve whatever you get. The end.
I realized that long before it became trendy, I was blowing up his dad.
It started out innocently enough. I came into possession of two Day-Glo Orange Lightweight Racing Soup Ladles © (anything else is just a big spoon.) They had magical powers installed during a visit by El Señor, ensuring that anyone who ran with them would set a personal record, or at least get a race photo of a weirdo with an orange spoon.
After an elaborate contest (basically “um, who wants a ladle?”), they were delivered to their new homes. One went to upstate New York to live a quiet life with a marmot.
The other was to be a traveling fool, going from runner to runner in an international goodwill tour. The first stop was to a soldier somewhere in the world. He couldn’t tell me where for security reasons. “Just address it Somewhere Scary,” he said. As if the Postal Service looks at the address anyhow.
It went great. We got photos of him in a race in the desert, ladle triumphantly overhead. Mission accomplished.
And then it got weird.
He mailed it to Pochero, mythical creator of the Pikermi, who lives in South Freakin’ Korea. But it never arrived.
Naturally, I suspected the Evil Kim Jung Il of intercepting it. Which could mean only thing: This was a job for Mohawk Boy.
The epic story was dutifully reported. There was an implication that the Evil Kim had met his maker. Jeez, it was just a joke. And that was that.
I noticed today for the millionth time that someone had read that story on my blog.
Why would somebody be calling up a 2011 post?
And then I remembered Kim Jung Mini Me’s reaction to his demise in that movie.
And my computer has been getting slower and slower and slower.
Clearly, I am being targeted by the dark side.
As a good American, what can you do?
Send me a dollar. We can’t let the bad guys win. Plus, I can buy a Medium Chocolate Frosty.
Do it for Mohawk Boy. I’ll go wait by the mailbox.