Fish and Chips for Pyongyang

Kim Jong-un, the supreme leader of North Korea is approximately thirty years old and has a wife with one daughter. He is overweight and regularly has an ectopic heartbeat which he ignores and when people ask him why he is holding his chest and sweating slightly he tells them in good English to bugger off.

One morning in the year 2015 he is lounging on his big black corner leather sofa engrossed in an online match of Black Ops 4 on his Xbox One. His Kill Death ratio is only 0.77 but he is far from the worst. Behind the sofa leaning over it on either side of him are two slim, smooth skinned prostitutes wearing nothing except knickers with the North Korean flag on the front. One of them is slightly deaf and is wearing a hearing aid as this excites Kim Jong-un, and the other is bog eyed at his request. Kim Jong-un is wearing an Xbox headset and leans foreword in anger at his team-mates and raising his voice to the four American teenaged boys in his squad says

“Right flank, hostiles attacking B – right flank!” Kim Jong-un then leans back as he has just died again, his face resets into frowning jowls and he waits to respawn mashing the respawn button automatically until the respawn countdown ends. One of the prostitutes, the one with the hearing aid is in a vague daydream, not looking at the giant screen and twiddling her hair annoyingly she starts singing softly

“I been thinking ‘bout my new diamond ring.”

This prostitute, despite the hearing aid, has been annoying Kim Jong-un for a while now and he looks round at her taking his eyes off the screen as he is waiting to respawn again and says in Korean

“I would like my breakfast now, after that report to hanger 12.”

She knows she is as good as dead hearing this, but then it was always going to end this way and sooner rather than later, so she replies

“What would you like me to order?”

“Fish and large chips with a barm. And get me a fresh bottle of ketchup.” Kim Jong-un has a fresh bottle of Heinz ketchup opened for most meals, the old ones are never seen again. Just like this slapper won’t be seen again he thinks and his fat face does not move just stares at her until her eyes drop and she gets up and walks towards the guards at the door. They let her (as so many before over the past century) past automatically and he never sees her again. He goes back to his game with a slight feeling of anger.

One of the guards brings his genuine English fish and chips around twenty minutes later when he is playing Pinball FX 2. The mind of the other prostitute is quite drugged as per usual and is stroking her unfertile stomach behind the sofa.

Soon Kim Jong-un’s wife and five year old daughter arrive. He loves his wife in a way and does not actually have intercourse with the prostitutes – they are probably there just to make him feel powerful, but neither does he see his wife very much. She lives in some penthouse on the other side of Pyongyang. The daughter is apparently quite smart and wants to be one of the marching soldier women when she grows up. The wife greets him and he switches off his console and stands up in front of them his arms clasped behind him. They stand there for a few moments (the bog eyed prostitute is gathering her things hurriedly and disappears out of a rear door). Kim Jong-un stares over his five foot wife with his frowning jowls set and when the prostitute has gone (to collect her pay in the basement) his dark haired daughter asks

“What shall I do today Daddy?” He thinks pleasingly for a second, rocking back on his heels and says “Go and play with your doll.”
The daughter is genuinely pleased as she loves her doll and looks up at Mummy asking “Can I go now and play, Mummy?”
The Mummy smiles and says yes. Their young daughter skips out of the room along the corridor to her play room which contains her doll, a wooden chair and a black board with chalk. The young girl will play happily until her Mummy arrives back from her day shopping in South Korea.

The husband and wife stand facing each other for a good while. Kim Jong-un’s face settles down into an even more sad expression and a tear almost comes to his eye but they do not make eye contact. His arms remain around his back and pretty soon his beautiful wife steps forward and gently strokes his face. Then she puts her arms around him, resting her hands on his where they remain and in the distance a dog can be heard making unceasing noise. They both think that if there is a Hell, the sound of that helpless, whipped dog confirms it.

“I’m so scared.” Says Kim Jong-un. His wife, who is a good woman, presses her head into his squashy chest.

Later, around noon, Kim Jong-un is in a meeting in one of the many ultra modern skyscrapers in the vast business district of Pyongyang. He is bored with the usual talk of meaningless figures and rests his face on his knuckles staring out of the window longingly thinking of World War 3. These thoughts come to him casually. After a while (he now has no idea what the talking is referring to) he suddenly stands up and the talking stops and he says he needs a piss and will be back soon. The figures men stop and begin reorganising their papers. The same thing happens every day. Kim Jong-un takes an hour in the gents.

For dinner he sits in at the fish and chip shop and has one of his generals order him fish, large chips and a barm with three sachets of ketchup and a can of Tizer.

In the early afternoon, he has a slightly more interesting meeting at the space and missile centre. Some generals he does not see very often are there and he walks over to them where they are standing, he has his arms behind him. He begins by saying

“How is the production of surface to air missiles proceeding.” Kim Jong-un is quite adamant that World War 3 will happen soon and that North Korea will wipe out the USA and Europe, leaving them free to exploit Africa and the middle east. The generals keep telling him it is all just mind games and one of them reminds him in blunt, slightly arrogant words now.

“It’s sanctions your greatness. Sanctions and China. We only have a dozen rockets at the ready and they cannot even reach Japan. We keep telling you, but you won’t listen. The US would wipe us out in fifteen minutes.” But Kim Jong-un is not listening or even hearing him, his eyes are slightly glazed over looking into the distance seeing American aircraft carriers blown to smithereens in his mind. He starts mumbling slightly and bobbing his head. The generals look at each other exasperated.

Snapping out of it Kim says sharply “I would like to see the space rocket section now please.” He strides through them and the generals look at each other in further exasperation shaking their heads and raising their eyebrows.

The space research centre is new and funded by Arabs; Kim Jong-un has only been to this building once. It is next door and as they enter through security Kim thinks how modern and clean and efficient everything looks (remembering his DVDs of London in the UK and how litter was everywhere in that puny city).

The space centre is the main a very big indoor space with white walls. Kim looks around at the rockets standing thirty feet tall with their red tails and he feels a rush of happiness for a moment and his face breaks out into a smile of fascination. Unfortunately, upon entering conversation with the lead technician she tells him again that the rockets don’t stand a chance of leaving the atmosphere. It is all for show. The rockets go up a few kilometres then crash down into the Sea of Japan. Kim Jong-un is angry and picks up a plastic object holding pens and throws it across the small office with an incomprehensible sound of East Asian fury. He then asks to see the dogs.

The dogs are in a building across a very large and seemingly unimportant concrete field. On one wall of the dog building there are rows of small cages reaching away to the far wall and to the ceiling. There are a few silent dogs lying inside but most cages are empty – there are only five or six of the hounds Kim estimates. Kim Jong-un has calmed down now having put the fake space programme from his mind reminding himself that these things take time. One of his guards hands him his early afternoon cheese and onion slice which he stops to eat looking in at a drugged and unhappy dog.

“Do these dogs get exercise?” he asks in elegant Korean the man who appears to be charge here.

“Why no your greatness. These are the dogs who go into the rockets as life support testing procedure.”

Kim finishes the last of his slice and asks flatly “Do the dogs die?”

“Why yes sir, they must drown, as the rockets are not watertight.”

Kim Jong-un for some reason unknown to him is upset by this and orders the dogs to be taken for a walk every morning and evening with “One of those plastic tennis ball thrower things” for the dogs to chase after. But the man tells him that there is no park nearby and so Kim tells him to use the giant concrete space outside and goes on to say

“In fact there will be trees planted and an opening ceremony in precisely three days. I give you a budget of ten million dollars to prepare it all.” The dog man nods and knows he will have his work cut out. Kim Jong-un strides away back to his Jaguar limousine on the other side of the space research centre. He is driven to his penthouse the dog man watching him go in fear.

He has nothing to do now until evening and sits in his Jacuzzi sipping a non alcoholic fruit smoothie. Soon the bog eyed prostitute walks in sensuously and takes off all he clothes in full view of Kim and does an obscene little dance before sliding oil like into the hot water. Kim’s eyes and face do not move. She puts a small hand on his shoulder and slides it down his chest and then under the water. He shakes his head slightly and the woman withdraws the hand and starts touching and soaping herself. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back and lets out some moans. She raises herself out of the water revealing her breasts and sneaks a quick bored peak at Kim Jong-un. He does not appear to be looking at anything in particular and she closes her eyes and starts pinching her nipples. The phone on the side of the bath rings and Kim stands up and leans over the exotically writhing prostitute. She opens her eyes and sees just inches from her face Kim’s overhanging belly and completely flaccid penis. Kim barks some words at the phone and grabs a towel and leaves without looking back.

For tea Jim Jong-un has fish, large chips, a cheese and onion pie and a barm. Just before bed he remembers something he had thought of earlier and asks one of his generals to find out what the ex Gamesmaster presenter Dominik Diamond does these days. He sits on the edge of his bed wearing his pyjamas waiting for the answer which takes twenty minutes as the internet is down again. Then the general knocks and upon command enters and informs Kim that Domink did some presenting in Canada but now owns a farm in Mexico. Kim Jong-un nods his thanks and says “He’s clearly mad.” The general leaves and Kim gets under the covers barely registering the same bog eyed woman reading her Kindle next to him, and in ten seconds he is fast asleep on his back.

At six in the morning Kim’s alarm goes off and he starts awake in a sudden panic! He has been sweating and starts shouting to the empty room “What the fuck am I doing!? What are we doing, we’re gonna be killed? I love! Stop the madness generals!” He rolls out of bed his hands shaking and holds his head in his hands seeing B-52 bombers and Abrams tanks rolling in from the south. He reaches out and shuts off the alarm and gets dressed. He goes into his bathroom which has signs of recent female use, and splashes some cold water on his face. Then he stares into infinity for a second or two and locks the apartment door on the way out.

Later he can be seen on national TV on a balcony waving to passing tanks and giant artillery guns on wheels as they trundle past below. His face and eyes are set, his hair which had been cut again in the morning is neat and tidy, his long coat thick and warm in the freezing wind of another North Korean winter.



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