Thing is, the blog goes crazy when I post a picture.
Lemme try again.
WALTER BECKER AND THE LAUNCHING OF KIM JONG-UNs
BEST MISSILE EVER
One half of Steely Dan died today
of unknown causes, said the obit.
Better get out of here, he may
have thought, before I'm torn in pieces
by the maniac in North Korea.
Maniac? Did you see the glee on his face
as he was surrounded by pat-them-on-the
back, Good ole Ri Hong Sop and Hong Sung Mu.
They call him a despot. C'mon now!
Who's our Supreme Leader, these men
are equals, for sure.
Kim's far saner. Goal-directed,
unwavering, while dining in style
with gentle Ri Sol-ju. With
diamond-studded chopsticks
they savor their Rice Porridge with
abalone, rice, pine nuts and tender mushrooms.
Come take a peek in the War Room, he says
taking her hand and showing her the latest
missile.
So tiny, she says, inspecting her
five foot-two husband.
Now we'll play basketball with the
Big Boys, he said.
If anyone can do it, she said,
pinching his cheek, it's you.
And Walter Becker can sleep
in peace for all eternity,
having lost Rikki's number.
***
We know that Kim Jong-Un (I've forced myself to remember his name) is no angel, but, honestly, the way they refer to him and his country on the Internet.
Rogue nation.
Secretive state.
***
Yours faithfully, Ruth Z Deming, cowering on the red couch.
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