Kim Jong-un*
MY WEEK
MONDAY: Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir. I’m sick of it. That’s the problem with being Supreme Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. You never know if people really, really agree with you or whether they’re only saying they do because they know you’ll round up them and all their families and have them shot if they don’t. It’s not fair.
But I have plan. “I’m going to ban sarcasm,” I tell my officials. “Then I’ll know what people truly think.” They agree it’s great idea. “You really mean it?” “Oh yeah, that’s one of the best ideas you’ve ever had, boss, and you’ve had, like, loads of them.”
I stop. “You’re not saying this sarcastically, are you?”
“No way, Supreme Leader,” they insist. “Cross our hearts and hope to...” Oops. Still, never let it be said that Kim Jong-un doesn’t give his beloved people exactly what they ask for.
TUESDAY: There is good and totally non-sarcastic news at the weekly meeting of the Politburo of the Worker’s Party. Industrial production is up again. North Korea remains the world’s top exporting nation, thanks to all my brilliant ideas.
I invented the internet, the internal combustion engine, the driverless car, flat screen TVs and the iPhone 7, though don’t blame me for those stoopid wireless earphones, because I told them everyone would just laugh.
Not a lot of people know this but I also sang lead vocals on Beyonce’s new CD.
Thanks to me, North Korea now has a GDP that is 146 times that of United States. Those Yankees so dumb. I don’t know why the rest of the world doesn’t follow my example. Everyone here is definitely not starving, despite what Western media says. Polls prove 150pc of people think I’m the best thing since sliced bread, which I also invented.
“Hold on,” I say, “I not dense. How can 150pc of people think I’m great? That’s more than all the people in North Korea.”
“Because they think you’re so great, half of them voted for you twice,” I’m told. This satisfy me, though I’m sad that other half only vote for me once. I order People’s Army to find out who they are and deal with them accordingly.
WEDNESDAY: I have very interesting conversation via satellite with our astronauts on Moon Base Alpha. They tell me they have already built the biggest city in the whole universe up there and called it Kimsville. I have degree in physics, so I know all about space. It was me who told them to go there. Or else.
There’s only one thing I don’t understand. “I was peeping through telescope last night,” I say, “and I not see this city.”
“That’s because we built it on the dark side of the moon so the Americans can’t spy on it, don’t you remember, Supreme Leader?”
Now I do. Another cunning plan from yours truly. Daddy would be so proud.
That evening I sit down to watch the opening ceremony of the Paralympic Games in Rio. I had hoped to go. Some Irish guy promised to get me a ticket, but I haven’t heard from him for a few weeks.
Am astonished to see that we have only two athletes taking part in the competition. It may prove difficult to top the medal table, as we did at the Summer Olympics a few weeks ago, when my officials assure me we got gold in every event, except for that stupid thing where they get the horses to prance about on tiptoe, because that so gay. We don’t have gay horses in Korea. We don’t have gay anything. I demand to know why North Korea is not better represented at the Paralympics. “Because we have no disabled people,” I’m told. “Everyone is physically perfect in every way, just like you, podgy great one.”
I celebrate this latest triumph for communism with another box of Sugar Puffs.
THURSDAY: I tune into The Last Word on Today FM, like I do every day since that Matt Cooper visited here to make a film with my hero, Dennis Rodman.
I too could have been top basketball player because I am actually 6ft 7in tall, though you wouldn’t know it because of lies in Western media. They say I look more like Matt, only with better haircut. I only listen because Matt promised to play ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ on my birthday if I let him go go home.
That’s how I hear the bus drivers in Dublin have gone on strike. West is so weak. I send Transport Commissar Shane Ross an email, wondering why he not just shoot them, like I do when workers want more money.
He doesn’t reply. I would ring him directly, but not even our secret service has managed to get hold of Ross-un’s mobile number.
FRIDAY: The whole world is criticising blameless Pyongyang for setting off a nuclear bomb to mark the 68th anniversary of the founding of our noble regime. What the problem? It was only little bomb, not like the huge ones we have trained on Seoul and Tokyo.
Even China is having a go. Why we have to listen to them? I’ve seen official atlas given to Korean schoolchildren. China is only teensy weensy country next to our mighty People’s Republic.
Immediately, shares start dropping sharply on the Asian markets. This is excellent news. Capitalism is on its knees. I send fraternal greetings to my comrades in People Before Profit and the Anti-Austerity Alliance to share the good tidings, but they denounce me as a sell-out for going into government at all.
Barack Obama condemns me, but I’m not worried, he won’t be President much longer. It will either be Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump. One is a ruthless dictator addicted to power and the other’s mad as a fruitcake, so at least I’ll have something in common with whoever wins.