The following exchange took place between U. S. President Barack Obama and North Korean President Kim Jong-un on April 8, 2013, starting at 8:13 am, South Korean time.
B. O.: Hey Kim, what’s up?
K. J.: Nothing special.
B. O.: Got nukes?
K. J.: Sure. Want some?
B. O.: Already loaded, thanks.
K. J.: Why you call?
B. O.: You want war?
K. J.: No, thanks.
B. O.: Why you so aggressive?
K. J.: Talking to yourself?
B. O.: LOL. Seriously, man.
K. J.: Just keeping up appearances.
B. O.: Thou shalt not kill.
K. J.: What about thou?
B. O.: Sorry–runs in the family of presidents.
K. J.: See? We’re no different–U and I.
B. O.: Peace.
K. J.: Of the action.
B. O.: C’mon, give up the nukes.
K. J.: You first.
B. O.: I promise we won’t bomb you.
K. J.: That’s what you told Saddam Hussein and Mo Kaddafi.
B. O.: And that whole “axis of evil” thing? Just a joke.
K. J.: LOL.
B. O.: Bush is funny guy.
K. J.: Looks don’t count.
B. O.: Hey, that’s mean.
K. J.: Sorry.
B. O.: Kim? I understand what Dennis Rodman means.
K. J.: Sorry?
B. O.: I mean, I love you too.
K. J.: Cooties!
B. O.: Kudos to you to.
K. J.: We ain’t even met.
B. O.: I and thou, bro.
K. J.: Que?
B. O.: From now on.
K. J.: Your meaning is incomprehensible to me.
B. O.: That’s the way it’s going to be–we’re as tight as ticks.
K. J.: Hey, Obama?
B. O.: Yo!
K. J.: Think you can get me a date with Park Geun-hye?
B. O.: No! Dude, you’re married!
K. J.: I know. Shucks. She’s just dreamy.
B. O: I know what you mean.
K. J.: REALLY?
B. O.: Shhh! Please don’t tell Michelle!
K. J.: I’m texting mommy!
B. O.: Come on, man. I thought we were friends.
K. J.: We are. I’m kidding.
B. O.: So we agreed? No more nukes?
K. J.: Sorry, no dice.
B. O.: Why not?
K. J.: I feel naked without them.
B. O.: So what? Don’t hide your light under a bushel.
K. J.: Got to slim down first.
B. O.: So do some tae kwon do.
K. J.: Good idea.
B. O.: And while you’re at it, lose the nukes.
K. J.: Mind if I sell ’em to Iran?
B. O.: Hey, don’t even joke about that!
K. J.: I won’t if you’ll stop joking about Predator drones.
B. O.: I fired the guy who wrote that one.
K. J.: He still out of work?
B. O.: No–I mean I literally burned him alive with a missile shot from a drone!
K. J.: I hope you’re kidding.
B. O.: I hope you are too.
K. J.: Gotta go, Barry. Keep ’em guessing.
B. O.: You too, tiger.
K. J.: Keep in touch.
B. O.: Parting is such sweet sorrow.
K. J.: Roger Wilco.