Strangers in the Night, Exchanging Text Messages

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.

 

 

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