America and North Korea’s Bad Romance

America thinks he and North Korea are in love. North Korea thinks otherwise.

Inspired by President Jackoff himself.


North Korea stepped out of the General Assembly and was immediately accosted.

“Hey, hot stuff,” America said with what he probably thought was a slick grin. He thought wrong. “You got a minute?”

As usual, alarm sirens had been blaring inside North Korea’s head the moment he caught sight of America. The noise made it hard to think as North Korea wondered if “hot stuff” was some kind of joke regarding nuclear fission, or perhaps radiation.

But then he said very sweetly, “Of course.” As he followed America away from the crowd, the sirens wailed even louder. It couldn’t be helped.

“I have to know,” America started with a serious look. “Do you…? Do you love me? Because I feel something between us and I want to know if it’s real.”

North Korea blanched but kept a big, plastic smile plastered to his face. “Is that right?”

“Like, maybe I’m just crazy but I feel a connection between us, you know? Those sexy little letters you wrote were so raw and beautiful.”

Letters?

North Korea could remember nothing significant about the “love letters, other than that after writing them he’d made sure to take a two-hour bleach bath each and every time. It did wonders for purifying the skin, but perhaps not in a way that doctors would recommend.

“I liked that thing we did,” America blabbed on, “the flirty, you know, going back and forth, you being tough on me, me being tough on you, building up all that sexual tension.”

As America spoke, he must have noticed the perspiration that started to bead on North Korea’s inhumanly clear face. “You’re worried about what China will think, right? Listen, baby, it’s all good. I’m his best friend so I know him pretty well and he’ll be cool with this.”

North Korea immediately unleashed a noise that sounded like a Tasmanian devil violently wretching. And in an instant, he was all smiles again.

“You like me, don’t you, America?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And do you trust me?”

“Sorta.”

“You know, I like you too.”

America ran a hand through his hair and sighed with relief. “So I was right.”

“You are welcome to think that.”

“Do you wanna kiss? There’s a janitor closet right down there. We could makeout, we could touch, we could hold hands, we could–”

North Korea wretched loudly again, smiled at America, then ran away.

***

North Korea paced his bedroom for hours, trying to drive the impurity from his essence and hoping the spontaneous nosebleeds would cease. Chemicals could cleanse the body–sometimes even the mind–but they could not cleanse the soul. That required a special kind of ritual.

“That worm! That arrogant leech! How dare he presume himself worthy of my affection.”

You’re giving him everything he wants, said a voice in his head.

“Not everything he wants.”

North Korea thought back to the cleaning closet and America’s suggestions. There was not enough bleach for that.

How long do you think you can play him before he comes to his senses and it all backfires?

“Worthless idiot,” North Korea hissed at the voice. “You think that I spend my nights cackling with glee as I masterfully manipulate and take advantage of the–” he swallowed his pride, “–of the most powerful person alive? No, it doesn’t work like that. Not when the balance of power is so weighted to one side.”

He let out a deep breath to calm himself. “Besides, from the start, I have told him exactly what I want, need, and expect. There were never any tricks. And, anyway, how can I be blamed for his being too stupid to think even just one move ahead?”

The voice gave up and for a fleeting, blissful moment, North Korea thought he’d won.

He mentioned the Traitor.

An exasperated, throaty groan shook the air. North Korea rushed to the bathroom and started throwing open cabinets. An ammonia shower was in order.

***

Back at home, on the couch and surrounded by months-old bags of McDonald’s trash, America seemed to be arguing with voices in his head, too.

You’re in love with North Korea? it asked suspiciously. He couldn’t place the voice; it sounded like it could have been him–a him from a different place and a different time.

“It runs both ways, pal.”

North Korea is in love with you? it asked even more suspiciously.

“What’s not to love?”

And it doesn’t bother you that he…

“That he what? Does the same evil shit that everyone else does, just better?”

Jesus Christ.

“Morals are for pussies. It’s what the Europeans with their socialism and their tiny defense budgets care about.” America closed his eyes as if to doze. “Power. That’s what I respect. And you know what? Maybe I like bad boys. Maybe tough guys turn me on.”

Bad boys? Oh, you mean murderers, monsters, dictators–

“Hey,” America nearly shouted, “you remember the part where I don’t care? Besides, who isn’t a murderer or a monster?”

I never thought your selective morality would one day include North Korea.

“What can I say? I love strong leaders.”

You’re repulsive. And way too stubborn. I’ll remember this scene, you lying there surrounded by heaps of your own trash, and cherish it as a prophetic metaphor. Peace out.

“Yeah, fuck off.” Even as America said that and lifted a middle finger to the ceiling, he felt a jolt of fear as he considered the possibility that maybe the voice had been God or something.

When he brought his arm down to let it hang over the couch, his hand smacked into a large cup that, apparently, hadn’t been finished off. Coke spilled out onto the carpet, seeping into it to make what would overnight become a stain of shame.

After deciding he was too lazy to do anything about it, America shot North Korea a flirty little “wyd” text.

North Korea left him on Read all night.


Notes

I do not condone using household cleaners on your own body as it is very dangerous. Do not emulate North Korea’s behavior–in this context or, like, any context.

This was longer than I intended but I started having fun. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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