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Sunday, Apr 16, 2017 - 19:26 SGT
Posted By: Gilbert

The Kings Of Trolls

Before getting to the main topic, a happy reminder that we are living in the best timeline. It was all set up for World War III, according to the Fake News-peddling mainstream media (as exposed by an A.I. pioneer).

Two deities were on a collision course: from the Workers' Paradise, the chubby Marshal of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Supreme Commander of the Korean People's Army, Bright Sun of Juche, Swiper of Swedish Volvos, Detainer of Malaysian Tourists, Kim Jong Un; and from GREAT AMERICA, the People's Champion, Last Hope of Western Civilization, Defender of the Constitution, Conqueror of Bushes, Crooked Hillary and the Deep State, and 45th President of the United States, GOD-EMPEROR TRUMP.

The fate of the world again hung in the balance, as echoes of the past rang inexorably. The metallic tang of gamesmanship at the highest levels, that unique blend - and irresistable allure - of mortal fear and immortal grandeur, once more lingered in the air, at the high table where the cards were entire army divisions and aircraft carriers, and the chips, whole nations and peoples. The players were seated.

Li'l Kim had bid boldly, a ballistic missile into the Sea of Japan. GOD-EMPEROR TRUMP, his steely gaze never wavering, raised without hesitation: the Carl Vinson Strike Group of the Third Fleet, deployed from Singapore. Xi of China called - twenty million tons of coal - conservative as always. Japan and South Korea sat, as if lost in thought, before following, counting their chips deliberately. For them, the stakes were especially high, and the memories too fresh. Over the Table, the Clock continued counting off the minutes, to the Witching Hour.


Long Live the Great Man, Descended From Heaven!
(Source: kotaku.com)


One by one, the others called or folded, as their respective appetites and positions entailed. It was Li'l Kim's turn again - his bluff, if it was one, seemed to have had a minimal effect. Still, his pudgy face was impassive. His dad hadn't managed to pass on in one piece by being unnecessarily excitable.

"Prepare for a big and important event." he said evenly.

GOD-EMPEROR TRUMP was a mask, as was Xi. They had seen this only too often. Young dipshits, who thought they were hot stuff after studying a manual of basic strategy and winning some ten-cent limit games on the Internet, and imagined the same crap would work on the sharks. Putin would probably have grinned, had he been here. He had excused himself from this game with apologies, however - too many elections to fix. A pity. He had always been a stylish player, that one.

The GOD-EMPEROR rubbed a MOAB chit between his huge fingers pointedly, while oh-so-slowly lifting a glorious eyebrow. He had a hundred cutting 140-character rejoinders lined up, but silence sometimes spoke loudest of all. Xi, a master of the old school, twitched not a muscle, but he must have been boiling inside. He had enough problems of his own, without a maladjusted fat boy entering the picture. Couldn't he have just randomly executed some generals for fun, instead of polluting the oceans with their two-bit rockets? It's a wonder how they even afford it - wanker must be diverting funds from their food aid again... if he hadn't eaten it all himself, that is.

Xi couldn't resist taking a second look. It was a well-trodden jibe, but damn, perhaps it was true after all. He turned his head. Japan and South Korea were getting real twitchy, Abe was beginning to exude that kamikaze vibe. Crap, crap, crap. He couldn't afford a tanking economy, not right now, not when they had just kind-of stabilized the capital outflow by screwing domestic investors over. 死小胖子要发茅, 也用不着把我们一起拖下水嘛! 操! 不如一了百了, 省得日后麻煩...

He was suddenly aware of a sharp intake of breath. Li'l Kim had thrown his hand onto the table. This was it, then. Was it Apocalypse? His men were in position. They were ready...


North Korea has opened a new street!
(Source: zerohedge.com)


Xi looked on.

Abe looked on.

Hwang looked on.

Guterres looked on.

From Ryomyong Street, to Li'l Kim, and finally, to the GOD-EMPEROR TRUMP. What did this mean? What the hell did any of this mean?!

The GOD-EMPEROR locked his gaze on Kim, and the two quietly, slowly, took their measure of each other. A minute passed. Then another. And, just as it was becoming too much to bear, the GOD-EMPEROR extended his hand.

"Damn, son. You might be a scummy bastard with a worse haircut than me, but that was some top-class trolling. How about we talk about this?"



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Next: A For Academia (Part I)


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