This is a story of fervor and pain,
of two lovers in political chains.
Have you ever found yourself in a terrible situation because of love? Mexico has. With his last breath drawing near, body wracked with pain as he lay dying in a pool of his own blood, he tries to remember the stupid decisions that lead up to this point so he can regret them one last time.
Today, Alejandro Cao de Benos is one of the world’s most iconic tankies. Wearing the questionable “special delegate” title and heading the Korean Friendship Alliance (KFA), Cao de Benos’ loyalty to North Korea is as strong as ever. So when he stumbles into another dimension and comes face-to-face with the literal embodiment of his obsession, he falls madly, deeply, and truly in love.
“They must be made to believe that we are about to collapse, that they will inherit more maggots than they can count, more bodies than they can bury, more disease than they can cure, more chaos than they can stomach. They are convinced that we are weak, on our last legs, about to collapse? Let them; let them worry every night when they go into their warm beds that we are about to hold our breaths until our wasted bodies fall across their doorstep.” – From Inspector O (James Church)
A fluorescent bulb flickered spontaneously, the only light in the white, windowless room. It hadn’t been long, but North Korea’s muscles already felt stiff in that hard chair. The adrenaline kept his mind off of it.
I mix vodka with orange juice and call it breakfast. The alcohol will help me forget that I didn’t sleep last night. Or the night before. Is it nighttime right now? I can’t tell because I never open the curtains because if I do they will watch me and I’m afraid.
Job searching has been miserable, but I figure that if I keep throwing darts at the board, one’s gonna hit eventually.
I’m thinking of rewriting Mutually Assured Delusion and turning it into a real novel… but if in the near future the US does go to war with North Korea, thus resulting in widespread death and destruction, wouldn’t I look like an ass, having written about it hypothetically in an overexaggerated comedy? Could I even live with myself?