“Motivational Signs I Saw Spectators Holding While I Was Running the Pyongyang Marathon”
by Gary Almeter
“Toenails are for sissies!”
“Run faster – Ryan Gosling is waiting for you at the finish line!”
“Run in tribute to the martyrs who dedicated their precious lives to national defense and socialist construction!”
“You’re slower than Oprah!”
“Your legs hurt because you are kicking so much ass!”
“Through this 26.2 mile struggle our Party affirms that as a party that serves the people, it will fully discharge the honorable mission it has assumed for the times and history and devote its all to the good of the people by enhancing its militant functions and role!”
“If a marathon were easy it would be your mother.”
“Run Forrest Run!”
“Your butt looks great in those shorts – and the metallurgical and chemical industries are twin buttresses of an economic giant. Developing these industries is a major guarantee for economic construction and improving the people’s standard of living.”
“The Kenyans are behind you – just like the days when DPRK enemies could blackmail us with nuclear bombs.”
“You’ll feel so good when it’s over.” / “That’s what she said!!”
“It is imperative to establish the monolithic leadership system in the Party.”
“Smile if you have peed yourself.”
“You’re a maniac! Speaking of, the US and south Korean war maniacs are going frantic in their military exercises for a nuclear war against the north; this precipitates a critical situation where any accidental military skirmish may lead to an all-out war.”
“That’s not sweat – it’s your fat cells crying!!”
“We have on hand multi-stage carrier rockets, smaller and lighter atomic bombs with a high explosive power and a multifarious nuclear deterrent, so we are not afraid of any strong enemy and we will surely win.”
“You rock!! All the sectors of the national economy should increase production by tapping all potentials and latent reserves, and at the same time launch a brisk economization campaign!!”
“Run faster!! Run like our defense industry which manufactures large numbers of modern military hardware of our own style that are light, unmanned, intelligent and of high precision to solidify the self-defense capabilities!!”
“I love your stamina – call me sometime.”
“Gatorade now – beer later!!”
“Do You Have a Minute for Dead Gay Lady Babies on Fire?”
by Mary Crosbie
“Do you have a minute for dead gay lady babies on fire?” asked the smiling boy in my way.
“I have about fifteen seconds.” I put my hands on my hips. “Wow me.”
“No problem,” he said. He showed me a picture so disgusting: shiny reds and pus-filled blobs, a pepperoni.
“Jesus, you shouldn’t show people stuff like that!” My stomach rumbled, mostly sick, but also hungry…
“It’s a slice of pizza,” he explained.
“Oh, phew.” I was relieved that it wasn’t a dead baby. I worry about myself sometimes.
“A slice of pizza the dead gay lady babies on fire didn’t get to eat!” he yelled in my face, his breath reeked of pizza, which made me feel sick but not hungry.
“With your signature, we are marching straight to Washington to put an end to this senseless suffering!”
“Where are these dead gay lady babies on fire?” I asked. I licked my lips inadvertently. Did I need to go back to my shrink?
“I thought you only had fifteen seconds!” he screamed.
“I did! Now I’m late and fired from my job!” I screamed back.
“Give me your signature and money!” and he pushed his clipboard in my face.
My hand hovered over my designer purse for a weird amount of time.
Finally, I said: “I’ve never done anything like this. Part with money to a stranger and get nothing in return….Can I have the picture?”
“The picture will cost you twenty dollars, ma’am.”
“What if I want your t-shirt?”
“That’s going to be $30. It’s a hundred percent cotton. And polyester.”
“If I give you money, and my signature, will you knock a little off the price?”
“No, but I will not email blast you as hard as the others.”
“I’m gonna get email blasted?”
“Oh, yes, but you know the dead gay lady babies on fire wish they could be blasted with emails, but they can’t!”
“How do the lady babies know they’re gay?”
“They don’t anymore because they’re dead.”
I turned away and really thought deeply about this. Did I need a new t-shirt? Where was I going to hang the picture? Why was I so hungry for babies? I turned back, having made my final decision.
“How about I give you five bucks, sign with a fake name, and I take a picture of your picture?”
And we had a deal.