So he wants to play dirty, eh? 

You might have seen in the news last week that that skunk Kim Jong-Un, noted North Korean sausage imitator, had his half-brother murdered by exposing him to VX nerve gas in the middle of the airport in Kuala Lumpur (unless it was an act of mercy, which even VX might be after KL, which is one of the world’s true pits).

Well, the same thing happened to Roo today. Every single last detail: setup, delivery—all identical, with a few minor exceptions. The attack didn’t occur in Kuala Lumpur or at an airport, and the chemical used on Roo wasn’t VX and it wasn’t administered by a pair of hapless Pyongyang Junior League Mata Haris who are now going to rot away in a Malaysian jail eating geckos for the rest of their lives instead of the steady diet of Dear Leader’s wise proverbs that inspired their selfless act of patriotism. And though Kim may be a sonofabitch, there’s no evidence that he is in fact Roo’s half-brother. She is Mexican, after all. But as for the rest, it had all the usual hallmarks. It had to be that bastard Kim. 

Perhaps the most important lesson to be learned, though, is that Enemies of the State can attack anywhere, at any time. In the guerrilla traditions of General Washington and Chairman Mao, the only thing you can count on is their utilization of the element of surprise. That’s why Sharia law isn’t going to come here to east Oklahoma: because folks here expect it too much. What’s ISIS going to do? Sneak into the National Turkey Federation meeting here next week? ISIS knows that the fear of having Sharia law rammed down the community’s throat and everybody being forced to wear Pakistani pajama-pant suits and camel hide sandals to the rodeo is directly proportional to the density of Baptist churches in any given American vicinity. Poteau—or, for that matter, nearby Cowlington or Cowleta—are probably safe for now. The Pulitzer Prize-winning reporters at Infowars and Breitbart have made sure everyone around here knows those black flags are just over the horizon—so no one can be surprised. ISIS is going to go for someplace that isn’t expecting them. My guess? Catalina Island.

But the North Koreans? Have you ever heard anyone worry about them taking over and forcing the Jucho philosophy of Great Leader Kim Il-Song down everyone’s gullet? No, you haven’t, and that’s what proves that the attack on Roo was masterminded by that bastard Kim.

Roo’s months-long bout of gut disease taught her two important lessons. First, that she should live every minute as if it was her last, meaning that she should at all times be savoring the taste of mouse blood. Second, that if she lies on the floor and groans pitiably, it will make me drop everything to ask her if there’s something wrong with her stomach, which she then turns to advantage by insisting that it’s time to go out. She’s big on the FakeNews hashtag these days.

And so, around 1 PM today, she started. She lay on her side and moaned. Then louder. And louder.

I couldn’t take it. I knew it was going to get worse. I closed the laptop and took her out. 

We came to a ditch filled with mud, thorns and brambles. Yesterday, spotted a rabbit there. In fact, this rabbit bolted and led Roo on an eight-tenths of a mile chase at top speed. The rabbit was smart enough to keep to one side of a barbed wire fence. He probably used to work a greyhound track. It was still horrible to see. The rabbit got away, but Roo was yelping the whole time, the sound of her voice getter more hoarse as it receded into the distance.

Of course today she went back to check the hole and before long started digging one of the labyrinth of tunnels she has been constructing in order to connect various regions of the United States. This went on, as it always does, for a long time. I was relieved, because I’m not feeling too hot and can’t ride a bike at the moment and this way she gets her exercise without me having to drag myself all over the countryside.

But at one point, she backed off from the hole. There was blood on her face, over and under her left eye. When she gets so excited that she starts shredding her skin I usually make her stop. This is what she was ignoring my yelling at her about when she recoiled from the hole as if she had been shot from a circus cannon and catapulted herself into the air over the thicket and in an arc into the ten inches of slime in the mud ditch, where she started rolling around like a mad dog.

Of course I recognized that braying ass Kim’s fingerprints on the whole operation. The ambush, the nerve agent. The smell wafted over to me. It wasn’t quite like a skunk, but skunky. It smelled more like New Jersey—the odor of burning tires, spilled petrochemicals, Mafia-run garbage pits and sulfur depots run with bighearted Republican concern for the environment. It took her a while to get ahold of herself, even though she kept throwing herself back on the ground to try to roll it off for many minutes afterward. The video is the last of these attempts at self-purification.

Now, look. This could not have been the work of a regular skunk, because you can’t drive 300 feet around here without seeing them squashed on the side of the road. There are thousands of them, way too many for there to be any left. And so it stands to reason that the only possible culprit is that other skunk, that North Korean bastard of a pomade addict with the funhouse mirror haircut Kim. It only stands to reason.

I hope he enjoys it while it lasts. I simply didn’t have the strength to apply the antidote of hydrogen peroxide, Dawn and baking soda, which I keep prepared in a baggie in the car. And so tonight, Roo is a little on the pungent side, not the best company inside a tiny camper.  But all I can say is that if that rotund prick Kim thinks he’s going to get away with this, he’s got another thing coming. Under the generalship of Benedict Donald, an outrage like this will not be allowed to stand, as if it were just another item of fake news or something. This, comrades, is our new reality. 

They’re not coming. They’re here.