The customized Mercedes’ wheels skid, marking the tarmac when the driver accelerates towards the exit and the bodyguards look on in a rare moment of carelessness. The exhaust smarts their eyes along with tears of shame and fear of their Supreme Leader, Tim Pung-Un, who is now seated in the Boeing flight headed towards home.
As the Mercedes takes off on the ground, the driver pumps his fist in the air. I’ve done it. The treasure is all mine. To whom can I sell this? How do I freeze this? Does it have an expiration time? How do I get it in the black market? Will the CIA pay for it? Thoughts and questions wrestle in his mind as he continues to push the heavy car away from the not-so-secured area.
When the signage for Bukit Brown nears, his breath mists out in relief. I’m safe. No cars or helicopters have followed him. It’s only the bodyguards who were aware of the riches held in the trunk. For others, since Tim is out of the country, it’s the car itself that’s precious. He wants nothing to do with it. What use does this white elephant have for me? What I want lies inside! He plans to abandon the car here, where it will be found in a matter of time by the efficient police.
He turns the engine off and pops the trunk lid open, leaving the keys in the ignition. He makes his way to the boot, pausing to admire the passenger seats. It must have cost a bomb to customize this car! Under the dusky sun, the massage-giving leather seats gleam like sun they mirror back. The pride of the car? An 18-carat commode that is fitted in the empty spot next to the driver. The rays of the dying sun hit and reflect off the pièce de résistance. He knows the plumbing of the commode expels its treats in a gold-plated trunk in the car’s trunk.
When he reaches the rear, an automatic light illuminates the boot. He takes a moment to appreciate the metallic box. Built by forging the strongest metals browbeaten into shape, the trunk is a vision to behold. The painting depicting Tim on a throne is almost ironic, considering the contents. With a guffaw escaping, he takes a wrench and breaks open the lock.
Instantaneously, a foul odour wafts into the air and he gags, leaning against the open boot lid to gain his composure. I should haven’t forgotten the masks. How often did they empty the trunk? Going by the rancid smell, he assumes treasures from all the summit days are captured within. I’ve hit the lottery. He further parts the trunk’s cover and with the urge to faint aside, his face breaks out in a grin.
He hoists it out after unplugging and securing the pipe and carries it to his car, huffing and puffing all the way.
Turds of Tim Trounce Trillions (of) Treasures. He mutters, locking his car’s trunk.
Kim Jong-Un of North Korea travels everywhere with his toilet in a bid to protect his faeces. The reason for this is that our excreta contains and reveals a lot about us, our health and possible chronic ailments. This information can be misused by enemies. All his cars have been fitted with a toilet inside and he doesn’t use the public restrooms. In fact, North Korean, propaganda claims the Kims do not poop, pee, etc. Well, yeah.
And that is the reason, he carries his food and portable loos wherever he goes.
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