Once upon a time, in a large and gracious land in the continent of Asia, there lived a king. His name was Kim Jong Un and he was the supreme leader of North Korea. Following his late father, Kim Jong Il, to the throne, he has attained his mighty role at a rather young age. Being the son of royalty, the young man was pampered from birth and unlike the Buddha, never stepped outside the palace. And so he lived his sheltered and rich existence within the walls of gold his family had kept for generations, eating, sleeping and ordering around servants.
One of the things Kim Jong Un had found a love for during his time in the palace, was food. Not cooking it of course, just eating it, for he was a lazy king who knew no bounds of relaxing. He had tried everything! All of the world’s finest cuisines had passed through his chunky gullet countless times, and surely would countless more. The most dangerous job in the kingdom was in fact the post of “The Palace Chef”. Since the start of Kim Jong Un’s reign there has been over 1000, each one being beheaded if even the slightest mistake was made. So apart from carrying on the family legacy of getting a hole-in-one every time on an 18-hole golf course and all of the other things only a demi-god can do, he was eating.
However, when you do something a lot, you start to get bored. When that thing is your main passion in life, well that’s serious, and you start to search for ways to rekindle that exuberant flame which once burned so strongly within your soul. It seemed to Kim Jong Un that he had tried every single food ever made on planet earth (he had even eaten moon dust, so they say). This realisation brought to him great dismay and the rate of beheaded chefs quadrupled in a week. Even the knowledge that he was causing heads to roll was starting to lose its appeal, he knew something had to be done. So, he started to get as whacky as he possibly could with his food orders, making up names of dishes and even animals and plants, in the vain hope that the chef would bring him something new from the realm of non-existence.
Alas, the king felt still the fire within him dimming.
Kim Jong Un thought that if there was no passion, there was no life, so he had made the decision to end it all. He would have one more meal and if it did not suffice then North Korea would be bathed in a nuclear fallout and become the breeding ground of the world’s cockroaches and the damned. There was no other way, for a country with no supreme leader would surely arrive at some fate ultimately worse than the blessing he would blast upon them. So, if he were to go, his people were too.
Unbeknownst to our suicidal king and his team of terrified chefs, a batch of Swiss Emmental cheese had accidentally been delivered to the palace. The terrified chefs had never before seen this substance, but it had been ordered by the king, so it would have to go in the meal. In actuality the king had asked for ‘Blissed Elemental Sleeves’ in the vain hope that this imaginary combination of words existed as an edible thing, but his handwriting had become so sloppy that the servants ordering it read: ‘Swiss Emmental Cheese’. So the meal was prepared.
The diamond encrusted platinum platter was placed silently onto the King’s dining table.
North Korea would become a nuclear playground for the extra-large mutations of radiation, if this meal did not relight his torch of desire. He placed his thumb and forefinger upon each side of the diamond ring atop the platter and drew in a deep breath. This meal meant the world.
Slowly, like the turning of the Earth around the sun, the lid of the platter was raised. A faint upwards waterfall of steam flowed up and into Kim Jong Un’s tired nose, and struck against it like a match against its box. Instantly, saliva began filling up the kings mouth and for the first time in months, a drop of drool slung down from his mouth.
“How could it be?” he thought, “That I am drooling!” He threw the lid off of the platter and it landed in a dinner at the other end of the table. The servants outside heard the commotion and began to run for their lives, thinking that they had mere seconds left on this mortal coil. Quite the opposite was in fact true. The king had smashed his face into his dinner and was eating faster and messier than a pig starved pig. The fire blazed deeply in his belly and he felt it consume him, causing him to lose consciousness in the frenzy.
Once his mind had returned to his body, he saw that he was in bed alone amongst his million pink fluffy pillows. His stomach felt warm still and his face was a mess with that same delicious stuff he had eaten earlier. He got up to tell everybody the good news and reward his chefs with a pat on the back (before making them get back to work again) and opened the large double doors of his bedroom. He was shocked to see all the staff of the palace eagerly peering over each other outside his room.
“What are you slackers doing here?” He shouted at them, “Where are my chefs?” three men were brought forward by royal guards and thrown to the ground in front of the King. They scrambled to their feet and bowed. One of them was hit by the guards and he blurted out,
“Your m-majestic gracefulness! Did you enjoy y-y-your m-meal, sir!” Then Kim Jong Un looked at them all sternly and walked over to them, pacing up and down past their bowed heads.
“Did I enjoy... the meal?” He said, taking a large pause and straightening himself out in front of them, “1570th palace chefs... I have never eaten, anything! As insanely, as ludicrously delicious, as the meal you have just cooked for me!” Everybody cheered and cried with joy, for nuclear destruction had been evaded!
“But! This is no time for celebration!” Screamed the King over the servants, “for my belly hungers for more, and cannot wait long.” He said staring into the eyes of the chefs, who understood and scrambled away to the kitchen to make more.
The king gorged on this meal for weeks. Slowly but surely, the only ingredient the meal contained, was Swiss Emmental cheese. Policies were changed across the land and now in every home the only allowed food was Swiss Emmental cheese. The land was made sick and all those born lactose intolerant were birthed into a world of constant illness and grief, but the King did not see this and continued to gorge on the wondrous Swiss substance.
A year passed and still he had eaten nothing else. He had become an ogre, a beast wobbling on his feet. His clothes were ordered to be made of this cheese, his throne and then finally, the entire palace.
Eventually the king had eaten everything that was made for him. He lay in baron land fumbling through the dirt for lost scraps of cheese.
“More!” He shouted as usual, but this time woe struck him.
“Sir... we have a call from the Swiss, they say that... there is no Emmental cheese left on the earth... you have eaten it all.” Said a royal messenger. Kim Jong Un’s eyes widened,
“No more... no more cheese?” He said. Then something happened, something that the messenger would have never hoped to have seen. The King’s face began to glow a sick purple and for the first time in a year and a half, the king tried to stand. The messenger turned to flee, but was grabbed by the King’s huge fingers and thrown into his giant belly. A bloody roar lunged from the deepest depths of the King’s belly and into the ear’s of every North Korean citizen. Some from Japan and China claimed to have heard the insane cry as well, fearing that Godzilla may have awoken once more. The earth shook, as the King rolled himself forward from his back to his feet. Shocks to the earth were far above ten on the Richter scale and cities all around were crumbling. In one final effort, the gluttonous King heaved with all his might to stand. In trying to lift his body upwards however, his ankles shattered and the fragments flew into the sky and parted in opposite directions, to be found again by someone one day, and re-united to revive the gluttonous King, Kim Jong Un.