Kim Jong Il, Why Don't You Go Fuck Yourself?

We drove to the MAK to see the "Flowers For Kim Il Sung" exhibit.

It's a first-time-ever exhibition of North Korean art, poster production, and architecture from North Korea, in cooperation with that country.

It's not that I didn't expect to see the usual propaganda bullshit in which the "Great Leader" is worshiped like we in America worship the military, money, or the Dallas Cowboys. I knew more or less what to expect when it came to the art.

What I didn't expect was that I would be expected to go through a fucking security check on the way into the gallery. I'm just glad I found this out before I paid---had I paid first I'd have demanded my money back.

Here's the deal. I've been to the Uffizi in Florence, where you can see magnificent works of art by guys like Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Rembrandt, etc. You know, really big art guys whose work kind of means something. And guess what? I didn't have to go through a metal detector because some asshole dictator was afraid---justifiably----that someone like Banksy (or hell, me) might paint a Hitler mustache on the Great Leader's fat little face.

Outraged, I said "Forget this" and went outside and sat on the steps while B toured the exhibit. It just kind of galled me that anyone would kowtow to some midget dictator who "allows" such obvious bullshit propaganda to be seen but who's frightened about the reaction to the point that he wants me to go through a metal detector. Hey---GO FUCK YOURSELF.

When B came out, she told me she understood the security concerns because after seeing some of the paintings she also kind of wanted to deface them.

Then we bought groceries and came home and I made a big pot of chili. B made dressing for the salad. Delicious.

At one point during our dinner I wondered what the average guy in North Korea is eating tonight.

But I pushed the thought out of my head.