The End Of North Korea's Plans Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A fellow, sick with diarrhoea
was ruler over North Korea.
One hand was wiping his pale ass
the other held the phone, his brass
was in the War Room making plans
to send a missile straight to France.

The French who had supplied the booze
Cointreau and Cognac from Toulouse,
had never trusted weirdo ' ill'
because the name did rhyme with 'kill'.

A week before the missile travelled
toward the States, his brain unravelled
and 'ill' was looking at the globe
while dressed in silver-plated robe.

He figured that the Yanks' rebuke
would mean a heavy duty nuke
could dropp upon his liquor cellar,
all courtesy of Rockefeller.

So, in a sudden flash of brains
he'd figured to avoid those pains
and pick a target unprepared
to send a missile, undeclared.

Monsieur Chirac though, was a fox,
that morning, only dressed in sox
he'd caught the message from Mossad
which read....well, classified and odd,

it was enough to act at once
he grabbed his boxer shorts and guns
and ordered all the vineyard fellers
down on the farms and shipping cellars

to add to wine and cognac too
e-coli bugs straight from the loo.
That's why the weirdo in Korea
displayed explosive diarrhoea.

And in the end, through dehydration
he died and left a grateful nation
to have a liberated fête
and with the Yanks a tête-à-tête.