From "Kim Jong-Il and the Spiders from Mars"

Kim Jong-Il crawled into bed after an exceptionally hard day. His military issued pajamas barely contained his bulky body and the buttons strained against his stomach. He got ready to say his prayers, including all the names of his illegitimate offspring, or at least the ones he could remember. Looking up at the ceiling, he noticed a black spot moving above him. He slowly reached for his coke bottle glasses and realized it was something he dreaded even more than democracy. There was a spider on his ceiling.

The dictator of North Korea didn't know what to do. He had brain washed everyone into thinking he was supremely confident and able-bodied. Years of readjusting minds would be shot to hell if he screamed like a little girl and huddled in a corner, clutching onto his bedroom slippers with both hands, knuckles white from the pressure. No, he would have to attempt to handle the situation on his own. He shoved a fist into his mouth to keep from yelping like the puppy he had kicked on his way to the bathroom just ten minutes prior to reaching his bed. He had to form a game plan. He couldn't just reach up and kill it since he had cathedral ceilings. At first, the communist leader tried to convince himself that it wasn't a spider. After all, the creature had situated itself on a left nostril of the mural painted on the ceiling so it was hard to tell. Years ago, Kim Jong-Il insisted on having a mural based on Mount Rushmore above his bed. But instead of respected American presidents, he had himself, his father, Stalin, and South Dakota governor Mike Rounds. The spider hovered over the bed, sitting pretty in Stalin's nose hairs, and was too damn high for the dictator's stubby body to do any damage.

Fist still propped in mouth, he wondered if the arachnid was poisonous. It was big and solid black. It wasn't moving, despite the humming of North Korean propaganda songs emitting from Kim Jong-Il's mouth to keep himself calm. The spider had the determined air of the small children he forced to do creepy acrobatics for white people visitors. He debated going to sleep, but he knew, just knew, that the spider would take advantage of the third world leader's vulnerable state. The spider would probably slip down from its web and crawl into a nostril and bite his brain. No, Kim Jong-Il wasn't going to let anything get away with infiltrating his brain. He would just have to stay awake until the creature was within his reach.

Substituting a pillow for his fist, Kim Jong-Il wondered why he was in this situation. Did he do something bad? Why was God punishing him? He didn't hear about any other world leaders facing such adversity. He knew what the rest of the world thought about him. The lies they claim he spews to the North Korean people. But he saw himself as a reasonable and just dictator. He wasn't blind to the jokes about how he put the "dic" in dictator. "Haha you assholes," he thought as he ran down a list of possible offenses. Letting his people eat two rations of plain rice a week was his way of controlling obesity and the subsequent diabetes and heart problems. And he heard about all the baby rape in Africa. It's not like he raped the newborns he forced some mothers to bury. No, he was just misunderstood by outsiders, and that's why they all needed to die.