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Obama Wrote Kim Jong Il Personal Letter

From an approving Washington Post:

Obama wrote a personal letter to North Korea’s Kim Jong Il

By Glenn Kessler
Wednesday, December 16, 2009

President Obama has written a personal letter to North Korean leader Kim Jong Il that was delivered by the administration’s special envoy for North Korea during a visit to Pyongyang last week.

The existence of the letter has been closely held, with the administration insisting to its partners in disarmament talks with North Korea that it not be publicly discussed. State Department and White House officials confirmed this week that envoy Stephen W. Bosworth delivered a letter from Obama for Kim, but they declined to describe its contents…

It is relatively unusual for an American president to send the North Korean dictator a personal communication so early in his term. Both Bill Clinton and George W. Bush eventually sent letters to Kim, but only after extensive diplomatic efforts to restrain North Korea’s nuclear ambitions.

Well that is unsurprising since this is a letter from Mr. Obama, who announced that he would not require any preconditions when dealing with such statesmen as Mr. Kim and Mr. Ahmadinejad.

Lest we forget, the White House wrote a letter to the Iranian leadership almost as soon as Mr. Obama was sworn in. Apparently, we are still waiting for their reply.

Efforts early in Bush’s term to send a letter were stymied by an intense debate over whether to use an honorific such as "his excellency" to address Kim

Gosh, those Bush people were stupid.

A treaty that would recognize North Korea’s sovereignty — and normalize relations with the United States — has long been an important objective of the government in Pyongyang. U.S. presidents often have dangled the prospect of a deal if North Korea gives up its nuclear weapons.

When Bush wrote Kim in December 2007, he said normalized relations were possible if North Korea submitted a declaration on its nuclear programs that was "complete and accurate."

Clinton wrote to Kim in October 1994 after a landmark deal under which North Korea would freeze its nuclear programs in exchange for energy aid. On its Web site, the KCNA still lists the receipt of the letter as one of the major events in a chronology of Kim’s life.

Why wouldn’t Mr. Kim cherish President Clinton’s letter?

It proved to Dear Leader how easy it is to shake down the United States for billions of dollars while still quietly pursuing his nuclear ambitions.

Maybe Mr. Obama has found a way to top it.

This article was posted by Steve on Wednesday, December 16th, 2009. Comments are currently closed.

8 Responses to “Obama Wrote Kim Jong Il Personal Letter”

  1. catie says:

    Dear Kimmie,
    I was so hoping we could be pals but alas you don’t seem like you want to be. It’s still early and maybe you can think about it?
    love ya,
    Bamster

  2. Liberals Demise says:

    When will the arse kissing stop?

    Move over Barney……….there’s a new drooler who does dicktaters!

  3. Confucius says:

    Obama really is stupid.

  4. artboyusa says:

    Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson star in “The Adventure of the Vexed Politician”!

    “Quick Watson, the game is afoot!”

    Awakened from my afternoon nap by Holme’s excited exclamation I could muster only a confused “Huh? Wha? Whazzup?” in response as Holmes, ejaculating wildly, bustled about the cluttered flat we shared at 221b Baker Street.

    “What a shambles! We need to tidy up this crib, Watson – and at once!”

    “And what end, pray, is served by your sudden concern with our accustomed bachelor disorder?” I queried. I am always cranky after my nap.

    “A most distinguished visitor will shortly alight upon our doorstep” explained Holmes as he swept armfuls of syringes, opium pipes and back copies of the Strand magazine into a Zip-Loc™ rubbish bag. “It would hardly do to have aught on display which might compromise or offend the dignity of this exalted personage. Lend me a hand, old friend”.

    “By all means” I said, helpfully dropping some brass knuckles, a hubble bubble and a brace of revolvers into Holmes’ yawning sack. “What about this Persian slipper in which you keep your pipe tobacco? Shall we ditch it?”

    “By no means” corrected Holmes. “Our guest is himself a tobacco addict of the most profound strain”.

    “And what about your cocaine stash?”

    “Leave it be. Our visitor is no stranger to the White Lady”.

    “The whom?”

    “The White Lady. Coke. Blow. Cane. Snow. Dust. Shake. Toot. Nose candy. Bolivian marching powder. You know: methylbenzoylecgonine. Get hep, Watson baby”.

    “Oh. Okay. And who might this fusspot nicotine craving cokehead be? Has he a name?”

    “Indeed. A name acclaimed by the entire world, Watson – hark! He approaches!”

    “Your powers astonish me, Holmes! How can you know?”

    “Didn’t you hear the doorbell, you deaf Scotsman you?” queried Holmes, with a certain impatience.

    “Sorry, Holmes”.

    “Not to mention the gleaming motorcade filling the street outside, the security goons swarming all over the place and the assembled media, calling out their soft questions and affirmations of loyalty”.

    “No, I guess I missed all that –“

    Just then came a soft tapping on our chamber door. “Enter!” cried Holmes.

    The door opened to reveal our doddering landlady Mrs Hudson and a most curious stranger, a man with a remarkably narrow head , an expression of the most extraordinary arrogance and conceit, with a dusky complexion somewhere between ‘raw sienna’ and ‘burnt umber’.

    “A distinguished person to see you, Mr Holmes” mumbled Mrs Hudson.

    “Thank you Mrs Hudson” said Holmes. “You may go. Welcome Your Excellency! I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and associate, Dr Watson”.

    The stranger’s gaze shifted uneasily from side to side. “I was assured that our interview was to be perfectly private, Mr Holmes” he said.

    “You may speak before Dr Watson as you would speak before myself, Your Grace” soothed Holmes. “You may repose the utmost confidence in his discretion”.

    “Huh? Oh, sure” I mumbled, looking up from the pages of notes I was hastily scribbling. “The utmost”.

    “Well…alright” conceded the visitor. “I guess its okay”.

    “Excellent! Well then, Mr President; how may we be of assistance?”

    “Mr President?” I queried. “President of what? Who is this thrusting fellow, Holmes?”

    “My dear Watson!” said Holmes with evident astonishment. “You amaze me! Do you not watch the television?”

    “No, Holmes. That opportunity has yet to avail itself to me or indeed to anyone, since this is 1889 and television has yet to be invented”.

    “An interesting point, I concede. But surely you have heard of the Nobel Prize?”

    “Of course I have! Who has not?” I exclaimed. “Mr Nobel, sir – it is an honour to meet you, sir. Pray allow me to shake your hand!”

    I reached out my hand but the stranger semed curiously aloof, withholding his own digits while busying himself in igniting a Kool cigarette with an ease patently born of long practice.

    “Watson, you chump – this isn’t Alfred Nobel!” admonished Holmes. “Nobel was a white guy. Do you not recognise the calm visage and hopeful aura of Mr Brokeback Insane Osama, the President of the World?”

    “Um, that’s ‘Barack Hussein Obama’ actually” murmured our guest, exhaling a cloud of mentholated fumes all obver the place.

    “That’s what I said!” coughed Holmes. “Now that we’ve got that all sorted perhaps you might share with us the details of whatever exigent emergency which has brought you to the door of my humble consulting rooms?”

    “OUR rooms, Holmes” I interjected. “I do pay half the rent around here, you know.”

    “My apologies, Watson” mollified Holmes. “Anyway, how may we be of assistance, Mr Barbarella Oreo?”

    “And half the bills too” I muttered.

    “Shut up, Watson. Mr Osama?”

    “That’s ‘Obama’, if you don’t mind” said the statesman, puffing away furiously. “Well, you see Mr Holmes what brings me here is the small matter of…”

    Wow! Suspenseful, huh? Find out more in tomorrow’s thrill stuffed instalment!

  5. Voice of Reason says:

    I figured that since Kim shot an 18 his first time out (18 holes in one according to him) Obamessiah was looking for some tips on his swing.

  6. artboyusa says:

    Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson star in Part Two of “The Adventure of the Vexed Politician”!

    “A hit list?” gasped an astonished Holmes. “I fear, Mr President, that you have mistaken Dr Watson and me for a pair of vulgar assasins, sir!”

    “Hit list? Who said anything about a hit list, Mr Holmes? I spoke merely of ‘taking out’ a certain individual whose continued existence – I mean activities, pose a threat to my administration and, in so doing, to the very family of nations. One person hardly constitutes a list, now does it? Now, the staff of an entire news organization, say, or a national chamber of commerce, now those would be hit lists”.

    “Hmmm. I see. Pray continue your most instructive discourse, dear sir”.

    “Thank you, Mr Holmes. You see gentlemen; it is this accursed Krauthammer fellow! He vexes me to distraction! There I am in my office, having my hair shampooed or writing Christmas cards to North Korea, and up he pops on the television…”

    “On the what?” I interrupted. “Remember fellows, its 1889”.

    “Shut up, Watson” ordered Holmes. “Just go with it”.

    “Krauthammer – he’s never off the box! Sitting there speaking in complete sentences, acting all thoughtful and rational, calling my actions into question, making me look silly with his sarky little quips. It is too much I say!”

    As his agitation grew, Mr Obama’s narrow head swivelled from side to side with increasing rapidity and his eyes fluttered like butterflies in a wind tunnel.

    “This chap’s having an apoplectic fit, Holmes” I whispered “Or I’m no doctor”.

    “Your qualifications are not in question, Watson, but in this instance I fear you err. Mr Bankrupt Harebrain Apology scans the room seeking merely for his accustomed cluster of teleprompters. Without mechanical aids our guest is scarcely articulate at all and he clearly feels the strain of unprompted discourse”.

    “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t blow a gasket” I warned. “I don’t fancy cleaning up after him if he poops his pants”.

    “I’m sure pants pooping is the furthest thing from the president’s mind, Watson”.

    “This Krauthammer” Mr Obama raved “is but the foremost of a hydra-headed monster of opposition, a contrarian beast which seeks to stir up the great mass of sleeping sheeple, upon the continued slumbering indifference of whom the success of my far sighted and hope enriched policies depend. This clamorous climate of dissent is an intolerable burden in a democracy…”

    “I thought dissent was the highest form of patriotism” I commented. “That’s what you chaps said when Bush was president“.

    “That was then!” exclaimed Obama, with great heat. “This is now! And it’s me we’re talking about! Me! I won the election, I’m the president and nobody’s going to get in the way of me serving my full four terms in office”.

    “You mean two terms only, don’t you?” I said. “It’s a constitutional amendment”.

    “I know what I mean” responded Mr Obama. “Constitutions can be re-amended, Dr Watson. You just watch”.

    “And so what is it precisely that you wish me to do with or to about this Mr Krauthammer?” asked Holmes, getting to the point finally.

    “I’m from Chicago, Mr Holmes – in a complicated kind of way – and in Chicago we know how to deal with problems. My wish is that you communicate a simple message to this irksome fellow – ixnay on the iticismcray is the message – and warn him off lest an episode of Chicago style… unpleasantness befall him”.

    “Unpleasantness?”

    “I’ll break his freakin’ legs if he don’t lay off!” cried Mr Obama in a fury of agitation, his extreme language clearly exposing his Windy City roots. “I’ll put him in a freakin’ wheelchair!”

    “I’m not sure that such a calamity would represent a threat greater than the gentleman could withstand” I remarked. “Sadly, he is already…”

    “Shut up, Watson” interrupted Holmes. “Now, Mr Backboard Olive Oyl; about the matter of my fee…”


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