Previously on "North Korean War Criminal”...

Quote:“Okay. Let’s talk… Diversity.”

“Do we have to?”

Quote:“It’s Asian American and Pacific Islanders Heritage month... and it’d be a slam dunk to have an Asian performer on the show.

Quote:“Great, sign one.”

Quote:“The only other Asian competitor of note was LYNCHED on live television. He died in the ring.”

Quote:“...Part of a non-disclosure agreement set up by our legal tea-”

“HE’S STILL ALIVE?!?!”

Quote:Jerry “The Hitman” Lawler: Folks, this has been a slobber knocker of a “Kim Jong Un Rules” Ladder match. If you’re just tuning in, this is True Korean Wrestling!

Quote:“El Wormo” just risked his health, his limbs, his very life to be the proud holder of…

“El Wormo” sticks a three inch by five inch card into the air, in befuddlement.

Chris Webber: … Is that a $25 gift card to Red Lobster?

Quote:“Um.. sir.”

Quote:“It’s… Um… There was a paperwork… snafu.”

Quote:“Let us have a… one-on-one with Mr. ...NKWC. From there, maybe we can evaluate his… future with the organization.”

And now, the continuing story of "North Korean War Criminal..."

***
If You Hurt My Friends, Then You Hurt My Priiiiiiiide...

A limousine speeds down an empty highway. Leaving under the cover of night, a meeting to take place in circumstances of the utmost secrecy. The jet black paint job of the long luxury vehicle would blend seamlessly into the night, were it not for the twin North Korean flags waving out of the top of the vehicle.

Inside, in the drivers’ seat, is The Man They Call Kato. He handles the steering wheel ably and efficiently, with both poise and grace, as if the car is an extension of himself. His every move, flawless. With every twitch of his hand, the vehicle glides along the road, perfectly in tune with its driver.

Suddenly, the partition rolls down. First halfway down smoothly, and then in small, incremental bursts. Click. Click. Click. To just above the bottom, with about an inch remaining.

And who should peek his nose over the remnants of the partition?

Who else but that diabolical bully? That crooked, no-good cad and fiend? The North Korean War Criminal.

There’s a moment of silence. The slightest, subtlest grimace on Kato’s face. NKWC tries to catch his subordinate’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, with the large, round eyes of a puppy who has soiled his master’s new carpet. Kato chooses to stare straight ahead at the road.

“...”

“...Kato?”

“...”

“...Do you wanna talk about it?”

“A $25 gift card to Red Lobster...”

“I mean…”

“I asked you to put something of value in the briefcase for the main event ladder match…”

“The ‘Kim Jong Un Rules’ main event ladder match, yes.”

“And you put in a $25 gift card to Red Lobster…”

“Kato, ‘When you’re here, you’re a fishmonger!’, what part of Red Lobster doesn’t scream value? El Wormo is now the Champion of Cheddar Bay!”

“TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS. OF CREDIT. AT RED LOBSTER.”

“IN MY DEFENSE, KATO!”

“...”

“It was originally $50 but I took a business associate to lunch. Excuse ME for attempting to WOO a possible investor!”

“Was this business associate Comrade Dennis Rodman again?”

“...Did you know it’s 3 times cheaper to maintain an existing business relationship than create a new one?”

“...”

“So, if you think about it, I actually saved $50 taking Dennis to lunch instead of a new associate.”

“Sir, you can’t keep spending money on Dennis Rodman.”

“Kato, when you pull down 28 rebounds in one game, then maybe I’ll take you out to Red Lobster, hmmm? Does that make you feel better?”

“Commander!”

Kato’s steady, stoic voice briefly raises an octave.

“I am… not about to question your leadership.”

NKWC rolls his eyes. Kato typically would say he was not about to question NKWC’s leadership, just before he was going to question NKWC’s leadership.

“Proceed if you must.”

“Sir, you are fucking this entire operation up.”

NKWC’s spine straightens, aghast at this ridiculous accusation!

“Kato!”

A completely empty jar zooms out of the backseat, with a red lid and a taped label written in a sharpie scrawl ‘Kato’s Swear Jar’.

In a single fluid motion, without an eye leaving the road, Kato’s index and middle finger slip into his pocket and obtain in between the two fingers a single quarter. It plops quietly into the jar.

“Sir, the point remains that you are… RUINING eight years of Central Command’s planning with your… lack of judgment.”

NKWC cautiously relaxes again, his eyes remain narrow and alert. He allows his chin to come over the top of the divider and just behind Kato’s seat.

“Provide evidence to substantiate your claims, Kato.”

“Sir, you used your hate crime settlement money from XWF to buy 31 Baskin Robbins franchises.”

“Of course, Kato, it is the perfect number of Baskin Robbins franchises. One for each possible flavor.”

“Sir, as I attempted to explain at the time, that’s not how Baskin Robbins works. No one goes to Baskin Robbins happy to discover it only has ONE of the 31 flavors. Each franchise is expected to carry all 31 flavors.”

“Preposterous, Kato. No one building could hold THIRTY-ONE FLAVORS.”

“Sir, literally every Baskin Robbins but yours holds all 31 flavors.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying, Kato. But it’s clear you’ve been brainwashed by extravagant depictions in Western media.”

“Well, now you’re down to one franchise that hasn’t been shut down.”

“...”

“...Commander. We still have the one open franchise right? It’s our only source of revenue at this point...”

“…”

“Commander, what happened?”

“Okay, so like, I was about to open up shop for the day. Then, Alias. You know Alias?”

“The Current XWF Universal Champion?”

“Yeah, that guy. So he was laying down in the center of our Baskin Robbins. With the X-Treme Title around his waist. This was about 2AM, as I was about to start prepping the one flavor we serve at the franchise: Summertime Lime.”

“Fine. So you asked him to leave and come back when we were open right?”

“...”

“Because one of the conditions of your settlement was that you would never try to compete for the XWF again, right? Not without the XWF’s contractual consent?”

“...”

“...”

“I tried to pin him.”

“YOU TRIED TO PIN HIM.”

“I tried to pin him.”

“YOU TRIED TO PIN THE X-TREME CHAMPION.”

“And then he shoved me into a box of ice cream. Then he pushed the box into the freezer.”

“AND THEN HE SHOVED YOU INTO A SHIPMENT OF SUMMER TIME LIME ICE CREAM. AND YOU STAYED IN THE FREEZER.”

“And I couldn’t get out for 14 hours.”

“AND YOU…”

The Man They Call Kato exhales loudly, his teeth bared out, his hands pressed into the sides of his skull, as if he could hold back his rage by pressing anger physically back into his temples.

He takes a sharp inhale, first quick then drawn out slowly and slowly until it comes to a gradual, easy stop, as if drawing back in all of the internal anger he just released into the vehicle.

To punctuate and return to his emotional center, he silently mouths a count to three.

NKWC has resumed his original ashamed position, cautiously peeking over the limo partition.

“...Kato, I just remembered: You had trimmed my fingernails that morning. So I couldn’t tear the duck tape from the inside.”

“...”

“...So, I think we split the blame on this one like 75/25. I’ll happily take my share of the blame… 15% actually. This is 85/15. And I choose to forgive you, Kato.”

“Sir, your Baskin Robbins failures aside… You’re paying Dennis Rodman $50,000 a week to wrestle in your independently produced wrestling promotion.”

“You’ve got to spend money to make money.”

“You’re telling Americans not to show up. When they try to buy tickets online, you pretend to have lost their sale and try to make them buy new tickets on site.”

“You’ve got to antagonize people to spend money to make money.”

“Sir, your wrestling promotion is floundering.”

“Not so! We’ll be flush with cash once we finish my latest batch of t-shirts with my slogane! They’ll sell like hotcakes!”

“SIr, no one is going to buy t-shirts that say ‘You Aren’t Russell’!”

“Your position is ludicrous and INDEFENSIBLE on this one, Kato! The fans have been screaming it, chanting with me! Completely organically!”

“First off, those people are chanting at you. Not with you.”

“What’s the difference?”

"Second of all, I am telling you, sir. They are chanting ‘You Can’t Wrestle!’. They are not chanting ‘You Aren’t Russell!’”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Sir, why would the crowd be chanting “You Aren’t Russell!’?”

“Because I’m not Russell. They are affirming my identity and saying they support not only me but every ounce of who I am.”

“Then why do they throw trash at the ring while they shout it?”

“...Unrelated.”

“Sir, you believe them throwing the ring and chanting are two unrelated decisions they’re making.”

“Of course, Kato. They’re chanting because they love me. They’re littering because they’re Americans.”

“SIR! Your plans to fundraise for our efforts to expand North Korea’s influence have led only to our financial ruin.”

“Not so, Kato! My accountant has assured me that the math that went into all of our investments is fool-proof!”

Kato glances back with the slightest lean.

“Your accountant?”

NKWC leans his phone over the partition, directly into Kato’s ear. And on the other end of the phone...



“YOU KNOW BENJAMIN FRANKLIN SAYS A PENNY SAVED IS A PENNY EARNED. BUT YOU LOOK AT MY PENNIES AND YOU LOOK AT BEN FRANKFURTER’S PENNIES AND YOU KNOW THAT’S NOT TRUE! SEE, NORMALLY, IF YOU SAVE A PENNY, YOU GOT A 50/50 CHANCE OF EARNING IT. BU-”

Kato’s fingers latch onto the phone. With one swift motion, his index finger opens his car window and the phone zips out, shattering into bits on the highway.

“MY iPHONE 14!”

“COMMANDER!”

“What, KATO! I would have bought the 13, if it existed. It turns out Apple phones are like hotel floors, they skip 13 even though we all know what number that phone is.”

“...”

“...Acutally wait, they skipped 9 also, so… I guess my 14 WAS a 12, anyway! So… once again, you’re in the wrong, Kato.”

“Commander! We’re completely out of money! Central Command has refused to send us any more funds to accomplish our goals! You’ve boondoggled this mission into bankruptcy!”

...

There’s an awkward tension in the air. Kato rests back against the headrest in the limo. Finally, the truth laid bare.

NKWC wraps his fingers onto the limo partition, considering Kato’s statements...

“So. IF what you say is true... We probably shouldn’t get an Edible Arrangements fruit basket on the way to this meeting?”

“...Correct, commander.”

“And it would be a terrible idea to have already bought an Edible Arrangements.”

“...”

“Which means having already bought five Edible Arrangements would be five times the poor idea.”

“...”

“And keeping five gooey strawberry and pineapple Edible Arrangements in the trunk of a hot limousine, that also would have been a bad call. Edible Arrangements wouldn’t take them back now, huh, Kato?”

“...”

“...Can we eat the Five Edible Arrangementses, Kato?”

Kato wishes he had the energy to chastise his commander further.

They’ve been sleeping in this limo. Kato hasn’t eaten in three days. His belly rumbles, surging forth and back, acids spewing to dissolve the food that isn’t there.

He rests his right hand briefly on his completely empty stomach.

“We will… have TWO… of the Edible Arrangements...es.”

***
In the parking lot of the XWF Corporate Office, still in the dark of the night, we spot a familiar limousine stopped diagonally across four spaces.

The engine is still running. Its trunk is open. Kato has his head buried into a fruits basket like a hog at a trough. He’s placed four Edible arrangements...es side by side and mindlessly alternates dunking his face into each one, his hands holding onto the back bumper. The amount of time it would take to hold the fruit before putting into his mouth is seconds he’d remain hungry, so he’s opted to completely submerge his head in hot limo-trunk fruit.

He consumes desperately, as if this was the meal after what he thought would be his last meal. A desperate hunger he hopes he can silence with delightfully-proportioned fresh fruit. He stops for a moment to contemplate his last chew, before he realizes he’s accidentally swallowed the accompanying flower arrangement.

Meanwhile, NKWC leans back against the rear of the car, chewing on a chunk of pineapple, smugly pleased with himself as if this was a desirable circumstance.

“Excellent plan, eh, Kato? The perfect way to prepare for a meeting is to tune energy perfectly pre-negotiation. And nothing tunes energy like quasi-fresh fruit.”

Kato briefly removes his face from a bed of hot pineapple and strawberry to suspiciously eye his commander. This sudden burst of confidence is completely illogical, even for NKWC.

“Commander, you’re saying you planned to leave this fruit hot in the trunk of the limo for days since they scheduled this meeting?”

“...Actually, I put this in the trunk when I was supposed to meet with the bank to extend our Baskin Robbins loans. This was a happy accident.”

“...And when was that meeting?”

“Two months ago.”

Eyes wide, Kato starts to cough and gag, reflexively moving to regurgitate the bad fruit back in the trunk… but then realizes this food is necessary nourishment for his survival. He slaps his own throat, forcing his rebelling esophagus to choke down this terrible strawberry and pineapple.

NKWC rests a cube of pineapple, dried in months of the summer heat, on his chin thoughtfully. A chess master preparing to play the game of his life in the XWF boardroom.

“I know, Kato, I know. You’re sick with worry at this meeting. Fortunately, I have a foolproof plan that will assure our victory.”

“I shall open business discussions by regaling them with one of my famous jokes.”

Kato finishes his session of reverse dry heaving, his eyes open, profoundly horrified. The only thing more disgusting than what he just consumed is the idea his commander just suggested becoming reality.

“Commander…” Kato burps, as in this brief interim, oxygen rushes to replace the tube that was previously fully occupied by food. “...Do NOT open with one of your jokes.”

“What do you mean? My jokes are both humorous and relatable. I shall delight and set them at ease with my anecdote about the man given hard labor.”

“I beseech you, do not start your negotiation with that anecdote.”

“It’s a charming story and I believe it will win favor with men of taste and business.”

“Sir, if any of our enterprises are going to survive, this meeting must go well, please do not tell that story.”

***

“So! The judge says ‘You impudent fool. For your crimes, I am sentencing you to 25 years hard labor’. And the man says, ‘Your honor! 25 YEARS?!? That’s outrageous!’”

NKWC’s eyes briefly scan the room, building the perfect level of anticipation for the punchline, trying to make a human connection with the… phones. He smiles mischievously.

“‘If I could stay hard for 25 years, I’d still be fucking your wife!’”

…

…

Silence.

Suddenly, a throat clears.

“Very amusing, Mr. ...Criminal.”

Another beat.

“Very. Amusing.”

Suddenly, the phones in the room burst out in laughter. A myriad of different laughs echo and battle in the air. A hyena’s chortle, a gentleman’s guffaw, a loudly slapped knee, a coughing, sputtering, wheezing.

NKWC leans back and smiles, his hands coming to rest behind his head, as if the much-delayed timing on the response to his punchline was normal.

Kato scans the room suspiciously. He leans in gently to his commander’s ears, whispering

“Something is off, commander. Why are we being wooed and not doing the wooing in this meeting?”

A clearing of the throat. In a flash, the cacophony of chaotic, semi-maniacal laughter ends.

“We also appreciate your… generous gift of… one-third of a partially-used Edible Arrangements gift basket.”

Kato leans away from his commander’s ear and ashamedly wipes pineapple juice from the corners of his mouth onto the floor.

NKWC doesn’t react.

“My second-in-command became... peckish on the elevator to the meeting room.”

“...Peckish, of course.”

“Therese, would you take this... somewhere?”

A frizzy-haired woman in heels and business attire zips across the room, takes what remains of the Edible Arrangement, which from the shredded plastic-wrap and bent wicker, looks like it was torn apart by a starving animal. She shoves it into the trash can at the front of the room, before returning to her seat at the side of Phone #1.

“Now, let’s move to the matter at hand. Could everyone turn to page 4 of the contract in question?”

The sound of dozens of files and documents opening, being casually flipped through echo over the phones.

The frizzy-haired woman takes a stapled packet and without leaving her seat, slides it like a frisbee across the table. It stops gracefully at NKWC’s place at the table’s other side.

NKWC looks down on the contract.

Before taking one finger and pushing it off the table and into the trash.

“Thank you, but I don’t need my own copy. I have memorized every word of the contract.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Most… impressive. Then, the item we’d like to discuss is section 5, clause 4.”

NKWC blinks, a vacant smile across his face.

“Yes, of course. Section 5, clause 4.”

NKWC leans back in his chair, confidently… trying to sneak a glance at the contract he just shoved into the trash...

“Ah, of course, Parking Policy at the arena. There will be no change to the language as is. I insist on Seven reserved parking spots. Each spot larger than the last.”

There’s a murmuring of confusion.

“No, Mr. Criminal, Section FIVE, Clause FOUR.”

NKWC pauses. Suddenly, he’s laughing jovially.

“Of course, I was testing you. You’ve passed test #1.”

“Now, for test #2. Why don’t YOU tell me what Section 5, Clause 4 is?”

Kato exhales, humiliated. He stares at the flecks of pineapple residue he thoughtlessly dusted off his cheeks. He just realized he could have saved those juices for the harsh winter months that are sure to come.

“Section 5, Clause 4 stipulated that upon winning your first match, you would receive an XWF title shot among some of our secondary champions.”

NKWC’s eyes light up.

“What? For real?” NKWC leans down to fetch the contract out of the trash and slams it back onto the table.

Kato leans into his ear again, speaking quickly to bring his commander up to speed, as he turns to page 4 to read the clause.

“Sir, they announced that before and after your match. It was in all the programs that the winner of your match at Leap of Faith would receive a title sh-”

NKWC leaps up on top of the board room table.

“HAHA! And so you’ve come crawling on your knees!”

Kato is once again mortified, reflexively reaching to help his commander down, before he realizes he’s out of reach, marching down the length of the conference table. His boots scuff the wood with each confident stride.

“You realize my ascent is inevitable and have called me here to beg that I shall be a benevolent champion! A plea so foolish I may consider it but only if you kneel before me in surrender and fealty.”

NKWC turns back to his second-in-command.

“Kato, prepare to write down every word of their craven, cowardly prayer, their language must be preserved for posterity.”

Kato has fully dived out of his chair to find that pineapple juice before it soaks into the floor.

“No.”

NKWC’s eyebrow twitches puzzled. Kato looks up from his snack of carpeted pineapple. Both men, each in their own unique way humiliating themselves, look up towards Phone #1.

“We were… interested in a… financial solution.”

The frizzy-haired woman reaches under the table and retrieves a briefcase.

She opens it… its content fill the room with golden light. Both Koreans are mesmerized, hypnotized by the bountiful wealth the case holds.

“Our aim is to… buy you out of that… option...”