Horace Beasley is right about Kim Yo-jong. She’s a babe!
Watching her on TV yesterday, my head was swaying to the sinuous grace of her feminine stride; my tongue lolled with each flaring of her sensuous nostrils. I marvelled at the jiggles and bounces of her curvy pounds and ounces. She doesn’t so much ignite my loins, as lob one of her brother’s nuclear weapons at them. I used to think priapism was mere conjecture, but not now.
Mr Beasley writes of The Nation providing future columns (if that be the word) of Yo-jong; I would be happy to provide abridged details of the impressive column I sport now, provided certain staff at The Nation don’t take editorial licence to improper lengths. After all, extended tumescence is a delight at the best of times, but with this vision of loveliness it takes one to absolute transports of delight.
Come on, Nation, acquire some pics of this lady in a diaphanous military trench coat for our delectation.