he gonzo box office success of Lions Gate Entertainment’s new film The Hunger Games has drawn criticism from North Korea’s beloved madman Kim Jong-un this week, as the diminutive leader called bullshit on the killing of teenagers in ritualized sport suddenly becoming cool after his country had been doing it for decades.

"Once again a Hollywood movie has made a mockery of the glorious North Korean lifestyle," griped Kim. "Same thing happen in Dark City and Mad Max."

Kim Jong-un, back in power after the nation’s failed experiment with Megaupload founder Kim Dotcom was rapidly abandoned due to Dotcom being jailed for paying to see The Smurfs, violating North Korea’s longstanding policy regarding the mandatory pirating of Hollywood films, added that The Hunger Games was "popcorn bullshit" and that unlike Westerners, the fortunate citizens of North Korea don’t have to pay exorbitant movie theater prices to see that kind of thing every day.

The insular nation, which subjects its citizens to harrowing games of life and death on a daily basis, is no stranger to televised competitions that would probably be called The Hunger Games if they’d thought of that first. These include the capital city’s weekly "Fight For Your Food Fun Fight" events, which critics have condemned as a natural result of the state’s failed economy and collapsed chain of food production disguised as a trumped-up game show where regular citizens punch each other to death over the last canned ham in the entire city. Regardless, the North Korean tourism board has been quick to capitalize on the success of the Hunger Games film, already advertising tourism packages where Hunger Games fans can tour the Pyongyang Deathdrome and kill an actual North Korean teenager with their bare hands for less than the average New Yorker spends on "Whoops, I ran over another homeless person" insurance.

The Hunger Games opened to a gangbusters $155 million in its first weekend in theaters, a figure described by Hollywood pundits as "fucking bananas" and "bigger than $154 million," and representing the biggest box-office opening in history for a non-sequel film. Critics dispute the importance of this claim, however, since it was also the first non-sequel film to be released since 2007.

Based on the first of a berserkly popular series of young adult novels by writer Suzanne Collins, the books and film alike have been criticized for being heavily derivative of previous source materials, such as the Japanese film Battle Royale, the American films The Running Man, Series 7, The Condemned, The Most Dangerous Game, Lord of the Files, The Truman Show, Spartacus and Death Race 2000, the Italian film The 10th Victim, the Stephen King story The Long Walk and the Shirley Jackson novel The Lottery. In honor of this long chain of shit being ripped off, the CW has already begun filming the pilot for their own Hunger Games knock-off television series, The Selection, which involves a cast of lesser-known actors rehashing the plot of The Hunger Games on a weekly basis.

When asked recently if she thought her novels were derivative of these previous works, Collins responded "What? I can’t hear you because of the noise from all the money I’m drowning in over here," before literally drowning in an avalanche of hundred dollar bills. Funeral services will be held Tuesday at the cash landfill in North Hollywood where rich people are buried.

In spite of the author’s death, the white-hot success of the first film all but guarantees that Lions Gate will return to Collins’ grave at least twice more to adapt the other two books in the series, 2009’s Catching Fire and 2010’s Oxycute ’em! in hopes of sating the bloodlust of twelve-year-old American girls. Stars Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson have reportedly already signed on for three sequels, with a uniquely ironic clause in their contracts stating that if they back out of the sequels for any reason, they’ll be hunted by hordes of teenaged fans out for blood.

Meanwhile, North Korea’s Jong-un has demanded that Hollywood filmmakers stop ripping off ideas from his country for their dystopian sci-fi visions.

"You get your own ideas," the beloved "Supreme Tall Sunshine Man" spat into a microphone shaped like a hamburger. "I don’t want to see any more movie with robots that look like humans but are spies for government, or people with clocks stuck in their arms ticking down to time when they die, or genetic-engineered battle giraffes, or desalination plant that run on dead babies."

"In closing," Jong-un decreed, while eating a roll of Fruit-by-the-Foot, "I also downloaded bittorrent of The Smurfs, and there’s not goddamned thing you people can do about it."

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This week's Nedmiller Column is excerpted from "Spastic Diaper: The Ned Nedmiller Story" by Rolando Burf.

It's sad that in these glad-handed, capricious, "what have you done for me lately?" days that we live in, all but the most grizzled historians have forgotten the important role that Nedmonton Nicklefish Nedmiller played in making the American railway system a reality. Much of the credit has been lain at the feet of the feetless Chinamen of that day, for their thankless toil and unlikely balancing skills. And not to mention those of then-president Hubert "Bumper" Humper, whose administrative zeal was matched only by his fits of giggling when Germans said things like "Zeal ze enzvelope!". But in truth, when one truly studies the unpublished crumbs and discarded scraps of History, an entirely different story comes into focus. It is the story of Ned Nedmiller and the Laughing Machine.

The year was 1874, or damn near it, some claim it was 1974 but they're blind drunk, and anyway, it was 1874. America was in the throes of serious growing pains, seeing as in that day Manifest Destiny was more than just an R&B duo. In fact, it was a phrase that most thought referred to a barbershop quartet. But one man, a sawdust critic named Romulus Stinkleather, remembered from his third grade Social Studies class that it had something to do with the country. And armed only with that half-remembered factoid, America set out to conquer the land that would one day be known as America.

It took many years and the invention of the machine gun, but finally true Americans (those folks who had washed up on the East Coast after fleeing Europe like rats from a somersaulting speedboat) kicked out all of the tent-dwelling longhairs who were squatting on their rightful lands, and the American Dream stretched from glorious coast to coast, and north and south to imaginary lines drawn to keep out the riff-raff, be they too white or not white enough.

The hairy-headed Americans of that day conquered the country and got to the West coast in such a hurry that they completely forgot that they had left the wood-burning stove on at home. They needed a way to get back East, and fast. The answer came from a small boy of four (don't ask me how four people had one baby, these were not particularly religious times) who set the world on it's ear with one word: Monorail. Of course, Monorails didn't exist at the time, and he was roundly beaten for teasing the people of those times. And just to be safe, he was given the treatment for the "kissing disease", Mononucachusetts, which at that time entailed kissing a rabid weasel and being thrown in the river locked inside a gun safe.

An inventor from Bulgaria had a better idea: The Double-Monorail. Under his system, two nonexistent Monorails would run side-by side, and in case one disappeared due to not existing, passengers could simply board the other Monorail and continue their journey. The "DubbaRail", as it was called, was a huge success, and it's maiden voyage from the fledgling town of Los Angeles to the even more fledgling town of East L.A. was completely sold out. Tragedy struck, however, when both Monorails derailed and crashed into the Hollywood Fatburger, which didn't exist yet either, killing 17 people who were not yet born.

The inventor's brother, also a Bulgarian inventor, dedicated his life to completing his brother's work and providing the American people (the European ones, not the longhairs) with a mode of cross-continental transportation that was safe, cheap and most importantly, existed. Deciding that Monorails were altogether far too dangerous, the inventor's brother (also an inventor) decided to carry out his brother's vision, only without the Monorail part.

After making an impassioned speech, entitled "I Have A Dream About My Brother's Wife", the inventor's brother was able to secure funding from President "Bumper" Humper, and construction of parallel cross-country "Walking Rails" commenced.

Feetless Chinamen toiled under the most inhumane conditions in the building of these Walking Rails. The tortures they endured included gentle spring days, rolling green pastures and enormous cobalt-blue skies. Some turned to poetry and idle daydreaming as a means of escape. Few of these Chinamen left with their dignity intact. As a matter of fact, few left at all, it's rumored that many are still lazing about, their rail-building tools cast aside as they count the petals on daisies.

However, the Chinamen hit a figurative brick wall in their progress across the country when they reached the Plains states. For this was the land of the buffalo, and rumor had it that buffalo liked nothing more than eating Chinamen like they were peppermint sticks. The Chinamen had heard stories of these fiendish beasts, and pictured them with razor-sharp claws and teeth like dinner plates, maybe even wings like dinner plates. Naturally, they almost shit themselves laughing when they actually saw a buffalo, and reminded themselves to kick their friends' asses when they got back to California.

However, the buffalo did provide a real impediment in the building of the Walking Rails. Mainly because they just stood there, right in the path of the railroad, and were buffalo. Which, according to scientists, entails mostly standing there and smelling like a discarded sofa. And while it was legal to blow a mountain out of the way with TNT, there were strict environmental regulations against strapping dynamite to a buffalo. So, much like your average buffalo, construction of the Walking Rails stood still.

CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

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Slow week here, my boss is still out recovering from a belch so violent he had to change his pants afterwards. I'm no doctor, but I think that means you've been eating too much red meat. Hey, I should have that printed up on a shirt. "I'm no doctor, but I think that means you've been eating too much red meat." That would be snazzy.

I think "smuggle" is perhaps the dumbest-sounding English word that I can think of right now. "Bloat" is pretty gross, but useful. I've never liked "chard."

Now for a message from the US Postal Service:

Through rain, sleet or driving snow, we will damage your mail. That is our pledge. Thank you.

And now we're ready for our next contestant here on Reflections of a Goocher, Ms Myra Drizzle from Upper Carpathia. How are you today, Ms—Jesus, she bit my arm! Somebody get this crazy bitch off me!

Let this be a lesson to all our readers, wear a suit made of fruit roll-ups sewn together with licorice thread at your own considerable risk. This dry cleaning bill alone is going to be insane.

Let me be the first to say that Rudy Bega would be a really funny name for a kid. Now I've just got to find a guy named Bega to marry, and some hard-up girl to be the baby farm. This might take all afternoon.

And now for another brief word from our sponsor:

Assholes everywhere agree, Crest is America's #1 toothpaste. Crest: Keep smiling, assholes.

Personally, I don't think they should put people to death just because they're ugly. What's that? They don't? Well good, I'm still against it. For now.

Hold on, looks like we're going to have to start the call-in segment of our show a little earlier than normal! Caller, you're live on Reflections of a Goocher!

Caller: Yeah, Stu, do you know where that RXL2B form that was supposed to be filed last Monday went to? I can't seem to find it in the paperwork for that file.

SU: No, I'm sorry caller! The correct answer was "Afghan Panties." I'm sorry to say you haven't won a trip to Monaco or Bedwetting for Dummies. Better luck next time!

Caller: Uh, St— *click*

Oh, looks like we lost the connection. Anyway, I'm going to make this getting out of here a reality before this last dogsled team leaves for the parking lot. Until next time, keep sending in those cookies shaped like famous composers, and I'll keep eating them. Now mush you Malamutes! Mush!

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