S. Korea's 'Worst-Case Scenario' Planning Doesn't Include Genital Torture

ast week's announcement by South Korea that it was planning for a "worst-case scenario" in a U.S.-North Korean war fell short by the standards of many worst-case scenario experts.

According to delegates speaking on behalf of South Korea, the country is making preparations for war in the event negotiations to prevent nuclear armament fail. South Korea anticipates multiple responses that could endanger the country, even up to and including a nuclear attack on a major city such as Seoul by their northern neighbor, an event South Korea considers a "worst-case scenario."

But those in the know say a nuclear assault on Seoul would fall far short of the "worst-case," in their estimate. A nuclear blast would likely incinerate most inhabitants on the spot, and those not killed in the blast, while being badly burned and poisoned by nuclear radiation, would still face quicker and less painful deaths than other possible, "even worse" scenarios.

"An atomic death would be horrible, no doubt about it, but 'worse-case'?" questioned worst-case scenario expert Rich "the Douche" Borwinkle. "I highly doubt that. Until you introduce things like genital electrocution and sandpaper-on-the-eyeballs, you're a long way from worst-case."

Borwinkle makes a point other experts agree with; worst-case aficionado and author of The 100 Worst Ways to Die Albert Crome insists he made the point before anyone else.

"There are peaceful ways to die, like suffocating in your sleep or freezing to death or something. I've heard drowning is a little intense, but it's pretty cool because the flashbacks in those last moments of brain activity are awesome. But nuclear assault isn't anywhere close to best or worst, it's right in the middle."

Continued Crome, "One word for you: Acid. That'll smack you on the ass, won't it? Don't tell me if given a choice between radiation poisoning and acid in the face you would take the latter. And we're not even getting into flesh-eating bacteria, small pox, or some of the more ordinary every-day deaths like ass cancer. That'll make you beg for a mushroom cloud."

Expressions of Slaughter videos producer Jacob Vissucio also found the South Korean "worst-case" preparation falling short. "No doubt the South Koreans aren't anticipating being caught on train tracks when North Korea comes barreling through, non-stop. Here, check this out."

This reporter did, indeed, "check it out," and voluminous vomiting followed. If South Korea is subject to the same kind of horror as the poor son of a bitch on the video, they have yet to know what real pain is.

Similar feelings resonate with many Americans, at least those in Roanoke, Virginia's Bewley High 10 a.m. study hall.

Stiller Wells, one study hall regular: "If North Korea was real vicious, like real sick bastards, they should do some of that medieval shit on South-K. They would, like, rip a whole in your stomach—not enough to kill you, but just enough so's this giant rat could be shoved in there. And the rat, like, ain't been fed in days so it goes all crazy eating up inside you. That's some sick shit. The South wouldn't rise again from that, I tell you what."

Wells and this reporter then made plans to rent the train video that was described to him, at some future unnamed date. Representatives from the South Korean embassy refused to respond to questions, and would not stay on the phone long enough to hear the details of the rat story.

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Brace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this column at this point. My private life has to stay private. In fact, I may suggest to Acting-Editor Ramrod Hurley that he lecture me using a speech I've penned myself.

In the meantime, I must use this column to convince Lee and Camembert to let me back into the apartment. As you may know, my visit to Gracieland in New Hampshire didn't pan out as a truly fulfilling trip, but went into Rok's bag of "life experiences" where I invariably end up the wiser about something—in this case, George and Gracie Burns. But after last week's column, I returned home to find the door locked, bolted, and adorned with a sign that read, "Fuck off, Finger."

So… Lee, Camembert. Is this how the Rok Finger housing experiment ends? For whatever reason, I go away and come back to find I've been banned from my own Camembert's apartment? This is the sort of mutiny that is unforgivable, but if I ever get back in, I will forgive you. Once I change the locks and make sure I have the only key.

Camembert: You're the last one I would have expected this from. Not that you like me enough not to do such a thing, or had any honor, but your sheer cowardice and fear of confrontation should have clipped your babymakers before you gathered the courage to join such a conspiracy. If Lee is forcing you to do this, I completely understand. I fear him as well. But I need an inside man, let's just say you fit both bills, to unlock the doors and let me back in. Once we're both in there, we'll fight for our rights to party. Lee is big and burly, but with my brains and your upper-brawn we can oust him from the seat of power, and we'd better hurry because I've been holding in a crap for two days now.

Lee: I know how it is. You're a little directionless with me missing, still a little disoriented from your lingering head injury. Camembert has some ideas that sound good on paper, or failing that, since you can't read, he says them in a real friendly voice. But following him in his betrayal is something I wouldn't expect from you, Lee—that's more of a cowardly Camembert thing to do. Please, don't let his miniature tank scare you, as I've said before, it's just a wheelchair. His power is in spokes and pulley systems, gears and cogs. Unbolt the door and let me in and together we'll reinstate the old Rok Finger: Unquestioned Ruler administration.

Assuming this is some kind of punishment from the both of you for some imagined wrong, real as it might be, please forgive my mistakes. I'm only human, no matter what the scientists say, and have my weaknesses like anybody else. Allow me a second chance and I will return and we'll all work things out. Repercussions will be swift and brutal, or none at all, if that's preferable. All is forgiven. Rok Finger is nothing but heart, four feet of pure, loving heart. Let my love open the door.

Or, failing that, I do have a key, you know. I can tell you haven't changed the locks and that lousy deadbolt won't hold forever. You have to leave the apartment sometime, at least Lee does, and Camembert is too scared to stay by himself. All of this is futile rebellion, and you know it. Lee's fondness for Little Caesar's pizza will lead to the door opening again sometime in the future, and when it does, Rok Finger will spring like a slinky back into the apartment and into your lives. I have an elephant's memory and a wooden bat, so think about how you want this to end before it's too late.

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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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