Please God, I want to impregnate Kim Yo-jong so bad. I want her to bear my children with those beautiful child-bearing hips. That beautiful, radiant yellow angel. Like a goddess, having come down to Earth to cleanse us of our sins.
Kim Yo-jong is beyond divine. I can’t help but drop to my knees in worship whenever I see her beautiful figure. I yearn for her in a way both primal and spiritual. I would commit more war crimes than every president in United States history just to lick the sweet, glistening sweat from her smooth, creamy skin. I want to listen to her moans as my manhood throbs within her, I want to hear her heart race as our bodies become one and our souls irreversibly intertwine in the holy sin of carnal union.
I want to suckle at her motherly bosom, slurping that rich coconut milk from her teat as she gently strokes my raging erection. I would stir her velvety Korean cream into my coffee and let my balls boil in it. Her cries of pleasure and the rocking of our bed would be louder than the cacophony of ten million starving north koreans. I would make love to her until my body gave out, and then some. I would let her break my rib cage with any part of her body. I would let her hit me with her car just to be near her for a brief moment.
She’s so perfect it hurts. Every moment without her I suffer a pain worse than breaking every bone in my body simultaneously while drowning and also having shards of glass coated in hot sauce forced through every orifice of my body. I want her, I need her. I want to desecrate her pure, white pantsuit. I want to start a family with her and retire after our twenty seven children have grown up and moved out. I want to see those luscious lips speak such filthy, perverse words into my ear while she slides ice cubes down my gaping pisshole.
My queen, my goddess, the light of my life. Please God, let me have her. I want her to be mine and only mine. I would lick the Doritos dust from her fingers and fill her belly button with honey mustard to dip my tendies in. I would give her a sponge-bath with my tongue every morning and serve her breakfast in bed. I would let her eat her eggs and pancakes off my body if it pleased her, no matter how painful the third-degree burns would be.