It is a place far, far away, an enormous palace the likes of which no one has seen before. The walls are rows upon rows of mirrors and antiquated wood: Vast halls, royal suites, and fine restaurants. There are old libraries, swimming pools, and movie theaters. And there are conference halls, microphones standing by, and Turkish baths, complete with steam and massage, and water flowing inside. It is reminiscent of the Tigris or the Great River. Outside, there are shooting ranges, forests for hunting and garden pathways for evening strolls. There are luxury cars, imperial guards and flags of the countries concerned. We are now in the hotel of the immortals. The address must be kept a secret, lest a million-strong demonstration is organized in front of it, and to prevent the ICC from affixing arrest warrants on its entrance. Photographers and reporters must too be prevented from gathering at the entrances, to promote lies and fabrications.

The scene is really intriguing. Comrade Kim Jong-Il came in on an artillery cart wrapped in his country’s flag. He suddenly got out and gave out a smile. On the balcony of the hotel, a slim tall man stood waiting for him in olive fatigues and a pistol. The man then fired his rifle to welcome his visitor; the man’s name was Saddam Hussein, also known as the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. In the meantime, a man wearing flashy African robes advanced to embrace Kim Jong-Il. This man’s story is rather strange. He did not believe that they killed him, and went far in torturing him, in line with what he did to his opponents. He insists in his belief that his residence here is a temporary one. They heard him saying that he was not a head of state to be thus killed and buried or for the matter to be thus settled. Rather, he is the leader of a revolution, and his country would soon summon him back. The hotel manager tried to persuade him to abandon his tent, but to no avail.

Kim the son walked along the long hall, and then threw himself in the arms of his father. Kim Il-Sung fought his tears, and then gave way to allow the newcomer to greet Mao Zedong and Joseph Stalin. Mao has not changed much. He still retains his sense of hubris and laziness. He is annoyed by the fact that the Chinese now preferred dollars over the readymade recipes of the Red Book. Mao is also annoyed that the current leaders resemble stock brokers, having turned the politburo into a board of directors. Stalin, meanwhile, is ever more solitary and lonely. He was heard threatening to hang the body of Mikhail Gorbachev on the Kremlin’s gates. He objected to the installation of surveillance cameras in the hotel’s hallways. He insists on keeping his room number a secret, for fear of a plot to assassinate him. This is while Pol Pot did not waste the opportunity…he advanced, shook hands and quickly withdrew to his suite.

Shortly before sunset, Saddam and Muammar went out for a walk. The first showered praise on the people of North Korea, and the second soon did the same. Our sacrifices were met with ingratitude, they said. They came with the foreign occupiers. They stomped on our portraits and uprooted our statues. Our names in the official media have become synonymous with tyrants. Even the executioners we would task to carry out the dirty work have washed their hands clean of us, and have now become fond of human rights. Kim the son was wiser. He confiscated their voices and turned them into a people fighting to find one or two meals. He produced generations of missiles and sold them, leaving his son a nuclear bomb to keep him warm and protect him. Our children are in the grave, in prison or in exile, and his son sits on his grandfather’s chair, with shining stars on his shoulders. Saddam and Muammar were in agreement that what is happening is incredible and unreal. The whole thing must have been invented by the tendentious media. The fabrications of Al-Jazeera and Al-Arabiya cannot last for too long.

It was noticed that many leaders from the Arab world, Africa and Latin America were absent from the reception ceremony for Kim the son. Most probably, the Master of Ceremonies did not notify them. They will flood on the next day to the new guest’s suite to greet him. Many will feel extremely disappointed and non-reassuring reports.

On the next day, a tripartite meeting took place between Kim the son, Saddam and Muammar. The hotel manager handed them a proposal submitted anonymously, to reserve a room for a president who has just passed away, along with a resume of the applicant. The trio scanned Vaclav Havel’s resume. They were amused by the title of ‘leader of the velvet revolution’. They double-checked the text. This man did not invade a neighboring country. He did not wreak havoc in a city of his own. He did not blow up a commercial plane, chase stray dissident dogs or produce toxic gases and biological weapons. A part of his country wanted to secede so he bade it farewell in all politeness. Not even the life of one person is on his conscience. There were no dungeons, torture or nail removals. Moreover, the Prague Spring must no doubt be an imperialist conspiracy, being the legitimate forerunner of the Arab Spring. Then many a comment ensued. Do we welcome him because he was a heavy smoker before he quit? He also went to prison and left it without forgetting teeth or fingers there. Or should we welcome him because he was a playwright, so are we a writers association then? The request was denied unanimously. The leaders shall meet again later, to consider other applications.