There’s no use wishing Kim Jong-Il will rest in peace, because that would be the farthest thing from justice this or any other world could perpetrate. If it weren’t such a long walk, I’d put my dancing shoes on for this. Instead, in keeping with my new mantle of professionalism, I have decided to make this exclusive photojournalism report on Kim Jong-Il‘s journey to Antenora, the Second Round of the Ninth Circle of Hell. First, let’s remember the Beloved Leader as he was in life:

Yep, that’s pretty much it. Now direct to our exclusive coverage, featuring pix from those intrepid photogs over at the World’s Suddenly Least Purposeful Blog, KimJongIlLookingAtThings.

He got his first inkling of trouble when he suck a peek at his Christmas presents.  Things got worse from there, and soon the omens were unmistakable. Acutely conscious of his approaching death, Kim looked to his successor to seize the reins with an iron hand and urge the country forward into the new century with vigor and strength.

That’s it, we’re fucked.

Nonetheless, he kept smiling in the face of danger. Even when it was Telling Him Things. Look, palski, I don’t know how to be telling you this, but you fucked.

Couple more details to be taken care of before he was ready to face the inevitable.

I don’t know; it’s just not special enough. don’t they come in ormolu? Can I get something like that little girl from Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil? Putti?

And then, the fatal moment!

But we think we’ve tracked down the assassin:

Zombie Havel to the rescue! Now, can we sic him on Kissinger?

Once in the afterlife, Comrade Beloved Leader Kim had an unexpectedly lengthy, if photogenic, journey to make.

After a little misunderstanding with the conductor about whether or not an anthem would be properly played as he boarded (the conductor’s choice of Run DMC’s You Be Illin was not approved) Our AntiHero grabbed a strap and it was All Aboard for the Underworld.

He stopped for a few obligatory tourist photos, and is seen here posing beside the Styx, a careful hand on his wallet. I mean, you just never know what kind of company you’ll find yourself in once you start taking mass transit!

Beyond the Veil there is no compulsory attendance at rallys in celebration of national leaders. Glorious Leader learned it the hard way, with this embarrassing picture to show for it. A hearty bird was flipped, and he moved on.

Just like any dutiful friend, he droped in on some old collegues, now retired to a Greek island.

And that’s heaven! Hahahahahaha, not that you’ll ever see it up close! Now step to, Pudgy!

At least there was some good news.

Whodathunk I could ever slim down enough to fit in there? This is AWESOME!

But at last, Fearless Leader arrived at the Hellmouth.

Travels through the various levels of Hell, including the heretofor unsuspeced Hell of Too-Small G-Strings and the Hell of Big Box Store provided Glorious Leader with novel sensations, including the never-before-experienced one of embarrassment.

Hahahahahahaha, Heaven is even farther away now, Pudgy! Keep trudging!

But it was not all hard slogging; the heavy mood was occasionally lightened by his travelling companions.

Look what they’re saying about you on Twitter! It’s hilarious!

But “trending” is good, right? I’m trendy? Right?

A brief visit to the Hell of the Condemned Korean Buffet was more than enough, and Fearless Leader made a quick, if undignified, exit.

He was hoping to make quite a splash, but instead fell flat in the Hell of Speedos. But it got worse.

It seemed like his sojourn in the Hell of Country Ballads would never end.

Finally, Kim Jong Il arrived at the frozen lassitudes of the Ninth Circle of Hell, the Hell of Traitors, and was ready for his orientation.

Here he is seen taking instruction in the important art of pulling a (Spanish?) train.

Pictured here picking up his daily allotment of Satan’s jizz for snacktime. Hmmm, tastes like brimstone and asparagus.

So that’s what happened to Cthulhu after you got through with him? Impressive.

And, of course, getting that all-important local etiquette primer.

You’ll never guess what the first rule of Hell Club is.

But don’t feel too bad, Kim. We wouldn’t want you to be ronery. We’re sending Zombie Havel to round up some of your friends right now.