no Nobel Peace Prize for nobody

Comrades,

No-one was ever going to go to Singapore.
Leaving aside the fact that I can't see Fat Boy Kim ever getting on no lil' airplane, when he's got that famous British Racing Green armoured train to get around in, "Mr Chairman" was never going to let DJ Trump get away with any kind of grand-standing, let alone score any political points, whatsoever.
Nothing in that for the Glorious Leader; so no Nobel Peace Prize for nobody.
Fat Boy was never going to agree to a "complete de-nuclearisation of the Korean Peninsular" without a binding non-aggression pact and more rare vintage wines and Choco Pies for the Pyongyang Palace.
It's so easy to forget that the POTUS is now onto his second Secretary-of-State in that fat buffoon Mike Pompeo, after the sensible-in-the-context, Rex Tillerson, lasted just 427 days in the job before he was so completely flabbergasted by the utter non-existence of any foreign policy agenda, there was no point in going on.
Pompeo's people in State who are on the ground had to break the news to him that nothing was doing in the way of any sort of concessions, and then he had to tell DJ! that it was no deal.
And of course, if there's no deal in it, any mild interest The Donald may have had in foreign policy is immediately lost.
It was all a hastily cobbled together sham to make DJ! look good domestically, in keeping with his grand "getting things done" mantra.
Oh well, cheesburgers, Diet Coke's, and a round of golf anyone?
In any case, the communique that the Trumpotus has sent via the US Postal Service to North Korea is not diplomatic [only the "tremendous anger and open hostility" bit is]; it's more like a fawning love letter..."a wonderful dialogue building up" a "beautiful gesture" "very much looking forward to being there" and "please don't hesitate to call, 24/7"...a pleading remember me? I'm still here!

In any case, who needs the real folks to turn up in good ol' down town Singers when they're both play acting mannequins anyway - anyone can pop on one of these you bewt silicon numbers [and by the way, I want some of those t-shirts for my mates in the Drinkers for Disarmament movement] and look the part, with you-know-who looking over their shoulders.
All you need is a Mr Ping of China mask to complete the quadrella.

It might not be the End of The World as we know it, but it's sensible to keep yr head down, and scan the horizon for mushroom clouds in the morning.