REPORT NUMBER THREE:“All these trade deals blocking my vision!”
REPORT NUMBER FOUR: “Huh? Oh, we’re cool. Everything’s cool. Must have been a false alarm”
Enterprising Cubans are training replacements ( pictured above) to serve on the nation’s local chapters of the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution. Government complaints that the new comrades are overly conscientious have been greeted with national hilarity. President Raul Castro recently announced that he is sending the one hundred top new Defenders to the U.S in a historic gesture of goodwill to Cuba’s thousands of Miami Relatives. Miami has reportedly asked the CIA how many small planes and automatic weapons it will trade in exchange for 100 highly trained communists.
The Cuban public was not impressed.
“Big deal,” said several of the 23 doctors who happened to stroll by during Electrica’s fifteen minute man-in-the-street interview in downtown Havana. “Cuba is full of highly trained communists. ”
The remaining 20 physicians either snorted or laughed, as did the 47 world class musicians, 32 internationally famous dancers, 12 poets, 83 artists, seven engineers, 15 craftsmen, six cigar makers, several rum experts, ten winning Olympic athletes and a small crowd of laughing Rastafarians.
Also, an old man selling bananas illegally from a wheelbarrow
“We know there will be changes in Cuba’s future “, pronounced a popular and handsome orchestra leader, who sat on the front steps of a crumbling old mansion divided into fourteen tiny apartments. He laughed loudly and added, ” But anyone who shows up from Miami whining about getting his grandfather’s land back will be immediately shipped to North Korea.”
So far, CIA sources have stated off the record only that the agency will under no circumstances accept any hamsters from Miami.
The Relatives responded by threatening a radio campaign urging Miami patriots to take down Congress, promising that “Elian will be a picnic in the park compared to this.”
Havana Times photo
Meanwhile, Raul has strictly prohibited all canine members of the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution from sniffing any Party member in public.
“It’s times like this that the president misses his brother most,” confided Venezuelan leader Nicholas Madura, as he arrived in Havana to lend his support to Raul. The Cuban president greeted the former bus driver abrubtly, as Madero stumbled over several of the CIA agents who had been underfoot throughout Venezuela for at least six or seven years. Castro aimed a swift, well-placed kick at a senior agent as he stamped out of Jose Marti airport, followed by his presidential comrade, who had faced down American intelligence to be democratically elected. Castro had just snubbed Vladimir Putin’s offer to poison six rude Cuban bloggers and was in no mood for Russian or American mobsters, frivolous dissent, or ambitious dogs , regardless of breed. Well, as Fidel had famously said, a revolution is no bed of roses.
Castro stopped, turned to face a crowd of Granma reporters and addressed the nation.
“Be like Che!” he ordered, “Now, sit!”
Hundreds of good dogs immediately sat.
No further word from Havana at press time.
Thank-you to Paul Siemering for sending me the great photo of the Committee in Defense of the Revolution that appears at the top of this post.
What about tomorrow? May I go to Cuba tomorrow? What time tomorrow?
? Manana? Sabado? Lunes?
Hallo, all! Have some cake.
I’ve been thinking – now that Electrica in the Desert has 500 followers, we could start a cult! I hadn’t given much thought to who would make the best leader, but – what? You say you want me? That’s one vote: I accept.
Bow down before me.
Say, what about finance? For a modest $1,000 each, we’ll have $500,000 to invest. Just make your checks out to me – I might as well collect them now. I know people at a couple of Hedge Funds, and it will be a lot simpler if I handle everything. One less thing for you to worry about.
Me? A Communist? I don’t recall that information. Oh, but you do?Well, I’m not a real communist anyway, more of a socialist-Marxist or prehaps a Marxist-socialist.
No,I don’t see any inconsistency there.
But you do, eh? Still? Prehaps you’ve been reading too much Trotsky on a full stomach, then. Ayn Rand, you say?
Oh my, is..I mean, is that still allowed?
I mean what I meant to say, yes of course, is that these are Cuban hedge funds with offices right in downtown Habana…yes, that does change things, doesn’t it? Quite all right, then.
No I still have no names to provide. I don’t recall. I still don’t have that information.
Well, I see it’s getting late, so I’ll adjourn the meeting now. No need to decide right away. Only, do give some thought to joining a small, private army – what’s that? Why, mine of course. A force of 500 could be very effective, but small enough to conceal if one had the acreage…
What, all of you already say no?
I see. I wonder if I could trade you in to WordPress for 500 different followers.
You know, it isn’t nearly as much fun having 500 followers as I thought it would be. I remember the carefree days when there were only 499 of you as if it were yesterday.
Oh wait. That was yesterday.
Ah, that was a simpler time…
(To 38-year-old Midwestern relative)
“Here I am! I promised I’d be ba- “
Hello? HEY! Hello!
” Hey! I SAID I’m back! Wait! Don’t you want copies of my press release… check out my statement on Twitter!”
Andrew Reynolds, thanks a bunch for your generous cat advice.You were right – Julio is almost twice as old as I thought he was, and thus didn’t make front page news. He’s evidently not a WILD BEAST, but merely an adolescent, just as you diplomatically suggested.
VALERIE DAVIES – no, not you…move over, lady..yeah, YOU; thank-you, dear friend for hearing the distress call of a fictional cow seperated from a fictional herd on the other side of the planet.
Your ears got so sharp from listening via your heart.
Oh I can’t find your email adress: can you send it to me?
ELLEN HAWLEY: You should get a medal for your patience. Please forgive me – I had no Internet acess at all. I’ll write soon!
Rosaliene Bacchus, Robyn Jambo, Derrick J. Knight, Stuart Bramhall, Ashi Akiri, Lens 1: thanks so much – and please everyone else – please forgive my haphazard brain for not listing all the rest of you dear lunkheads.
I have more notes for the rest of you lot, so please come by soon, and I’ll be over your way ASAP. (I’m still looking for lost files!)
“Claire’s files are up..there. Somewhere….I think..”
THIS POST WILL BE CONTINUED SUBSTANTIALLY, SO PLEASE COME BACK SOON
My siblings and I began belting out our favorite Commie song when we were six or so. I felt very sophisticated about Harry as I turned eight, for by then I understood that the song was something of an inside joke – and I was able to sort of get the joke on its most elementary level. As well, my brothers and I were big hams, and the roars of laughter and applause that greeted our renditions of Harry would have kept us singing all night if we had not been ordered to bed at what we considered to be an outrageously early hour.
THE BALLAD OF HARRY POLLITT
Harry Pollitt was a workman, one of Lenin’s lads
But he was fouly murdered by those counter-revolutionary cads.
So Harry went to heaven, he reached the Gates with ease,
Said, “May I talk with Comrade God? I’m Harry Pollitt please.”
“Who are you‘? said Saint Peter, “Are you humble and contrite?”
“I’m a friend of Lady Astors.” “Well, OK. that’s quite alright. “
They put Harry in the choir, but the hymns he did not like
So he organized the angels and he led them out on strike
One day when God was walking round heaven to meditate,
Who should he see but Harry chalking slogans on the gate?
They brought him up for trial before the Holy Ghost
For spreading disaffection amongst the heavenly host.
The verdict it was guilty, Harry said “Oh, well’
He tucked his nightie round his knees and he drifted down to Hell
Seven long years have passed, Harry’s doing swell:
They just made him First People’s Commissar of Soviet Hell.
Well the moral of this story is an easy one to tell:
If you want to be a Bolshevik, you’ll have to go to Hell
You’ll have to go to Hell, you’ll have to go to Hell!
If you want to be a Bolshevik, you’ll have to go to Hell.
My father painted the entire chimney of this woolen mill – all by himself
This world that’s owned by parasites is ours and ours alone
It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own.
In our hands we hold a power greater than their hoarded gold.
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old.
_From Solidarity Forever_
JEREMIAH KAUFFMAN: HIS WORLD of ART and POETRY
Poet from Detroit - "It’s much easier not to write than to write, unless you’re a writer." —Elie Wiesel
Just another WordPress.com site
• Hugs and Infinities
Musings and books from a grunty overthinker
unleashing the world of words
world in my eyes!
Shenzhen Women for Marriage - Meet Your Gorgeous Chinese Bride
Travel with ease!
Poetry and Art
Life In Verses
Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time
When in doubt, travel.
News, photos, stories, and trouble from the borderland
The Creative Science Cocktail