The International Writers Magazine: REALITY CHECK
LETTER TO FIDEL CASTRO
Seriously. Just die...
We need your country.
Well, I need your country, really. You see I have plans. Big plans.
These include your demise. Anything will do. Shotgun wound to the cranium,
bathtub accident, arsenic, 15 minutes in a room with Geraldo Rivera.
Pretty much any mode of suicide is acceptable, as long as it results
in you ceasing to exist asap. Believe me, it would be much appreciated.
I recently met with a team of accountants in North Carolina, and it
was decided that much of your land is being, and has been, wasted on
needless poverty and disease, when rapacious clods such as myself can
acquire it at desperate discounts and turn it around for mucho dinero.
You see, cheap land in one of the worlds finest hot spots, once
the playground of the mafia and American hotel chains, is now littered
with crack ghettos. You can help by dropping dead. We dont have
to kill you per se. This kind of thing is messy and costs money, and,
as we all know, hasnt worked out to our advantage. Anyway, the
Hussein fiasco has really strapped us over here; big time debt and all.
We need a more cost effective way out. So fall down the stairs or suck
on a tail pipe. Please.
Think of all the affordable real estate that is just rotting down there.
Batistas original infrastructure has got to be still around. Well,
Batista. Shit. Who are we kidding? The United States original
infrastructure is still there. Weve sent out feelers, who have
assured me reconstruction would be well worth the investment. Sugar,
cigars, casinos, prostitution, gambling; oh there is much to exploit.
We miss it.
Florida is too crowded and far too sticky. We need some offshore breezes
and fine pina coladas. Enough is enough. Die. And really, how long can
you expect to live? Honestly. Youve been around long enough. Youve
had a good run, but lets face it; you fucked up with this communism
thing. Theres no money in it. And that short-sited Urban Reform
Law? Who did that aid? Your pockets? Maybe, for a while, but you were
never a long-term thinker. Its always been about you you,
you, you. Dont get me wrong. Youve been a fine ruthless
thug, but its time to give back.
Hey, Ive seen some of the places you live now. This is not living.
It aint like the old days, when you had Russian bank loans and
underground American aid. But even that came at a cost. I guess youve
never stopped laughing when we came for you. Man, we should have noticed
the decline of the CIA then, huh? But the Kennedys were too busy
riding Marilyn Monroe to pay attention to detail. But theyre all
dead now. And so are communism and the Soviet Union. The jig is up.
So why not give it a shot. Ive heard a poison enema can be quite
Heres the deal: Prices of real estate have gone mad here in Jersey.
New York is nuts, and only dead-eyed Caucasians live in Connecticut.
Its not for us. We like the adventure of diversity. Listen, truth
is we love it here, but we no longer want to work like dogs just to
hang our hats. Its time we expand. I am not interested in Canada
or Puerto Rico. I see a great opportunity in Cuba.
And, admittedly, I love cigars, really good cigars the kind of
cigars that taste like chocolate cake. Mmmm. I know you can appreciate
a good stogie, Fidel. So, spark one up, smoke it down, and slit your
wrists. Do it vertically. Its more effective. A survey of teenage
girls proves it out. Were looking for expediency here. Once youre
cold, well take it from there. Bribes are in place. You wont
have to worry about a thing.
And since youre such a man of the people (are we still selling
that nonsense?) then youll be happy to know well take care
of yours. Wal-Mart and Target and Nike and General Motors will be down
there before you take your last breath. Jobs a-plenty. Red Roof Inn
is on board. It will be great. As long as we can get in cheap, and,
of course, you die right away.
Try to understand, this country of ours is in a tailspin of economic
madness. Our president is a dumbstruck hick, and were nearly broke.
Weve got wars and enemies all over the place. The time to cash
in the chips and buy up acres of prime Cuban real estate is now. But
we know you have to save face and despise capitalism and American ingenuity,
so its best if you shuffle off this mortal coil and let us bring
home the proverbial bacon.
Thomas Jefferson, one of our nations greatest minds, and a guy
who could knew well how to make an honest buck on the backs of free
labor, once lovingly referred to your fair country as "a fruit
that will soon fall into our hands." It gets me misty to read it.
How about you? Im warm and fuzzy all over when I think of you
now in your run-down study, chomping down on a Cohiba contemplating
your principled exit. The joy wells in my soul.
You see yourself as a great man. Therefore, you deserve to go out on
your own terms like my hero, Doctor Thompson. Take a tip from him and
swallow a pistol. It is the honorable way out. Hear the Cuban band playing
your song. "Good-bye cruel world, let someone without shit for
brains run things for awhile." The ghost of Hemmingway implores
you. He loved your country. He loved guns. And he killed himself. Are
you getting the picture? In closing, I would like you to recall the
ancient Zen proverb: "There is no point to life if one cannot profit
from a land grab."
Thanks for your time and consideration,
© James Campion July 30th 2005
also Deep Throat and other
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Legal - the case for drugs
We Want Bolton
Den of Iniquity
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