Why in the post “I Love Lucy Ricardo” days would anyone in his right mind write a humorous blog about U.S. foreign policy. I mean, what’s funny about foreign policy? Well, I suppose I could make fun of Secretary of State Hillary, but why, when it’s so much EASIER to make fun of BILL?
And of course, there is nothing funny about Cuba and Cubans, right? Since 1963 the all knowing, all wise, all powerful wizards of OZ, er sorry, Washington (“I can’t come back, I don’t know how it works”) have astutely decided that buying stuff from Cuba will encourage them to shoot at us with nuclear (or is it “nuukYOUlar”) weapons. So we can’t buy their stuff. No – it’s bad for our national defense. Just ask McCarthy: scary scary Cubans!!
Of course, in the midst of the current Washington debt crisis, you might be saying to yourself: “Self, I think I might be in favor of nuking Washington.” And if the media and Geiko-like advertisement geniuses of Cuban capitalism were also thinking the same thing, they might even come out with some marketing campaign like: “Buy contraband Cuban cigars – help us nuke Congress.” Being Communists, and everything leaning more than slightly to the left, they’d probably miss Capital Hill and hit the IRS building instead. HMMMMMMMM …….. interesting. I’ll take half a cord. Oh by the way, reading this blog will probably get you Code-Red water boarded at Guantanamo by Colonel Jessep – but at least you can smell the tobacco from there.
Before I get to the bottom of what kind of Cuban stuff we’re being deprived of, I have a few … obvious points. First, the embargo hasn’t stopped Cuba from sending us their stuff at all. I mean, they send us people by the boatload – er, well, raft load. And they send us pitchers. No no no — not pitchers of rum mojitos (which, when considered, should end the embargo right now), but pitchers of the baseball variety. Okay, batters too. You know, the Spanish-speaking-only dudes who sneak to the nearest Asylum shop near the end of their Satchel Paige like careers. Guys like Livan Hernandez and Ray Ordonez and Rafael Palmiero who, communist-like, worked for big brother at Yankee Stadium for millions (Palmiero, at least, understood the value of illegal imported substances and the even greater value of a convincing lie told on Capitol Hill after his “no-speaky-English” tactics failed). Sheesh. Who knew Cubans didn’t drug test?
Cubans also export their weather. That hurricane Katrina bomb they passed along to New Orleans in 2005 was pretty much nuukYOUlar, thank you very much. Yes, I’d think next time we might want to let them keep their hurricanes and send the cigars instead, but then I’m not trained in the intricacies of professional politics – hanging chads and all.
So this selective embargo, which thank GOD is brilliantly designed to protect us from bombs and commie-red takeovers, has very wisely protected us from Cuban cigars. I feel so much safer — safe from the good stuff, safe from the bombs, safe from the commie plots. Hmm, why don’t I feel as safe from Washington politics? Go figure. Anyway, if the legend is accurate (because of COURSE being illegal I’ve never EVER EVER tried one. Okay, hardly ever), this is the tobacco equivalent of the holy grail, the China white powder, the Russian endangered beluga caviar, the golden fleece, the Jody Foster adulthood Oscar, the . . . (ok you get the point). I’m thinking, with the cigar craze we’re ensconced in (it’s a Shakespeare word … and yeah, it DOES makes me cool) at the moment, I should do a Breaking Bad drug Limited Liability Company of my own – importing Cubans across secret Arizona-Mexico border tunnels, sewn into the tush of smuggled children’s’ dolls, and sold late nights under cloaked darkness in the back alleys of Van Buren Street. If the rumors about Cuban tobacco are true, I’d soon have the mafia teaming up to put me out of business and in cement shoes in the harbor because my Cubans would put their meth labs on ice. I see I’m going to need some muscle. Damn, where’s Luca Brasi when you need him?
Now I know what you’re thinking – are Cuban cigars really that good, or is it just a myth? Well, here are the top-three Cuban Cigar rumors, and the evidence I’ve been able to uncover about each one:
1. “Cuban cigars were the actual cause of the Cuban Missile Crisis” (yes … I did have to spell-check the word “missile”). This rumor, my little Chiquita bananas, is actually true. According to Cliff Claven, it is a little known fact that JFK started the Cuban missile crisis in order to, Wag the Dog-like, hide his relationship with Marilyn Monroe from Jackie (no, I didn’t have to spell-check “Marilyn Monroe”). You know – Jackie – the one played by Tom Cruise’s uber-hot wife what’s-her-name in the recent TV series? Yeah, that Jackie. The truth is, JFK and Marilyn used (yeah, I should be so used) Cuban cigars as part of their “courtship.” Then the commie-Cuban cigar suppliers threatened to expose him to Jackie under an elaborate Our-Man-Flint-like extortion scheme. So JFK manufactured the whole nuclear threat, blockade, flyover shootings, U2 incident, etc., just to cover-up the Marilyn affair from Jackie. Yes, and it worked brilliantly mind you. But what history teaches, us, kiddies and future presidents, is that Clinton would have been able to use the same political move, except for one problem. Unlike JFK, Clinton forgot to have his Secretary of State run down to Havana for a supply of the best stuff, and instead went for the cheap Gurka knock-off brand. When the story was about to break, he couldn’t really threaten Puerto Rico with a nuclear first strike simply because the Gurka Black Dragon (or was it “gherkin”?) was about to get him impeached, right? So now you know the truth about Cubans – if Clinton had just used a Cuban – no Lewinsky scandal. I mean seriously dude, if you’re going to invite a virgin blue-dress clad intern into the oval office to re-create a famous JFK orgy, couldn’t you at least use an authentic prop?
2. “Cuban cigars are rolled on the thighs of virgins.” Now before you get all excited about this, let me remind those of you whose brains just took a spontaneous vacation about 2.8 feet due South that not all virgins are created equal. Nor is it true that when a virgin rolls a cigar with her mythical skills on the upper inside of her tantalizingly tanned legs, that some part of her inherent unbridled sexuality is infused into the tobacco wrapper. If that were true, how could Viagra ever compete? And why would a Congress composed of almost entirely Bob Doles ever outlaw them?
But the fact that not all virgins are created equal seems to me a simple logical conclusion that must have been lost on the Muslim radical airplane hijackers who were convinced that they would be rewarded by 100 virgins in heaven by attacking innocent victims in 2001 New York (sorry to get a little serious here – okay, I’m back to just funny – no more seriousness). Let me just say that before slamming my plane into the world’s highest twin tower (okay, second highest, sorry Thailand), I would like to have seen a few photos. No, really, a random but statistically accurate sampling of photos would be fine, say, let me see 15-20 of these chicks, sans veil, before I push the cockpit button marked “Pearl Harbor re-enactment.” (Oh, sorry, a bit serious again. I’ll refrain). So not all virgins are created equal. Let me give some examples. I’m sure when you think of the quintessential young virgin, your mind immediately goes to that very cute Juno-looking brunette who sat in the seat in front of you in 7th grade biology class, who you vividly remember leaning over to her friend and whispering: “I’m wearing a bra for the first time.” I’m not going to describe what happened next, but I’m certain it has nothing to do with studying the way Mitochondria synthesize protein molecules. No, kiddies, a much different kind of protein was involved in this memory.
Now compare and contrast that (yes, I sound like I’m giving an English writing assignment) to the almost 50 Dick Butkiss-looking female football coach from the Glee TV show – you know, the one whose never been kissed (all together now: “awwwww”). NO I DON’T WATCH GLEE dammit — shutUP. I just OVERHEARD some cute broadway-loving girlfriends talking about it. I’m just passing it along that’s all, to make my point. So while true, I’m just not convinced this “virgin” myth isn’t going to cause a few virgin suicides when the real truth comes out the fifty-years they’ve been toiling in the sun adding their Maduro sweaty stench to the wrapper so the commies can spread the myth – just sayin’.
3. “Cuban Cigars are the best!” This one is clearly true. Now I’ve smoked my share of late-night drunken Ensenada-purchased FINEST Cuban $30.00 cigars — rolled in San Andreas Mexico. And yes, I’ve enjoyed the luxury of having those same cigars smuggle hundreds of illegal alien cigar beetles into my humidor and, commie-like, invade my other peace-loving cigars in their sleep, and leaving their nuclear waste dump everywhere. I even hear Castro, in all his PETA-inspired humanitarian charity, stopped smoking them just to save the Frito-beetle banditos from burning alive.
So how do I know that Cuban cigars (the real ones, not the Mexican fraud sticks) are the best? Easy. I’ve been to the Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix Arizona, and seen their humidor, which contains a six-pack of pre-embargo almost black oily Cuban cigars, which they are offering for sale for the paltry sum of $3,000.00.
$3,000.00 for a six-pack? Seriously? Are you F’ing kidding me? (FYI: they won’t let me use the F-word in the blog, but if there was ever an appropriate time to kill the sensor and “F” “F” “F” away, that $3000 price tag should justify any homicide). I wonder how much for a five-second test-drive sniff? But at $500.00 apiece, for some petite Corona 50-year old cigars, that were old even back when Elton John was still young — the price alone must prove that Cubans are the best, right? Price equals value, right? Let me put it in perspective. Here are some other things you could buy, instead, for your $3,000.00. Judge the value of the Cubans yourself:
* 1000 six packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Okay, even six stale Cubans that never once touched Marilyn beat that.
* Three hours with Heidi Fleiss’ number one girl – now that’s value, especially if you’re Charlie “Winning” Sheen. And yes, she answers to Marilyn. Or Jackie. Or Gordon.
* Sixty Days and Nights in a Sioux Sweat Lodge (yes I had to spell check Sioux). Gordon is extra.
* 628.9 pounds of bacon. Now that’s true value!! And no, I’m not referring to the Glee football coach.
* 6,818 first-class stamps — Enough to mail Gordon and the football coach to Canada.
* 33.3% of a buy-in to the World Series of Poker Main Event (Moneymaker, baby). Dang, guess we’ll need 18 gars for that.
* One hundred and eighty seconds of time from Tiger Woods (his 2009 annual earnings were 122 million, which works out to a thousand dollars a minute, if you consider an average 40-hour work week). Of course, under his current stress, you could probably stretch it to a 10-minute putting lesson.
* 157,894 minutes of long-distance calling card privileges. Unless of course you call Gordon from an airport pay phone, in which case you get twenty seconds and a kick in the face.
* 600 Sham Wow shammies. But only if you call in the next 10 minutes. Of course, that doesn’t include shipping and handling. WOW. Think they’d clean up the DNA evidence I left behind when I chopped up the blog censor?
* 3,000 Powerball Lottery Tickets. Of course, your odds are only .017% better than if you bought only one.
Need I say more? At 3000 smackos a half dozen, Cuban’s must be the best. Or maybe it’s just a secret commie plot to brainwash us as they take over the world …
That’s all for now cigar babies. Enjoy your contraband. More soon.
Censor’s…er, I mean Editor’s Note: Don’t believe everything you read!