Fidel Castro Presents: Pimp my Roof Raft

February 20, 2008

I’m shooting dice on the corner with my homeys the other day – and by that I mean sitting in a bar alone at 11:30 in the morning – when the doors get kicked open and the Pimptastic Former Senator of Mississippi Trent Lott (R) comes rolling in, flashing off his rings and chains.  No, they’re not platinum, that’s white gold he’s wearing, which ironically used to be his nickname back on the hard streets of Grenada.  That’s Grenada, Mississippi, not Grenada the island we bombed in the 80’s.

And right behind his Former Senatorial Pimpness is Fidel Castro, wearing an Adidas tracksuit like he was a member of RunDMC.  It confuses me for a second, then I realize that because of Fidel’s communist rule and the US embargo on Cuba that his country would just be getting to our 1980’s trends right about now.  Man, it’s going to suck when the early 90’s and grunge music gets there because flannel shirts and the Caribbean don’t mix.

“What it is, my negro!” Trent Lott yells at the bartender as he bobs and weaves his way over to the bar.  “Set us up with some Bacardi.  Me and My Cuban are gon’ git tore up, holla!”

“What’s the occassion?” I ask former senator Trent Lott, after he takes off his giant pimp hat.

“Fidel here just quit his job,” Trent Lott says.  “So we’s out celebratin’ and shit.”

“Um, I thought we didn’t like Fidel Castro,” I say.  “Hasn’t that been our policy for the past 50 odd years?”

“Shush, cracka,” says Trent Lott.  “I say as long as My Cuban keeps the cigars flowing I don’t give a fuck what he do.”

“I thought Fidel Castro was really sick,” I say.

“Si, sick of hearing my brother Raul saying ‘When do I get to run Cuba?'” says Fidel Castro.  “Every god damn day.  When do I get to run Cuba?  When’s it my turn?  I’m telling momma you won’t share Cuba.”

“So My Cuban says fuck it, I’m tired of this shit,” Trent Lott says.  “So he calls up the fliest vanilla wafer he knows and says ‘Keep the Coast Guard busy because I’m coming over on a raft made out of my roof to hang with you in the United Stiz-ates.’  And now we’re partying like fucking rock stars in honor of Fidel’s retirement from the game.”

“Gettin’ Cuban Crunk’d,” Fidel says, toasting Trent Lott as they do a shot of rum.   “Let’s hit big American strip clubs.  Who else can we get out here?”

“Well, Colin Powell’s not doing anything,” I say.

“Man, fuck Colin Powell!” says Trent Lott.  “Turkey can’t hang with the T-Lott crew!”

“Fuck Colin Powell!”  cheers Fidel Castro.

“I know, I know, I know who to call,” says Trent Lott, pulling out his diamond-encrusted cell phone.  Well, I’m not sure if they’re diamonds.  He might just own one of those Bedazzlers.   He finds who he’s looking for on his phone and puts it to his ear.  “Hey yo yo!  Donnie!  My cracka Rummy D!  What up what up what up!”

So Trent Lott, Fidel Castro, and former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld go to Swashbucklers, the pirate themed strip club, and catch the afternoon show.  Now you don’t need to have ever been in a strip club at noon before to know that you’re not going to be seeing the A-List dancers.  Lot of girls with c-section scars, knife wounds, and missing hands.  But Fidel Castro doesn’t mind watching the naked girls who have scurvy.  He doesn’t know any better.  Plus, he can pay for lap dances with oranges, which is a better supplement of Vitamin C than a dollar bill shoved into a scurvy-stricken dancer’s g-string.


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  1. >>>>bedazzler HA!

    Love it.

  2. what it is, holla!

    awesome. i have tears running down my face.

  3. Castro knows how to party

  4. *groan* not the bedazzler please

  5. sgt rummy sez – “shee-it, mo fo… don’t get stupid with me, i’ll bomb yo sorry ass back to the stone age…”

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