Congratulations on Leaving Cuba!

You’re a young man named Javier with six siblings and a single mom who’s spent most of his life living on the “mean streets” of Havana. It’s time for you to embark on your harrowing journey to freedom from the oppressive land you’ve known for your entire life. Yours is a heady tale, one from which we could all learn much.

Just kidding!

Your name is actually Tony, and you’re an American college student who’s just spent two weeks in Cuba on a lavish, hedonistic vacation paid for largely by your parents.

You’ve been “living the vida loca” (James, the oracle who divined this prediction using a ouija board, insisted that we include that bit, but it shames the rest of us) sleeping with local prostitutes and drinking way too much inexpensive communist rum.

The entire vacation, including the legally gray activities you’ve been participating in and your lavish four star hotel stay has only run you about $75 American, so when you walk out of your hotel and into daylight for the first time in a fortnight you’ll be carrying over three thousand dollars in cash.

As a wealthy American tourist, it’s fair to say that you draw a lot of ire simply by being in Cuba. You represent all the dreams that have been denied to these people. Moreover, you represent the worst excesses these dreams can produce when they succeed.

See, you’ve also been kind of a dick while you’re there. You don’t tip very well, you don’t speak Spanish and ignore people in lieu of trying to understand their accents, and you choke prostitutes. And that sort of behavior has escalated local ire into hate.

So as you’re walking down the street Javier, who we mentioned earlier in this story and whose sister is one of the fifteen year old prostitutes you choked during your vacation, is going to step out in front of you with a knife.

He won’t have to try very hard to mug you, since you’re fat and weak and won’t be able to run away or fight back. He’ll just punch you in your pasty face, breaking your nose and knocking you to the ground. Then he’ll tear your wallet out of your pants pocket and spit on you before saying something in Spanish and walking away.

When you finally get to your feet you’ll be lost in downtown Havana with no money, no friends, and a local public that would like nothing more than to see you raped by dogs.

It’ll be a rough walk to the embassy, and you’ll almost die a number of times from a number of sources. We’d love to detail those exploits here, but we’re told they’re part of an upcoming prediction from James which we believe he’s holding out on in order to keep his job here. He’s on thin fucking ice and we love to see bad things happen to you, so we really are only keeping him around so we know that your life is shit.

And shit it will be. It’ll be four hellish days, at least, before you drag yourself to the airport, naked and bleeding, and manage to get on the phone with your bubbie in Florida and manage to sort out your exit from the country without a passport (your bubbie is ex-CIA and she’s got a lot of pull).

Even then you’ll have to fly coach. When you find this part out you’ll drop to your knees and scream “Nooooo!” as loud as you can. It’ll be fucking hilarious.

Anyhow, the plane ride will be uncomfortable, shitty and overlong, but eventually you’ll be home. Congratulations on leaving Cuba. This would’ve been easier if you weren’t such a douchebag and you stopped choking women during sex.