This just in, Che Guevara is dead!

A few Saturdays back I had some stuff to do around the house which required a vsisit to Home Depot. Now, if you have ever been to a Home Depot on a Saturday you know you’ll will probably spend more time inside the store battling the crowds than you will doing the actual work you went there to buy the stuff for. Thus, to avoid the traffic jams in the lumber aisles, I always go to Home Depot early. Really early.

So I get up that Saturday at about 6 AM and before doing anything else I pull out a pair of shorts from the drawer and a tshirt and put them on. I then wash the old face, brush the teeth and make some cafe. I get my little Home Depot list and head out the door.

It was only after the cafe had kicked in during the drive to the store so early in the morning that I realize that Im not wearing one of my trusty work tshirts. No. I had inadvertently put on my “Fuck Che!” tshirt. It was no big deal, really, I just dont like to ruin certain tshirts while working around the house.

So I walk into the store and am heading towards the lumber section when I see this guy walking out of the lumber aisle, look directly at me and he kinda stutter steps. Then he gets this pissed look on his face and starts stomping right at me.

Of course I knew immediately it was about my shirt. I thought it could be either of two things. It could be that he is a Che cultists and is insulted by my tshirt, or it could be that he’s like me and hates Che and doesnt understand or cant read the message on the shirt. So I brace myself for the ensuing battle of ideas at Home Depot in front of cash register number 8.

Now, I have continued walking towards the lumber area and he has continued walking stoned faced directly at me. In those brief seconds Im thinking Im either going to get my ass kicked or have to kick the guy’s ass. Im preparing myself for the worst.

Then, as the guy gets about 10 feet away while still stomping towards me I see him stutter step again, stop, and break into a wide smile.

“Hey guy,” he says to me. “Nice shirt!”

“Gracias,” I say.

He offers his hand for a handshake and says “I’m so sick of seeing that maricon’s face all over the place.”

“Me too,” I say to him.

We ended up standing there in front of cash register 10 for like 15 minutes talking abotu Cuba and Che and castro and politics and our disdain for communism and all those morons that buy into the Che-as-God myth.

See, since I live in Miami, I can wear my anti-Che stirt anytime without ever having some numbnut telling me off. But, imagine if you lived in a place rife with leftists cultists and ignorant elitists like, say, Los Angeles.

15 thoughts on “This just in, Che Guevara is dead!”

  1. Tell me about it Val! I live in L.A. I don’t have a “F**K Che” shirt yet, but I’m hoping to pick one up in Miami later this month…Then maybe I’ll arrange a little face to face with my “paisano” Santana…

  2. Or in NYC, this is my story of the other day:

    After a long day in the City I was in a hurry to get back home and work on some graphics….
    I climbed onto the subway wagon and the first thing I saw was an unwashed Latin American Libzilla wearing a T-Shirt of chehuevara. The asshole was reading a book titled “How to stay sober”.
    I went right onto him.

    I said: You wanna stay sober, you need to get that fucking dirty t-shirt with a motherfucking coward out of your chest!

    The guy went: Do you have a problem with it?

    I said: I do, and you do. Because I can beat the living hell out of you for supporting the enemy of this country at war, you asshole, get down the fucking subway and take a shower, you idiot!

    The guy went onto saying: In Latin America this guy is a hero.

    My answer: A hero in the fucking hellhole of a country where you come from, go back to that latrine and kiss communist ass, but now this is your stop because I say so.

    Needless to say that many people in the subway approved of my treatment to that asshole and my biggest reward was the smile of an old lady who said: GOOD JOB, YOUNG MAN, GOOD JOB!!!! Her smile, her bright eyes and the spark in his voice was much bigger than an Oscar! (eat your stinky fat and greasy heart out Michael Moore)

    It was a great surprise to me, since I expected to get my ass kicked big time in NYC for not being an idiotic victim of the cult to che and cagastro. I am happy to say that I was in the Upper East Side where our views and suffering are respected.

  3. In my humble experience, I’ve found Home Depot to be a capitalist haven. That’s the first place I ever saw an “I [heart] Halliburton” shirt. Lefties don’t know how to fix things, only break them and then celebrate the brokenness.

    Happy to hear it’s not just here. :o)

  4. Che T-shirts

    Like these guys, I am no fan of Che t-shirts, but if ever I was happy to see somebody wearing a Che t-shirt, it is the guy in this video. Wow.

  5. I’m in LA, I leave my castro is my bitch tote bag laying on the front seat of my car. I drive a small sporty car so all those big Suv’s can see right in while were stuck in traffic. I’ve received some looks, but so far no one has shot at me. I keep my CD’s in it. The only real comment I’ve received is from a parking valet who said, “nice music you have.”

  6. A.M.-Thanks for the tip. I haven’t been to Olvera St. in years. I’ll have to stop by next time I’m in Downtown.

  7. “I thought it could be either of two things”

    I have to point out a third – he may have even agreed with the sentiment but simply thought tshirts with expletives like that are inappropriate (there’s kids in Home Depot).

  8. Oye Val, You are not kidding about living in a place surrounded by left-wing nuts. I don’t dare put an anti castro bumper sticker on my car, I don’t want my tires slashed. You see the cowards wont try in front of me, no, they wait until I’m at work or in the store or something and I come back to my car and its been trashed. You see I live in Oakland, California, right next to Berkeley, California which is a nut house of American neo-marxist idiots. More power to you though, que viva Cuba libre. Oh and if I had to discribe Cuba with one word I’d say CORAZON. Cuba is my very beating heart. Know what I mean? Victor Hadaway Napoles (nacido en Guantanamo, Oriente, Cuba.

  9. IN 1941 – VIBRANT
    Sure I’m going a long way back, but I clearly remember how alive Santiago was, how the streets were full of people, the shops busy, smiling faces everywhere (even the ladies catering to the tourist/sailor trade. The warm moist sticky air. We’d watch them rolling cigars in the windows of little shops, buy delicious ice cream, visit the Bacardi plant, taxis, cars, buses, activity, talk, laughter, shoppers, lottery ticket sellers, tourists, people taking pictures, jammed sidewalks, lovely old buildings, beautiful waterfront views, busy bars and restaurants, a dozen languages of sailors from the ships along the busy docks, trucks hauling cargo from the ships, fruit for sale, newspapers available everywhere, music in some of the restaurants, an atmosphere of relaxation and peace and freedom, a land where all was well because even the poor seemed to know how to get along. I never forgot Cuba, and still remember those days.
    Then came The Big Cockroach, fidelito, and what do they have now? The Economic Slavery that the Socialist/Communist system imposes upon a hapless people, the harsh penalties imposed for anyone who has the temerity to question the foolish judgements of a thieving dictator.

  10. I have seen the Che t-shirt being worn by shabby-looking revolutionary wannabes handing out socialist newspapers in the city square. I was recently thinking of how hilarious it would be if these idiots had massive shaking fits and collapsed on the pavement, screaming as larval Che Guevaras (with the hat and beard) burst out of their chests.

    Anyhow Val, this is a lovely story. Perhaps the man saw only Che’s image at first, and didn’t see the ‘Fuck Che!’ slogan until he got closer.

  11. I loved Howard’s letter “In 1941-VIBRANT”. Like him I remember what Cuba was like before castro. I lived in Guantanamo from 1953 to 1960. I remember the plaza Jose Marti which was a couple of blocks from my school El Colegio Americano, which was a bilingual school grades first through seventh. My coming of age years were during the revolution. Rumors floated around now and then that the communist would kill anyone who opposed them, we didn’t know how true that was. I remember a warm friendly people that loved their children and loved to relajiar and guarachar when carnival time came. I remember going to a zafra and smelling the agua ardiente. I remember swimming in the Guaso river. I remember the happiest time and the coolest place on the planet. The mercado was full of vendors selling carne, emparedados de puerco, bianda, frijoles, food was abundant. Schools were teeming with bright happy faces in different colored uniforms. We didn’t know it would all end in trajedy. My uncle Sijito, a guardia rural, was one of the first the rebels killed after a one half hour trial. I hope to see the river again, and the house by the railroad tracks where I was born, if its still there.
    Victor Hadaway Napoles

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