Oh, the sublime joys of apartheid.
Tourists in Castrogonia always have options not available to Cubans.
We tourists may have to wade through the same flooded streets, but we can always buy stuff and carry it about.
We can also leave, even though that requires a bit of patience during this damn Irmapocalypse.
Long lines at the airport. Just like the lines Cubans have to endure every day, for everything.
How dare these airlines subject us to the same indignities as Cubans?
Well… come to think of it… at least we get to leave, and the poor Cuban bastards are stuck there.
Aaaah, but let the noble savages enjoy their disaster. They are such happy people, those Cubans…especially the black folk.
Always happy, those black folk, just like the slaves in the U.S. before emancipation.
Such musical people.
Some of the happy noble savages have lost their stuff, however, and have no way of replacing it.
So it goes. So it goes.
Aaaah, but they don’t care. They’re only subhuman, anyway… and they love serving us tourists so much, they can’t wait until we come back.