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Fidel Castro Mourns Tucson Shootings

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Fidel Castro’s latest article in his captive (literally!) press mourns the Tucson shootings, as “An Atrocious Act.” “If only I could have gotten my hands on Loughner in time!” Castro must lament behind his crocodilian woe. “And made an intervention!...Why I might have made that poor boy’s picture into the most reproduced image of the century, gracing everything from T-shirts to posters, from thong undies to skateboards, from cellphones to infant onezies! I might have made him the topic of Hollywood hagiographies! I’d have Time magazine celebrating him among the "heroes and icons" of the century, alongside Mother Theresa!”

Fidel Castro has an excellent record in this regard. To wit:

The writings of a troubled young man who came to Fidel Castro’s attention in 1955 displayed tendencies not unlike Loughner’s: "My nostrils dilate while savoring the acrid odor of gunpowder and blood. Crazy with fury I will stain my rifle red while slaughtering any surrendered enemy that falls in my hands! With the deaths of my enemies I prepare my being for the sacred fight and join the triumphant proletariat with a bestial howl!"

The term "hatred" was a constant in the troubled young man’s writings: "Hatred as the element of our struggle"; "hatred that is intransigent;" "hatred so violent that it propels a human being beyond his natural limitations, making him a violent and cold-blooded killing machine."

His deranged fantasies included a continental reign of Stalinism. To achieve this ideal, the troubled young man craved "millions of atomic victims."

The troubled young Argentine was aloof and contemptuous towards everyone around him: "I have no home, no woman, no father, no mother, no brothers. My friends are friends only when they think as I do ideologically."

Fortunately for the troubled young Argentine, while a vagabond in Mexico City, he had the good fortune to meet an exceedingly shrewd judge of the human psyche. This judge, a Cuban exile named Fidel Castro, properly diagnosed the Argentine's psychosis and made an "intervention" in the nick of time, channeling the troubled youth's talents and yearnings toward ends considered constructive by the worldwide intelligentsia: establishing Stalinism.

Shortly the Argentine found himself gainfully employed in Cuba. His raging bloodlust was amply indulged in the extermination of anti-communist Cubans, a species of mammal that enlightened opinion worldwide considers an insufferable pest.

At first the troubled young Argentine took an active role in the mass murder of defenseless Cubans, shattering the skulls of the convulsed victims with a blast from his own pistol. But given the volume of these murders the task proved fatiguing and the Argentine soon appointed Cuban henchmen to better facilitate the serial bloodbath.

Not that he distanced himself from the slaughter. In fact, he took such a keen delight in the murder process that a special window was constructed in his office allowing him to watch and gloat at the orgy of bloodletting in the field below his office.

In this process the Argentine was helping his Cuban mentor establish a personal fiefdom that would prove quite enduring, to put it mildly. Alas, the (live) Argentine's usefulness to his mentor would prove nowhere near as enduring and soon his "martyrdom" was skillfully arranged.

Former CIA officers revealed to this writer how Fidel Castro himself, via the Bolivian Communist party, constantly fed the CIA info on Che's whereabouts in Bolivia. Fidel Castro's directive to the Bolivian Communists regarding Che and his merry band is also a hoot: "Not even an aspirin," instructed Cuba's Maximum Leader to his Bolivian comrades, meaning that Bolivia's Communists were not to assist Che in any way — "not even with an aspirin," if Che complained of a headache.

On his second to last day alive, Che Guevara ordered his guerrilla charges to give no quarter, to fight to the last breath and to the last bullet. With his men doing exactly that, Che, snuck away from the firefight, crawled towards the Bolivian soldiers doing the firing, then as soon as his he spotted two of them at a distance, stood and yelled: “Don’t Shoot! I’m Che! I’m worth more to you alive than dead!”

That's exactly two flunky Communist guerrillas facing two Bolivian soldiers, by the way. But then, Che’s bloodthirsty bluster (see above) always had a habit of evaporating when facing men (or boys) capable of defending themselves. His stock-in-trade was blasting their skulls apart from five feet while they were bound and gagged.

…And oh! Didn’t Che Guevara mount his steed and grab his lance as the (self-appointed) liberator of South America’s indigenous peoples from exploitation by the continents’ Europeans descendants?

Well, based on this third picture, taken by the men who captured and killed him—Che’s message seemed woefully under-appreciated by his intended “beneficiaries.” I only note one obviously European-descendend person in the picture.

His Bolivian captors ignored Che’s final plea. In fact they adopted a policy that has since become a favorite among Americans who encounter (so-called) endangered species on their property: "Shoot, shovel, and shut-up."

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