The Short Humour Site

Home : Writers' Showcase : Submission Guidelines : A Man of a Few More Words : Links

Writers' Showcase

Che vs. Fidel: A Mulligan for the Maximum Leader
by Con Chapman


After Che Guevara beat him at golf, Fidel Castro, a notoriously sore loser, converted a golf course into an art school and ordered a sports reporter fired.

The Wall Street Journal

HUMBERTO GONZALEZ: It’s the final round of the Guiteres Sugar Championship and Juan, you could cut the tension with a machete.

JUAN MACHADO: You can cut anything with a machete­—that’s how they chop sugar cane at Guiteres Sugar. Guiteres—the sugar for you!

HUMBERTO: We don’t do commercials. We’re Communists.


HUMBERTO: As Maximum Leader Fidel Castro and long-time comandante Ernesto “Che” Guevera approach the 18th tee they’re tied, but Glorious Leader Castro has struggled.

JUAN: He’s blasted his way out of sand traps with his revolutionary innovation in club design, the “hand wedge.”

HUMBERTO: When he hit into the water on 16 he was so mad he gave a three-hour speech blaming U.S. imperialism for his hook.

JUAN: I’d love to be a frog to hear what these two say to each other . . .

HUMBERTO: We can do that--the CIA’s been listening to them for years. Let’s go to the tee.

CHE: You want to make this interesting?

FIDEL: Can the Comandante en Jefe hit without a lot of stupid chatter?

CHE: I was thinking “Bingo Bango Bongo.”

FIDEL: What’s that?

CHE: First on the green is “bingo,” closest to the hole is “bango,” and first to hole out is “bongo.” It gives a weaker player like you a chance to make some money.

FIDEL: I am not a weaker player! I am El Caballo—“The Horse.”

CHE: Even horses get the yips.

FIDEL: Silence!

CHE: (Mutters) I never should have agreed to a crummy five peso Nassau.

FIDEL: Talk is cheap, my friend.

CHE: While we’re young . . .

(audible groan)

FIDEL: Dammit!

CHE: Pleasure doing business with you.

(sound of worthless Cuban pesos changing hands)

CHE: Can I buy you a drink? It’s the least I could do.

FIDEL: Where?

CHE: Here—at the clubhouse.

FIDEL: There is no clubhouse. I hereby declare The Course at the Links at the Woods . . .

CHE: Why do golf courses have such stupid names?

FIDEL: It is a relic of the Baptista regime. Out with the fancy golf course, in with the Academia Socialista de las Artes

CHE: An art school?

FIDEL: I am tired of drawing on my TV screen with Mr. Learn-to-Draw, Jon Gnagy.

CHE: How about a cigar?

FIDEL: What I could really go for is . . .

CHE: Yes?

FIDEL: Throwing a couple of poets into jail.

CHE: Regular or symbolist?

FIDEL: I’m thinking a nice, fruity neo-Formalist.

CHE: They’re all in prison. You could fire a sports reporter.

FIDEL: That’s the ticket!

CHE: How about one of those guys?

FIDEL: Only one?

CHE: If you fire two, PEN International will be all over you like mole sauce on a tamale.

FIDEL: All right—which one?

CHE: I say the one with the double-knit plaid blazer.