Take a look at the rampage he's been on in the last month or so:
- He claimed Osama bin Laden is a CIA agent.
- He made several high-profile speeches, and appeared on Cuban TV, to warn that the world was on the brink of nuclear apocalypse.
- He published an article in Granma where he quoted heavily from wing-nut conspiracy tome "The Secrets of the Bilderberg Club".
- He called up Atlantic reporter Jeffrey Goldberg and had him fly down to meet him in Cuba, where he was propped up by Olympic weightlifters. Fidel talked about his love of dolphins and how Communism "doesn't even work for us anymore." Yes, that's right-- dolphins.
- He appeared at the Comedy Central roast of David Hasselhoff, where he brought the house down by cracking that Gilbert Godfried is so poor that he's had to find shelter in Betty White's vagina. Okay, we made that last one up, but it really wouldn't surprise us at this point.
Not surprisingly, our switchboard has been lighting up like crazy with calls from international reporters and diplomats demanding Riptide's take on Fidel's current level of death. Because determining just how dead the decaying corpse of Cuba's dictator is at any moment is this publication's specialty.
We packed together video and photo evidence of Fidel's Wacky Summer! and FedExed it to our high-priced, lab-coated experts, who are currently in their mountainside lab in Los Alamos.
The good news is El Jefe Supremo is getting deader. The bad news is he's getting crazier.
How Dead is He?: 88 percent.
How Dead is That?: As evidenced by the bodybuilders holding up his elbows and keeping his head from lolling, Weekend at Bernies style, Fidel Castro is deceased. We're talking Alexander Hamilton after a jaunt in the woods with Aaron Burr dead. Jim Morrison in a Paris hotel tub dead. Eminem's career dead. Kaput. Belly up. Kicked the bucket. Floating goldfish status.
But you know how people's hair and fingernails keep growing even after rigor mortis sets in? Well, Fidel's crazy keeps growing. His body is now composed of 79% pure insanity. Which could spell trouble.
How fearful should the American oligarchy be? Barfing up its tater tots in sheer terror. Nobody likes an unpredictable enemy. What will he do next? Jet ski to the Port of Miami and back wearing nothing but a olive green mink coat? Challenge Arnold Schwarzenneger to an arm wrestling match for control of California? Solve Pi, but not tell anyone? Nobody knows, and that's the really scary part.
