“Uhh? Oh, it’s you, Diego.”

“I have urgent news for you, Fidel. From our operatives in America.”

“Oh, Diego, I was having such a nice dream. I was at my hacienda. Gwen from No Doubt was by my side. In the pool were Britney Spears and Alanis Morissette. As they sang songs of the revolution, Gwen popped grapes into my mouth while making those high-pitched ooh-ooh sounds she does so well. Such a great dream. Anyway, what news do you bring me, Diego?”

“You know all the trouble we had bringing our operatives home from the U.S. after they failed to break the concert embargo that has enslaved our people for almost 40 years?”

“You have finally found transportation?”

“Saddam Hussein has loaned us an oil tanker.”

“Saddam. What a joke. Just because he has a mustache, he thinks he can be a world-class dictator. But booking agents avoid his country like the plague. You’ll never see The Everly Brothers or George Clinton & Parliament / Funkadelic play in Baghdad. But how can a man know how to wield power if he hasn’t experienced the joy of a front row seat for Don Henley?”

“Fidel, the tanker is big enough to bring any band or any artist to Havana.”

“Any act? Even Furthur Festival?”

“Yes, Fidel. And room to spare. You could have all the festivals, like B.B. King Blues Festival, or Ozzfest 2000.

“I’ve never told you this, Diego, but I wept when Ozzy left Black Sabbath. Your benevolent despot cried like a baby.”

“How did you get over it?”

“I sent troops to Angola. Remember that, Diego. There’s nothing like a little military action to lift the spirits. It may not bring you Little Feat, but it’s good for the machismo.”

“I will, Fidel.”

“Did you know that I met with little Elian last week.”

“I did hear about it.”

“I fear that we may have brought him home too soon, Diego. He did not have the chance to see Stir or Melissa Ferrick. Now he just looks at a worn copy of Rolling Stone and sighs.”

“Si, but what can one do?”

“What a man must do, Diego. We will bring entertainment to our island, not for ourselves, but for little Elian and all the children of Cuba. Call our operatives. Tell them to bring me the purple one.”

“The artist formerly known as a symbol? I don’t think he’s touring, Fidel.”

“No, not a prince, Diego, but a king. Bring me the purple king. Bring me Barney.”

“The dinosaur?”

“Yes, Diego. Only Barney will give Cuba’s children the hope and promise to continue the revolution into the new millennium. For one night we shall have real entertainment. For one brief moment we can forget about our bourgeois swine neighbors to the north.

“I’ll get on it at once, Fidel.”

“And Diego?”

“Yes, Fidel?”

“See if you can get Barney’s autograph. Have him make it out to, ‘Fidel.'”

“As you wish, my presidente.”

“That’s for my… er… my nephew, Diego.”

“Of course, Fidel.”