“You mean, ‘Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss?’ But, Fidel, you are the old boss. And the new boss as well.”

“No, Diego. I was talking about ‘My Generation,’ and how the capitalist swine always try to get me down. And now, my old friend, I no longer get around. Sigh…“

“Perhaps these new advisors can help. Shall I send them in?”

“Send them in? And for what, Diego? So that they can tell me that I’m an outdated old fool, old skool dictator? So that they can tell me that I’m just an aging tyrannical ruler who is entirely clueless when it comes to bands like The Hives or Embrace? So that they can tell me that I’m not wanted at Little Steven’s Underground Garage Festival?

“Then should I tell the consultants that you’re busy, and that they should go back to America? Is that what you want, Fidel?”

“No, Diego. Send the image consultants into my office. Together, we will rise to the challenge and re-energize the people’s revolution. Together, we will break this concert embargo that chains our country. Together, we will remind the world that Cuba, Marxism and rock ‘n roll shall never, ever die!”

“As you wish, Fidel. I’ll send them right in.”

“Oh, and Diego?”

“Fidel?”

“Before you send the consultants in…”

“Yes, Fidel?”

“Tell that one member of Queer Eye For The Straight Guy, the one with the hair dryer, that if he touches my beard, I’ll have him taken out and shot.”

“That goes without saying, Fidel.”