We're not that scared! vs. Elian Gonzalez

by Cloud Volpe

Please note that the following is a work of fiction and is also technically a political satire. Although it's quite clear that I'm ridiculing both sides of the issue, someone somewhere who reads this is probably going to get offended. Boo hoo.

So, therefore, let it be known that any opinions contained herein are not necessarily those held by any visitors of this website, or even by me (I'm just satirizing things; don't get me started on what I think is right). That said, keep an open mind, and enjoy!

Oh yeah, and in case you've been living under a rock for a while, here's Elian's story:

He landed on the shores of the United States on a raft at the age of six; his mother had drowned trying to get him to the USA from Cuba in this way. Flash forward a few months, and every politician in the country had an opinion. Some argued that Elian should be returned to Cuba, where his natrual father was waiting for him; others maintained that Elian's relatives in Florida were perfectly suited to take care of Elian, and that he should stay in the USA and not be returned to his homeland.

On Holy Saturday, 2000, United States marshals stormed the house of the Miami relatives to take Elian away from them, since they refused to give up the boy. A media frenzy ensued. Every asshole near a newspaper or a computer had an opinion on the matter. It made the American government look even dumber than usual. And it made excellent material for political satire. :)


(Our story begins with the Spice Girls lying low at Posh's estate after their latest media scandal.)

Scary: What a fucking mess.

Ginger: Tell me about it! Since when is "carry-on luggage" not in your vocabulary, Victoria?

Posh: I was carrying more important things in other suitcases!

Sporty: More important than the ONLY copy of our new album?!

Posh: My makeup!

Sporty: How am I supposed to show any signs of artistic integrity now if our new album isn't released?

Scary: I would shut my mouth if I were you, Ms. Frolic-on-the-Beach-with-my-Secret-Girlfriend-while-my-Tummy-and-Arse-Hang-out-of-my-Bikini!

Sporty: Oh really?! Then I suppose Ms. Divorced-and-Getting-It-in-the-Rear-by-my-Ex-Husband should shut the fuck up as well!

Ginger: The two of you had better knock it off!

Posh (butting in): Yes, they should knock it off so you can go off and smoke another cigarette while advocating cancer awareness, you bloody hypocrite!

Ginger: Idiot!

Posh: Fraud!

Sporty: Whore!

Scary: Cow!

Baby: Tee hee!

(The Spice Girls all turn to scream at Baby.)

Posh: Why you…

Ginger: …erm… blonde…

Sporty: … uh… young…

Scary: … um… Oh, to hell with it! She's the most upstanding out of all of us!

Posh (sobbing): What have we become?

Sporty: We're animals!

Ginger: What we need is a cause of some sort!

Scary: That's right! Something hot and newsworthy to advocate!

Posh: Good idea! If I may make a suggestion…

Ginger: No!

Posh: But…

Scary: Tabloid stories about where you shop are not considered hot or newsworthy.

Posh: Shit.

Ginger: Wait a minute, I've got an idea! To the Spicemobile!

Scary: Yay! (She looks confused.) Wait… the what-mobile?

Ginger: Er… Spicemobile?

Posh: What the hell are you talking about?!

Ginger: The… uh… we… (She sits down.) Oh, just go call a fucking cab.

(Abruptly, the scene switches to Miami, Florida, where a large group of people are gathered in front of a humble house. They are clearly separated into two groups, each holding up signs of protest in one form or another.)

Protestor #1: Let Elian go!

Protestor #2: Let Elian stay!

(This cycle of conversation continues for hours upon end, while the scene switches to a press conference in Washington, DC.)

President Clinton (standing at the podium, taking questions): Okay, I'm only going to take a few more questions. I have an appointment in an hour with a woman who could suck a basketball through a piece of rigatoni.

Reporter #1: Mr. President, what is the current situation with Elian Gonzalez?

Clinton: Well, it looks as though his Miami family is keeping him, and will not hand him over. However, we do know two things: the boy is safe, and his cousin Marisleysis is a hot piece of ass.

Reporter #2: Mr. Clinton, does Lazaro Gonzalez have any legal right to hold the child?

Clinton: Who? (One of his advisors leans over and whispers something in the President's ear.) Oh, him. Uh… er… I'll get back to you on that one.

Reporter #3: Sir, do you predict this case will have the same kind of backlash that the case of Michael Fay did?

(The President turns to look at his advisor, who merely looks confused. He shrugs.)

Clinton: No idea who you're talking about. Next question?

Reporter #4: Mr. President, we all know that all your administration will be remembered for is being a laughing stock of sexual scandal. Your various affairs have no doubt turned you into a future divorcee, not to mention they have made your taste in women seem questionable at best by the American public. Furthermore…

Clinton: Are you going somewhere with this?

Reporter #4: You're getting a blowjob right now behind that podium, aren't you?

Clinton: I'm sorry, my time to answer questions is over. I will now turn the podium over to Elian's new advocates, the Spice Girls.

(Posh, Scary, Sporty, and Baby rise from their seats in the crowd and begin walking towards the podium. Meanwhile, the President makes a zipper-lifting motion behind the podium and walks off. Ginger stands up from behind the podium and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.)

Ginger (after a slight pause in which she clears her throat): As a goodwill UN ambassador, I am joining the other Spice Girls here to speak on behalf of Elian Gonzalez and what is best for him. Now, we will take any questions on the subject…

(A few dozen hands rise simultaneously.)

Reporter #1: Fox Blitzer, CNN. I was wondering what Ms. C had to say about her recent photo shoot?

Sporty (enraged): What the fuck is wrong with you people!?! Must everyone look like Callista Flockhart in order to not be considered fat?? It's a few extra pounds, for Christ's sake! And what the hell is wrong with being a lesbian? Not that I am, or anything, but what's wrong with frolicking around a beach with a close female friend?! You people make me sick!

Reporter #1: Er… uh… Actually, I was referring to the semi-nude photos of you in that sports magazine…

Sporty (after a long, embarrassed pause): Oh. Those. Um… I'm proud of them. Next question?

(Several dozen more hands rise from the crowd of reporters.)

Scary: Um, please keep in mind we won't be answering any questions about our various divorces, lesbian affairs, obesity, lost luggage, or smoking habits. Agreed?

(Every hand goes down as the audience breathes a solemn, "Yeah, sure, whatever.")

Ginger: Oh fine, be that way!

(A solitary hand raises near the front.)

Reporter #2: Peter Pannings, ABC news. I was wondering if the fat dyke would care to comment on her celluloid-jiggling, taco-eating romp through the ocean?

Sporty: You fucking idiots! You promised you wouldn't ask about that!

Reporter #2: I'm a journalist. I can lie.

Posh: That's it, this press conference is over!

Reporter #3: But wait! We want to get a comment from the brainless ditz who lost the demo tape!

(The Spice Girls storm off stage, with Baby in the lead. The step up to the curb to hail a taxi. Without warning, a limousine with a Cuban flag flying from the radio antenna rams directly into Baby, sending her to an untimely demise on the concrete ahead. The limo stops and the rear passenger-side door swings open.)

Voice: Get in.

Posh: Oh, how lovely, they sent a car for us!

(The girls step inside the back of the car, which then proceeds to drive. It hits what feels like a human speed bump as it pulls away. Inside the car, Fidel Castro himself sits, along with two bodyguards.)

Castro: Ah, I'm glad we've finally met, Spice Girls. I'm a big fan.

Scary: Um… thanks!

Sporty: Who are you?

Ginger: I think he's that fat actor from Sliders.

Posh: No, you idiots! Look at the beard! He's Santa Claus in disguise!

Castro: Ha ha ha! Actually, I am El Presidente.

Posh: El what?

Scary: Ginger, you know Spanish! Translate for us!

Ginger: I don't know Spanish! I was faking it on the album!

Castro (sighing): Ladies, I am the president of Cuba.

Sporty: Where?

Castro (visibly getting irritated): Argh! Fortunately, I was prepared for this. (He turns to a bodyguard.) Vincente! Show them the map!

(The large man produces a map of North America from inside his pocket. Castro points to Cuba.)

Posh: Oh, so that's Cuba. (She squints.) Hee hee! You know, from that map, it almost looks like…

Castro: Yes, like Florida is pissing on us. We know. Gallagher's used that joke in his act at least fifty times. All American propaganda!

Posh: Oh.

Castro: Cuba is not such a bad country. The Americans assume we are a land of pure evil, and that I breathe fire and brimstone, simply because we don't like foreign affairs, capitalism, or personal freedom. Are we not a sovereign nation nonetheless? Aren't our citizens one of our greatest natural resources, and shouldn't a boy be with his father, regardless of how long it will take me to come up with a reason to execute either of them? We would like you to consider these things when you speak on Elian's behalf.

Ginger: Well, I must say, that certainly sounds reasonable…

Castro: Plus, if you do not speak for Cuba, we will break your arms several times. (Castro's bodyguards scowl and punch their fists into their open palms menacingly.) Now get out of my limo! It's a rental.

(Without warning, the bodyguards swing open the limousine's doors and toss the girls out. The land on the side of the road, bruised and scraped.)

Scary (coughing up blood): Ugh… what a pleasant dictator.

Sporty: Whose idea was this, again?

Posh: It was Miss UN over there.

Ginger: Don't look now, but I think they're coming back.

(Surely enough, from down the road, an identical limousine stops directly next to the Spice Girls. An American flag flies from its radio antenna.)

Voice: Get in.

Posh (still in pain): Can we just have a few seconds to…

Voice: NOW!

Spice Girls (weakly): Yes sir.

(With every ounce of strength, the Spice Girls climb into the limousine, which then takes off down the road. Inside, a meek-looking man with glasses, a business suit, and glasses holding a briefcase sits, with two muscular bodyguards on either side of him.)

Scary: Let me guess… you're "El Presidente" of America or something, right?

Lawyer: Mmm… actually, no. I'm the legal representative of all parties advocating Elian's right to stay in the United States with his relatives.

Posh: And you're going to give us another boring speech as to why the kid should stay here instead of go home, right?

Lawyer: Hmm… I suppose that wouldn't be a bad idea. But we were actually just going to threaten to break your legs if you don't cooperate, then throw you out of the car.

Ginger: Not again!

Sporty (desperate not to get thrown from a moving car again): No! Please, tell us!

Lawyer (glancing at his watch): Well, I suppose I have a little time before the Turner/Fonda divorce hearing gets underway. Okay, it's like this… America has several wonderful things to offer little Elian that Cuba could not possibly provide. For example…

(The car drives southward for hours upon hours, all the while with the lawyer talking about why America should be Elian's home. Finally, the car enters Florida…)

Lawyer: …not to mention the Monorail, Space Mountain…

Ginger: Wait, wait.

Lawyer: …Epcot Cen… What?

Ginger: You've just spent eight hours telling us about rides at Disney World.

Lawyer: Ah. So I have. Well, at least now you see why he belongs here in America.

Sporty: But…

Lawyer: Ah, we're pulling up to the Miami house now. I trust you know what to say to the crowd. And remember, the leg-breaking offer is still on the table.

(The two bodyguards toss the girls out of the car as it pulls up next to the various protestors.)

Posh (wincing): Well, at least I'm still numb from the first time we were thrown from a car, or else that might have hurt a bit more.

Sporty: Look! The crowd of protestors!

Ginger: Right! We need a plan!

Scary: I've got one. Ginger and Victoria, you two stay out here and talk to the protestors. See if you can convince them to make peace. Sporty and I will sneak inside the house and try to talk to the kid and see what he wants. Got it?

The Other Girls: Got it!

(Sporty and Scary run for the back door of the house, while Ginger and Posh make their way to the front lawn to speak to the protestors.)

Ginger: Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen! I am Ginger Spice, and this is my associate Posh Spice!

Posh: We're here to speak to you on behalf of little Elian Gonzalez.

Ginger: Yes. It seems that amidst all this protesting, no one seems to care what the boy himself actually wants!

Posh: And it's so obvious…

Ginger: … that the best thing for little Elian…

Posh (speaking at the exact same moment as Ginger): … is for him to stay in the United States!

Ginger (speaking at the exact same moment as Posh): … is for him to go back to Cuba with his father!

(Both of their eyes open wide, and they turn to glare at each other.)

Ginger & Posh (simultaneously): What? What did you say?

Posh: I said he should stay here!

Ginger: I said he should be with his father!

Posh: You bloody moron! We're supposed to be on the same fucking side here!

Ginger: We are! Although it now occurs to me that we never discussed exactly which side we would be on!

Posh: USA!

Ginger: Cuba!

(With vehement force, the two begin fighting like never before, fists and blood flying through the air in an orgy of violence. The crowd of protestors begins doing the same thing.)

(Meanwhile, inside the house…)

Scary (sneaking around in the dark): They must be hiding somewhere.

Sporty (also sneaking around, her hands on Scary's hips for… guidance): Yeah… we should find them soon, though. There are only so many places that they can hide.

(Suddenly, opening a closet door, Sporty finds Marisleysis Gonzalez holding Elian in her arms.)

Sporty: Elian! We've found you! Now, we wanted to… (She pauses, noticing that Marisleysis is, indeed, quite hot.) Why, hello there!

Scary: Sporty, what are you doing? Hurry up and talk to him before something bad happens! We're not supposed to be inside here, remember?

Sporty (gazing at Marisleysis): Uh huh… sure. So, you single?

(Marisleysis faints.)

Sporty: Damn! Why the hell does she keep doing that?!

(Back outside… Posh and Ginger are still fighting. Finally sucker-punching Posh in the kidney, Ginger forces Posh onto the ground. Ginger runs to grab a flagpole from a nearby protestor.)

Ginger: How about you stay in America too, Posh… PERMANENTLY!

(With all of her might, Ginger brings the point of the flagpole down into Posh's chest, forcing a generous part of the pole -and the accompanying American flag- through her heart and the dirt ground underneath her. Satisfied, Ginger begins walking away.)

Random Protestor: Hey! She just dirtied a flag!

Another Random Protestor: Let's get her!

Ginger: Uh oh.

(The formerly non-violent protest erupts into a massacre as both sides of protestors find common ground in the soiling of a piece of cloth. A wave of people charges towards Ginger from all sides. All she can do is stare like a deer in headlights as the crowd advances on her and tears her limb from limb.)

(Back in the house…)

Lazaro Gonzalez (yelling at Scary and Sporty): You cannot have Elian! He belongs with us, his distant relatives!

Scary: No, you blasted idiot, we just want to talk to him! We don't want to take him away from you!

Voice from Behind: But we do!

(Scary and Sporty turn around and gasp. Standing directly behind them, decked out in military fatigues, a camouflage helmet, and a twisted smile, is Janet Reno, along with a few dozen U.S. Marshals.)

Reno: This is the end of the line!

(Out of fear, Elian grabs ahold of the nearest thing he can… Scary's hand.)

Scary: Ouch! Kid, you're hurting my hand!

(A marshal advances on Sporty, with his gun pointed at her.)

Marshal: Give us the boy!

Scary: Okay! No problem!

(She tries to pry Elian's hand from her own, but the child refuses to let go. Scary looks at the marshal and smiles sheepishly as she tries again to remove it.)

Marshal: You've got until the count of three…

Scary: He… won't… let… go… (She pulls as hard as she can, while the boy retains his grip.) Annoying little media whore! Let go of my fucking hand!

Marshal: Three!

(He fires at Scary, sending her body to the ground in convulsions.)

Reno: Soldier! I told you to shoot only to wound!

Marshal: I did, sir… er… ma'am! That shot should have passed harmlessly through the pelvic area, and out the rectal cavity! It should have stunned her.

Sporty: Uh… I think I can explain that. Scary usually smuggles her angel dust in her ass. The bullet must have popped the condom open and given her an instant overdose.

Reno: And who might you be?

Sporty: I'm… uh…

Reno: You were conspiring to get the kid too, weren't you?!

Sporty: No! I…

Reno: Knuckles! You know what to do!

Marshal: Yes ma'am! (He aims the gun at Sporty.)

Sporty: Oh shit, not again! (She turns to Reno.) Please! Anything but that!

Reno (arching an eyebrow): Anything?

Sporty (getting down on her knees to beg): Anything! Please, not another violent death!

Reno: Very well then! (She snaps her fingers, and two very masculine-looking female marshals grab Sporty.) Take her to my… personal harem.

Sporty: Oh God. (She screams as she is dragged out of the house.) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!


Trademark and copyright 2000, CloudVader Productions. Do not reproduce without giving the author, Cloud Volpe, due credit.

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