As I'm sitting here on a bench just off the beach in sunny, beautiful, Communist Cuba, I am contemplating some of the normal, common perplexities of everyday life. What should I eat for lunch; how much longer can Fidel Castro possibly live; what do they mean by "economic stimulus package;" and whether or not a picture of a urinating vagina is essential to an editorial piece in this issue of the magazine.

Ahhh, retirement... They told me I wouldn't have to make these tough decisions anymore, but they didn't know about life with our new editor Jim Goad. How could they possibly know? How could anyone know? He's a walking, talking, singing fist-in-your-face controversy. The Trucker Fags In Denial comic alone this month is going to cost me three-and-a-half hours of explaining... I won't even go into the whole lesbian thing. It's like my friend Maya having to explain how she got a rug burn on her chest...

And of course, once Jim Goad starts, everyone has to follow. Have you read Erotic City lately? That's had to cost us at least three advertising accounts in the last two months.

And then, to top it all off, I've got this incredible pressure to measure up. Yeah, right... You know those pornos where there are two guys doin' it with a hot little porn star, and one of the guys has a normal-sized penis and the other has a huge monster dick? That's kind of the way I feel trying to write a 200 word column every month in the same magazine as Jim Goad. I'm having some serious feelings of inadequacy.

I tried to get Goad to write my column for me. I bribed him. I offered him money. I offered him sexual favors (not with me personally, but with others in the office). He wouldn't go for it. Goddamn ethical ex-cons.

So I said to myself, "Self, what are you gonna do about this?" And I answered myself back, "Self... Have another Bacardi and Coke." That's right. I've got your economic stimulus package. Right here...