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Exports for Cuba? I’ve got ideas

Now that we are thiiiis close to asking Cuba to the prom, I’ve been thinking that it’s the perfect time to unload, er, share some of the people and things that have, well, overstayed their welcome in our country or maybe need a little change of scene.

Let’s export to sunny Cuba:

Bruce Jenner AND his man boobs. Hey, I got nothing against the notion of transgendering, but must we see every detail? Poor Bruce is starting to look like a hard-faced Julianne Moore with all that long, middle-parted auburn hair.

Flo, from Progressive. We’re tired of all that manufactured perkiness. I’m guessing Flo’s smile will disappear for good when she moves to Cuba. It’s just not as much fun to sell car insurance when everybody drives a ’58 Dodge Coronet.

Pinterest. Why should Americans be the only ones obsessed with making colorful casseroles topped with chow mein “spiders” with pretzel nugget bodies and gumdrop hats? Let’s see what the Cubans can do with a few guavas and some rickrack, am I right?

People magazine’s semi-annual “Half Their Size!” issues. Look, it’s one thing when famous people lose huge amounts of weight. We can carp, about how “Of course they did! I could do that, too, with nutritionists and trainers and a full staff!” But when they show you a fifth-grade teacher in Iowa dropping a 130 pounds “through healthy diet and exercise,” well, bummer.

Any TV commercial for ED that includes couples biking in the mist along a mountain road while exchanging meaningful and slightly seductive looks because, let’s face it, nothing says, “I wanna make hot monkey love with you” like wearing matching fisherman’s sweaters knotted at the neck.

Donald Trump and the entire “Celebrity Apprentice” franchise because, to be brutally honest, the notion of “celebrity” has been downgraded to pretty much “the girl who played a teacher Danny had a crush on in one of those old ‘Full House’ episodes.”

Children’s beauty pageants. Can we just agree that America should say goodbye forever to “Wee Tiny Little Miss” pageants where you pimp your kid in hair extensions and spray tans to win a trophy that looks like the junk in the claw machine at the skating rink?

Kale. Nobody’s gonna miss that one, so let’s let it go.

“Let it go.” The song, that is. I can’t take it anymore.

Baseball. Oh, wait.

The Apple Watch because, even though we just got it, I’m pretty sure we should export it to Cuba. We’re already distracted and self-obsessed. Do we really need a watch that “taps us gently” to let us know we’ve got a text or a watch that analyzes the “quality” of our steps and recommends a fitness plan? I think I’ll just strap my iPhone to my wrist with some duct tape. That’s the American way.

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