Seeing that the coast was clear, Joe took control of distributing the Trust and assumed the title, "Comrade Joe the First, President-for-Life." Newly empowered, he looked around for something else to do and decided to rename Klinkleburg. Joetown suited him better, he said. And it rolls so easily off the tongue, yes?

There was a bit of grumbling, mostly from the saloon owners who would have to change their signs, but it was generally agreed that the new name was much easier to spell than the old one and, all things considered, not worth arguing about.

Like most Poco Cabesans at that time, Joe labored under a severe misunderstanding of the Poco Cabesa Limited Trust. The island's Have-nots had always assumed the Haves were keeping the gravy for themselves, and the Haves didn't concern themselves with what the Have-nots thought or did as long as they stayed in their own neighborhood.

So, when Comrade Joe learned that everyone received the same amount of cash every month it put him into a deep funk. This soon extended to the entire populace after Joe and his kin drank up all the rum on the island.

Encouraged by his new French wife, who came to Poco Cabesa by way of the first Club Med (rumor has it she was fired for pilfering), the new leader reluctantly set to work enticing anyone with two nickels to rub together to come rub them on Poco Cabesa.

Unfortunately, while the names Papa Doc and Baby Doc inspired imaginative bootlicking by multinationals seeking favor and cheap labor, the name Comrade Joe the First elicited impolite if not mocking laughter in corporate hallways throughout the hemisphere.

Joe the First did sign a trade agreement with Castro, but all Joe got out of the deal were a few cinder-block bunkers that are now Joetown's leading grog shops and an armor-plated '37 Chrysler before Fidel stopped accepting his collect calls.

Desperate to make good on his many promises (Joe just can't say no), he even cut a deal with Haiti to act as a subcontractor in its baseball manufacturing business. Alas, the number of Poco Cabesans interested in stitching baseballs was quite small (on top of that, those who were interested weren't very good with their hands).

Therefore, after the required yet perfunctory staging of various poorly attended revolutionary events at the outset of Comrade Joe the First's enlightened regime, the people of Poco Cabesa lapsed back into their tropical slumbers on their island in the sea.

No matter what era in Poco Cabesa's rich history happens to be our current time-warp, cash-bearing visitors have always been more than welcome. But as Hank Campbell soon finds out, there isn't much reason to come to or stay on an island that looks like the moon and smells like the bottom of a bird-cage.

Except, of course, the kingdom of Medillo Grande.