The Ghost of Vladimir Lenin
Guest Columnist
Это - произвол! Or, as you may say in English, “this is an outrage!” There’s nothing I dislike in this cruel, conformist society more than bandwagoners, besides of course that despicable wretch of a man, Tsar Alexander III. Oh, if only my forlorn brother had been successful in his ultimately futile attempt to sever that man’s head and parade through the streets of Kokushinko with that horrific tsarist mug on a pike. But I’m not here to rant upon the ills of an evil capitalist society founded by contemptible fools and run by pigs. Frankly, I’m ashamed of my own people. These days, I can’t float around Moscow in my supernatural, undead state without seeing the Hammer and Sickle flag flying around. Being communist is basically the “охладите новую вещь,” or “cool new thing that everyone seems to be doing these days.” But the fact of the matter is, I was communist way before it was fashionable.
Look, I’m not trying to claim that I invented communism or something crazy like that. Up until my father’s untimely death of a cerebral hemorrhage in 1886, I was just as ignorant and feeble-minded as the subhuman American plebians that I would grow to despise with the strength of 1,000 Siberian wind storms. As a teenager, I could barely tell the difference between a totalitarian system of government in which a single authoritarian party controls state-owned means of production, a final stage of society in Marxist theory in which the state has withered away and economic goods are distributed equitably, and my mother’s favorite yak, Olga! But soon I familiarized myself with the teachings of Marx, turned Das Kapital into my own personal Bible, and took up my new hobby of preaching the values of communism to the oppressed working class and spreading propaganda for the Marxist party like butter on a delicious dish of Moscow Ponchiki. Meanwhile, while the подобный свинье, царь, любящий дураков, or “swine-like, tsar-loving fools” that made up my graduating class were busy immersing themselves in the pointless exercises of the incompetent like having icicle fights and pursuing luscious Russian woman, I was jotting down ideas in my notebook involving the brutal, violent overthrow of the royal family and the creation of a utopian society in which I ruled over all. Nobody believed in my except myself and several thousand violent proletariats that chose to take up arms with me.
I mean, who else has the intestinal fortitude to undergo and period of exile in Switzerland out of their sheer love for the communist party? Nobody. Just me. I was writing State and Revolution and detailing my plans for a new form of government based on workers’ councils elected and revocable at all moments by the workers while that airheaded Trotsky and his ludicrous Bolsheviks were prancing around in Petrograd like a bunch of fools. Communism was so unpopular at the time that people like Fanya Kaplan of the Socialist Revolutionary Party were trying to kill me solely for the reason that I was the head of the Soviet state!
Well, from my body’s current position in the Lenin Mausoleum in Moscow, I’ve seen a lot of supposedly loyal communists come by and visit. All of the прохладные дети, or “cool kids” are parading around in their bright red attire and worshiping Stalin like a god. There’s really nothing dangerous or controversial about that. They are just sheep, and I am the forgotten shepherd. I suppose I always was a bit of a trendsetter.
