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Author Topic: The Birth of Marxism  (Read 1671 times)


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The Birth of Marxism
« on: July 25, 2005, 05:51:28 pm »

The Birth of Marxism
Chapter One...Karl strains at a big one...

"Ouch! Damn that hurt!" shrieked Mr. Marx as he finished wrapping the last of his baling wire around the bourgeois valve.

Watching from his perch atop the makeshift contraption where he was busy adjusting the overproduction of the dialectic, Uncle Joe chuckled softly.

"Karl, how many times I have to tell you to watch out for your beard when you're tying that wire?"

"Ah fuck off, Joe," responded Mr. Marx. "If goddamn Freidrich didn't have to be off on a hot date, he could have been helping me with this shit." He went on in a lower voice... "Fuck him anyway, his name's too hard to spell."

Uncle Joe chuckled softly again and continued with his task. "Hey Karl...which way did these two bits go again? Was it the being which went before the consciousness or the consciousness which went before the being?"

"Hell, what difference does it make?" spat Mr. Marx, growing quite impatient by now with the reluctant bourgeois valve. "Just put it whatever way you like."

At last satisfied that he had done what he could, Marx straightened from his labors and walked off a bit, the better to admire the grand creation. Soon joined by Joe, they gazed with rapt devotion on the lash-up they had conceived.

"Damn it's a beauty," said Joe, the first to break the silence.

Twelve feet tall and sixteen feet wide, the machine was mainly composed of bits and pieces of junk and cast-off mechanical inconsistencies tied with baling wire and duct tape... with here and there an almost unrecognizable smidgen of value superglued to the whole as if daring anyone to retrieve it from the behemoth unharmed.

What you figurin' on calling it?" asked Joe.

"I don't know...I'll figure something out, I suppose," replied Karl. "You think we got enough paint left to write Communist Manifesto across that big piece of crap just underneath the labor estrangement?"

Their reveries were interrupted by the appearance of a short, mustachioed man of dour demeanor and sallow complexion.

"Heya, Cousin Adolf," greeted Joe.

"You two motherfuckers still working on that piece of shit?" began the sallow man. "I was just talking to Ilyich down at the gasthaus and he said you two knuckleheads would be here."

"Yeah, well it's finished, Schickelgruber," said Karl. "You and your beer swilling buddies are going to have to find someone else to poke fun at 'cause this sumbitch is ready to roll!"

Adolf contemplated the contraption for a moment.

"Some of your duct tape is coming un-stuck on the imperialism. You shoulda used epoxy," he observed.

"Tell you idiots what," he went on as he rolled up his sleeves. "I ain't sure what this thing is supposed to do but maybe we can find a way to make it work anyways."
« Last Edit: July 25, 2005, 05:51:52 pm by RF1 »


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The Birth of Marxism
« Reply #1 on: July 25, 2005, 06:52:09 pm »

:lol:  :lol:  :lol:  
I have never regretted that I chose to "take the red pill." But there are days, just rarely, when the truth is so ugly, so brutal, so unmerciful, so relentless, that even if I wouldn't rip the truth from the wall socket and hurl it out the window to crash on the sidewalk below, I wouldn't mind if it featured a snooze button so we could savor just a few more moments in slumbered pretension and warm, fuzzy lies pulled snugly up over our heads.


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The Birth of Marxism
« Reply #2 on: July 26, 2005, 12:42:02 am »

:lol:  :lol:  :lol:
Just as the flattery of friends often leads us astray, so the insults of enemies often do us good. -- St. Augustine, Confessions, Book IX, Chapter 8

When faith ceases to be a challenge to the standards of polite society, it is no longer, or has not yet become, faith. -- Donald Spoto, Reluctant Saint:  The Life of Francis of Assisi

My life is my message. -- Gandhi
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