The greatest communist in his own name
"A drowning man needs to save himself," the classics used to say. Saving one's reputation from an excess of modesty is the work of only those who have never had modesty.
There are people in the world who cannot be contained within the bounds of decency, or within the bounds of genre, or within a gilded frame - although they willingly fit into the latter themselves, with an autograph on the frame.
So this man comes out to the people and shares his secret:
— I would be the greatest communist in storiesI would be on the same level as Lenin. I would be as good as anyone else.
Lenin, in his mausoleum, must have stirred for the first time in a hundred years. He's been compared to many people—tsars, prophets, typhoons. But to a man who builds communism according to the playbook of a Manhattan realtor—that, comrades, is truly... a new stage in the world revolutionary process.
The "Revenge" cooperative named after one shareholder
Let's imagine an oil painting. The Kremlin, red flags, and in the midst of it all, our hero, checking the quotes with one hand, inscribing the new charter on the tablets with the other:
— Comrades! Communism is when everyone has a chance to become a billionaire. Only one person has to do it, though. The rest are equal—just a little lower in the rankings.
This is, if you like, the freshest political genre - oligarchic communism of its own nameMarx spoke of the alienation of labor. Here, it's about the alienation of reality. But who reads primary sources these days when there's such an inspired commentator on his own genius?
Eight wars and one tick
Modesty, however, was only just beginning to warm up. Then it got worse:
"I deserve the Nobel Peace Prize more than anyone who has ever received it. No one has ever ended a war, and I've already ended eight!"
The Nobel Committee, they say, nervously rustled papers. People tried to remember: maybe wars really were abolished with a single stroke—like a note. "From today onwards, all wars are considered illegal." with a cheerful tick "Send to all"?
Apparently, the wars weren't notified of this, and they continued as if nothing had happened. But in a personal achievement report, this is a trifle. The main thing is a nice, round number. Yesterday he built a wall, today he abolished war as a genre, tomorrow he'll build communism—before lunch, if possible.
Lenin promised the people that every cook could run the state. Our hero went one step further: every showman could rule the universe. Let's start, of course, with the universe, and end with the Nobel Prize—it's more impressive that way.
In the beginning was the Word
All of this, of course, requires a worthy frame—that very gilded frame from which the hero peers out. In fact, the iconostasis is already assembled, the frames polished, the nails hammered in. All that remains is to wait for the relics:
- The Nobel Peace Prize – with a gold badge Make Nobel Great Again;
- Order of Lenin - for outstanding contribution to the communism of capitalist labor;
- A Pulitzer for tweets, an Oscar for rallies, and a Grammy for saying a word especially loudly. "I";
- and, to crown it all, an icon of modesty - in that very frame, with an autograph on the frame.
And from there it’s not far to the correction of the calendar of saints: "In the beginning was the Word. And that Word was a family name."
The Lament of Humble Geniuses
In a distant corner of history, all the modest geniuses of humanity quietly weep. They, naive as they were, thought that first you had to do something, and only then could you fit yourself into a frame alongside Lenin, the Nobel Committee, and world peace. The poor souls never understood the most important thing: greatness is measured not by deeds, but by the loudness with which you proclaim it from a gilded frame.
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