Marx The Angry Munchkin
was a malcontented elf.
He seethed with hate when someone had
something more than himself.
He thought it an injustice,
he thought it naked greed,
that someone else should have something
that he himself did need.
He'd crouch inside his hovel
and he'd curse and damn his fate,
and while he could make his life better,
he preferred to sit and hate:
those he thought his betters,
those he thought more blessed,
those who saw their glass half-full,
those who hated themselves less.
He'd sit and brood in envy
then he hatched a master plan,
turn his envy into “Virtue”
and spread “Justice” through the land.
So he penned a manifesto
and turned envy inside out,
those who owned were now, “The Greedy”,
those who coveted, “Devout”.
And then with his toady, Engels,
as the sycophant emcee,
he pushed his petty pamphlet
of his new morality.
The Self-loathing celebrated
and toasted with half-empty glass,
“We now have justification,
let's go kill the upper class!”
So they offed the aristocracy
and placed their heads on sticks
then cried, “The middle class is next!”,
and hurled their “Justice” bricks.
And when they took a breather
they stood shocked and surprised,
their dose of “Justice” still left those
more blessed in others eyes.
They saw for “Justice” to be perfect
it must be equally applied,
so they redefined “The Privileged”
to include some on their side.
Thus the spiral cycled downward
and man fought amongst himself,
first for claims on others' riches,
then for the last scrap on the shelf.
Bloody knives and flying bullets,
broken bats and rocket sparks,
all for elusive “Justice”
of The Angry Munchkin Marx.
And with every burning city,
and with every dispatched ghost,
The Angry Munchkin Marx just laughed,
because he hated Man the most.
And with every rampant famine,
with every tortured scream,
with each destroyed desire,
Munchkin Marx attained his dream.
And the spiral down continues,
The Self-loathing catch their breath,
and soon we'll all know Marx's “Justice”,
and his “Equality” of death.
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