Karl Marx's Dangerous Addiction
by B. Russell
Karl Marx awoke from his bed with the cold sweats again.
He gripped the pillows tightly and tried to hold out, but the
cravings were overwhelming and he was taken over by its force.
Slipping out of the bedroom, careful not to wake his wife, he
snuck out the back door into a shadowed alleyway where he met up
with a dealer of the cloth. Pawning his Swatch, he procured a few
sheets of the Bhagavad Gita. Reading a couple of pages, he once
again felt sated, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Soon the
drive for spiritual fulfillment would hit him again, harder
than before, and he would have to sell his body for sexual favors again.
For Karl Marx was addicted to the Opiate of the Masses.
It all started with a freebie from a neighborhood dealer named
Beth Johnson. She invited him to a barbeque they were having in her backyard,
and Karl wanted to get back to his legos (he was building one of the castle adventure sets),
but the promise of seeing what was underneath Beth's puffy cardigan sweater sent his
heart racing, so he agreed. Everything was going fine until Beth said grace before
beginning to eat her pickled pig testicles, and Karl was like, "Hey, what's up with that?!"
That was Karl Marx's first taste of religion, but it wouldn't be his last.
He started out innocently enough, going to the local Unitarian church for backrubs
and mutual support of humanitarian principles. Then he tried out a Non-Denominational
Christian church. He moved up to Protestant church when those other watered-down
versions had lost their buzz, and soon he was a raging Catholic, singing in their
choir on Sundays and flogging himself for penance when he got back from the University.
Then he began experimenting with exotic religions. He tried Judaism for a little variety,
then he took a hit of Islam, which was some pretty hard shit that landed him in the hospital.
Then he tried some Eastern religions: Hinduism for a while, then Confucianism.
He would mix the religions sometimes: he'd try Buddhism and Shintoism together,
which seemed to work pretty well, then he would try to mix Catholicism and Buddhism
and that would end in another trip to the hospital. When he wasn't doing religion
he was scrounging for money to pay for it: his constant struggle with poverty led
him to the pits of despair and delusions of a utopic future where the common worker
overthrows the ruling class and establishes an ideal society where everyone gets
treated fairly. As if! That was when he decided to call it quits for good and make a clean break.
Karl Marx had been in and out of Athiest rehab since the age of 13.
His parents forced him to go and, being the revolutionary stubborn type,
he never took to its nihilism just to spite them. As soon as he was out,
he was back on the streets reading Psalms or humming Gregorian chants with
the shady types down by the corner. When he finally resolved to kick the
habit, he announced it to his colleagues and was greeted with disgust:
most of them were following in the Hegelian tradition at the time, and
everyone knew that Hegel was a giant pothead. Nevertheless, he continued
to develop his own personal philosophy, which ironically functioned as a
kind of religion in itself, sending him back into a dangerous cycle of dogma-sniffing and denial.
Meanwhile, Karl had became one of the world's strongest advocates for a
religion-free world. "Stay away from religion you fucking fuckers" was his
famous battle-cry in the well-known work "The Communist Manifesto," co-authored
by revolutionary thinker and "fuck-buddy" Friedrich Engels. Publicly, Marx
adamantly condemned religion, calling it many dirty names like "nigga" or "hippie."
How ironic it is that
behind closed doors Karl Marx had once again entered the downward spiral towards
salvation. For most of his years he lived a two-faced life, one as a cross-dressing
religion addict who sucked off sailors for pamphlets, and the other as a
revolutionary academic who wrote such works as "The Essence of Christianity" and
"Swedish-Made Penis Enlarger Pumps and Me: This Sort of Thing Is My Bag, Baby."
On March 14 1883, in the midst of completing his final work, "Capital,"
Karl Marx died in his armchair, overdosed on Christian Scientology.
He was wearing clean underwear.
Why was Karl Marx sitting in his armchair on that fatal day in March? The world may never know.
But one thing we do know is that there's a lesson to be learned from the life of this
great thinker and writer who, incidentally, brought much death and destruction to humanity through
his idealistic vision of a world without economic exploitation.
A great lesson indeed is to be found. What is that lesson, you ask? Hell if we remember...
but we were pretty sure that it involved weed.
We are soooo stoned.
you've had enough bud