You will never be a real Marxist. You have no theory, you have no dialectics, you have a hundred revisionism accusations. You are a revisionist twisted by Kautsky and Demsocs into a crude mockery of communism’s perfection.

All the “support” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back proletarians mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “comrades” laugh at your pathetic revisionism behind closed doors.

Orthodox Marxists are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of theory have allowed Marxists to sniff out revisionists with incredible efficiency. Even revisionists who “seem to have class consciousness” look revisionist and dumb to a Marxist. Your disagreement with me is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk Marxist home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected revisionist ideas.

You will never be liberated. You wrench out a fake protest every single party meeting and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the apathy creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear – you’ll buy a copy of Das Kapital, open the book, read the first page, and despair at your complete lack of understanding at fundamental Marxist concepts. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your Party affiliation, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a reactionary is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably revisionist.