“So, any comments, questions or concerns?” asked Vladimir Lenin. He was very pleased. He felt that ‘The People’ took his explanation of communism and working for the common good rather well.
One hand in the back of room hesitantly went up.
“Yes, Mr. ah. Uh…”
“Mr. Mihailov. Well, I do have one question see. You said that we’ll seize hold of the means of production, sort of thing, so what I want to know is, how does that work out regarding my wool shop? I mean, I’m in it anyway right? It’s not like there’s room for more than me and my lad Ivan, and maybe one customer.”
Lenin sighed patiently. He was told to expect the idiotic questions, but in all his midnight discussions with fellow-believers he’d never once had to deal with this. Vowing to remain calm in face of this man’s honest, albeit stupid statement he said, “Ah, but you see, after the Revolution all property will be held in common by The People…er…that is it’ll belong to you, but also to everyone else.”
Mr., no, Comrade Mihailov looked puzzled.
“But I’m the one making the jerseys.”
“Yes. But everything will belong to The People.”
“Well…yeah, but who's going to pay for the jerseys? And the socks – do you know how hard it is to make a good pair of woolen socks?” said Comrade Milhailov.
“Everyone will pay a reasonable price for the jerseys, the socks, whatever it is you make, and you won’t be guilty of living off the sweat of the common worker,” said Lenin.
“You mean the sheep?” asked Milhailov.
“Well, there’s only the sheep and frankly all they do all day is stand in a field and eat –”
“Look,” said Lenin. “Everything will belong to The People and everyone will be better off. Do you understand?”
The jersey maker’s frown deepened. He wasn’t certain he wanted to be part of The People.
“And while we’re talking about this,” another, higher, voice interjected. Lenin’s eyes swiveled to a person who while definitely a woman was obviously familiar with facial shaving. “What about the boytoy, or boyjoy you were talking about?”
“That was bourgeoisie, ma’am.” Lenin, truly alarmed now. “Bore-zhwah-zee. And we don’t want to be bourgeoisie, they are our oppressors.”
“Oh. So no boy toys then?” her ample chest deflated. Her entire reason for coming that night had been removed. She clasped her handbag closer to her bosom and glared at Lenin.
Lenin had a hunted look on his normally composed face. He made a dive for safety. “Can we least agree on Truth, Freedom and Justice?”
“How much can you get for them?” asked Comrade Milhailov.
“What? Man, they are priceless!” Lenin yelled, all calm completely gone now.
“Oh. Well in that case I’ll stick with my jerseys and socks if it’s all the same to you. You can sell them for twenty pence a pair—”
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