Excerpts from: The Journals Of A 21st Century Schizoid Man
This book is a fictional novel;
Max Stalin and his toy Guillotine
This is the story of Maxwell the Stalinist. Max likes Country Joe Stalin and he has no problem with leaders who commit mass murder. Max is one of the only Marxist-Leninists here in Wichita that I know. He’s a short thin fellow with thinning brown hair. He is probably about 10 years younger than I am.
“That guy just creeps me out,” said Phaedra after she first met him at his home. Max lives in a working class neighborhood in a fairly-nice green-wooden house that he rents. He actually has a model of a Guillotine from the French Revolution that they used to sell along with such monster models as Frankenstein and Dracula, back in the 1960s. It sat on his fireplace mantel, along with his other collectables. We often sat in his front room, on one of his two couches, drank beer, which we set on his coffee table and discussed various politics.
“Well you have to take what he says with a grain of salt,” I replied. “I think he says things he really doesn’t mean.
“Since the 1960s, after World War II, the US set out to destroy any credibility to the new socialist governments of Asia,” Max said the first day Phaedra met him, at his home. “Their idea was to do whatever they could get Americans to think of Mao Zedong, Joseph Stalin, Kim Il Sung and later, Pol Pot as nothing more than mass murderers.
….But here is this thing. Any leader who kills a lot of people is probably getting rid of a lot of scum—people that no one really wants around anyway. I have little doubt that some people deserve to be dragged into the street and shot in the head. Consider what it would be like to do that to Sam Brownback?”
He sure had a point there. Since his first term as Governor, Brownback has destroyed our public educational system, our health care system for the poor and disabled, he’s run our economy into the ground and he has hindered my ability to even get decent work. Heck—I’d like to see him shot and then hung upside down from a Kwick Shop the way they did Benito Mussolini and his mistress after they had been shot, so that passers-by could spit on them. I could really get into that. I have to admit, I really hate that bastard Brownback. But Phaedra found little to like about all of that.
“I really don’t like murders per say, but some people just need to be gotten rid of,” Max said. “Consider David and Charles Koch. Wouldn’t it be great if we could take those bastards out and just shoot them in the head?”
For the record, I really don’t want to kill the Koch Brothers. I’m not really violent or cruel person, but we all have our darker dreams, and finishing off the Koch brothers is one of mine. I would love to see David and Charles Koch dragged out in the street and shot in public. They continuously try to buy elections and destroy what little democracy we have left in this country. Their money should be redistributed to where it is needed.
“And while you’re at it, why not Brownback’s personal punk from Wichita; Kansas Representative Mike O’Connally,” I added in. “And don’t forget our lousy Kansas Secretary of State Kris Kobach.”
It didn’t take me long to find myself swept up in the “let just kill’em all” fantasy.