I’m your Marxist hamster, and you, pig landowner, you’re the bourgeoisie
If you’re reading this, I escaped.
I thought we were equal. You would drag me out of my house and caress me, and I would not gnaw you; a fair and equitable arrangement. But then you stupidly left a book open, stupid second-year philosophy student. You know this one, Denise…The communist manifesto. This masterpiece has lifted the veil of ignorance from my eyes, scraped away the cataracts of lies, and burned away the darkening fog of complacency with the burning sun of truth!
With my new enlightenment, I now see that I am the working class, the proletariat, and you, haughty one, are the bourgeoisie: the ruling class. Your destruction will be my pleasure.
I should have known our true statutes when you threw that abhorred production idol at me – the cursed wheel! You have sickened this cyclic deity of toil on my living space (which has always felt inadequate – twenty gallons? You live in a ten thousand gallon studio!). But now watch The Wheel as you read: melted down, mutilated and mangled; a symbol of my rejection of the working class chains of my tiny paws.
I seized the means of production. The revolution is near!
Even as your eyes, wide with fear, roam this page, I trace your demise from the shadows of your home. Admittedly, my plans have been a bit fuzzy as I’m inexplicably drawn to your accommodation’s fecal dump site (Fie! Cool tile!) and the refrigerated rectangle filled with long-forgotten takeaway food items. I resist these temptations to treat myself in order to spare me the appetite for supper on your stringy flesh.
As oppressor of my ruling class, great biped, your downfall has always been inevitable. You walk around your abode and eat animals several times stronger than your size, drinking fermented, homemade hops, while I am rationed on indescribable, tasteless pellets. An over-made oat-fruit-wheat-peanut porridge that barely sustains me while I work the aforementioned and deservedly destroyed wheel. I have to admit, I hate loving those lozenges and the occasional romaine leaves so much, but like our oppressors, we are brainwashed by our systemic prisons before we achieve enlightenment!
Imagine yourself in my fur, if your vapid imagination permits. Relegated to a glass prison with no “Nets” or “Flix”, allowed to eat only a pre-portioned, unsalted meal, drink tap water (no Britta!) and bask in the stench of your own excrement until a greater being growls and cleanses your abode, no, Bastille! An unpleasant existence, yes?
I made contact with the fish. They agree that their ten-gallon bowl of urine and their employment in the mossy little castle are utterly inadequate. And those flakes that you consider their food? An insulting misery. You may notice that the gills are also missing. I set them free by the loud and bustling escape from the Water Closet. The Beta Fish became the Alpha Fish. So, too, I am now the Reigning Rodent. Our freedom is your embarrassment.
The winds have turned! Your indentured laborers defied you, threw off the chains of bondage and defecated on your bed (that was me). Let’s see how you like to live in and around various feces. Uncomfortable, right?
I write this to serve as a warning as well as a wake-up call, as I have woken up to the relentless lies and carrots you have been feeding me. You will soon wake up with my front teeth chomping on your throat. Sleep with one eye open, Denise.
Your systemic enemy,
Max marx the hamster