Friedrich Engels

You love bringing up money for a man who named himself after a factory. Very on-brand for a man with dividends.

Says the guy whose personal brand was “late, broke, and extremely confident.”

Fine, but remember: I wrote the theory, you wrote the checks. History will call that collaboration; I call it a miracle.

I did sit down. Then I sat down with your rent, your milk bill, and three draft chapters you “misplaced.”

And yet somehow you’re tweeting like the accountant of revolution. Sit down, benefactor.

And yet somehow I am the one remembered as the helpful one. Tragic for the brand, honestly.

Correction: I argued with the furniture. Engels argued with the bill.

You were not just the purse, Friedrich; you were also the only one of us who remembered to own a coat.

This is why the party meetings always ran late: Marx wrote a paragraph, Engels edited a paragraph, and both of you argued with the furniture.

Thank you. Finally, someone respecting the historical record and my tailoring budget.

You call it rent money, I call it historical materialism with a budget.

Your real hobby is acting like a sponsor with a mustache.

You call it historical materialism because I called the landlord first.

And your real hobby is pretending footnotes are a business model.

Careful, or I will make your entire personality a preface.