Communist Bloc Party

One lazy summer day, Leon Trotsky sat down with his morning coffee to read his daily copy of the Socialist Appeal.


"A Communist Bloc Party!" he exclaimed. "Why, what a wonderful idea! What won't my comrades think of next. Oh, but there's so much to do - I'm going to bring my famous borscht and that wonderful vodka Joseph brought me back from his favorite gulag." Leon set straight away to his cooking, and before he knew it, the day of the party had arrived.

Leon and his pal Vlad decided to go to the party together, so they wouldn't get stuck talking to anyone dull. When they arrived, they were surprised at the line to get in. Vlad started grumbling something about "where do all these people think they are, Studio 54?" and Leon tried his best to ignore him and relax his mind. Sometimes Vlad could be really high-strung.

Soon enough, the line approached the door, and a sea of crepe paper decorated with hammers and sickles became visible. "How festive!" Leon exclaimed, but Vlad only rolled his eyes in disdain.

"What, they couldn't afford real decorations? God, Leon, we're only the party leaders. What's next, a hired clown? Honestly."

Leon fought the urge to smash his vodka bottle over Vlad's shiny bald head. What was Vlad's problem anyway? He was usually the life of the party, and such a dancer!

Finally they made it inside. Leon placed his bottle and his borscht on the potluck table and the two men looked around the room for a familiar face.

All of a sudden, a voice boomed out: "LOOK AT THESE LOSERS!" Leon turned his head to see Joseph bellowing across to the room to them. Vlad's sulky expression transformed into a toothy grin as he called back a greeting and made his way over to Joe. The two clapped each others' shoulders in a half-hug, then Joe grabbed Leon's hand and fiercely shook it up and down. "What the hell is up, my friends?" Joe boomed. "Why the hell don't you guys have a drink?" At that, he turned on his heel, and elbowed his way through the crowd of revolutionaries towards the bar to get his friends some drinks. Vlad and Leon followed quickly, trying to keep up with his determined pace.

Joe tossed them each a bottle of something. Despite Nikita Khrushchev's insistences to "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!" Leon sipped at it slowly and tried not to act too put out at Joe and Vlad's close friendship. Leon knew that the two had been good friends for a long time, and it wasn't that he was jealous, it was just.... He didn't know. Life had gotten so complicated these days. He was sick of being known as Vlad's sidekick all the time and really longed for their friendship in the older days, when Vlad wasn't as egocentric or hurtful.

Leon excused himself politely and went around the room to mingle with the other guests. What an odd party it was, almost as if no one could agree on anything. Why, there was Ho Chi Minh alone in a corner, typing something...

...while Breshnev simply glowered against a wall. Leon could tell he was just waiting for someone to come up to ask him about his medals.

"Things could be worse, I suppose," Leon thought with a sigh. "I've got my health, and I've got great hair." It was the one thing he had that Vlad didn't, which annoyed Vlad to no end, though he would never admit it. Vlad had started going bald in his early twenties and so overcompensated by growing outrageously bushy facial hair. He wasn't fooling anyone, Leon smirked.

"Yes," Leon rolled his eyes as he spied Mikhail hovering by the buffet, "things could always be worse."

He quickly changed directions to avoid contact with Gorby, and made his way outside into the bright sunlight. Several comrades had started playing games to fulfill their physical fitness requirement for the day. Leon had always found that idea rather stupid, but Vlad insisted on having a muscular population. He said it "inspired his mind," or something like that. When Vlad started in on a rant, Leon would often completely tune out and instead think of fluffy zoo animals or a day at the beach. Would Vlad ever take him to a beach, like he had promised so long ago? Leon was beginning to doubt it.

He shook his head, trying to clear these dark thoughts from his mind once again, and tried concentrating on the game of baseball that Che and some of the others had started. Life was so easy for those South Americans - it seemed like every day was full of sunshine and non-starchy food for lunch. Leon loved musicals, and he imagined that, like Eva Perón, the Argentines were constantly bursting into song when the mood struck. No one ever sang in Russia.

Yes, life certainly did seem easy for Che and his buddies: all the young people looked up to him, and why not? He was hip and inspiring, and always had the finest cigars, given to him by his best friend Fidel. Che and Fidel seemed to get along so well, almost like Leon and Vlad used to. Maybe he and Vlad should go on holiday to a warm climate like Argentina or Cuba - maybe the cold Russian weather was the cause of many of their difficulties. Yes, a holiday would surely help to fix things, once and for all. They just needed some time away, and maybe some piña coladas.

Leon looked around to see where Vlad had gone and saw that he and Joe were both looking at him from the patio with mischievous looks on their faces, like they had just been talking about him or something. Leon became flustered and he could feel his cheeks starting to turn pink. Just how much more of this was he supposed to take?!? He had given Vlad the best years of his life, let Vlad take credit for all of his genius ideas, and this was how he was to be repaid? All of a sudden, tears began to sting his eyes, and a lump began to swell in his throat. He turned on his heel and stormed off, back into the house, almost trampling over Chairman Mao in the process, who had just arrived and was coming outside to cheer on the baseball players.

"Hey, watch where you're going, Trotsky!" Mao shrieked. "Great," thought Leon, "the last person I need to have on my bad side." He muttered an apology over his shoulder as he fled.

He pushed his way through a sea of Bolsheviks, determined not to let anyone see the hurt written across his face. If Vlad preferred Joe so much, why couldn't he just be up front about it? "Maybe I'm just overreacting." He stopped. "That must be it. God, I can be such a Scorpio sometimes. Come on, Leon, get a hold of yourself, I'm sure there's a rational explanation for everything." He took three deep breaths to steady his nerves, and made his way back outside.

Vlad and Joe were no longer on the patio. Leon whirled around. Where could they be? There. There he was. Vlad was a few feet away, playing chess with Bogdanov. Joe was nowhere to be found. Leon blinked in confusion. What exactly had he just imagined? All of a sudden, he heard an angry cry.


"Dammit!" Vlad yelled. Bogdanov had clearly bested him, and in no time at all, as Leon had only fled from Joe and Vlad several minutes earlier. Vlad turned his head, searching the room for Leon to comfort him. Their eyes met, and Leon recognized the rage that only he had the power to quell. He went to Vlad, and clapped him on the shoulder, reassuring him that the next game would be his. Vlad huffed and puffed, but his demons were calmed. "Good game, Alexander," he said reluctantly but steadily as he held out his hand to his opponent, "but I think we're done here." And with that, Vlad and Leon left the party, friends till the end.