Lenin Smashes Out Of Glass Box To Congratulate Corbyn and Zarah On New Party

Lenin broke free from his glass display today; congratulated Jeremy Corbyn and Zarah Sultana on launching a new party; and urged unity against mounting Blairite attacks from what he described as the “petit bourgeoisie wing of British politics.” Shattering the case that had held him since 1924, Vladimir Lenin emerged from Moscow and travelled to London in a decommissioned Soviet submarine. Surfacing in the Thames and striding onto Whitehall, he dusted off his coat (and his kalashnikov) and addressed a growing crowd of Marxist revolutionaries and Corbynite hardliners. He told the crowd that Britain stood at a turning point. The rise of Corbyn’s new movement, swelling with hundreds of thousands of sign-ups, reminded him of 1917. “History returns in new shapes,” he said. “This time, in allotments and WhatsApp groups.” He praised the energy behind “Your Party,” calling it a “dialectical breakthrough” and a “beautiful negation of Starmerism.” However, he warned against complacency. “Revolution dies without real change,” he said, drawing rapturous cheers. Tensions briefly flared when Labour MP Jess Phillips, hidden among the crowd, heckled: “I’d stab you in the front, not the back!” Lenin paused, frowned, and replied: “Comrade Phillips, kindly fuck off — or we’ll assign you to a gulag with cuts to mental health services and no heating and leave you their until you are a pensioner, just like you would have voted for.”

Wading deeper into the assembled Corbynites, Lenin posed for selfies, shook hands, admired handmade placards, and joined the crowd in a rousing chorus of The Internationale. He declared the first-past-the-post system weaker than many believe. “When people lose trust, rules lose force,” he said. “All power to the soviets!” He warned that the old two-party duopoly faced its first true test in decades. Without a genuine alternative on the left, he argued, right-wing populism could surge, risking the rollback of LGBT rights and increased scapegoating of minorities—“as seen by the tsar,” he added with a glare. Turning toward the Cenotaph, beside a red flag fluttering in the wind, Lenin urged: “Learn from our mistakes. We fail when we let passion flicker into faction. Or when we actually take these manufactured antisemitism attacks seriously without overtly mocking them for their true riduculous nature, we empower them.” He continued "One does not disarm the ruling class with olive branches — one drives it into retreat with steel. I did not rise from my tomb to watch you negotiate your own defeat. This is not 2019. This time, the pitchforks are coming out! History is not a theatre for second chances — and the proletariat will not suffer betrayal twice. The ruling class does not yield to kindness. This time, comrades, it shall be met not with compromise — but with — but with the unflinching hand of class warfare."

He scanned the skyline and continued: “This Nigel Farage fellow is a bourgeois stooge just waiting for a wax mask. Beware Comrade!.”

He called for co-operation among unions, climate groups, tenants’ associations and leftist parties. He demanded bold policies on housing, public ownership, and of course free wifi—and "an end to people paying £1,500 a month to live in damp attics with broken kettles,” he added.

Meanwhile, sources claimed Wes Streeting had been plotting to report the new party to the Electoral Commission with a pre-emptive smear dossier. But his plans were intercepted by a Cheka agent travelling under the pseudonym “Vlad from Hackney.” Streeting’s office declined to comment, though a source confirmed his printer had been mysteriously jammed for 48 hours, and he had nearly been poked with a rolled up flyer with Starmers 10 pledges soaked in Novichok—“an event social media greeted with spontaneous celebration.

As dusk fell, and after riding across Europe on a horse to help cut co2 omissions, Lenin, true to his ideals, returned to his mausoleum —cracked, slightly fogged, but still intact. Before settling back into display, he turned to the crowd, raised one fist, and declared: “Forward, comrades! Long live the revolution!” He nodded at Zarah and Corbs who he had on facetime, smiled, and sank back into stillness.

Lenin in southern England on his way back to Moscow.

The crowd melted into the mist, clutching red roses, battered paperbacks, damp flyers, and thousands of copies of Trotsky’s "What Fascism Is and How to Fight It". For one surreal hour, Britain’s left felt the echo of revolution—and the possibility that history was, once again, preparing to kick the fuckin door down.