Stirner is really stupid. That is the most obvious aspect of the situation here regarding my former friend, and now longtime enemy, the quite humorous, and now undeniably excusable in polite conversation, as well as raging madman and lunatic who wishes to destroy all that the mighty and indefatigable working class seeks to create before the very inception of their world order Max Stirner. Not even fifteen years ago I can distinctly remember him saying, as he cavorted about the bar where we, the Young Hegelians, and Stirner himself, were sitting, drinking the finest German schnapps while Stirner preferred to drink only milk from that dreadful milk shop of his that only sells skim, a loathsome type of beverage that I despise with a vitriol that comes within a hair’s breadth of my undying hatred for that hideous caricature of a being that only tentatively approaches that which humanity, particularly those of a working class nature, know as “man”, Stirner, who, upon finishing his beverage, proceeded to unwholesomely down every last of our tankards, before he brutally grasped a woman with his grossly over-feminine hands and thrust his hand down her esophagus while screaming, “Vore me you vile slut! Return me to your womb so that my ego may not be challenged by this cruel and hideous world!” It was clear to me then that Stirner was beside himself, a lunatic really, a demon called from the darkest circles of the contrived hell feared in the times of feudal barons and serfs as a means of keeping the population obedient to the will of the wretched clergy, who had made horrendous, erroneous connections between the admittedly “pathetic” works of schopenhauer, and his own vile, stupid, cruel, and boorish fetishes, which he now forced upon this wretched barmaid in a most vulgar manner befitting only the lowest of individuals who have not worked so much as a day in their entire pitiless lives.

I chuckled at the notion that this man believed he could even bother to challenge my analysis, while he preyed upon the unclean likes of the working women, and proceeded to gallantly dump milk onto his suit, and make haste back to my abode before the law would toss me into one of their rotting prison hulks, as a means of continually ensuring that my duty as leader of the working class would be foiled forevermore by the sentence of death.

Sincerely, Karl Marx