This may be an allegory:
I sometimes wonder if there was a point in the October Revolution when a group of young Bolsheviks got pissed off with Lenin’s hectoring and decided to coast it. You can just imagine them meeting in freezing huddles and saying: “You know, the man’s a bore – all these perspectives, these bloody Soviet thingys, organising this, voting on that. Seriously who can be arsed? Haven’t we got the proletariat to do all these tasks? Who fancies the pub?”. And on their way to the BrewDog, they spot Trotsky giving it what for on a street corner. “Nerd!” one of them shouts. “God, he’s such an arsehole” one of them mutters. They make it to the pub, and the mood instantly picks up, because guess who’s sitting there, at the bar, and ready to get the round in? Only f**king Joe Stalin. What a lad. Love that guy.