Mr and Mrs Proletarian, together with young Master and Miss

 Proletarian, eagerly awaited the coming of

Commissar Christmas. They had all sent their messages to NoPocol

 (North Pole Collective) to let the Commissar

 know what they wanted. The messages had gone out in good time

 because, as everyone living in collectivist

 paradise knows, the redistribution of presents doesn’t happen

 overnight. The Commissar and his army of

 spetsnelf kommandos need time to confiscate the presents of counter-

revolutionaries, reactionaries, kulaks

 and other enemies of the revolution. Perhaps they would intercept

 Father Christmas, that running dog, paper

 reindeer capitalist, and pinch, sorry, liberate UNA presents too.  Then

 all the party members have to take their

pick before the ordinary comrades get the left overs, sorry, their equal

share.

Soon Mr and Mrs Proletarian would get the word to go to the

distribution centre with all their neighbours. They

 would wait their turn in the queue, as is tradition. Tea would be served

from the festive samovar and if they

 were lucky they would maybe get a small celebratory vodka. A car

 carrying the Hierarchs would drive by and

 hopefully they would be able to catch a glimpse of the guardians of the

 people. They probably wouldn’t, but

 they were ever optimistic. The Hierarchs were always very busy and it

 was good of them to come out and see

 the comrades at Christmas.

Then Commissar Christmas would arrive in the magic Soundouk. He

 and all his spetsnelves would leap into

action. There was no time to waste; everyone was listening for their

number to be called. If you missed your

turn you would have to wait until next year. Yes, Christmas in the Red

 Blok was definitely the best. Or so they had been told.