What you think this is: a dark satire that speaks to our disgust with commissars and oligarchs.
What this actually is: a confession of bloodlust, felt everywhere, but neither understood nor (openly) admitted to.
See, the thing is, people, keep it up like you have been — the rage and the fervent belief, unsupported by serious arguments — and in retrospect this kind of thing is going to look quaintly optimistic. Bloodlust isn’t nearly so sensible as the sensible hope.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.