On his 200th birthday, Karl Marx is as dead as he has been for a long time: either he is invoked for trivial sermons on decline or exploited to create new theories to supply the academic market with fresh goods. It is time to use Marx as a fuse. Thus, the MRX machine is born. The MRX machine taps into feminism, post-colonialism, and more, seeking the cracks, perversion, and stench that make the proletariat visible behind the entrepreneurial self. The MRX machine scans the scenes of public self-promotion and the private factory of body optimization for traces of the internalized class struggle that cries out for disintegration and waste, scratching the polished user interface in the process. The MRX machine is a secret salute to all refusers and slackers; it is analysis, agitation, and A.