This leads to a wonderful quadrennial spectacle; politicians standing on stage awaiting the announcement of the results, side-by-side with everyone who stood for the seat. It has become part of the culture that all the crazies come out of the woodwork and stand in the Prime Minister's constituency. He is standing there, can't help but have a smile on his face, surrounded by the hopefuls. The BBC cameras are poised.
Tony (Labor Party)
The Conservative in his blue suit, white shirt and blue tie.
The Liberal
The Liberal Democrat
The Green
And;
The British National Party blackshirt skinhead dude (read; British KKK)
Ms Whiplash (Dominatrix Party) (I'm not kidding).
The Nazi
The Communist
The Rastaman
The guy dressed as the pope
And (god rest his soul) Screamin' Lord Sutch of the Official Monster Raving Looney Party, resplendent as ever in striped top hat, Willy Wonka morning coat and an OMRLP rosette almost as big as him. This dude stood in every PM's constituency race since 1972. He shared the stage with them all. Heath; Callaghan: Kinnock: Thatcher: Major; Blaaauurrgghhh; and rarely lost his five grand.
Rarely lost his five grand. What does that say? RIP Screamin', I loved you baby""
Everyone gets Reprazented. Nobody shuffles off stage and shoots up abortion clinics or beats up gays. And the nine guys who voted Nazi crack a beer, crank up the Wagner and celebrate two new friends because last year they only got seven.
And Tony Blair goes back to business - with a pretty good feel for his home town.
Meanwhile, the major parties are allocated equal airtime on the national TV networks, based on previous proportion of votes received. Each is clearly prefaced. "The following is a party political broadcast on behalf of the Conservative Party". No PACS, no swiftboating. Sure there's insults and character slurs, but when they've only got five minutes a day, real issues take priority.
The public are unscrewed. They vote informatively. And the election has cost them nothing but a few extra Euros on sickbags.
And yes, sometimes they still end up with representatives that are complete dicks. But they know one thing for sure - he's not in hock to anyone. He's their dick.
Hey America, I ain't preaching. No system's perfect. But I know what I'll be thinking when the November campaign is in full swing.
When I'm watching the next Swiftboat ad authored by Rove and paid for by backdoor Exxon money siphoned through the Christian Coalition, I'll be thinking of Screamin' Lord Sutch tickling Joe Lieberman's ribs with a feather duster.
When I'm watching John McCain "interviewed" by some sycophantic rightwing talkshow host, I'll be dreaming of him being crushed in congratulation to Ms Whiplash's ample bosom on a crude hardwood stage in a crumbling school hall.
Film that Fox. It's called democracy.
Tony (Labor Party)
The Conservative in his blue suit, white shirt and blue tie.
The Liberal
The Liberal Democrat
The Green
And;
The British National Party blackshirt skinhead dude (read; British KKK)
Ms Whiplash (Dominatrix Party) (I'm not kidding).
The Nazi
The Communist
The Rastaman
The guy dressed as the pope
And (god rest his soul) Screamin' Lord Sutch of the Official Monster Raving Looney Party, resplendent as ever in striped top hat, Willy Wonka morning coat and an OMRLP rosette almost as big as him. This dude stood in every PM's constituency race since 1972. He shared the stage with them all. Heath; Callaghan: Kinnock: Thatcher: Major; Blaaauurrgghhh; and rarely lost his five grand.
Everyone gets Reprazented. Nobody shuffles off stage and shoots up abortion clinics or beats up gays. And the nine guys who voted Nazi crack a beer, crank up the Wagner and celebrate two new friends because last year they only got seven.
And Tony Blair goes back to business - with a pretty good feel for his home town.
Meanwhile, the major parties are allocated equal airtime on the national TV networks, based on previous proportion of votes received. Each is clearly prefaced. "The following is a party political broadcast on behalf of the Conservative Party". No PACS, no swiftboating. Sure there's insults and character slurs, but when they've only got five minutes a day, real issues take priority.
The public are unscrewed. They vote informatively. And the election has cost them nothing but a few extra Euros on sickbags.
And yes, sometimes they still end up with representatives that are complete dicks. But they know one thing for sure - he's not in hock to anyone. He's their dick.
Hey America, I ain't preaching. No system's perfect. But I know what I'll be thinking when the November campaign is in full swing.
When I'm watching the next Swiftboat ad authored by Rove and paid for by backdoor Exxon money siphoned through the Christian Coalition, I'll be thinking of Screamin' Lord Sutch tickling Joe Lieberman's ribs with a feather duster.
When I'm watching John McCain "interviewed" by some sycophantic rightwing talkshow host, I'll be dreaming of him being crushed in congratulation to Ms Whiplash's ample bosom on a crude hardwood stage in a crumbling school hall.
Film that Fox. It's called democracy.
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