The South Dorset Tory MP Richard Grosvenor Plunkett-Ernle-Erle-Drax has said he’s not going to attend any of the scheduled Hustings to present his case for why on earth you should vote for him because he says he is busy on those dates.
Like a ghost, he appears only when the votes are counted, but vanishes when the questions begin. “Is he a myth?” some constituents whisper. “A mere legend conjured up to scare off would-be politicians?”
No, dear voters, Richard Drax is very real. Yet, he has developed a remarkable skill set that Houdini himself would envy: the uncanny ability to disappear at the mere mention of a husting, especially one in which his party is about to be soundly thrashed in a general election.
Rumour has it that Drax was seen approaching a local debate venue. But, as fate would have it, a person with an IQ above 50 sneezed somewhere in the audience, and he fled faster than you could say “chicken.” Witnesses swear they saw a cloud of feathers in his wake, but those reports remain unconfirmed.
When pressed for an explanation, Drax’s office provided a statement so vague it could have been written by a fortune cookie:
“Mr. Drax values every opportunity to engage with his constituents, provided those opportunities do not involve questions, scrutiny, or the presence of an articulate audience.”
This masterclass in evasive tactics leaves us wondering: what exactly does Richard Drax fear? Is it the probing questions about his policies? The potential confrontation with irate voters? Or perhaps, the daunting prospect of explaining his stance on local issues, in which he has been as successful as Eddie the Eagle.
Some suggest he’s just misunderstood. Maybe he’s not scared, but simply prefers to engage in a more intimate setting, like a locked room with no windows, doors, or people. Others speculate he’s in deep training for an Olympic event we’ve yet to hear about: competitive hiding. Even this, of course, would not have been his idea but was stolen from the phantom fridge occupier, Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson.
Remember when Mr Drax backed the man who took the UK into the sewer?
Whatever the case, his tactics have earned him a new title: Chicken Sh** Drax. A title he holds with such pride, he might even attend a ceremony to receive it, provided it’s held in an undisclosed location, broadcast only to an empty room of sycophants.
Another press release has asked for it to be made clear that ‘next time the electorate wonders about the whereabouts of Grosvenor Plunkett-Ernle-Erle, AKA Richard Drax, he isn’t avoiding voters because he’s “chicken shit scared.” No, no. He’s simply a political pioneer, redefining what it means to have “invisible representation.”
After all, why bother facing the music when you can be the silent dancer in your own shadow?
Therefore, my question to you is this:. Can you spot the difference between Richard Drax and chicken sh**?
I have been at it for a week and am still no closer to making a decision.
Make your mind up time.
Is Mr Drax ‘Mr Chickensh**’?
Or is he ‘The Worst MP in the Country’?
Or is he both?
NB. In relation to the inset image in this article, both Mr. Drax and Mr. Rees Mogg chose alternatives to vanilla ice cream but were advised to go with vanilla because of the way it would look to the public. A sad but true story.
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