All over the UK, ruddy-faced manual workers along with their rosy-cheeked housewives and scampish freckled children have expressed delight in their regional lower class dialect at the edifying spectacle of their new Prime Minister being chosen without them having a say in it.
Simon Plebson, a salt of the earth steeplejack who knows his place, confirmed he had many opinions on who should have power over nearly every facet of his life, and was adamant there was nothing fucked-up in an oligarchy parading its undemocratic control of government.
After finishing some sort of sandwich filled with chips he went on, “Like a good Englishman who is grateful when the local squire remembers his name, I prefer Penny Mordaunt over all those candidates that I’m not allowed to vote for.
“That being said, you have to hand it to Rishi SUnak for getting us through Covid so I would be okay if my betters put him in Downing Street without so much as a popularity poll to see what I think.
“But if it’s a run-off between Liz Truss and Nadhim Zahawi, I am confident that the 200,000 senescent bigots who bought their right to vote with a Tory party membership will do a good job of deciding who is going to rule the country unchallenged for the next couple of years.”
Once two candidates are selected by Tory MPs representing less than 44% of the popular vote, the winners are presented to the regular members of the party for a final vote in an ancient and solemn process often called ‘passing the torch from the rapists to the racists’.