An Open Letter To The Green Party: Let Me Lead You, I'm Edgy!

With the leadership of everyone's fourth favourite political group Green Party up for grabs, it's time to send in your CV. Oscar goes one better, sending a (totally paper-free) open letter proving his strong tree-like roots in Green Party political tradition of aiming for the fringes of Parliament.

The Green Party’s high-profile (for them) leader Caroline Lucas is stepping down. I’ve perused the list of no-hopers gunning for her position and none of them will do. The party needs someone dynamic (but Green), someone who’ll give them an edge (with a Green tint). Someone, as Van Morrison sang (about me), “exactly like you” (me). In a political climate dominated by untrustworthy liars with next to no ideas the Greens are a bastion of fair-to-middling integrity. They believe in some stuff and you know what? So do I. Plus, I’m ravenously ambitious and am totally up for hanging out in that sweet, subsidised Commons bar. So I’m throwing my hat in the ring and I’m doing it in time-honoured style: with an open letter.

Dear the Green Party,

It’s almost as if the fates have aligned: you are looking for a new leader and I have discovered that I have casual but monstrous political ambitions. You need me and I need you. Let me lead you, Green party. I am the man to take you back to the centre of power. Well, not the centre, but the sexy fringe. I have a long-standing affinity with your party. Here’s why:

I love trees

I refer to myself, without irony, as a “mighty oak”

I love trees so much that, for the first three years of my life, I believed myself to be an acorn. As a teenager, I self-identified as a sapling and now, as a fully-grown man, I refer to myself, without irony, as a “mighty oak”. Given the choice between saving a human being and saving a tree I will chose the tree every time. I make no bones about this. I make no bones about anything for bones harm trees and to harm trees is against everything I stand for.

I am fully prepared to never have any political power   

Power corrupts. This is why your party remains uncorrupt. I say this to you now: I will never let pragmatic difficulties get in the way of the ecstatic visions that dominate my political thinking. All I ask is that you let me hang out in the Commons bar so I can pretend to my Dad that I’ve made something of my life. Aside from that, the idea of having actual political power makes me strongly ill. To want power would be to betray the founding principles of your great party. If you want some power-hungry Etonian, snuffling around for truffles of political influence like some greedy piggie well, my friends, you have the wrong man! (FYI: if you do want that kind of man, I would happily re-consider my stance RE: snuffling for truffles of political influence)

If you want me to batter a herd of methane-producing cows into a row of shallow unmarked graves then, dear Green party, I will.

I am friends with your celebrity supporters Thom Yorke and Brian May

We talk Physics together; we jam together in an eco-aware supergroup; we push the political debate together.

I throw up whenever I see anything that pollutes

I was expelled from my school when, on a trip to the historic coal mines of Wales; I threw up upon seeing some discarded coal. Such is my aversion to pollutants. I abhor cows and the methane they create. I promise to kill cows with my bare hands. I will not shy away from brutal, murderous work if it needs to be done. If you want me to batter a herd of methane-producing cows into a row of shallow unmarked graves then, dear Green party, I will. Similarly, I only ever cycle. If I can’t cycle, I use a pony and trap. I refuse to even recognise the existence of cars (save electric ones) – a firm belief that has seen me spend much of my adult life in hospitals following various accidents involving the polluting death chariots and my own vomit.

My carbon footprint is negative

My carbon footprint is negative. I have found a way to breathe out oxygen and breathe in carbon dioxide. The planet is sick and I am its cure. I will suck the toxins out of it if it kills me (and my doctor says it will, shortly). I see that one of my rivals, Pippa Bartolotti, drives a Jaguar. How could you possibly chose her over a man like me, a man prepared to die of horrifying carbon dioxide poisoning in order to lead the beloved Green Party to another slew of third-placed by-election victories?

I’ve made my point(s).



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