The strongest political party?

Great show yesterday kid.
A great show which acted like steroids on the sculptured, muscular thighs of the bogmen in Crossmaglen as they drove their turf spades into the soft, yielding loam.
Dark brooding eyes hidden under flat caps they puffed at Woodbine cigarettes and growled deep in their throat,"Ah,Barney,Barney my boy,you can keep your auld, "Sugar plum fairy" when it comes to ballet,the "Nutcracker Suite is the boy for me."
Tommy my cat put down his book,"Turn that frown into a smile" by Michael McGimpsey and said,
"It is a universal truth that the UUP party are the strongest political party in Northern Ireland."
"Expand Tommy," I cried. "Explain in graphic detail why the UUP are the strongest political party in Northern Ireland."
Tommy brushed a speck of ancient Egyptian dust from his charcoal grey,pinstripe Saville Row suit and said,
"Everytime a member of the UUP come on TV they brag and boast about the amount of heavy lifting they have done."
I released a ragged crow towards Libya and Col. Gaddafi with the phone number of the Samaritans in its hip pocket and said,
"I have no recollection of seeing David Trimble,Tom Elliott,or Sir Reg Empry in the,"Worlds strongest man".
"Nevertheless," said Tommy,"Tom Elliott told me,the UUP,like the South,SHALL rise again and astonish the world with their strength,vitality and amazing number of bus passes in the wallets of their supporters."
"Don't delay, vote grey!" I yelled, as with a flourish,I produced a top hat from a rabbit. Any fool can do it the other way about.
I tracked Mark Carruthers down to a classy joint under a bridge which sold VERY expensive gents' socks and hoisery. Two flunkeys, in powdered wigs were rolling a lovely pair of puce ankle socks up Mark's legs when I burst in.
"Are you going?" I yelled. "Are you going to the Royal wedding?"
Mark took a pinch of snuff from an old John West tuna can and said,
"Yes,as a matter of fact,I shall be at the Royal wedding."
"And where will you sit," I cried,"the groom's side, or the bride's side?"
"Neither," said Mark."I shall be serving kebabs from a silver salver. My uncle Stavros is doing the catering."
Kebabs, Stavros, Prince Phillip... man those Greeks sure stick together!
Beware Mark Carruthers bearing kebabs!