Listicle: 10 hilarious political parties that have our vote

The count (an alter ego of comedian Jonathan David Harvey) claims to be a 6,000-year-old intergalactic warrior from the planet Sigma IX. In his 2024 manifesto for the London Mayoral Election, Binface said he’d build a space bridge to solve traffic problems, and force London’s water managers to take a dip in the sewage-riddled Thames “to see how they like it”. He placed sixth of 13 candidates. Not bad for a candidate wearing a dustbin on his head.

Svante Strokirk set up the Ond Kyckling Partiet to see how easy it was to register as a political party in Sweden. The answer: Ridiculously easy; become a non-profit, collect 1,500 signatures and you’re good to go. By 2024, the Evil Chicken Party was flapping around with 113 groups, all chasing 21 European Parliament seats. They push for real change: Copyright law reform and better electoral rules. Cluck in approval.

Founded 20 years ago, as a prank. In the 2018 parliamentary elections, its candidates campaigned dressed as a chicken, a gorilla, an invisible man and Santa Claus. They promised voters free beer, a one-day work week, world peace, two sunsets and eternal life. Still, the party has been one of the loudest critics of PM Viktor Orbán’s authoritarian and anti-immigration policies. Founder Gergely Kovács was even elected mayor of Budapest’s Hegyvidék district in 2024.

Die Partei has been trolling German politics since 2004 under comedian Martin Sonneborn. In 2017, they promised, specifically, twice as much justice as the Social Democrats. Over the years, they’ve floated ideas such as legalising drunken driving and cocaine. In June 2024, Sonneborn won a third term in the European Parliament, with a manifesto promising to rebuild the Berlin Wall, and reduce the prices of beer and kebabs. Turns out, voters love clarity.

In 2024, a glacier ran for president in Iceland. Canadian-Icelandic artist Angela Rawlings even handed over her social security number and legally adopted “Snæfellsjökull” as her middle name so it qualified. The campaign was less about votes and more about getting everyone to stare climate change in the face. It didn’t make it, but it did start a conversation.

Psss, psss. The Cat World Domination is starting from Prague. The Mourek (tabby) party is strictly for “people and cats with an open mind”. Don’t let the cute name fool you. Behind the soft paws are hard policies: Better infrastructure, a clear stance on climate change, and opinions on the euro and veto rights. It’s politics with claws. They failed to win a seat at the senate, but it’s only a matter of time.

Greetings, Earthlings. This party comes in peace, and possibly with a better moral code than most politicians. Made up of teachers, mechanics, bartenders and more, its members campaign dressed as aliens, antennae and all. The costumes are a bit Area 51, but they’ve pushed for affordable housing, better schools and free parking. Also, ending the war in Ukraine and tackling inflation. They didn’t win a seat, but they’re not quitting.

The party’s full name is “Urza.cz: We don’t want your votes; freedom cannot be invoked. We will reject any political function; we do not want to tell people how to live. We have a different vision. We are going in a different direction – you can find it on the website.” It was founded in 2021 by Martin Urza, who believes that the state simply shouldn’t exist. Their pitch: Don’t vote for us, we don’t want power, and if we somehow win, we’ll immediately refuse the job.

Nothing to see here. This Slovenian party launched in early 2024 with a promise of absolutely nothing. Founded by Boris Žulj and former Left Party MP Violeta Tomić, it positioned itself as a party that adapts to everyone. At its first press conference, it pledged to legalise corruption, win Eurovision, abolish Mondays, offer free spa days and deliver endless happiness. To be fair, it’s no less ridiculous than actual campaign promises.

Founded in late 2022 by Kuo Hsi, a 67-year-old mahjong parlour owner in Kaohsiung, it exists solely so Taiwan stops treating mahjong like it’s shady gambling. Taiwan’s ageing population loves it. The party’s goal is to amend outdated laws, legitimise the ancient game as a recreational activity, and turn clacking tiles into a respectable pastime.