From a NYT story about how the Tories are having trouble relating to the common man:

Many old-time Tories are leaving Parliament this year, including the unrepentantly first-class-loving Sir Nicholas. But there are more waiting in the wings. Last year, worried about how an impeccably pedigreed Tory candidate named Annunziata Rees-Mogg would go over with the hoi polloi, Mr. Cameron suggested that she might want to campaign under the name “Nancy Mogg.”
She refused, although, to be fair, another candidate, the spectacularly named Richard Grosvenor Plunkett-Ernle-Erle-Drax, dutifully “de-toffed” himself by downgrading to “Richard Drax” on campaign posters.

We don’t have this problem in Louisiana. In many parts of the Great State, local legislators are known by their nicknames. It is entirely possible that in some cases, no soul would know the solon absent his nickname. Once, I was courting my beloved, I was driving her on some back road near Plaquemine, and we passed a homemade campaign sign for a parish politician named, I kid you not, “Needlenose Fontenot.” It is likely, I explained to my puzzled suburban amour, that voters would have no idea who he was if he used his real name. Back in 2002, a Cajun dark horse in the US Senate race was one mullet-sporting “Live Wire Landry,” whose campaign platform was the charming, “Let’s drop a bomb on Saddam.” He didn’t win. There’s no justice in this world, cher.