Columns

For those who don’t know me, allow me to introduce myself: I am the Rt. Hon. Gold Bastard, supreme leader of Critic’s four editorial goldfish.

My days start unpredictably. I drive my harem to go nuts when the first of our giant pet nematodes walks in, but they’re good at ignoring us despite the amount of splashing and obnoxious bubbling that the team courageously whips up. Four days out of seven they will feed us; despite how concerning this may seem, it’s actually perfect. I keep telling the others that they need to avoid carbs on the weekend no matter how gone they are from a heavy night or two on oxygen weed, and it helps if they’re not tempted.

What’s great about our home is that at most angles the walls act as mirrors, and damn am I good looking. I’m about twice the size of the others – I never miss tail day at the gym – and I can keep a careful eye on all the goings-on no matter what direction I’m facing or what I’m doing. My bugle-eyed and dark-scaled sidekick Steve, for example, is astoundingly lazy despite being a great lad. Most of his time is taken up chilling underneath one of our expensive imported Chinese-made plants. At first I was concerned for his health – he never works out except to race me for food – but as time passed I realised that, actually, he was quite endearing and I should stop hitting him. The bruises all seem to have cleared up now.

Then there are the twins – Gyarados and What. Just as Steve and I were settling into our honeymoon period, the Government’s lack of generosity forced us to share our home with two fish not much bigger than shrimps. They are frighteningly similar and just a little bit boring, but if I’m honest they look absolutely brilliant. Steve and I soon acclimatised and, once again, it turned out that they weren’t such a bad addition after all.
Despite all this captivating action in our own home, the true joy of our lives is watching our ginormous pets – the same ones I mentioned feeding us – going about their own day-to-day lives. They must be exceptionally bored. They spend the entire day just sitting, staring at a box of illumination similar to how a moth takes to light. This may not sound fun to observe, but it’s the anticipation of what’s to come next that keeps us watching. Once fully energised by their boxes they tend to completely lose their shit, embracing one another, drinking special water that only adds to this resolve, and generally oscillating between loving life and being complete assholes. I wish there was some sort of tranquiliser we could give them.

Lots of love and support ‘til next time,


The Rt. Hon. General Gold Bastard
Critic Supreme Leader