The Crown has spat on Critic’s 100th birthday by rejecting our application for a letter from the King and refusing to wish the geriatric magazine a happy birthday. This time, crying on our birthday had a legit reason.
The first blow came from the King himself. Well, by proxy through the Department of Internal Affairs. Critic News Editor Hanna applied through the Regulatory and Identity Services website for a letter to be addressed to The Reverend Critic Te Ārohi in commemoration of reaching a century. “This service is for living humans celebrating milestones of 100+ years of age [...] Therefore, this application has been cancelled.” Fuck me, I guess.
Francisco Hernandez is the Dunedin MP for the Greens Party. He’s also a former OUSA Student President and certified GC, in the eyes of Critic Te Ārohi. Fran suggested to Critic when he visited the office during O-Week on the arm of Chlöe Swarbrick that they could put forward the following motion to Parliament on April 2nd (our 100th birthday wouldn’t you know): “I move that the house congratulates Critic Te Ārohi for reaching it’s [sic] 100th birthday today and notes it’s [sic] status as the oldest student magazine in New Zealand.”
Before the House could wheel out the birthday cannons (or whatever prestigious thing politicians do) the motion had to be circulated among the political parties the morning of to see if there would be any objections. Fran warned Critic Te Ārohi (who had already Googled how to stream Parliamentary TV and said with certainty in a press release that the motion was happening) that it might fall over. If there was even one objection from any party, our birthday wish couldn’t proceed.
And then at 1pm on Wednesday, an hour before the time Fran had said we might expect to be patted on the back by the Big Beehive itself, the bad news came in the form of an Instagram DM: “There wasn’t unanimous support so can’t put it forward.” What gives? It was like we’d suggested they strip down to their birthday suits rather than don their party hats.
Quite frankly, the red tape was on par with the UN Security Council’s veto powers, leaving the question: Who was our USA? Fran’s a goofy guy but even he plays by the rules – he couldn’t tell us who was the party pooper in the room lest he breach confidentiality. “I am unable to disclose the business who exposed it but that would be an excellent question for you to follow up with each party including our local MPs,” he said on the sly.
It was after receiving Fran’s message that OUSA President Liam waltzed into the Critic office. He speculated it might have been ACT. Critic Te Ārohi put it to the people, asking through an Instagram poll who our party pooper was. The responses rolled in, and many fingers were pointed at ACT. David Seymour could still have been salty over being quoted by Critic in 2018 saying, “I’m sort of a symbol for awkward sex, like the kind you’d have in your first O-Week.”
One responder suggested it was Luxon, saying he may have been jealous that Grant Robertson still has hair. He could have had a bee in his bonnet over Critic suggesting he’d make a fine hard-boiled egg brekky last year: “As the top dog, it seems only fitting to eat Luxon for breakfast.” Specifically, paired with “sliced and toasted Winston Peters and David Seymour (cutting off their upper crusts).” Then there was also that time we photoshopped his head onto the Nirvana baby album for the 2022 Music Issue cover (we edited the penis out). Heh.
Or perhaps it was NZ First, a hangover from when we said DB Draught was the “Winston Peters of Beers”. In the words of Swilliam Shakesbeer (2017): “DB Draught is an old man’s drink. A sip on the lips is reminiscence of a hard day fucking sheep and feeding the chickens. It’s been around since before any of us could remember, and it will be around long after we die. Just like Winston Peters.” And like – were we wrong?
With the Crown failing us on multiple levels, and being no closer to finding a resolution to our dropped lip, we turned to our King – the King of NZ media: Paddy Gower. Within ten minutes of texting him (yeah, we have his number) Daddy Paddy sent a happy birthday video calling Critic an “incredible publication with incredible people. Usually when you turn a hundred you get a letter from the queen or from the king or whoever – fuck that, fuck them.” He’s a republican and said we didn’t need them anyways. He signed off with, “All I can say is you are the fucking news. Happy 100 years, looking forward to the next hundy. Boom *pulls shaka*”. Sobs with validation.