Another dead night in Town, not quite, but there’s no life proper kicking around these roads. A collection of rooms behaving like festival beer tents. The collective social prowess of the bohemian underground has rotten teeth, oblivious to its own credentials. The sacred ground of the Khoi San littered with the zombiefied suburbanite pisscats. Little Edward street, not one fucking comedy show, no Shakespeare unplugged, no documentary viewing, just a drunk melange all looking to do the same thing, each other. Now don’t get things wrong, I am a motivated contributor to this messy playground. I’m just saturated and in the mood to bitch.
That’s the only time anyone can produce a honest opinion on a pleasurable pastime, once they’ve thrashed it properly.
There needs to be some crucial connection with counter cultural swagger, I don’t mean intellectual or significant, just other. We need otherness, dank drenched head cases flitting through backdated issues of huisgenoot would make for a better back drop. I think I might have come up too fast from my seasonal booze stained carnage to make this a real complaint. These murmurings are just gear shifting hydrogen bubbles, I have the bends and they’re pointing to a sickening realization. I’m getting old. When the going gets old it normally has little to do with the surroundings. It comes with outgrowing dick measuring contests with a pub’s alcohol supply. It comes with knowing that the same cunt has different faces, it happens near the patched elbows and cups of tea chasm we find aged enthusiastic pet owners in the bottom of.
Yes, yes, yes we must drink and fuck and use, but a brighter agenda must overlay our fundamental human right to get twisted. Some darker mission to discover some sinister darling of mass manipulation. An agenda of any kind in fact. We need an umbrella and I’ve found mine and here comes the rub, Wednesdays need a devoted comedy evening in this city of the motherless. A dangerous challenge to throw into the caustic collective work ethic that is Cape Town comedy. We need some action, cigarettes and alcohol are nothing without the context of social commentary being banged out to the tune of funny. Some seriously sinister wit, some well wordy indifference and all the other chaotic bits that moves me about comedy.
Come on lovelies, I’m bored. Tuesday comedy please.
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