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Rob van Vuuren

The sound of impending victory

2011-08-22 09:12
I am still reeling from a week spent stumbling through casinos and sleeping in the hotels that attach themselves to these flashy money traps like barnacles of despair.  

I was accompanied on this particular adventure into the capitalist hinterland by long time co-conspirator Louw Venter as we were performing alongside one another nightly, in a series of gigs I'dd rather not talk about again if that’s ok with you.

The two of us scurried like frightened rats on a sinking ship back and forth from hotel rooms with sumptuous views of the parking lot to the Mothership itself - the Casino.

As you walk in the sound is the first thing you notice. It is the sound of impending victory. Every machine screams out in this prolonged yawp on the cusp of crescendo. You immediately feel like your life has a soundtrack and that soundtrack is busy saying "something huge is about to happen".


Of course it never does. There is no release. The sound just stretches out its tentacles, wraps itself around its prey and proceeds to feed them to the machines.

You don't notice the flashing lights because they blind you before you can, burning holes in your brain through your eyes to make you more compliant and willing to depart with the rest of your meagre paycheck.

Ok, I cant prove that last statement with science or maths or anything but I’ve got a hunch and normally my hunches are pretty good so just take it from me. I know what I'm talking about. I definitely feel a whole lot more stupid than I did the week before all this happened. That’s proof enough for me.


The last thing you notice is the crèche. Yes, you heard me, a crèche in a casino. They all have them. It makes it that much easier for the victim to deposit its children before getting its brain burnt by the laser lights. Clever, yes?

Thankfully I got to see a few movies between brain damage sessions and I learnt some valuable lessons. Captain America taught me that it doesn’t matter how small you are as long as you have a big heart and a machine to turn you into a quarterback with massive muscly man-boobs. (Or as a comic aficionado pointed out on twitter – a serum.) The serum is very important. Without the serum the machine is nothing.

I  learnt from Return of the Rise of the Planet of the Apes of Wrath that shiny green-eyed monkeys are going to kick our asses because James Franco is a douche.

Super 8 made me feel like a child. I felt like I was watching the Goonies for the first time again. Seriously genius, go watch it. It made up for the brain damage.

And so ends the sad tale of my week. This week is already looking better. I am home again in Cape Town gearing up for three performances of my one man show at On Broadway this weekend so come and check it out, we’ll share brain control theories and movie reviews.

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