“Growling and Barking” (drama) 2-3 Minutes

Monologues I’ve written in Motion – BlackBerry Monologues

Photo Courtesy DUPO-X-Y

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Monologue Description: “GROWLING and BARKING” is a monologue about making a painful discovery.

Character Description:  Sandy embodies a hard exterior.  She’s a truck driver for a living and every part of her demeanor says she is a man, but as nature would have it, she is a woman and loves as a woman can love a man.  She is a hard lady both inwardly and outwardly.  A woman who has been through much in her life, never making it out of the trailer home life mentality.  Sandy has a good aura about her and is a caring lady, despite her rough life but she doesn’t take shit from no one.  She does enjoy hitting the bottle on occasion.  

SANDY:

He tried jumping off the Manhattan Bridge this morning.  I get a phone call, he’s all emotional and angry, I can hear the violence just pounding out of his throat.  He was getting so loud that the cops who had ‘em, kept trying to detain ‘em, until finally the phone went off.  That was the last I heard from him.  The only thing I was able to make out was his dog Roger.  He said something ’bout his dog Roger.  I assume he meant to care for the dog.  So, that’s where I’m headed.  I gotta go to Dean’s house and see what the story is with his dog.  I know where he keeps a spare key so, I’m gonna make sure Roger is fed and has fresh water.

(2 hours later)

The dog Roger was dead.  My God.  If I tell you what I saw.  Fucking wacko, Dean, if it was.  I took the key from inside the green umbrella, where he keeps his spare.  I unlocked the door, entered the house and I knew something was odd because usually whenever anybody approaches the front door, Roger is always there growling and barking.  But he wasn’t.

(pause.)

So, I’s, I’s, (clears throat) I go into the house and I call out for the dog, “ROGER, ROGER!”  No dog.  I go to the backyard, figuring maybe he was left out in the yard.  Nothing.  I call out again, “ROGER, ROGER!!”.  Still, nothing.  So, I begin getting this weird feeling, like somethings wrong.  I go back into the house and I kept calling out for Roger but no response.  I was feeling a bit thirsty and figured I’d help myself to a beer.

(beat)

When I entered the kitchen…(sighs)….when I opened the refrigerator…(sighs)….Roger was in it.  Roger was all dismantled, all, I can’t even say it…Roger was chopped up into a million pieces, blood and guts was everywhere inside this fridge.  His head, was the center of attraction.  His head was on the top shelf staring straight at me with his eyeballs bulging out of—Oh God, I ain’t never seen anything like that in all my life!!!

(3 hours later)

How can Dean do such a thing?  They aren’t even clear about whether or not it was him.  I can’t see Dean doing such a horrible thing.  He loved that dog.  Roger was more than his best friend.  Roger was like his brother in doggy form.  It was amazing.  You got a sense of one from the other.  That’s how close and similar they were in mannerisms and everything.  Strange.  I can’t bring myself to think that Dean would mutilate his brother.  It’s a sick thought.  I honestly think that someone did that to Roger and Dean flipped the fuck out, which is why he tried jumping off of the Manhattan Bridge.

“Cock Blocker” (comedy) 1-2 Minutes

Photo Courtesy RUBY SWOON

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Teenage Monologue Thursdays

Monologue Description: “COCK BLOCKER” is a comedy about how some people get in the way of what could have been a sex festive night.

Character Description:  In this monologue,  CHUCK is a young lad, maybe eighteen, nineteen years old and he’s in college.  One of his boys has been blowing up his spot whenever he macks it to a girl and in this monologue he confronts the cock blocking friend about it.

CHUCK:

The point that I’m getting at Ralph, is that you’re a cock blocker.  You are, you are…you’re a cock blocker.  Whenever we go out, like just last Friday, with that girl, that blond, the tall one with the big tits…you cock blocked me man.   I’m there, talking up a storm with this girl, she’s feeling me, I’m feeling her and low and behold here comes Mr. Big Swinging Dick, bringing down his gauntlet, right dead smack in between me and big tits.  

(beat)

It’s not even that.  It’s not even what you say bro.  It’s how you say it, with your indirect innuendo’s and put downs.  You always make me the little guy.  Like I’m your young, dumb irresponsible brother.  And you’re so obnoxious.  Obnoxious to the point where you embarrass yourself.  When was the last time you landed a girl man?  

(beat)

When was the last time you brought a girl back to your dorm?

(beat)

That’s what I’m talking about.  You screw up my deal and you can’t close you’re own. Do me a favor, stay away from my mojo bro.  This is the third time this month Ralphy Boy and this last one was HOT.  God, she probably had those strawberry nipples that I love, I was picturing them all up in my…EH!  FORGET IT!  Bro, you’re my bro and we are boys but you have poor wing man skills.  Poor isn’t even the word! Fucking terrible, rotten, dead man on campus skills!

Work on it.  Work on your game and stop fouling up mine g.  That’s my point.  

We cool?

“Picasso Reincarnated: Ultimate Jackass” (comedy) 3 Minutes

Photo Courtesy J9SK9

 

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Monologue Description: “Picasso Reincarnated:  Ultimate Jackass” is a comedy about how trying to find yourself sometimes blows up in your face.  

Character Description:  In this monologue,  Ultimate Jackass is a man who still has not found his true calling.  He is a quirky man of sorts but whatever he does in his life comes from sincerity.

ULTIMATE JACKASS:

I was walking around for two days thinking I was Picasso, when really what I was, was a major jackass.  I went to this store out in Long Island, Michael’s and I spent a couple of hundred bucks on supplies.  I was so serious about it–bought three large canvases, brushes, paints, paint cleaner, spray paint and markers.  Don’t ask me why but markers.  I went out to the bookstore, bought a few fifty dollar books on Basquiat and Pop Art and I was doing all this reading and researching.  I actually began feeling like I had a calling.

I set up shop in my backyard, right against this big beautiful tree.  I tore open the paints and squeezed out red and yellow paint into my palette.  I dipped one of my brushes into my palette—I look up and into my canvas and it hit me–I asked myself as I stared at this large white canvas, “What the fuck am I doing?”  It was like a spell had been broken.  I felt silly and I started looking around and into the windows of neighbors houses, because I felt like I was being watched and sure enough there she was, a little girl named Meagan peering at me from her second floor story bedroom window.  She had the look of disgust written across her face, so, to kind of, I don’t know, not feel inadequate in front of this child, I decided to prove to her that I could paint.  It was as if I needed this child’s approval.  Don’t ask me why.  Maybe I’m just crazy but I did.  I wanted this kid to say, “Good job Joe, you’re a fucking Picasso, alright!”

So, I began painting a tree, with a beautiful blue sky and a bright yellow sun and I looked up at her when I was done and she moved her head back and forth, like a Queen who wasn’t happy with the performer that stood before her.  She nodded her head from side to side and slowly closed her window shut.  Plus, plus she closed the curtains.

Well, I felt like a total shit heel by this point.  I looked at my canvas and realized that the kid was right.  I was a depressing artist.  I couldn’t even make a cute kid smile.  I became confused, even disoriented and I grabbed the other canvas and figured why not EXPRESS my inner turmoil.  And I viciously squirted out more red paint and I snatched the biggest brush I could find, dipped it in my palette and began splashing the paint on canvas reminiscent of Jackson Pollack—so I thought!  I became increasingly frustrated and continued splashing paint onto the canvas until finally I stepped back to look at my masterpiece and I had no choice but to admit to myself that I had no talent whatsoever.  To put it bluntly, I sucked so bad, so, so BAD.  Christ!  I’m horrible, really.  Horrible.  I must have been smoking crack!

I was fed up by this point and so I began packing up everything in angst.  Next thing I know, I got ahead of myself from feeling so lousy, that I slipped on paint, which was on top of the plastic sheet I used to cover the grass and I slipped in such a way that the palette I was holding, full of paint mind you, came crashing down on top of me, after I collided with the friendly fucking tree nearby, finishing off on my back with the paint showing off its own Jackson Pollack skills, for the grand finale!!!

After a moment of mentally checking my body parts for damage, I hear giggling.  You guessed it!  LITTLE MEAGAN, laughing up a storm, this time accompanied by two more laughing munchkins, who must have been her cousins or friends from munchkin land or what have you.  I jumped up and growled at them and they fled the scene of the crime.  

(beat)

Despite the twigs that were buried in my ass, I was fine.

(he gives a thumbs up)

Needless to say, I threw out my canvas…went back into the house, washed up and moved on to my new adventure.

That was two days, Picasso Reincarnated, better known as Ultimate Jackass.

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