What you see is what you get, feel free to take/use/edit anything found here :)
I'm Not Wicked, REALLY
This is a HIGHLY edited version of a monologue from a Margaret Attwood book. When I actually used ti there were a few more edits, but this is the last copy I had saved.
All anyone ever writes about is the wicked stepmother. Never once do they stop and think that I have reasons for what I do, nice ones at that. For heaven�s sake- I�m not that bad! And it�s not all MY fault either. You�d lose it every once and a while too if you went through what I go through. It�s just�those girls�they�re so�good. Obedient and passive. Snivelling I might add. No get up and go. What would have happened to them if I hadn�t come along? Nothing, that�s what. All they�d ever do is the housework. They�d marry some peasant, have seventeen kids, and get �A dutiful wife� engraved on their tombstone. Life as a baby machine. Big deal. Well actually, big hips is more like it.
I want these girls to have a life- so I make things interesting, you know, stir it up a bit. I tell them to go play in the traffic, run with scissors, that sort of thing. It may be perverse, but it works. All they have to do is smile, bat those baby blues, and do a little more housework for some dwarves or nice ladies or whatever and BINGO- they get the charming prince, the palace, and a life of never having to lift a finger.
Whereas all I get is the blame. All I ever wanted was a better life for the girls. Sure, I�ll admit my methods were a bit unorthodox, but what�s a few attempted murders among family? Besides, I never cause any lasting harm -the stories always DO end �and they all lived happily ever after�. ALL? All, except me more like it. I never get happily ever after. God knows all about it. No devil, no fall, no redemption. Grade two arithmetic.
Of course, none of that really matters. They can wipe their feet on me, and twist my motives around all they like; they can dump stones on my head and drown me in a river, but they can�t get me out of the story. Those girls may have their fancy tiaras, but I�M the plot.
The Alien Hypothesis
This one is taken from a monologue book, it was orignially a male monologue, I used the first part and rewrote the entire second part just ased on the general idea.
Do you ever feel� different? Not like everybody else? Oh, everybody�s unique- I know that: DNA, fingerprints, it�s a scientific fact! But some people feel at home whether they�re in New York or Paris or� Venezuela. They feel like they belong. I don�t. I think I�m from another planet. No, listen, I�m not crazy. I�m just entertaining a hypothesis about my feeling different. One hypothesis might be that I am actually an alien from another planet, here in the form of an earthling and I�m programmed not to realize this so I�ll fit in, except the programming didn�t work. Or else it did work and I�m programmed to realize the truth gradually. And at some time I will- I hope- receive further instructions. Maybe a manual, like you get with your VCR to explain how to set the clock and everything. Of course, no one ever manages to set the clock anyway, so maybe a manual isn�t best. Maybe my race doesn�t even communicate with writing. Maybe we communicate telepathically. But that�s what crazy people think! That they�re getting instructions from Alpha Centauri �Go kill.� And so on. I wouldn�t hurt anybody. After all, people have been nice to me, even though I am from a different planet.
I�ve never seen a flying saucer. If I were really an alien, wouldn�t they visit me? Just to say, �Hi, how ya doing? Keep up the good work, great job on being a freak!� Well, they�re busy. They�re out there making crop circles, scaring cows, abducting people and such. Still, they could give a girl a ring once in a while. Birthday card, that sort of thing. Unless our nature is that we�re different. But if my nature is being different, why does it bother me to feel different? I mean, if I were meant to be different why do I want to belong to something �or anything?
Wait�do I really want to belong with people who would drop me on an unknown planet like this? They drop me here, without any manual to speak of, and leave me to fend for myself like some feral child raised by wolves! Not to mention I�ve heard a lot about aliens eating humans, and I�m not sure I could handle that. Cannibalism�s never really been my thing. You know what�I don�t think I�m an alien afterall�I think I�m a mole person!
Suburban Safari
K, so this was actually an editorial I wrote for english last year based on a video that at one point referred to teenagers as the new Africa, with some editing it could have monologue potential.
Greetings and welcome to the suburban safari! We at Incrediblylame Safaris Inc. would like to remind you that while on this tour we will be studying several disturbing and dangerous critters so we ask that you keep all hands, arms, legs, and other protruding body parts inside the jeep at all times. It is very important that you do not feed the �Generation Y� animals any foreign food during our visit, lest they develop terrible acne. Of course, we can�t sit around conversing boring safety regulations all day, so on we go! Besides everyone has already signed the fatality waiver, so I don�t really care if anything happens to you!
At the moment we are traveling through a suburban area, our final destination is to be a �shopping mall�, the preferred mating grounds of the Y Generation. Oh? What�s this? On your right you can see two female organisms. A female can be identified by the nearly cake-like tribal paint on her face. They call it �make-up�. You will notice that one of them is slightly orange in colour; scientists believe this orange colour may be a side effect when a substance called �tanner� is used too frequently. Another theory is that they were originally descended from Oompa Loompas. Females can also be distinguished from their clothing, or lack there of. Flesh is usually exposed at the waist and/or legs and any clothing that is present leaves very little to imagination. Most females carry bags on their arms that coordinate with the clothing they wear.
Straight ahead, to the left, to the right, above us, below us, on my t-shirt, and even on the sides of this tour vehicle you may view ads. By the way, today�s tour is brought to you by Macdonald�s, put a smile on for heaven�s sake! These ads constantly influence the Y Generation. Almost every moment of every day they are in contact with the media. In fact, the media affects them so much that their very minds are warped and controlled by it. Enough of that though, we aren�t here to discuss the inner workings of society, we�re here to view the local wildlife- and here they are, ahead on the left�the ever-elusive male.
All members of the hormoneous rageous species (Generation Y) tend to travel in packs. This can be seen in the males directly to your left. As with the females they have peculiar dressing habits. While the females wear pants too tight the males were pants too loose. In this unique culture it is customary of the males to wear their underwear outside their pants. At least six inches of undergarment must be viewable at all times or it is a sign that their pants are not baggy enough. Among them, baggy pants are a sign of male dominance, as are the heavy decorative jewelry they call �bling�. These items act much the same as a peacock�s feathers or an antelope�s antlers, to attract a mate. Ahhh, here we are! Straight ahead you can glimpse the mall structure. Shortly we will be leaving the safety of this vehicle and entering the habitat to mingle with the horomoneous rageous. Remember to stay in pairs and no make any sudden movements. Cameras are fine, but much like feeding pigeons at a pond, if you take one female�s picture, you better be prepared to give the others the same treatment. Do not be frightened by any sexual displays or vulgar demonstrations, that type of behavior is acceptable in their culture. If you are daring you may attempt to make conversation, their language and ours share the same basics, just remember these differences and you�ll be fine:
1. There are far more four letter words in their language. Such as ****. ****, and ****. 2. Grammar does not exist. 3. Contractions and abbreviations are used frequently, as is something called �net speak�. Common words are �n00b� and �leet�; (n00b is derived from �newbie�, a person who is unskilled at something � leet is a shortened form of �elite�, sharing the same meaning with its root word)
Just for fun, let�s have a little scavenger hunt for all those interested. Generation Y follow one another, they try to assimilate each other�s customs in order to create a sense of unity and belonging. In many cases they follow a small select group of �trendsetters�. It is your job to try and find these individuals and figure out what makes them tick, to help you with this there are portable psychological dissection kits stored beneath your seats. Be careful though, these leaders are not to be angered in any way. They are very powerful and could raise a mob against you in a moment. If in the case of an emergency you get separated from the your tour buddies, head to the nearest exit and try not to look at the ads. They have seductive powers you can only dream of. We will meet back at the jeep in two hours, if you are not back on time we will assume you have offended the leet and effectively been pwned. Unfortunately for you, you�ve already signed a waiver; therefore it�s perfectly acceptable for me to leave you here to rot with the animals. This tour was brought to you by Macdonald�s and is entirely ad free. Buy a Big Mac.
Skinny
This is off a website (sorry can't remember which) It's by Monica Hesse.
Some people try to use nice words to describe skinny people. They call us "petite," "slender," and (my personal favorite) "small boned." But to me, that's like calling a porta-potty an "organic-waste receptacle" It might sound nice, but it doesn't change the reality.
Other people think that my small stature is both useful and entertaining. Whenever a ring or other piece of jewelry has fallen through a small hole, like a drain, or behind the couch, or down a rat-infested sewer, I, with my small hands and tiny wrists, am called upon to fish it out. I am also quite popular in dance class: "Simone! we'd like to try picking up someone up by their earlobe, spinning them around at 9000 miles an hour, and then releasing them in the direction of the ceiling, thereby propelling them toward the high speed, jet powered fan. You're Skinny, can we try it on you?"
You don't get much sympathy being thin, either. My mother treats it like it's some mysterious illness ("Monica can't come out and play, she's Skinny today"). During family gatherings, she occasionally tries to pass me off as an Ethiopian refugee who hasn't eaten for sixteen days. Otherwise, my relatives might notice my lack of mass and accuse her of "not feeding me properly." This is a touchy subject with my mother, who always fears that there is a direct correlation between her bad cooking and my fast metabolism.
One week, in an attempt to "fatten me up," she only cooked meals with more fat content than Luciano Pavarotti. This plan backfired when she and my stepfather gained ten pounds and I lost two. We spent the next week eating only seaweed and bean sprouts.
Buying underwear is another problem. There are simply no bras in my size. I'm forced to shop in the junior's department where all of them sport embarrassing pictures and slogans like, "Little Miss Inverted Chest," and "You're on Your Way to Becoming a Woman Training Bra." Training bras were a concept I could never understand. Training for what, God only knows. Certainly not the Breast Olympics, mine would never make it past the time trials.
Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining too much here. After all, I'm nearly 18 and I'm still admitted with children's fare at the movies. However, just once in my life, I wouldn't mind being able to fill a bikini with my curvaceous hips and womanly figure, and stand around with all of my other well-endowed friends as we gawk at all the passerby. "Don't you just hate that girl," we would whisper viciously, "She's so Skinny!"
Grandma's House
From a website, you've probably seen it before.
Oh Daaaaaaad!...Do we have to go to Grandma's house? I don't know what makes you think going to Grandma's house is so much fun, you get up early and polish the car like we're going someplace cool, like the beach..Is it just me, or does her house smell like an old antique store couch...Yuk! And besides that, I'm the one she latches onto, to listen to all her old stories...well, I'm sorry if I can't appreciate her "WISDOM" right now...and Dad, let's face it, even you can admit the lady's a little bit crazy. One day I was going into the kitchen to get myself a drink and I heard her talking to somebody, I didn't want to disturb her, so I was really quiet. She was asking Grandpa how much salt he'd like in the stew,.....and he's been dead for ten years! I mean, come on! And another thing, I'm sorry, but her cooking is awful too...and OH!...OH!...and what was that disgusting stuff she made us last time for supper...BOILED OKRA?...That's just wrong! It felt like a hairy clam going down my throat. It took me three or four sips of Coke after each bite to get it down, and stay down....eeeeew I can still taste it! Dad can't we just skip this visit? I mean, Christmas is only four months away. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if we just called her.....Pleeease!
Peggy
A cute one from another website, written by Ava Lindt. Opportunity for a mini hissy fit :)
She's following me, I know it. Everywhere. She follows me to math and to english and she watches me change in P.E. and I swear, if she follows me now, right when I'm walking into my class with the most popular people in it, I think I'm gonna have to kill her. Oh, look it's Ashley! (Waves to an imaginary person, smiling.) Oh god, she is following me. What do I do? I see Mark and Isaac and all of those other guys sitting right by my desk, and what if they see me with Peggy on my tail, trying to talk to me!? I will be so mortified. (Stops walking and stands center stage.)
Don't think I'm mean or anything, it's just annoying having the class DORK think that they're your friend. I guess she's nice, she's just a little.. uh.. slow, and I think that maybe she should find her own group of friends (under her breath) Not that anyone would want her...(perks up) Well, I guess I have to sit down. (Walks to a chair and sits down, gets out her work, but just as she is starting to work, an imaginary Peggy walks up)
Oh........ it's you again.(Pause). Yeah, whatever. I'm trying to work Peggy, can't you see? (Pause)No, no I don't want you to help me.(Pause). Please Peggy, just go away!(Pause, said angrier)God! You are so annoying. Leave me alone!(Pause)Oh, god, don't start crying.(Pause No, wait Peggy don't--... No! Don't tell Mrs. Robins, I didn't mean it.(Pause)(The imaginary Peggy walks away, Clara looks back at the audience)I blew it. Now Mrs. Robins is gonna come over here and ask me what's going on. I know she's gonna ask me why I'm picking on the slow girl. I'm not! I just don't want her buggin' me. Is that a crime? (An imaginary Mrs. Robins walks up)
Look Mrs. Robins, I'm sorry about Peggy! I mean she's just annoying sometimes and I was trying to do my work and--(pause) What? You weren't coming over here to ask about Peggy? Oh! Well what did you want to ask me? (pause) An "A" on my test! That's great! (smiles) (The imaginary Mrs. Robins leaves)
,br> Well I guess that I just got an easy break. Oh god, here comes Peggy....(groans, and puts her head down on the desk.)
First Time
This is one from everyone's believed Actorpoint.com, I love this monologue it's hysterical.
Now like most 16 year olds my age, I had friends that had �done it�, and my boyfriend and I thought we were ready to take the �plunge�, and as usual I was curious. In search of answers, I went to my best friend Kaitlyn. Now Kaitlyn is a wild and crazy girl, who has done lots of �stuff�, so I figured she�d know a little about �it�. So I asked her, and she told me all about it! Well, her first time at least.
(In a New York-ish voice) "Well, it was so awesome. We were there together, in each other�s arms. It was a clear night and we could see the whole city. And after a bit we started getting all outta breath, and in a matter of minutes... WHAP! It happened, man I screamed like there was no tomorrow. It was the biggest rush ever and the best feeling in the world! It was like um... well, it was like... (gets an idea) kicking Death in the ass while singing, yeah. Then we started going up and down and up and down, then it was over. It feels like hours, but really, it�s done in a few minutes. But Jess, it takes so much outta you, however, if you�re up for it, you can �do it� two, three, four times a night!
(In normal voice) Oh my God! I thought �it� sounded so great, but I wanted another perspective. So after much contemplating, I asked my buddy Dave. Now Dave was a rebel if I�d ever seen one; so he had to know about �it�. (In a semi deeper over-excited voice) "It�s awesome! It�s a rush, its just well... great! I think everyone should do it! The only flaw I see is that you have to wear what I like to call a �safety harness�. Man that baby is constricting, but we don�t want any slip-ups, right? None of us are ready for the consequences, let me tell you!"
(In normal voice) Well, now I had heard it from both sides, and learned about protection, I felt it was time to clue my honey in on my knowledge. When I told Brad, he was happiest I�d ever seen him, except for that one time we um... well... ahem, back to the story. Anyway, he was so excited he asked if we could �do it� that night! And of course I said yes, I mean who would turn that offer down, huh? So anyways, it's like eleven o�clock at night when we arrived at the place that would forever be engraved into my memory as �the spot I did it at�. So we you know, �got ready�. Brad put on the safety harness, and for extra protection I wore one too. He held me so tight I couldn�t breathe for like a few seconds, and he totally flattened my wannabe boobies. After about two or three minutes, it happened, and holy crap was Kaitlyn right! It was the biggest rush I had ever had. And the feeling was unimaginable. We did the whole bobbing thing, then it was over.
We �did it� about three or four time that night. I think it was two or three in the morning before we got home, and man was I sore. Even though it was painful, that was not the last time I �did it�, let me tell you. What? Oh my God what did you guys think I was talking about? Oh, that�s so gross. I was talking about my first time bungee jumping with my boyfriend, not having sex, perverts!
Braces
Another from actorpoint. This one is amazing, my friend used it once. A shout out to all you who have/had/or will have braces.
Today�s my anniversary. That�s right. Four years ago today, I began a new life - a life of captivity - a life of torture. I got.....braces. Four years later, and they�re still attached to my teeth, just waiting for another opportunity to ruin my life.
Let�s discuss wax. Wax: it comes from bees. It comes from your ears. You make candles with it. You don�t stick it on your teeth. What were orthodontists thinking anyway. Oh! And rubber bands. Let�s talk about rubber bands, shall we?! Last I checked, rubber bands were for holding newspapers together, not my teeth. But, you know, I can deal with wax and rubber bands. I can deal with aching teeth. I can even deal with the headgear, but nothing, NOTHING comes close to my biggest enemy: wonder bread sandwiches.
Have you ever noticed that when you eat wonder bread sandwiches, they get, well, sticky. Add in metal brackets, and you can raise the sticky factor to the 20th power. So you�re sitting there eating your wonder bread sandwich at lunch, when you realize, you�ve got a wonder bread sandwich particle stuck in your braces. So you immediately go to Plan A: the tongue method. (Demonstrate) You�re feeling around, trying to get that sucker out with your tongue - inconspicuously, of course! Well, the tongue method�s not working. Time for.......
Plan B: the suction method. Everyone knows that if you close your mouth and suck in, you will create a make-shift vacuum. So if a vacuum works on carpet, why not your mouth? Naturally! So you begin the suction process. (Demonstrate) while still trying to carry on your conversation, mind you. Blast! That wonder bread sandwich particle has beaten you again! (Act like the bread is your enemy) so........
Plan C: the finger method. By this time, you�ve past inconspicuousness and moved right on ahead to looking like a bit of a nerd, but no matter how hard you try, your pinky just won�t fit in between those two little brackets. Alas, you turn to the dreaded Last Resort!
Plan D: ........hold on, allow me to explain. You remember that little toothpick looking thing your dad made you promise to carry around but you vowed you�d never use it? in public? Yes, well, there�s no turning back now. You look around and say, "all right wonder bread sandwich particle, you�ve beaten me for the last time. I�m coming in!" So you plunge right in with that toothpick and .........
Success! You�ve done it! You�ve beaten the wonder bread sandwich particle. But - woe is me! Another predicament! What to do with the particle on the toothpick??? What to do, what to do. You can�t eat it, you can�t set it on the table and pretend it hasn�t been in your mouth all this time, and you can�t just get up and go to the garbage holding a half-eaten wonder bread sandwich particle.
Meanwhile, as you�re deciding what the best plan of action is, that cute boy walks by. You know the one, and he�s looking in your direction. Sort of, but that doesn�t matter! He�s looking at your whole half of the lunchroom!!!! Your heart�s pounding fast, you�re hair�s looking frizzy again, you can�t think of what to say, and you just want to scream! Okay, calm down. But then, he gives you that funny look, like this. (Demonstrate) oh no, what have you done wrong? Was it obvious that you adore the ground he even looks at, let alone walks on? And then it hits you. You�re still holding the wonderbread sandwich particle on the toothpick, and you just want to die......(fade out, beat).
Yeah, that�s what I said! There�s a conspiracy against the youth of America. One by one the wonderbread sandwich company is crushing the dreams of teenagers everywhere! (back to reality, realizes the audience is still there) So there you have it. Just one simple way that braces ruin my life. My dad says it will all be worth it when my teeth are straight and perfect, but who wants to be perfect anyway? ............yeah, me too.
<---Monologued
