Hyménée - Nicolas Gogol
Vraiment, c’est bien embarrassant de choisir, s’il n’y en avais qu’un ou deux, mais ils sont quatre! Va donc choisir! Nicanor Ivanitch Anoutchkine n’est pas mal, bien qu’un peu maigre. Ivan Kouzmitch Podkoliossine non plus n’est pas mal. Et à dire vrai Ivan Pavlocitch Omelette n’est pas mal non plus, bien qu’un peu trop gros, c’est un homme imposant. Balthazar Balthazaritch Jévakine a lui aussi des qualités. Ah! comme il est difficile de se décider, je ne sais que faire! Si au-dessus des lèvre de Nicanor Ivanitch on pouvait planter le nez de Ivan Kouzmitch, et si on pouvait prendre un peu de la désinvolture de Balthazar Balthzaritch et ajouter à tout cela l’embonpoint d’Ivan Pavlovitch, alors mon choix serait vite fait. Tandis que maintenant, j’en ai la migraine rien que d’y penser. Je crois que le mieux serait encore de tirer au sort. S’en remettre à la volonté de Dieu; celui qui sortira sera mon mari. Je vais écrire leur nom sur un bout de papier, les plier et ensuite advienne que pourra.
The Food Chain/ Amanda/ Nicky Silver
SoI was reading my paper when the waiter came over and asked if I was…alone. Well! It was obvious that I was alone! I was sitting there, in a booth, by myself -did he think I thought I had an imaginary friend with me?! I was alone! Did he have to rub it in? Was he trying to be funny? Did he think he was, in some way, better than me? It was in his tone. He said, ‘Are you alone?’ But what he meant to say was, ’You’re alone. Aren’t you?!’ And I can’t imagine he’s not alone every single day of his miserable , pathetic life! He has terrible skin. And it’s not attractive. Not the way bad skin is attractive on some people. On some men!!! I’ve strayed. The point is this waiter has terrible skin, and greasy hair and his breath stinks of something dead and his face is too entirely close to mine. I want to pick up my butter knife and stab him in his sunken caved-in chest! But I simply respond
'No, I'm married thank you'
I realize now, of course, that my answer was illogical. I realize that it was innapropriate. But at the time it was all I could think of to say.
Well he leans back and really in the the most supercillious manner, he leers at me and intones, ‘I meant are you eating alone.’ ‘I KNEW WHAT YOU MEANT! I KNEW WHAT HE MEANT!’ I’m not a person who shouts, generally. I don’t like shouting. It hurts to shout and it hurts to be shouted at. But I shouted. I was standing. I must’ve leapt up when I shouted. So I was standing and everyone was staring at me. The place was very crowded, much more crowded than I ever recall seeing it before.
Pterodactyls/ Emma/ Nicky Silver
Hello everybody. I’m dead. How are you? I’m glad I killed myself. I’m not reccomending it for others, mind you - no Dr. Kevorkian am I. But it’s worked out for me. Looking back, I don’t think I ever was supposed to have been born with to begin with. Of course, the idea that ‘supposed to be’ implies a master plan„ and I don’t believe in that kind of thing. When I say I shouldn’t have been born, I mean that my life was never all that pleasant. And there was no real reason for it. I was pretty. I had money. I was lucky enough to be born into a time and a class where I had nothing but opportunities. I look around and there is crippled people and blind people and refugees and I can’t believe I had the gall to whine about anything! I had my health - oh sure, I complained a lot, but really I was fine. And I had love! Granted the object of my affections was a latent, or not-so-latent homosexual as it turned out who was affected with the HIV virus, who in turn infected me and my unborn baby—but isn’t that really picking nits? I can never thank Todd enough for giving me the gun, because for the first time, I’m happy. The pain is gone and I remember everything. Tommy is here but we’re not speaking. He spends all his time with Montgomery Clift and George Cukor talking about movies. I assume. And I’ve been reunited with Alice Paulker. We went to school together. She was shot last year by a disgruntled postal worker. She has long wavy brown hair and skin so pale you can see right through it - I don’t mean it’s really transparent and you can see her guts and everything. It’s just pale. And she has very big eyes. Green. And we listen to music and go for walks. And take turns read aloud to each other. She reads poems by Emily Bronte and I read chapters from The Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. She was always classier than me. And sometimes we just hold each other. and I run my fingers through her hair and she touches her lips, gently, along my cheek. She makes soft sounds, comforting sounds and she takes her time and runs her tongue around the edge of my ear. We take off our clothes and just look at each other. I was shy at first, but Alice helped me and never rushed me. She held my breasts in her hand and ran her lips between them, down my stomach. I touch her eyelids and her forehead and her hair and her fingers and the back of her neck. And she enters me and I am everywhere at once and nowhere at all. And I remember everything and find that nothing matters. And for a moment, for a moment or two that lasts forever we become one person. And I forget, we forget, that we were ever alive. And everything makes perfect sense.
The Metal Children/ Adam Rapp/ Vera
Why get pregnant? Because we can. Existentially speaking, aside from suicide, it’s the most meaningful choice a young woman can make. We control our own fate. Not parents or priests or politicians. Not coaches or teachers of textbooks preapproved by the educational oligarchy. Not middle aged men with prostate problems and hairy ears. We get pregnant, our community automatically exiles us, our parents disown us. No man wants to be with a single teen mother. We take control of our destiny. Whether you like it or not, your novel showed us that, Mr. Falmouth. Now we only have about thirty minutes. before my aunt starts making rounds of the units. Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases. I’m ovulating and actually quite excited about the prospect of the creator of our great text being my host. There’s powerful poetry at play. You’re not sterile are you? Your fertility is sort of paramount to this actually happening Mr. Falmouth.
The Optimist/ Jason Chimonides/ Declan
I am obsessed. It’s startling, isn’t it? I mean, look out there. Every one of those tragic bipeds, indeed, each and every one of us, Noel is the result of a single tussled gooey act of sex. What if you could see it? Through some sort of crazy telekinetic, portal thing? What if you could see in like, this searing flash, the fuck from whence they came? Like this fat Asian guy,- “reverse cowgirl”?… or that crumpled granny woman over there, with the Medicaid sunglasses on: a melancholic missionary position. Certainly not, “upright doggy”…”suspended Congress” maybe? I wonder what it was like when we were conceived. Probably Mom was on top. I wouldn’t doubt it. I bet she was a hellcat in her day. I hope we were conceived in like a sweaty, febrile, primate kinda way. Not in the sort of lovey dovey Sunday afternoon kinda way. I hope it was like: teeth gnashing, feet folding, tangled sheets kinda sex.
"I ate the divorce papers"
Monologue is from play “Goodbye Charles” by Gabriel Davis
I ate them. That’s right. I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good…goooood. You probably want me to get serious about our divorce. The thing is you always called our marriage a joke. So let’s use logic here: If A we never had a serious marriage then B we can’t have a serious divorce. No. We can’t. The whole thing’s a farce, Charles – a farce that tastes good with ketchup.
I mean, wasn’t it last week, your dad asked you the reason you walked down that aisle with me, and you said “for the exercise.” Ha, ha. That’s funny. You’re a funny guy, Charles. I’m laughing, not a crying. Ha, ha. I’m laughing because you’re about to give up on a woman who is infinitely lovable.
Continue reading on Gabriel’s website, Monologue Genie!
Anonymous asked: Hi, I'm seventeen about to audition to get into a college theatre program, and I need a one minute comedy monologue. Does anyone have a suggestion.
Putting this open to the public. Let’s all help one another here.
hail-aphrodite asked: Quite possibly a stupid question, but are we allowed to submit monologues? I'm an actress as well and have some to add. (Thanks by the way for this blog. Extremely useful)
YES! I haven’t been able to update this in the longest time so I’d love for any extra input!