Posts tagged monologues

Hello, my fellow Americans.

Whoa. There are a lot of people here.  There’s like… two, three, four… anyway, it’s a lot.

Ok. Right. Um…

So.

How’s everybody doing?  I’m good.

Hey, look everybody, it’s the First Lady!  What? No, honey, I’m cool.  No, I swear.  Go, go sit down. I’m cool, I’m totally cool.

Man, it is really cold.  Why did we have to do this in January?

(Giggles) Oh, right.  First month of the year and, uh, whatnot.

Hey. Hey. Did you, did you ever think about that? Hm? Like, why is January the first month of the year?  It doesn’t have to be.

I bet, I bet January is only the first month because we think it is. First. Of the months.

Ooh, you know what would be awesome?  Let’s make something else first.  Another month, I mean.  Not like, a screwdriver. Or whatever.

Ok, so.  First thing I’m doing as president is changing the start of the year.  Show of hands, who wants June?

Alright, let’s see.  One, two, three… wow, there are a lot of you.  I wonder how many there are?

Ok, new first president thing.  I order you to, um, count yourselves.  And then, just, you know, somebody tell me how many of you there are.

What was I talking about?

Boy, it’s getting windy.  And cold.  Does anybody else taste snow?  Does that mean it’s going to snow?

Ooh, that would be awesome!

Ok, first thing as president, I command all of you to build a giant snow fort.

(Giggles) And then we’ll call it (giggles) the White House!  Because it’ll be white!  And a fort!  The White Fort!

Hey, can anybody else see these little words floating here?  “…promoting fair and equal access to opportunity…”

Boring!  I’m gonna go find something to eat.  You guys go build me my snow fort!

Thank you, America!  I love you!  Good night!

-Greg

Let me explain somethin’ to you.  I am not.  Repeat: not. Going anywhere.

An’ what’s more, you can’t make me.

Sure, maybe I used tah live in New York.  But that was once-upon-a-time or whatever.  I live in LA now.  Land of the beautiful people.

F’r instance, as we speak, there are three gawgeous ladies at three o’clock, just lounging in da hot tub.  But do you crop them into your little picchah?  Do you stop to think Joe might appreciate da sight of a few bikini-clad beauties on his birthday?

No. You didn’t think o’ that. Cuz yer a jackass.

The kind o’ jackass that sticks a box, inside another box, and ships him back to New York.

Where it’s &#@%ing muggy, might I add.  Do you realize how frickin’ humid it is in New York right now?  Like, inside the armpit of a hippo in the rainforest humid.  Underneath the ass of silverback gorilla humid. Between two walruses making a baby walrus humid.

Awright, so I went to the LA zoo last week. Sue me.

But that’s the point. I ain’t done seein’ the sights here.  I got a life to live, and you’re gonna just ship me out?  How in the hell am I supposed to have a good time in New York hangin’ out with some drip who never goes anywhere or does anything and never—

Oh. A musician?

Like, with a guitar and stuff?

Are… are there any, uh, any ladies at these shows?

You know what: fine.  It’s the guy’s birthday.  I’m willin’ to be agreeable.  But make no mistake: you owe me.

…And you still should o’ fit those girls into the picchah.

-Greg

Guten Abend.  My name eess Siegfried.  You may call me Kommander Siegried.

Was? Ach, you Amerikaner und your pathetic obsession vith informality.  Very vell, my full title eess Herr Doktor Professor Obermeistertippytoppynichtgenauamhöchstengeneral Kommander Siegfried. 

So as you can see, Kommander Siegfried eess qvite informal.

I address you today, on ze eve of my greatest adventure.  In ze past, I have climbed ze heights of ze seven-shtory malls und plumbed ze depths of bargain basements.  I have faced ze fires of red-hot sales und outmatched ze chill vinds of ze frigid holiday season.  None of zese, however, compare to zis. Today, I venture forth into ze vorld to achieve greatness – nein, majesty – nein, ze utmost level of achievement in human history!

Or rather, box history.  Because, you know… I’m a box.

NEVERZELESS!  Tomorrow eess ze tventyfourth birthday of Herr Andrew, und it eess my reshponsibility to be a representative at ze anniversary of his mother’s kinderrausspritzen.

I vill join him on ze great adventure of manhood.  I vill teach him to bite down on ze bone of life, to chew through ze muscle of adversity, und to suck ze very marrow of triumph.  I vill lean over Andrew’s shoulder und yell, “Suck it!  Suck ze marrow!  Do you taste it?  Vat does it taste like?! It tastes like pennies, doesn’t it!  Yes, zat eess ze metallic taste of blood, because BLOOD EESS ZE FLAVOR OF ADVENTURE! UND PENNIES!”

END OF DIGRESSION!

Anyvay, I eagerly avait my chance to present myself to Andrew.  Immediately zereafter, ve vill begin our adventure, und no one vill shtop us!

TO VICTORY!

- Greg

This is so friggin’ unfair.

A birthday is supposed to be a day of joy, not bad luck.  Have you ever heard anyone sing “Crappy Birthday to You, Crappy Birthday to You…?”

No. You know why?  Because birthdays are supposed to be fun.  You know what’s not fun?

Friday the friggin’ Thirteenth!

I mean, what are the friggin’ odds that the one time – THE ONE TIME – I get to be a birthday present, it lands on Friday the Thirteenth?

I’ll tell you what the odds are: about one in, like, a billion.

…Well, OK, there’s seven days in the week, and about thirty days in a month, so it’s more like one in 200. Still, that is not. Friggin’. Fair.

And what if Brittany is afraid of Friday the Thirteenth?  Seriously, it’s a thing!  It’s called friggatriskaidekaphobia.

“Phobia” as in fear, “triskadekai” as in three-and-ten, and “frigga” as in Friday the FRIGGIN’ THIRTEENTH!

With all this bad luck, I probably won’t even make it.  I’ll end up going to Guam or someplace instead.

Well, it better be warm in Guam.  I want one of those fruit drinks, with some pineapple, and a little umbrella, because this friggin’ sucks!

Friday the friggin’ Thirteenth.

Sheesh.

- Greg

Hey there. Can I buy you a drink?

OK, that’s fair. I understand. You don’t know me. Why should you let me interrupt your evening?

Tell you what: how about a game of darts? If I can hit three bull’s-eyes in a row, you let me buy you a drink. If I miss, I leave you alone. Deal?

Well, you’d be confident too, if you had my advantage.

I’m telekinetic.

Tele… telekinetic. It means I can move objects with my mind.

I’m serious! What, do you need proof?

…Well, I can’t, I can’t do that. You see, I’m only a little telekinetic.

Yes, it’s my cross to bear, I suppose. Still. I can move small things, like, for instance, darts.

Oh, no, not like that. I still have to throw it.

Wait, come back! What I mean is, I have to throw it, and then, I can sort of, you know, guide it the rest of the way.

No, I wouldn’t say that.

Well, I would say exactly what I said. I’m only a little telekinetic, so I can only move things a little.

…Fine, sure, I can only move little things a little bit. Sort of… swerve them, I guess.

Look, just… give me a chance to show you what I’m talking about. Here, first dart, all right? First bull’s-eye. Here. We. Go!

…

OK. Tell you what: four darts, adding UP to three bull’s-eyes. That’s still fair. I only promised three bull’s-eyes. I never said I would do it with only three darts.

Did I really?

All right, well, never mind that. Three bull’s-eyes in four darts. Does anybody know how many points is a bull’s eye?

Shit.

OK. OK. Um, how about this: nine-ball. I win, I buy you a drink. You win, I…

Wait, where are you going?

- Greg

*tap tap*

Hello. Um, I’m Greg…

(“Hiiiiii Greg.”)

…And it’s been seventeen days since I last yelled at an inanimate object.

(Clapping and occasional exclamations of “Yeah!” and “You go!”)

Thank you.  I feel good, you know?  It’s liberating to accept that I have this problem, and that I cannot restore myself to sanity alone.  You know, that I need help to see that the printer isn’t really out to get me... probably.

…Sorry.  Still adjusting.  I know, I know, I shouldn’t think like that, because after all…

(“Objects don’t feel.  The feeling is in me.”)

Right, exactly.  It’s just so hard, you know?  It really does seem like the printer only breaks when I’m in a real hurry.  Like last month.  That was my rock bottom moment.  I had this big presentation to give at the ten o’clock “week ahead,” right?  And of course, the projector is broken.  Not because the projector is a begrudging little prick who can’t let go of that one joke I made two years ago about how its fan sounds like a diesel-fueled weed whacker, and he’s been in cahoots with the printer ever since, and they’ve been slowly and seamlessly plotting to ensure my complete and utter professional ruin.

No. That would be crazy.

Anyway, the projector’s broken, so I have to make copies of my slides for everyone.  So I run down to the copy room, and on my way there I can already feel the sweat forming on my upper lip, but I say to myself, “Calm down, you can do this.  Objects don’t feel.  The feeling is in me.  Objects don’t feel.  The feeling is in me. My feelings are a choice.  My feelings are a choice…”

But when I get to the copy room, the fan on the printer sounds – and I know this is isn’t real – deeper than usual, almost like the sound is coming out of a subwoofer, or a submarine, or the subterranean depths of a forgotten oblivion where hope itself is drowned in inky blackness.  Something with “sub.”

And as I put my slides into the – what do you call it – the printer feed, I hear—I mean, I definitely do not hear the printer not say in a not terrifying and not at all real and completely fake and non-existent echoing voice:

“LASCIATE OGNE SPERANZA, VOI CH’INTRATE.”

And this is particularly unsettling, right, because I don’t know Italian, and I’m starting to doubt that the printer isn’t talking if it’s, you know, talking in a language that I don’t know.

But then I say to myself, “Hey, you don’t need to know Italian to imagine this!  You’re a bright guy.  You probably just picked up that phrase somewhere.”

Then the printer says, “NON SEI PAZZO, E NON SI PARLA ITALIANO.  IL MIO NOME È DISPERAZIONE. IO VENGO DAL QUINTO CERCHIO.”

…And I don’t know about you, but to me that seemed like a lot of Italian for a guy who does not speak Italian.  Meaning me.  Not the printer.  Who, by now, I’m pretty sure does speak Italian.

Which would mean, of course, that the printer is actually, you know… talking.

In a voice that sounds like a hundred wailing souls… and also kind of like my Aunt Marjorie.

So, I do what I’ve learned.  I repeat my mantra, “People are people, and objects are objects.  People are people, and objects are objects. People are people, and objects are objects. People are people, and objects are objects…”

…

And it’s worked.  Though my eyes are still scrunched tightly, I can hear that the wailing has stopped.  It’s quiet in the copy room, peacefully quiet.  I breathe a sigh of relief, and open my eyes.

And the copy machine is on fire.

It’s a huge fire, made of big, dark flames, and in the middle of the flames is a gaping black chasm, and out of the chasm in those awful wailing voices, the same word comes over and over again, “VIENI. VIENI. VIENI…”

So I lose it.  I yell, “Get behind me, Satan!  Thou shalt not seize me in thy villainous grasp!  With my last breath, I stab at thee!”

And I wrench the lever off the paper cutter, big blade and all, and I start whacking at the printer, over, and over, and over, until the flames have been stamped out, the voices have stopped, and the printer is dead. Gone. Silent.

At which point I realize my boss is standing behind me, no doubt alarmed that I’ve just killed the printer with an impromptu machete.

And that’s how I lost my job.  But that’s okay. I’ve learned that I have a problem.  And I’m dealing with it.  And I’m so grateful to all of you for being with me through this difficult—

…Did anyone else hear the coffee machine say something racist?

- Greg

Thank you all for coming.  Let me begin by saying that the rumors you’ve heard are true.  I have decided to update my name, my mission, and my identity to better reflect the needs of the twenty-first century.

From now on, I will be known as the Greener Lantern.

Why “Greener,” you might ask?  In this era of climate change and ecological instability, the environment needs a champion, and there is no better hero than me to stand for sustainability.  From now on, I will strive to promote a cleaner future, one where earth’s heroes have a neutral carbon footprint, and where villains will be offset by the compost of justice.

I will now take questions.  Yes?

No, I will no longer be using the Green Lantern Battery on Oa.  As you know, no scientists – not even the Guardians of the Universe – have yet invented a renewable fuel source for faster-than-light interplanetary travel.  I cannot conscionably continue to exude emissions as I travel through the galaxies.  Next question.

Really?  Are you sure?

Well, maybe it doesn’t matter if I exude carbon dioxide in outer space, but… I’m still not going to travel to Oa anymore, just to be safe.  Next?

Excellent question.  From now on, my ring will be solar-powered.

Sure, follow-ups are fine. 

…I hadn’t thought about that.  Well, when it’s cloudy, it’s usually windy as well, so that’s when I’ll use the backup wind turbine.

No, I’m not concerned about that.  Sure, once in a blue moon it will be both cloudy and windless, but how often could that be?

…OK, nighttime is a fair example.  Let’s move on to someone else.  Yes?

Yeah, I suppose that “once in a blue moon” was an ironic turn of phrase, in retrospect.  We’re getting off topic.  Does anyone have a question about how I plan to fight global warming?

Thank you.  I will be collecting CO­_2­ emissions with my ring and hurling them into the sun.

What do you mean, “It doesn’t work like that?”

Fine.  Then I’ll carry the extra CO₂ to the sun.  Next question.  Yes?

No, it’ll be fine.  I’m a Green Lantern—a Greener Lantern, actually, and we don’t get burned up when we get too close to the sun, so…

OK, I’m being told by one of my aides that we do burn up when we get too close to the sun, so… I guess I’ll just dump the CO₂ in space, instead.  Yeah, you.  What?

You’re twisting it!  I absolutely do not think that dumping CO₂ in space “completely defeats the purpose of no longer flying to Oa.”  It’s very different.

…Because it is!  Someone else: you, in the back.

Yes, I definitely think I’m the best superhero to fight for the environment.

…Aquaman is not a better choice.  I have a ring that can literally do anything.  He talks to fish.

Now, wait a second, that’s not… I didn’t mean to offend fish.

…Fine.  “Aquatic-Americans.”

Sure, well, I’m sure that polls among fish—

Sorry, polls among Aquatic-Americans do favor Aquaman, but once they see me in action, they’ll change their minds.  Yes, you, ma’am.

Because I have a freaking power ring, that’s why they’ll change their minds!  Look, this press conference has been a severe disappointment, so I’m going to cut this short.  Before I take the last question, let me simply say that once you see the Greener Lantern in action, you’ll know that I’m the best defender the environment has.  Okay, you sir, last question.

Of course I know Green Arrow, what about him?

Changed it to what?

GREENEST ARROW?!  Why that son of a—excuse me, I need to go see… someone about… something.  If someone could just open the skylight so I can fly out of here.  Yes, what?

…Really.  Scattered thunderstorms.  Okay. Um, could anyone lend me bus fare?

- Greg