Category: 267monologues

i’m positive you’re full of shit. i’m absolutely positive about that. i may be wrong about a whole lot of things but i am not wrong about that. you and delia have been talking for hours now and all i do is listen, because i am your brother and i should be a nice helpful brother but all you two talk about is stuff that is patently false, or misleading. now why is that? why would you two mislead each other like that? don’t get me wrong, delia is full of shit too. maybe more shit than you, even. but your conversations are bordering on nonsensical at this point. you said brody has a vespa. no he doesn’t! brody barely owns a bicycle. and delia told you that brody’s sister trudy told him that she was more into delia than you. that’s also bullshit. how do i know? because trudy and i are in the same art class, and after class i saw her walk off with another girl. not you. not delia. then you said that trudy financed her own film–again, no. she’s a sculptor, kelli, she only does sculptures. why are you two so full of shit? it’s like you’re friends who want to destroy each other. why? why is that so important? brody and trudy are dumbasses, trudy failed her driving test four times. in math class the teacher asked her what a cosine is and she said, “someone who helps you get a credit card.” i’m not kidding! you’re all smarter than she is. nice girl, but dumb as a brick, and brody’s no better. trust me. there’s plenty of fish in the sea and not all of them look like halibut, okay? go swimming.

this melody reminds me of something. some old cartoon i watched as a child. no, don’t stop, keep playing. it’s soothing, even though i can’t remember it perfectly. do you recognize it? are you improvising? just keep looping that, it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful. i hope i tell you that enough. you need to know. you’re beautiful, stunning, captivating. your fingers so lithe on the piano keys. you’re so perfect. you’re the kind of woman i want to make pancakes for in the morning, you know what i mean? i want you to wake up to the smell of eggs and bacon. that’s just unheard of, i hate cooking and i hate breakfast food. i know i’m weird like that. trust me, there are other things about me that you could like if you wanted. life isn’t all about breakfast food, is it? i don’t know. people talk about bacon all the time. it’s okay. but i’ll cook it for you. i’d make you anything you want. just keep playing, it’s beautiful, i swear it sounds like a cartoon i used to watch on saturday morning. really jaunty, something … wait, this is the pokemon theme! you sly devil, you slowed it down. is it weird that i am really turned on right now?

justin hid every god damn liquor bottle in the house. hid them! now that’s not fair, that’s really not fair. if you think i have a problem then let’s talk, let’s talk it out, but for fuck’s sake, don’t make me fish for a fifth of vodka out of the toilet tank, please. don’t dehumanize me like that. i’m an adult and i can do what i want, and i want to slowly destroy my liver. that’s my choice. that’s my responsibility. you can hate that and you can hate me and you can tell me to stop but in the end, it’s my choice. it’s my choice! and i bought that fucking liquor, you hear me? i bought it, it’s mine, i want to drink it all. now i have toilet water hands. i know that water is clean, it’s not like anyone took a shit in the toilet tank but still. it’s dehumanizing. it makes me feel like shit. i’m a human being karen, i know what i’m doing is wrong but i want to do it and you absolutely cannot stop me. so please get out of my house and find a better way to stage an intervention. you and justin can talk to mom and bring dr phil in here or whatever the fuck it is people do. just let me drink in peace. also if you could get justin to tell me where the spiced rum is, that would be great. it tastes great with dr pepper. thanks.

bridget, i put the cat down. today. i had to, she was barely breathing, she was lying curled up in the darkest corner of the basement, just shuddering and barely breathing. dying. she was dying, bridget, and i couldn’t just let her die like that, all alone. so i scooped her up and took her to the vet, where they wrapped her in a warm blanket and put her to sleep. i know she was your cat and everything but she was dying, and i had to do something. i know you would want to see her one last time but it just wasn’t in the cards, okay honey? she was dying, she was hurting. i was thinking … maybe in a few days we could go to the shelter and get a new cat. what do you think about that? we could get a whole new kitten or maybe an older cat who needs a home. what do you think about that? bridget, maybe you’re too young to understand, but things die eventually. it’s just the natural process of life. you have to let your kitty go. just be glad she lived a long, natural life and that she died peacefully. we’ll get you a new kitty, okay? we’ll get you a new kitty. shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, everything dies, bridget, it’s just a part of life. it’s sad but we get through it because we have to. shh. come here. shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. we’ll get you a new kitty.

how many of these guys have they thrown at you? eight? twelve? looks like a lot. and look, now they’re all dead, or dying. [BLAM] or dead. it’s good, you’ve got some power there, kid. it’s raw and unstable, but it’s there. seething underneath your skin. that’s why i’m here. [BLAM] god damn, sometimes you think they’re dead and they just pop up like that. human resilience is amazing, isn’t it? that’s why you gotta step on their [he slams on a dead body’s genitals, the body doesn’t move] junk. people gotta protect their bits, you know what i mean? that’s how you know they’re still alive. instinctively flinch to protect their balls.

so. looks like you grew up in about fifteen minutes. what are you, eight? nine? certainly don’t like you’ve ever kissed a girl. it’s okay. i’m larson, i’m your protector until we get to the citadel. yes, that citadel. it’s important that we get the hell out of here as soon as possible, alright? things are scary right now but you have to get up so we can get out of here, before reinforcements arrive. these guys have an endless supply of mercenaries they can send after you. and they will. which is why you need the citadel. so come on, get up, god you look like a mess, i’m sorry about all the blood, don’t worry about your shoes, come on, let’s go, let’s go!

[weird vagrant on the side of the road, surrounded by various tubs, of the bath and non-bath variety.]

TUBS. a bounty beyond compare. tubs is a small word encompassing so many different sizes of, well, tubs. what else can you call tubs? containment devices? things that hold other things? there is no word better for tubs than tubs. buckets? buckets, ha! a bucket and a tub are two completely different items, my friends. pails? just another name for a bucket! but a tub … a tub can hold anything. water, food, jelly, a HUMAN BEING. tubs are so miraculous, it is as if god himself created them and gave them to us to use as a thing to put things in. my name is cleevus. yes cleevus. i was born sixty-two years ago in a tub. imagine that! my mama birthed me into a clawfoot bathtub, by herself, with the tub fulla water. i’ve been a swimmer ever since. ha! why else you think i live in this rainy city? half of these tubs are fulla rainwater, gotta empty ’em out every few hours or so. but this is the life i want to lead. i got all these tubs! this is the real life, people. the real life. the tub life. the tub life. hey does anybody have a few bucks? nah i don’t want to get drunk, i just wanna buy more TUBS.

kelsea, for fuck’s sake, stop wasting all this food. look at all this shit in the fridge i had to throw out, leftovers and shit. this pizza box with one slice taken out? look at all this pizza you wasted! i know it was you because nobody else eats this weird sriracha pizza you like. why do you do this? i know you hate leftovers, i know it! just don’t buy so much goddamn food, it’s a huge waste! buy a slice of pizza. buy, get like half a chipotle. stop buying all this food and then throwing it out. jesus fuck. i hate to be cliche but there are children in africa who are starving to death. you know? children in africa. i’m gonna start eating your leftovers, okay? the moment you’re done with your food let me know and i will eat it. and if you don’t like that, tough shit, i’m not letting you waste food anymore. you’re basically buying me dinner at this point. thank you for buying me dinner, it saves me a lot of money in the long run. stop leaving all the lights on in every room in the house, by the way. you turn the lights on when it’s broad daylight streaming into the room. what good does that do? you keep doing all these behavioral things and everyone in the house is like STOP IT. i hate to harp on you but fucking stop it. your actions affect other people. don’t forget that.

last night at therapy i was reminded of a lot of things. it’s cliche at this point but shit that happens in your childhood sticks with you. it really does. i was dealing with this concept of being a “burden,” which, by the way, is a very visceral word for me. a really gut-wrenching word. i said it to my therapist and felt, i don’t know, this mix of fear and sadness rustle up in my gut. but it’s true, i feel like a burden more often than not, especially with regards to friends and relationships. i think i’m a trouble to be with, like, a, well, a burden. she told me to think about the feelings associated when i feel burdensome, and that’s a tangled web to unweave. so … that’s why i’m here, because i need to be with you and not feel like i’m burdening you. i’m not sure how to do that, but it’s important for me to be in your life but not suffocating your life. i can’t do these things alone because then i’m alone, and i’m just reinforcing this feeling i have, of being a burden. i know i’ve been difficult to be around and i know every fiber in your being is telling you to leave, that it would be better for the both of us but i … really … think you should stay. because of all the people i know here, i know you the best, and i think you know me the best too, and despite our weird parts i think we’re a good match just bogged down by some bullshit. some of that is my fault, and i’m working on it. some of it is your fault, and you’re working on it. some of it isn’t anyone’s fault. but i think we can make it work. i kind of need for it to work. [beat] christ. this isn’t working at all. this doesn’t make any goddamn sense. the only way to not be a burden is to not be around anyone, ever. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. go, just, just go. it’s fine. i’ll be fine. please.

to the most gorgeous woman i’ve ever seen.

my mind takes moments, post implosion, to comb through the wreckage after i met you, sifting through detritus for the angle of your lips, the corners of your cheeks, the fire in your eyes, your breath hot against the windowpane of the bye & bye, where you drew two curves connecting in the condensed fog. a heart. for me. for you. for us.

i’m slogging through boilerplate conventions, convection ovens of heat and love contained inside my frail frame, a cage of rib bone protecting my life force from floating off into the universe. i am driven to live in the cool shade of your shadow, glancing up at your ass and ancillary beauty. words, they are things that i could speak but they bounce off your tanned skin, and you scan the room for any oasis of astute friends you can conjure up with your sultry eyes.

admittedly, i know my place, perched upon the sidewalk curb kicking cans across the street. the lights shine a little bit brighter around your body, casting me in darkness, but who needs to see me anyway, when they can see you? i’d like you to see me. i’d like that very much, for the edges of your lips to curl in a coy smile of recognition, reciprocated appreciation of my body in proximity to your body. alas, this is darkness in which i reside, not light, and all you see is figures. figures.

jon took every piece of furniture out of this house and burned it. burned it! fucking burned it that son of a bitch. well now he’s definitely on my shit list for sure. what the hell do we do with that guy? besides call the police, i mean. obviously we have to call the police. this guy is no longer our friend, and even if his arson was related to his weird head disease, it doesn’t change the fact that we no longer have furniture. or a friend, for that matter. shit. what do we do? change the locks? we should change the locks. call the police first, then call a locksmith, then if jon comes by maybe we could try talking to him. i don’t want him to go to jail or anything but we should make sure he knows that burning our furniture is a bad idea. he’s a good guy, really. right? he’s a good guy? i mean, we can’t–he’s our friend, he’s been our friend for over a decade. just because he’s got a few screws loose in his noggin. right? we have to be there for him. right? come on. he probably sleeps on the sidewalk for chrissakes, maybe, maybe he was upset because he didn’t have any furniture. he’s hurting inside, guys. he’s hurting. no it doesn’t excuse what he did but we should at least give him a chance, right guys? right?

[beat]

right?