Tag: 365 monologues

describe him? well, alright, constable, i’m afraid i didn’t get a good look at him and i’m not the greatest at remembering details but … i’d say he was seven feet tall, maybe 400 pounds, give or take. he had three hands–he had two regular hands and then a third hand that laid on the top of his head. i think it was growing out of the back of his head? and it flopped on the top of his head like it was his hair or something. i only saw it briefly when he tipped his top hat at us. his face was, um, his cheeks were bulging because he was chewing on bulgur wheat that kept falling out of his mouth, i mean he really filled it up all the way. his eyes were sunken and very dark, very morbid looking, and one of the eyes was just a hole where an eye would go, except instead there was this little man, or this beast thing, it looked like a hairless bear man, and occasionally it would prop open his eyelid with a piece of wood, like i think half of a matchstick or something like that, and it would just gaze out at the world. i would say it is mostly bear. his nose was dripping bright yellow liquid at a regular rate, and he would dab it with a kerchief that got more and more yellow as things went on. the yellow was glowing and when we moved into the dim study i could tell it was glowing in the dark. eventually he threw the kerchief into the rubbish bin and procured another from inside his jacket pocket. he blew his nose and it sounded like the low rumble of thunder. he then, and this was strange, he *ate* the kerchief after he blew his nose. needless to say we were all disgusted, but then he began to speak with this cadence to his voice that put us at ease instantly. i nearly fell asleep, in fact. he lulled us into this false sense of security before killing iain and taking the jewels. it’s surprising he could even hold them, as his arms and hands were actually slippery eels. did i mention that part? slippery eel hands. oh constable, you need to apprehend him right away, before it’s too late! but don’t get too close, as he emits a pungent odor from his skin that, if inhaled too closely, will cause you to die. it’s how he got iain! i swear this is all true, constable! i swear it!

let’s think about this rationally for a second, alright? let’s just take a deep breath and think about this. you’ve got some kind of vendetta against me, against my family, sure, okay, that’s understandable, i know my father fucked you over big time. but revenge like this? really? is this really how you want things to go down? because, this isn’t some kind of game here, pete. this is the real world, and your actions will have consequences. you kill me and you’re starting a war. you kill anyone in my family and you’re starting a war. you touch a hair on my daughter’s head and i will personally rip out your tongue and shove it up your own ass. that’s what we’re talking about here, pete. this is the scale of things. you want vengeance, you better find it somewhere else, some*how* else, because murder’s just going to beget murder, and instant gratification begets the eradication of your entire family. trust me on this one, pete. put that gun down. take a deep breath. turn around. find out what makes my father tick. find out what that hot button is. and press it. press it as hard as you can. i think you know what it is already. that’s how you get revenge in the modern day, pete. not physical death, but financial death.

[on a porch. leans forward in his chair.]

damn, jennifer’s got all the right curves in all the right places. she is a hot-tee with a capital h. holy moly. son of a bitch. look at her! my goodness. she is a work of art, a god damned work of art. i don’t think i’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life, and mind you, i’ve been to los angeles. no way. no way no sir. god, see, when he made jennifer he was firing on all cylinders, you know what i mean? had his mind in the right place. does god have a mind? ah who cares. look at jennifer! she’s wearing that little frilly skirt thing, oh man. look at those legs! built for speed, or, or, for, or for, lifting or something. she lifts weights, she does cardio, i can tell. she probly does that stairmaster thing like, like all day long. man oh man, she is gorgeous! i should tell her. yeah i should go right up to her and tell her how attractive she looks today. that’s not weird, right? that wouldn’t look weird, would it? people, men, men tell women they’re attractive all the time, i see it on TV constantly. guys always telling ladies they look good. and jennifer she totally, she definitely deserves to know. i mean she probly already knows, right, but if someone tells her then that’s gotta feel good. yeah. yeah. i’m gonna do it. i’m gonna finish this beer and then i’m gonna do it. the beer it’s getting warm so i wanna finish it because warm beer is gross but you know, i don’t want to waste a beer. so i’m gonna drink this beer and then i’m gonna go tell jennifer that she is a beautiful woman. yeah. definitely.

[slowly leans back in chair. nods a couple of times. takes a swig of beer.]

triangulate the signal using a passkey motor sensor algorithm. you’ve got four days to manipulate the data, tribard. we have to know where that signal is coming from! johnson, get the floorboard particle emulator up to date! we’ve got incoming violet disturbances in the outer infrared field, we’ve got to charge the pulsar trackers! CHARGE THE PULSAR TRACKERS! we’ve got three minutes to touchdown, repeat, three minutes to touchdown, brady, fire the anti-matter plasma cylinders. singh, get the ground crew up to speed on the situation and find a way to overclock the temporal subsistence chambers. T-MINUS TWO MINUTES UNTIL TOUCHDOWN PEOPLE. we’ve got sixteen live ones heading on a 48 degree decline, rotoscope the gyroscope launcher until it’s at 26 hertz, but do NOT push it to 30, you hear me? thirty hertz and we’re DEAD. ramirez, get all hands on deck and throw the forward throttle into overdrive, maybe 118%, then check the diesel manipulaters for any signs of damage. roscoe, get me a sandwich, turkey on rye, light on mayo with maybe some dijon if we have it but DO NOT WORRY IF WE DON’T. i need a thousand calibrated lawn darts ready for launch, repeat, one thousand ca-li-bray-ted lawn darts people! and actual lawn darts not that new shit where they’re all rounded at the end so johnson maybe time travel back to 1973 for the real deal. ONE MINUTE PEOPLE WE GOT ONE MINUTE UNTIL TOUCHDOWN. someone get velvet underground on the intercom, the one with nico, none of that white light/white heat bullshit. IT’S FUCKING BULLSHIT TREVOR we are not having this argument right now you understand? oh shit THIRTY SECONDS, THIRTY SECONDS UNTIL TOUCHDOWN someone call a priest we need last rites read for every god damned person here as quickly as possible. we need a fast talking priest and thirty polaris chunkers calibrated to the nth degree, WHAT’S THE STATUS OF THE PULSAR TRACKERS?! fifteen seconds people, here it is, this is the end, this is everything, this is the big one, if any of you beautiful ladies want to fuck right now let’s get to it, my shirt’s buttons are snaps so i can just tear this off FIVE SECONDS PEOPLE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE–

i am about 90% sure you’re a robot. i don’t know how to prove it short of cutting your head off, though. dunno what you think, dunno what they programmed you to think, but i’m getting the impression that you are a robot of some kind. first: you don’t sleep. i’ve never seen you sleep. in fact on occasion when i head downstairs for a midnight snack or what have you, i’ll find you watching infomercials on the downstairs telly, your head cocked at an angle like it’s confusing you or like … you’re processing human behaviours. odd, isn’t it? then there’s the food issue. i’ve never seen you eat! what do you eat? the pantry remains as stocked as it was a week ago, minus the bits and pieces i’ve eaten and mum’s eaten. even when we went to the grocers and i asked you if you wanted anything, remember, you said “oh, surprise me,” so i bought you a couple starbars because i fucking love those things, but then yesterday i took a look in the pantry and they’re still there. why are they still there, man? i would’ve eaten those things in a heartbeat! i did eat them, actually, once i decided you were a robot, cause robots don’t have to eat now do they? oh and also, i’ve never seen you use the toilet. not once! do you pee? do you shit? what do you do because, i dunno, compute things? you’re a fucking robot i just know it. just admit it and we can move on from there. and if you’re from another planet or something i’ll be extra pissed off at you!

sit down. sit the fuck down. don’t you say another fucking word until i’m finished talking to you, do you understand me? just nod yes. okay. good. now i want to preface this by saying i think you’re an asperger-as-fuck piece of shit who gets way with being an asshole because you’re the smartest person in the office and without you the boss would be at a huge loss. i totally understand that if you and i tussled and got called to the principal’s office, i’d be out of here faster than i can say “asperger-as-fuck.” so you’ve got this sense of entitlement that gives you, for some reason, an excuse to be a giant baby. and oh what a giant, enormous, fucking dickwad of a baby you are. oh how you whine because nobody is as smart as you. oh how you whimper in your office because it’s so hard being you. great. whatever. that’s fine. but the next time you’re mad because you somehow believed a 20-year-old intern could do their job right, don’t you ever. ever. EVER take it out on me. you get me? don’t you stomp out of your office and interrupt me while i’m on the phone. don’t you give me that mean mug you give. in fact, even better, don’t ever say another word to me unless it’s directly about work, like if you need to ask me a question or something. and if you do ever need to ask me a question, do not, i REPEAT, do not wait for me to acknowledge your presence. do not stand there. say my name. say my fucking name. i will not acknowledge you until you say my name. got it? you could look me straight in the face and i will say nothing until you say my name.

lastly, and this is important–everyone else may take your utter indian-food-diarrhea of an attitude because you’re important to this firm, but please, please understand: i don’t mind getting fired. you reading between the lines here, bucko? if you ever piss me off again i will ram your head into every wall i can find, and i will beat your dumb baby ass until your face looks like a head of cauliflower. i will enjoy this very much. i will go to jail for this. and yet, i won’t, because if you tell anyone it will just lead to a quicker beating. got me? i have no problem showing you what it means to be a grown up, either by my words, or my fists.

now. i’m going to make a quick call to a client. be sure to close your door so you don’t have to fight the impulse to try and make me feel like shit, okay? okay.

good talk.