Tag: 365 monologues

[for added effect: imagine samuel l. jackson reading this]

fudge. i’m talking fudge. i’m talking lots of fudge, like fifty pounds of fudge. just here on this table. just sitting right here in the middle of the table, looming over the table like it owned the whole goddamn room. and, look, i’m human. i’m like you. i see fifty pounds of fudge on a table and i want to eat it. i want to consume it. i want to rub it all over my body, i want to stick it up my ass, i want all of that. but i don’t. and you know why? because it’s not. mine. it’s not my fudge! it’s the director’s fudge, and the director’s going to be here in ten minutes and he doesn’t have his goddamn fudge. now imagine if you went somewhere with full knowledge that a significant amount of fudge would be available to you, once you arrived. it doesn’t have to be fudge, per se. whatever makes you happy. pussy. you guys are all teenagers, right? we’ll say pussy. fifty pounds of dripping wet pussy, the mome–okay let’s say 120 pounds of dripping wet pussy, fifty pounds makes you sound like a pedophile–the moment you step in the door. now imagine if some fucking shitheads came in before you arrived and took your pussy. you’re sitting in your car, dick hard as a diamond, just waiting for that moment where you throw the doors open like fucking aragorn in that lord of the rings bullshit, and there’s this mound of pussy for you to pump your tiny teenage dicks into. oh man it’s gonna feel so good, it’s gonna feel so good you’re gonna cum in like ten seconds, just like the director is gonna eat all that fudge in ten seconds. except it’s not there. because some SHITHEADS took it. they took your precious pussy. that’s what the director is going to think once he’s arrived. “they took my fudge,” he’ll think. and then he will murder all of us. so before he steps in that door and shoots each one of you in the back of your dumb skulls, somebody fucking PIPE UP and tell me where that fucking FUDGE IS!

you turn to the television screen. on it is a older man with graying hair, breathing heavily. it’s a medium shot, you see above his torso. he’s wearing dark eye shadow. in front of him, out of focus, is the upper half of a young woman’s face moving back and forth. she’s wearing pigtails. he’s fucking her, doggystyle, but that’s all beneath the shot. behind him is a swirling rainbow light pattern, reminiscent of the 60s. no music, just him panting and her silent, emotionless. the soft slap of his body against hers. eventually her head dips below the screen as she rests her upper body on the bed. he just keeps fucking her. he looks a little distressed; this wasn’t the easy job he thought it would be. the act is tiring him out and he’s panting harder and harder. the rainbow pattern swirls faster and faster. he’s giving her his all. she pops back into frame, looks back at him. “do you want to rest?” she asks in a soft, low, caring voice. he shakes his head no, and sweat droplets fly off his face and onto her body. he grunts and keeps going. she looks into the camera. she knows it’s there but has no problem with it. he keeps fucking her. the rainbow swirl slowly slightly. he brings his arm up to his face and wipes his brow with it. swears softly. she says quietly, “come baby, come baby, i want you to come,” and her voice is more girlish than before. he says “more, more,” and she says loudly,” come baby, i want you to come so deep inside me,” and you can see his body slow down as the urge to come fills his entire being. he comes, hard, and almost growls as his body shudders. he collapses onto her back. she is moaning, but more of pleasing him than of pleasure. she pulls away from him and lies on the bed, out of frame. he flops down beside her. the rainbow swirl flicks off. the camera stops.

if i finance this project, i want only one thing: co-starring role as the wisecracking sidekick. who’s the star? the rock? dwayne “the rock” johnson? then what about me as the five-foot-eight, 120 pounds, pale as the day is long, wise ass sidekick who always knows the best quips to sling at the bad guys. it’s basically typecasting. guy gets caught stealing from an ice cream truck, and i say, “looks like just went down a *rocky road*.” you get it? it’s the name of a popular ice cream flavor! it’s so perfect, i’m willing to fully finance this project so long as i get to say all the cool stuff after the rock gets the bad guy. he, he, he just took down a guy who was parasailing and then i say, “looks like the next place you’ll be sailing to is *prison*.” get it? get it? god it’ll be so great, yeah, i’ll give you five million now and the rest when i get a script. i can’t wait to be a part of this. the rock nabs a bad optometrist and i’m like, “i’ll *see* you in hell,” get it because of EYES.

look, i’m out of things to say. i’ve said everything. i think my life contained a reservoir of words and i’ve used them up. useful words, i mean. this is it, this is the end of my vocabulary. once these words are spoken i will have no words left. all the meaningful ones have been said, and now all i have left is this. what is this anyway? are these the meaningless particles in the universe that no one bothers to measure? are these sound waves destined to die against iron walls, or fizzle out amid the cosmic background radiation of the universe? what is the meaning of the end? when i am finished talking, there will be no more words left for me to speak. i will be mute until the day i die. and none of you seem to be taking this in. i can feel it already, i feel my lack of words, i feel unable to say much more than this. my word reservoir is dwindling. linguistically i am dying, i am dying. my throat is closing up, i told you i am out of things to say, you didn’t believe me but it’s true, i’m out–[he keeps moving his mouth but words stop coming out. he stops. then he gesticulates: “see? see i told you so! fuck!”]

look, let me just say what i want to say and then i’ll be out of your hair forever. okay? because i’ve got this, this, this soreness in my chest, right, this thump thump thump and it’s not my heartbeat, it’s my body … fighting over whether to tell them or not. it’s my conscience, it’s my consciousness … we have to tell them, jake. that’s what it’s telling me, it’s been telling me this for ages now. we have to tell them. the more time we spend with our mouths zipped up, the longer the ache pulls me down, and i’m afraid in a year or two i just won’t be able to take it anymore and i’ll blow my brains out, just to stop this constant aching. the only thing stopping me is you and those big meaty fists of yours. i don’t even care if i go to jail anymore. look you can tell them i did it, jake, you can tell them i did everything just as long as people know. people gotta know. they gotta know. i see them on the news and i– i just can’t take it anymore. they’re dying, jake. they’re dying inside. and i feel it and it’s making me die inside too. you know i love you jake but that won’t matter if i can’t feel anything for anyone. you get me? you get me jake? if we don’t tell anyone tonight i’m gonna kill myself, i swear to god. if you care about me even one little bit you will let us talk. let us talk jake. let us talk.