It's A World of Dogs When Your Wealth Is Dying

[Monologue for men of any age - after all - you don't have to be old to have bad luck and go broke. All actors know that. This monologue is the first in a series of related monologues that are being broken down from a much longer single speech. Each of these pieces from the series can stand alone and be delivered as a single piece.]

When the economics of your life are dying – when you’ve lost your job and your wealth catches the disease of poverty – there’s a kind of stink of death that starts to surround you.

It’s the stink of failure – of the gangrene of poverty creeping up your financial legs. And if your body of wealth was big? Well then – pal, there’s all the more of it to slough off and die. And the more that poverty’s gangrene rots you – the more pungent the stench of failure.

You cannot see that stench wafting through the air – but it’s there, Believe me. It’s there.

And your friends? The people you hung with?– Your friends with money? – With -- with things? – With possessions? – Ho-ho --- they smell it before you do, pally-boy.

And suddenly – like all their things are a single bowl of dog food and you’re some hungry old mutt that’s wandered too close – they’ll smell you, man. The hair’ll go right up on their backs, the closer you come… And man – even if you aren’t hungry – even if you got a full belly that day – they’re still gonna smell that growing rot around you and they’re gonna start protecting their little bowls.

You can almost see their paws reaching out and pulling in the bowls tight to their chests. Then - as if you were going to lunge and grab a bite – their shoulders rise, their glances turn sideward. They can’t help it. It’s their instinctive response to your smell.

It’s nature’s way of telling you: “Don’t even ask!”

They’ll take you in with their sight my friend – but it’s only to keep an eye on you – and on your paws – and on their bowl. They don’t growl – but they might as well…..

They’re afraid, man – they’re afraid you’ll ask to borrow a little bite from their bowls…a little somethin’ to tide you over….And pally boy, that’s the day you learn a brand new meaning to the saying, “It really is a dog’s world.” And believe me, man, you’re living in a world of dogs.

A Lady Who Wants To Remember Her 'First...'

[Female monologue: Ages 19-25. This monologue has a twist. The actress should be subtle and careful in her physical motions and visual focus. These motions and focus should not betray the monologue's twist, but should indicate that, perhaps, there's something different about this woman. It gives you a chance to show subtlety. Remember as well - she is in a field, so her movements are not constrained by furniture, walls, etc.]

Remember five years ago, when we were fourteen and came to this field for a picnic, Michael? You kissed me here – your first kiss as well as mine.

I will never forget a single moment of that day. I can see this field and every tree, and rock and the beautiful stone wall at the crest of the hill…

I know you’re being kind by coming here with me again. But – I didn’t really ask you here for a picnic.

See -- Michael – I know we will never be ‘lovers’ but I do know we’re best friends and I know we have love for each other.

And you’ve always been a kind and gentle person - oh God - I know I'm blushing -- but, when you smile? Your eyes have always made me feel prettier than I am. ...No really - believe me...I know...

But - but, lemmee finish....you're getting me off track...But I also remember in high school seeing in you the early makings of a real man – and I know that’s what you’ve become. I hear it in voice. I know it by the footfalls of your boots and the way you've held my hands.

Michael - if I live to be a hundred, I'll always be able to remember you like a photograph and your movements like a movie.

I know your slender and strong hands, I know every curve and angle to your face, your arms, your shoulders and legs -- I see your eyes, your smile, and how you laugh…. I can see you in my mind’s eye now as clearly as if we were fourteen again.

So, m' dear – here’s my request – O.K.? And please don’t say ‘no’ right away – please .... please just give it a little ‘think,' first. O.K.? ...O.K...all right then...[sighs]..

I’m -- I am asking if – right here – right now – with no strings attached – would you....would you please make love to me now? Here? Please? Be my first lover - here -- in this field - surrounded by the trees, the rocks, the grass and this place we both know so well? See....I....

[She puts a finger up to her lips in a hushing motion...]

Please... I - just let me finish...sorry...but I - oohh! I knew this would be hard and weird...but -- now I can't look at you and read your emotions anymore... and not being able to 'read' you - ohhh this is nooooottt easy...

Sorry...deeeep breattthhhh....Michael - next month it'll be two years since I went blind, and I gotta tell you - it sucks! I now learn faces crudely – by touch – as if I'm learning the outlines of a mask. It's very strange...but it's like feeling a 'death mask' that's alive. It's weird... People seem to think it's some sort of magic - like bingo! It's like - "Your blind - I bet now you just touch a face and know if someone has freckles. Don't you have extra sensory power or something?"

Well - that's a bunch of crap.

Now, when I meet a man, I have to ‘imagine’ his hands when I touch them -- I have to picture his lips when he speaks -- and then - like some crazy mental recipe - I have to mix the touch of his hands and the sound of his voice so I can guess at the spirit and soul in his eyes that I never, ever - ever will really 'see.'

But Michael – with you, if we make love - I just know it - I know I will not have to guess. I will know. I know your eyes, your hands, and your body. And I know your heart.

I can see us kissing here - in this field - I see us having our first kiss those few years ago.

And I will see you just as clearly today when you - if you - kiss me. I'll see your tongue lightly moisten your lips just before you lean to me. I'll see your glance darting - taking in my hair - I'll see your eyes - lightly dancing back and forth - taking in my eyes one at a time - I'll see you gazing briefly at my lips....

Then - I'll see you look again into my eyes. I'll see your palm as it caresses my cheek...and then you'll give that little glance you give just before you slide your hand behind my head - when you cock your head and watch your thumb caress my ear - yes--- yes - I always noticed that - and then as your hand settles gently on my back, I'll see that graceful ripple of your muscles as your arms fold ...and close.... and press us tight...

[She pauses - lost for several seconds in her reverie. Change of tone away from the intimate to the surroundings.]

I know how the branches in the trees waved four years ago - and how they're waving today. I know the very color of the leaves on the branches above us. I can see the moss on that craggy boulder by the Willow tree - and I know that the weeping strands from the Willows' branch will be that gentle touch we feel as they brush our shoulders.

Michael – you know that corny saying? -- “A woman always remembers her ‘first’?
I want you to be the first man to make love to me, Michael, please? That way – I’ll always be able to see this day with you in this beautiful and familiar field as clearly as if I had seen it with my eyes.

In my future years – if I’m lucky – when I make love with another man – well, there’s no other way to say it – I’ll make love to that man and be reading his emotions by guess and his body by Braille.

So - I would like - [she starts to speak quickly - and more quickly - not able truly to end her 'plea' - afraid of the answer to come] truly, to remember you as my first ‘lover’ on this day in this place I know so well – and I know I want it to be you - a man who I truly.......

[She is suddenly stopped by Michael's unseen hands that are cupping her cheeks. Her head tips up. She places her palms over his hands and caresses the backs of his hands with her fingers.]

Thank you, Michael......thank you...

The Day That Henry 'Left Us...'

[Male monologue. Ages: from young teen-ager to adult of any age. This monologue has the mangled syntax that is a challenge to perform with realism. Reading it can be difficult. I recommend that you first read it out loud. As you do so - the rhythm and pace of it will become clear to you. This gives you a chance to show your thought process and emotions as you re-live a traumatic moment.]


I was working on a tree-house – hammerin’ – when I heard a ‘pop.’ It was that kind of muffled sound you hear – that sound where you know it’s inside somewhere and it musta been real loud but by the time it escaped the walls of ‘wherever’ it went off, it got dull.

I knew it came from over near Henry’s Greenhouse. So, I dropped from my tree, hit the ground and ran through the old orchard to Henry’s yard.

Henry’s greenhouse was locked, so I ran up to the farmhouse an’ knocked. That’s when Henry’s old friend – Mr. Parker drove in the yard. He’d come to visit Henry who was in a lot of pain.. He wasn’t doing so well with that --- that uh – ‘prostrate’ is it? Y’uh know – that prozth-- whatever – that cancer thing only guys get?

“Mr. Parker?” I told him, “I heard a noise! Like a dull ‘pop’ coming from here. I just ran over here but no one’s answering.

He looks at me and this real funny look hits his face. “You heard a ‘pop’ from clear across the orchard? he asked…his voice sounded really odd…

An – then – God, I’ll never forget it – then he quickly pushed by me an’ opened the door to the kitchen. An’ then you could hear him clear to the center of town -- ‘Oh my Christ Henry!!!” he’s shoutin’ – “What the hell have you done?!”

But there was no answer -- no sound at all.

I stepped into the kitchen an tried to peek around – but Mr. Parker blocked my way. An’ just then I felt something warm drip on my hair. I reached up an’ rubbed it. Then I saw on my fingers – it was something red and thick and liquid – and warm…I’ll never forget it being warm…..very warm.

I looked up an’ saw the ceiling was all red streaks – an’ everywhere there were these dents and holes from little “b-b’s.” [an’ I knew it was birdshot – an ‘ I knew it was from a shotgun an’ I knew for sure, then what the ‘pop’ was… It was, like Mr. Parker said – the ‘pop’ was – well, it was when Henry left us…[sigh]

There’s still a couple of old boards from the treehouse left up in the branches of the Oak Tree where I was buildin’ it. Whenever I happened to notice ‘em, for some damned reason, I hear that dull ‘pop’ in my mind.

And then I think of the day that Henry left us. An’ I just try to think of somethin’ else, anything else – as quick as I can.

Queen [And King] For A Day

[Adult Female, any age. The pauses indicated should be very quick. The child is just asking one or two word questions throughout. Also - please use your imagination. By that I mean: Think of the character of "Ugly Betty's" older sister in the current television show. She speaks very quickly and with a combination of a Spanish/New York City accent. Such an accent and general character presence would be perfect for this monologue. Additionally - the character played by Marisa Tomei [sp?] in "My Cousin Vinny" would present a good image to keep in mind when performing this monologue.]

That’s it, boys and girls, the Plainville Elementary School Cafeteria is now officially closed for the summer!

[starts to set about clean-up and realizes an elementary school girl has come up beside her.]

Oh - Kathy, hon,’ I hope you have a great summer vacation.

[pause]

What? -- Where do I go? Well – you know my husband – Jack? [nods] – yup ‘Jack the Janitor’– well – every summer we spend two weeks at this – like - gigantic old southern mansion that’s been made into a hotel.

Ohhh…it’s something, I tell you. It’s somethin’. We get room service with breakfast in bed –

[pause]

Y’uh really – right in the bed…

An’ we got people who bring us snacks an’ drinks at the pool and they say “Yes, sir an' no sir – and Yes ma’am, an’ thank you ma’am… Oh – and I tell y’uh -- they have this fancy restaurant with waiters in – like - tuxedos--

[quick pause/smile]

Yup – like penguins - yup – and they have this little sort of orchestra with violins playin’ every night – it’s just – it’s just beautiful.

[quick pause]

Oh yeah! Every night we get all dressed up….I bring every dress I got and Jack brings his two suits…an’ I tell y’uh – there’s this huge old staircase – [points] as wide as that table over there, that goes down into the dinin’ room…Yup, an’, when we’re standin’ at the top of them stairs – I feel like I’m the queen and Jack’s my king.

And all them people in the restaurant – well – it’s like their our subjects in the kingdom, y’uh know?

[pause]

Huh? Oh no…no, we don’t have any friends there – I mean – no one else from here goes there, if that’s what you mean. An’ that’s the way we want it…y’uh know?

[quick pause]

Why? Well – let’s jus’ say – every king and queen has gotta keep some secrets or their subjects will lose respect for ‘em – right?

I mean, if our ‘subjects’ knew about our day jobs, it might – y'uh know – ‘disillusion’ them.

[quick pause]

What? Well – let’s put it this way….sometimes keepin’ secrets isn’t a bad thing. Like – when we come down those stairs, no one knows that they’re lookin’ at the Plainville janitor an' the cafeteria lady – an’ it’s better that way….

[quick pause]

Why? Well - it’s sorta like you --- just now. If you knew I was a queen wouldn’t you have to treat me different? Right.. [a little laugh].

So, even though you know I’m a queen part of the year – I’ll always be Gladys to you…..And...to folks the at the hotel? Well...I’ll always be the queen – Jack’ll be the king an’…to my way of thinkin’ .. that makes the world just right.

"The Bovine," a poetry reading by Farmer Peggy Ellen Poe

[A farmer's wife delivers a poetry reading. Age: Young to old adult female. Style: Think Ruth Gordon in 'Every Which Way But Loose." But again - use your imagination - you can drop the introductory speech. You can forget about the Ruth Gordon suggestion. For instance: Then the poem could be delivered using an upper-class British dialect. It can be done by either male or female. The version broadcast years ago on the Comedy Channel involved me playing an American farmer who delivered the monologue as an 'editorial rebuttal' and it was performed with a British accent.]

I heared the Federal boys comissioned some nineteen million dollars for to study on about how to stop my cows an' yours from making flat-you-lence. [flatulence] Yeah, well - I'll talk to my cows 'bout that. But for them federal college boys I'd like t' offer an opposing eddy-torial....An' - since they'se so all high and mighty what with their college ways - well - here's ma' reply in lang'age they'll all unnerstand -- [Clears throat - pauses briefly to indicate the title is coming - and then says -]

"The Bovine," by Farmer Gal Peggy Ellen Poe.

Once upon my milk farm – (dairy) - as I looked quite drawn and wary,
Over many a piece of federal mailings that had come unto my door –
While I nodded nearly napping
Suddenly I saw a wrapping
Round a letter was a wrapping lying neatly on my floor
‘T’is some junk mail,’ so I muttered, ‘- junk mail on my farm house floor
Only this and nothing more.

I picked up this junk mail sitting near my bag filled with my knitting
And proceeded to unwrap it when my jaw fell to the floor
In the flier was a bill passed
By the fed’s to study cows’ gas
‘Cuz it warmed the sky and melted ice that flooded our low shores -
Yes! It warmed the skies and melted ice that flooded our low shores.
Said the feds: Pass gas no more!

And I felt my heart a’ thumping just to think of my cows pumping –
Belching methane gas, enough to heat the air and cloud the sky!
And the thought that thermal heating
came from gas from grass they’re eating,
Was a thought that as a citizen I just could not ignore
But the thought of stopping methane posed a most unpleasant chore -
Yes – the thought of stopping methane posed a most unpleasant chore,
So - I started to read more


Yes, I read the farm bill closely ‘cuz my mind moves rather slowly,
When my eye was caught by something that my heart could not defend!
T’was the figure ‘nineteen million’
Made my color turn vermillion,
Had the congress finally lost its mind and gone around the bend?
Could the nineteen million truly be a figure they would spend?
Nineteen million be the dollars that our government would spend
Studying gas from cows rear ends?

Then the awful truth just hit me – what an imbecilic country
Spends that kind of money on a stupid project just like this?
And a rage just overtook me
As the sudden knowledge shook me -
“T’is not true!” I shouted as I raised my hand and clenched a fist –
‘T’is a joke that they are making - surely something I have missed -
T’is a sick joke they are making surely I don’t get the gist –
Surely - something I have missed.”

Then I heard a gentle tapping - at my window came a rapping -
T’was an agent from the EPA just begging to come in.
Through the portal came this mortal
Letting out a little chortle
Then he took a seat, removed his hat, and flashed an evil grin.
“Now what sends you here to see me?” I did quietly implore,
“Now what brings you here to bother me and come unto my door?”
He just grinned – and nothing more.

Soon he spoke and said the millions, spent to get thoughts and opinions,
Had resulted in a program that was guaranteed to cease
All the cows from popping methane.
Sir said I, ‘You can not be sane -
For a way to stop a cow from passing gas cannot be done!”
Barked the man, “I’m not here joking! - Not here joking having fun!”
And he told me of his plan, his stupid plan as my head spun -
For his plan had left me stunned.

Then he took a cork and hammer and explained just how to ram her -
How to ram my Guernsey, Holsteins - and the others making gas.
“He said take this cork and hammer
And just delicately ram her,
And you’ll save the North Pole and Manhattan all in one fell hit.”
And I thought of all the millions, spent by guys just like this twit
To devise a plan with corks, and theories how they should be hit.
Said I to him? “That’s bullshit!"

The Thanksgiving Day Knife

[Male role, any age.]

My father was a drunk, a sadist and a Minister of the Congregational Church. And my mother had a love/hate relationship with him.

The first Thanksgiving after my brother got married, him and his wife and her folks came for dinner. My brother and sister were there too. The new in-laws had never seen the Reverend Dad when he was in the bag and we didn’t want to miss the performance.

We didn’t have long to wait.

Dad said Grace and then, a minute later, makes like he accidentally dropped his fork. Off he goes to the pantry for a clean one. While he’s there he sneaks a couple of toots from a pint bottle he’s stashed in a fondue pot on the back shelf. He comes back. Within two minutes he’s dropped his knife. Off he goes for a clean one and a couple of more shots of booze.

By the time we get to the turkey, the old man’s dropped every friggin’ piece of silverware he had. The funny thing is – he’s so damned drunk that no matter what he’s dropped, he’s come back and replaced it with a spoon.

So – now he’s sitting there an’ his head’s half hangin’ off his neck – he’s got a slab of turkey on his plate and all the fixings – an’ he’s sitting there staring at these six spoons and wonderin’ which one is the knife.

My new sister-in-law an’ her parents are just starin’ at him. She starts tryin’ to distract everyone by talking about anything she can think about. And, since she’s not too bright – it wasn’t long before that well went dry.

Finally she says, “Oh! Did you hear about this Python in Florida that ate a six-foot alligator an’ then exploded?”

“I’m gonna be sick” – says my sister –

“Too much information, dear -” says my brother –

“Fasss-inn-ay-tinnn-“ mumbles the old man…and by now he’s doin’ origami with the turkey - trying to fold a hunk into a little square he can jam in his mouth.

He’s startin’ to shake an’ mom knows if he doesn’t get a couple of more shots in him, things are gonna start to get ugly.

“Excuse me -- ” says my mother. “Bob?” she says to my old man.

Dead silence. Everyone stares at her like they’re drownin’ and she’s a life preserver.

She picks up her knife -- glances at dad and then she says “Whoops!” Just like that – “Whoops!"

And with that – she drops her knife smack on the floor.

“Oh Bob, honey – could you be a dear and get me a clean knife from the pantry? – Oh, and while you’re at it, why don’t you get one for yourself? I forgot to put out the serrated spoons.”

Ol’ dad got the message. He scoops up the knife, weaves his way to the pantry -- knocks back some booze and returns with the two knives.

Like I say – she had a love/hate relationship with the old man – yup - that she did -- but that was the first time I saw her sorta lovin' and sorta hatin' him at the same time.

THE BUGGAR'D COW

[This monologue is comedic and suitable for male or female, age: late 20's through almost dead. It can be delivered to either a 'Freddie' or a 'Wendy.' You will find that you may be better able to adapt your delivery of the monologue based on which gender you are and to which gender you imagine you are delivering it. It can be done sitting, standing, or a combination of the two. Obviously, whether it is Freddie or Wendy who is getting lectured, they are each in their middle-twenties and therefore fresh out of law school. ]

[For those who find the language to salty for a woman to be delivering, let me tell you something from personal experience: I've met plenty of female attorneys who can go head-to-head in a cursing contest with truck driver. After you deal with enough crazy situations and nutty people, you can acquire a rather hard way of expressing yourself.]

Freddie/Wendy, I hear you laughed at one of our clients. Now hear this! This is a Wisconsin law firm. And if you’re going to be a lawyer in Wisconsin, you can’t laugh when a client tells you he was caught screwing a cow. This is dairy country for Chrissakes!

And you! You’re a professional!

Psychologists – Doctors – Lawyers – we’re all ‘professionals.’ And do you know what the difference between a professional and a layman is?

The professional doesn’t laugh when the client tells him he got busted screwing a cow.

It’s just not done.

We have a responsibility to the public. Do you remember what that responsibility is? Huh?

[pause - then continue speaking as if repeating Freddie/Wendy’s answer to the question]

Right! To “zealously” defend our criminal clients against the overwhelming power of the state.

Sometimes Freddie/Wendy, you’re going to find that the only thing standing between the state penitentiary and some poor bastard who buggared a goat, is you!

Again, let me remind you – we are in Wisconsin. Remember the saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do?” [pause as he listens to Freddie/Wendy]

What? No! I am not suggesting you start dating a Guernsey. What I’m saying is that we have to accommodate ourselves to the problems people face peculiar to this locale.

And what do we find in this locale? We find boys raised on farms. Boys who started throwing bales of hay when they were ten years old. Corn and beef fed muscular boys -- Boys in the best physical shape in these United States.

And where are they living?

On one thousand acre farms with the nearest neighbor ten miles away.

Now they can wander up the road for a few hours and hope the neighbor’s got a cute teen-aged daughter with the morals of a bar-fly. But what do you think the odds are of that happening?

Whereas – remember now – this is Wisconsin – that same strapping young fellah can’t spit without hitting a cow. Do you think it’s an accident that Wisconsin has the fewest knocked up single teen-age girls in the country? Uh-uh. And we have the Guernsey’s to thank for that.

So please – do me a favor – do not – I repeat – do not laugh at our clients who sodomize farm animals. At least not until we get paid.