Pat and I slowly backed away and strolled triumphantly back to the fire. “Who’s the horse cock now?” Pat whispered under his breath as we plopped down and each took a bite of the kielbasa.
Camping at its finest.
Now, you ready to go on this Scout’s adventure son? Grab your rucksack and let’s tear this experience up.
Radio Silence
Kathy S Yamamoto
DJ GLAZED, 40-plus
DJ GLAZED is an aspiring prime-time radio DJ who’s stuck in the early-morning hours on a station in Benicia, CA. Though he’s come short on his dream, he hasn’t given up, and might’ve just found the key to his future.
DJ GLAZED Good evening, it is 3:23 on this beautiful Tuesday morning, and boy is it early. Yes, it is so early, but not too early for some smooth sounds on the radio. You’re listening to The Early Bird Gets the Love Song here on Coast 101.8 FM. It’s been another slow and steady morning for us over here at the station, and it looks like everyone in the Benicia area would rather sleep in than find love, but not to worry Benicia we at 101.8 FM, we are willing to wait for you to find love.
I guess this Tuesday will be another early morning dedicated to the love of my life: Jeanette Glazer, my mother. Jeanette, thank you so much for everything you do. For each of the thirty-eight—almost thirty-nine—years of my life. You are my light—my moon every night when you drive me to work, and every morning you are my sun, when you tuck me back in—
Oh, I’m getting word from my producer that we found a letter hidden under the ad tapes from the nineties in the vault. Wow, what a treat. Sorry, Mother, we will continue this later, perhaps in the car ride home!
[Reads from an old letter.]
“December 23, 1986”
Wow, what a long time ago. If you wrote this letter, and you’re listening, please feel free to call in. We’d love to hear from you and hear how your love life has changed over the past few decades. Let’s continue.
“Dear Craig,”
Aw, this is so sad. Craig Romanoff was the DJ in the 1980s here at the station, and he was going to move up to the 3:00 to 8:00 a.m. spot right before he died. Rest in peace, Craig.
[Continues reading.]
“Dear Craig,
I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t know I exist. She is the most beautiful girl in the world. But not only is she beautiful, she is smart and kind and creative.”
Wow, that is so sweet.
“You told me yesterday I should talk to her, and I finally worked up the courage to talk to her, and I was confident in myself. After all, I am an incredibly attractive man.”
Yes, confidence is often the key.
“Unfortunately, this did not work out well. I’ll spare you the details but it ended up incredibly humiliating for me. And I will seek revenge.”
Oh no, this definitely took a turn for the worse.
“I will kill you, Craig. I will take your eyeballs out and spread them over your kneecaps. I will kick your head around the field like a soccer ball.”
Oh my God.
Wow. This is grotesque. And it keeps going. Well, to any policemen on duty—I know there has to be some policemen on duty—I urge you to come to the station and check out what appears to be evidence of a heinous crime.
It looks like our mysterious scorned lover took his anger out on an unsuspecting radio host. I guess I’ll play “Cheek to Cheek” by Frank Sinatra, for you, dear writer. I hope that justice finds you, and that you don’t find your way to the station to murder me too. I do hope that you did get your girl in the end, and I know that love will prevail for you, as it will for me, because that’s what Mother says.
In the meantime, Mother, if you want to pick me up a little earlier, I would much appreciate it.
Death Party
Leah Mann
HAROLD, elderly
HAROLD, elderly, ailing, in a wheelchair is dressed to the nines at a garden party.
HAROLD Welcome, so glad you could make it. You flatter, I look like crap, you old dog you. Canapé? Champagne? Please, help yourself. We’re here to celebrate and don’t tell me I’m not worth celebrating. It’s been years, hasn’t it? Just six months? I’ll take your word for it.
[Beat.]
Can you remind me of your name again—George? My brother?
[Beat.]
Of course, little brother George!
[Beat.]
Have I told you what I’ve been up to? Let’s see, I flipped a few houses for an incredible profit, sold one to a Saudi prince. I know there are dozens of them and one of them is living in my house. Nice guy, nice guy.
[Beat.]
Get me a refill, will ya? Damned wheelchair, can’t do anything. There’s a good man. Sure, my arms work, but wheeling myself around is a pain in the ass and I got people who do it for me. That’s living, am I right? For now at least. Ha! Let’s be honest, for today at least. Let the countdown begin!
[Beat.]
What was I saying? Damn brain can’t hold three thoughts in my head. Can still hold a drink, though. Is that cake? Where’s the cake? I want my cake. It’s got my face on it. Did you see that? Pretty impressive, huh? You ever have a cake with your face on it?
[Beat.]
Where did you come from again? New Mexico? Where is that? And you came all this way for me . . . You must really care about me.
[Beat.]
I’m so glad you made it. It’ll probably be the last time, which is the whole point. Better to have a party where you get to see me than a funeral where everyone’s sad and I’m already gone. Where’s the fun in that? I want to see my friends before I go and it’s any day now, really truly. Look at me—I’m falling apart. Dead to rights. Sometimes I wake up with bits of me—what’s that word? You know—those things on cupcakes or ice cream? The little crunchy things?—Sprinkles, yes! I wake up with bits of me sprinkled around the blankets. Not a pretty picture, but that’s death. What about you? Any plans to kick the bucket soon? You’re what, eighty-five at least?
[Beat.]
Only seventy-one? Huh.
[Beat.]
Is that my grandson over there? Damn kids look different every time I see them with the beards and hair and everything. That’s your grandson? Don’t I have one? Couldn’t make it? College my ass, that layabout is studying some nonsense like philosophy. Where’s the living in that? What’s yours studying? Medicine? Well la-di-dah for you.
[Beat.]
We’ve been brothers for a long time, haven’t we?
[Beat.]
Seventy-one years? Is that right? You count all the years?
[Beat.]
Well you tried to steal my daughter from me and we didn’t speak for a while. I don’t remember much but I never forget a grudge! HA!
[Beat.]
Don’t go squirming away—You said you helped her when I kicked her out for dating that delinquent and I say you went against my authority as a father and your older brother and harbored a fugitive. It’s your damn fault she married the guy. Bah, love. Ridiculous. You think I loved my wife?
[Beat.]
Of course I miss her. I think about her every day. Sometimes I’m sitting at home with the paper and I ask her to bring me a sandwich before looking around and remembering she’s gone.
[Beat.]
Will you miss me when I’m gone? I worry sometimes that people won’t miss me. You’re my brother, you have to miss me, right? We’re all that’s left these days. I got more friends in the obits. I don’t know half these damn people eating my cake.
[Beat.]
I guess they know me, though.
[Beat.]
But you and me, we’ve been through a lot. Even though you’re a kidnapper and backstabber, you’re still my little brother and that means something to me. We survived mom and pop, didn’t we? I fought in th
at war. The second one, I think. When I got back, who met me at the docks? You. Who bought you your first hooker? Me. That’s bonding. That’s family. Who else is there for you all the way through?
[Beat.]
And you’re here now, still seeing me all the way through.
[Tearing up.]
I love you. I want you to know that. When you go back to Mexico, you don’t forget that your big brother loves you and forgives you. Don’t be too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes in our life. So what if you made more than most?
[Beat.]
Where’s my damn cake?
[Beat.]
Will ya go get me some cake already? I hope it’s better than last year’s cake. That was a dud. I don’t remember much, but I remember that. Boy did I give it to the bakery when I tasted that cake. Who gives a dying man a bad cake at his good-bye party?
[Beat.]
How many of these do they think a person has? Two, three at most.
[Beat.]
What was your name again?
Gee Golly Gosh
Rachel Raines
JOSHUA, 25 to 35
JOSHUA is discussing a recent visit from his in-laws with a close male friend in his home, probably the kitchen. JOSHUA is more bemused that annoyed by his father-in-law. He admires the man but feels that they cannot understand one another, even though they get along well enough.
JOSHUA He actually wants me to say things like “gee golly gosh” when I am around him. That’s how my father-in-law sees me. I find it pretty amusing. Like, “Gee golly gosh, Mr. Andrews, I fucked your daughter from behind so hard last night she came twice!” He seems to think we live like that family from Leave It to Beaver when he’s not around.
I don’t know why he got that in his head. Yeah, I’m a nice guy, but I never put on a sweater-vest or talked about having a low tolerance for dairy. We see each other a few times a year and it’s nice, everyone is nice but nothing fits into a frame, you know? Like, yesterday I found him cleaning out our gutters. And he was actually wearing these thick gardening gloves to do it. We do not own gardening gloves. My wife and I are into some kinky stuff, but we’ve never owned gardening gloves in our life. He might have found the handcuffs and fireman’s hat in the back of the closet but not gardening gloves. I mentioned it to Sarah, and she said he brought them along. He packed his own gloves, in anticipation of doing yard work. According to her, he wants us to mow the damn lawn together tomorrow. It’s bonding to him, she says. I told her he would be pretty surprised at the kind of “bonding” we generally do in the yard. (Just once, late at night, pretty drunk. It was fun.) She threw a dishtowel at me. (Funny, before I got married I wouldn’t have known what a “dishtowel” was. A towel is a towel. But I’ve heard my father-in-law say it so many times cleaning up our kitchen, I just know it now.)
The Andrews’s have got a great marriage and I know they’re happy their daughter does, too—I just don’t think they know their daughter all that well. We’re going to the beach tomorrow and I’ll be damned if we’re not having sex in the woods. We are so sneaking off and getting in a quickie. Sarah likes it when her folks are just out of range, like she’s in high school again. And then we’ll come back hair smoothed, all smiles and eat her father’s potato salad and shredded chicken. The man is a picnic wizard. He should do it for money.
After the gutters were cleared, he actually asked me if I wanted to “throw the ball around.” I was this close—really, this close—thank god I don’t have a loose tongue (Sarah would find a dirty joke in that phrase, I know it—something about oral sex)—but no, really, this close to asking him which balls he’d like to be tossing about. Mine aren’t detachable. Sarah would have killed me.
We did it. Tossed around the ball. For like twenty minutes before I was able to say I needed a shower. I found him reading the paper after, on the back porch with a mug of tea. The man could be a Saturday Evening Post model.
The thing is, for the rest of my life I’ll keep this up. I’ll play along because, hey, it’s family and he’s a nice guy. I’ve got no complaints. But next time we visit them, there will be some serious ball tossing, and it’s happening on their bed.
Chip
Steve Brian
This is a monologue from the play, Off the Old Block, written by Steve Brian.
CHIP, 21
CHIP has been taken in for questioning about the theft of some supplies from the paper-distributing company he works for and misunderstands the interrogation, thinking that he is about to be murdered.
NOTE: Feel free to change the character’s age to match your own.
CHIP Please don’t kill me, I just turned twenty-one years old, and I haven’t even had a threesome . . . well, with two girls, anyway.
[Beat.]
If I am gonna die, though, on the real, I need to confess that I cheated on my SATs . . . and I didn’t actually kiss Kelly in the playhouse back in first grade. Can you please tell Cody? And one time, when I was coming home from a party at like, 3:00 a.m., I started talking to this tranny hooker and I went home with her and started screaming because I thought she stole my wallet, but really, I had just left it at home in the first place in the front left pocket of this vest that I really don’t ever wear, but I thought she stole it so I started screaming and kicked a door and the cops came and I got arrested and went to the drunk tank and all I was wearing was board shorts and a wife-beater and my BFF Jay had drawn a tribal tattoo on my arm with a sharpie for the club—cuz chicks dig tattoos—and this really big guy in the drunk tank who kinda looked like Nick Nolte, but before he was crazy and still actually kinda handsome—anyway, this guy told me that I could blow him or he’d rape me . . . so I blew him . . . and I liked it.
I think I might be gay?
Actually, I don’t think I am, I know I am and it feels really good to just say that, out loud. I don’t even want to have a threesome with two girls. I just want to find a gay boyfriend that looks just like me and settle down and have a cat or something . . . or a dog, but a big one, ’cause the little ones freak me out and then I’d have to get one of those Bergan pet carriers for when I travel . . . or I could adopt. Can gay guys adopt? I’ve always wanted to get married. Am I gonna be able to get married? Can’t gay people get married in, like, I think Vermont or something? I dunno. I guess I see why these gay people want equal rights with marriage, ’cause when I was still straight just, like, a minute ago, if you woulda asked me about this topic, I probably woulda said something like, “Gays don’t belong in the marriage circle. Marriage is for men and women. That’s what it says in the Bible.” But if you really think about it, the Bible is full of contradictions; I mean, you really think Mary was a virgin? Me, either. I bet Joseph played just the tip, like, one time, and then Mary was like, “Joey, I want to be able to wear white on my wedding,” and Joseph was like, “C’mon, babe, let me just put the tip of it in,” and she was like, “Okay, Joey, but just this once.” But, like, some of that premature ejaculation shit musta come out and that musta been how Mary got pregnant, but then the wise men were like, “How’d you get pregnant?” and Mary was like, “I don’t know, it’s a miracle,” and they all believed her. I mean, at that point in history, they didn’t really know how babies came, did they? But since they didn’t know that, how could they have known that God wants us to be one man, one woman, y’know? I mean maybe he really meant every relationship should be half masculine, half feminine in order for it to be successful, and I know plenty of gay dudes that are feminine or butch lesbos that are real masculine, so they just make up the right ratio in the 50/50 feminine-masculine equation. I mean I guess it could also be like 60/40 or 20/80, just so long as you have a good ratio.
[Silence, as his epiphany settles in.]
So, are you gonna kill me because I’m gay now? I mean, if you are gonna kill me, can you please call me Chip?
I Didn’t Kill My Wife
>
Jessica Glassberg
JEFFREY WALSH, 50s
JEFFREY WALSH, crestfallen, sits in a chair talking to a police officer.
JEFFREY My name . . . um, for the record, is Jeffrey Walsh. I am here about the passing of my wife . . .
[Choked up.]
Please don’t make me say “potential murder.” I just . . . She was my soul.
[Taking a deep breath.]
For the . . . potential murder of my wife, Clara Walsh, on Wednesday, January the 18th.
[JEFFREY sips his water.]
Men's Comedic Monologues That Are Actually Funny Page 7