No? Okay. Fine, totally get it. No pressure. You can even leave the veil on. I’m curious, of course.
[Beat.]
Eventually you’ll take it off, right? To shower or eat. Not that it matters what you look like! I’m not superficial like that. Your face does not define who you are or how happy our marriage will be. Maybe you don’t like my face—it doesn’t mean you don’t like me. Do you like my face? Is it okay? I’ve been told it’s nice, but it’s so hard to tell if people are just being polite.
[Beat.]
Alrighty, let’s start with an easy one. Just dip a toe in, so to speak. Favorite color? Any food allergies? You a reader? I love reading. Probably too much.
[Beat.]
Right, sorry, that was lots of questions. Pick any of them.
[Beat.]
Orange? Nice choice. Bold, bright, I like it. Mine’s green, that sort of dusty gray green of pine needles—that’s my favorite. Smells good, too. Not that colors smell, but you know how you can imagine what a color would smell like, my green would be misty and a little mysterious. Orange would be fresh and zesty. Do you ever think about stuff like that? What pictures would sound like or what a song would feel like? Some people can actually do that—synesthesia. I can’t, but I try to imagine it. What’s your favorite song?
[Beat.]
You don’t have one? Not a music person. Huh. Okay. Not everyone is. Nothing wrong with that. I’ll do one—“Hey Jude” by the Beatles, you know that one? Who doesn’t? That song would feel like thick, velvety moss on a gray day.
[Beat.]
Do you enjoy the outdoors? I adore them. Being outside mellows me out. Sometimes my brain gets a bit manic, like a merry-go-round spinning about too fast, but if I’m outside I slow down and can get off the ride for a bit. Something about the wind and the sun and all those smells seep in and rinse out my head.
[Beat.]
A romantic? I suppose you could call me that . . . this isn’t very romantic, though. More a business deal, really, to make mum and dad happy, isn’t it? It’s all so archaic, but you hit a certain age and after years of denial you succumb to the family pressure. I didn’t find anyone on my own, did I? So fine, we’ll grow to love each other like our parents did.
[Beat.]
Your parents hate each other? Sorry to hear that. Tragic. And you still agreed to this? They paid for your university? Yes, and they want grandkids of course . . . that’s a ticking uterine clock. A deal is a deal, I guess. I admire you for sticking to your end of the bargain. My parents don’t hate each other. They’re quite fond of each other, actually—it’s rather impressive. I’m optimistic.
[Beat.]
You’re more of a pessimist? I always say, it’s not being pessimistic, it’s being realistic. Ha-ha-ha. And realistically, you’re right—we might dislike each other more after we get familiar. It’s a distinct possibility.
[Beat.]
Getting distincter by the minute.
[Beat.]
Sorry? Oh, my mistake—“distincter” is not a word. “More distinct.” Thank you for correcting me. I’m always happy to better myself. You’re improving me already! I’ve never been much of a grammarian. More of a math and sciences guy myself.
[Beat.]
Not to be blunt, but it’s getting late and tomorrow there will be all sorts of questions . . . so where do you stand on this whole wedding night business?
[Beat.]
I don’t want to pressure you, but we are man and wife now and you did mention getting a move on with children.
[Beat.]
I’m quite good. Not that I have loads of practice, but enough. I’ll certainly do my best to please you. I’m not a selfish man as far as that goes. I take pleasure in a woman’s pleasure, so that should be a point or two in the plus column. Make up a bit for the poor grammar?
[Beat.]
Have you ever had any practice? Just out of curiosity . . . not asking in a judgy way. Good, good, we’re on even ground then. So perhaps we can start with your veil. Call me a traditionalist, but I like to see a woman’s face before I see her . . . everything else.
[Beat.]
No? Goodness, of course you can keep the veil on. I wouldn’t want you to see me cry, either.
[Beat.]
I’ll just stop asking you questions and disrobe so we can get you started on those kids.
[Beat.]
You’re welcome. Happy to oblige my new wife.
Bro Vow
Chris Quintos
LUKE, late 20s to early 30s, bro
LUKE professes his love at the altar for Lisa.
LUKE I didn’t write anything down because I wanted to speak straight from the heart. [Beat.] Lisa—I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Club Rain. It seems like just yesterday you were standing across the dance floor with a lychee martini in your hands. You are the sexiest, most beautiful, hottest woman alive. My very own Megan Fox. Time passes so quickly. I can’t believe it’s already been eight weeks. And now we’re here, on this beautiful beach, getting married. In front of all of our friends and family.
Well, most of our friends and family. The ones who weren’t already busy. I mean, um, the ones who really matter. I promise to always be true to you. I promise to love you with all my heart. I promise to always get water for you in the middle of the night. I promise to always text you if I’m going to be late. I promise to keep in really good shape for you.
I promise to always be on time picking you up from your manicures and to remember that it’s a nonfat VANILLA latte, not hazelnut, that you like. [Laughs.]
I can’t believe we are going to have a baby. I mean, I really can’t believe it. But I don’t want you to think that I’m marrying you just because of that. I’m marrying you because I love you, and because I want to spend the rest of my days with you. There’s no one I would rather be with. No one I would rather wake up next to. No one I would rather work out with. For real. You keep track of all my reps without complaining, and you never lose your place. You always make sure I look good, and that my car looks good—and I know we both think that’s important. Because how can you trust someone who looks like a slob? And it’s important to be with someone who has the same values as you do. I saw that on a talk show once. I think it was Oprah. And as everyone knows, Oprah only speaks the truth. And, I just, I can’t believe how lucky I am.
You are the best workout buddy, outfit consultant, and now wife, and soon-to-be-mother that a man could ever ask for. I’m lucky to have you. And in the immortal words of Edward Cullen, who I am a poor placeholder for, “I promise to love you forever, every single day of forever.”
Phone Calls
Jeff Passino
SCOTT, 30s to 40s
SCOTT is in his office, in a textile plant.
SCOTT [On the phone.] Right, right . . . well the one thing I know is if you had chicken pox, the shingles virus is already inside you.
[Dave walks into SCOTT’s office and sees his boss is on the phone. Dave is about to exit, but SCOTT motions for him to stay and sit.]
[Whispering, with his hand over the mouthpiece.] I’ll just be another second. Sit down.
[Back on the phone.] HA-HA-HA-HA-HA, oh my gosh, I hadn’t heard that. So funny . . .
[Dave leans in to find out what is so funny. SCOTT shoots him a look as if to say, “Shut up, I can’t hear.”]
[On the phone.] I’m sorry, what did you say? . . . Oh yeah! My wife does that all the time . . . Uh, no, I’m not married . . . Well, I imagine it from time to time . . .
[Dave starts to stand up and gestures towards the door, trying to say, “I can come back later.” SCOTT waves him off and points to sit back down again.]
[Whispering, with his hand over the mouthpiece.] I’m almost done. Just one sec.
[Back on the phone.] What was that last part? I couldn’t hear
again. Well, someone’s being loud . . . oh, I don’t want to—like three feet . . .same thing he’s always wearing . . . uh huh . . . maaaayyybeeee . . . well, I don’t . . . oh YES, he DOES and I HATE it.
[Dave is uncomfortable and tries to ask if SCOTT is talking about him. SCOTT, of course, waves him off as if to say, “Don’t be silly.”]
[Covering the mouthpiece.] We’re talking about a different Dave entirely.
[Back on the phone.] I think he’s starting to put two and two together, better just get to business . . . Yes, I have the PO right here. [SCOTT opens a notebook in front of him.] Ready? . . . It is FGD 135 . . . FGD . . . F . . . F as in “Foxtail” . . . G as in “Gravy train” . . . D as in “Re-DEMP-tion”. . . and then 1 . . . 135 . . . no, just one 1 . . . 135 . . . not 1135, 135 . . . right, but put a 1 before it . . . before the 35 . . . right, that’s it, and then . . . oh no, the FGD is before the 135 . . . FGD . . . It was, I just told you this . . . F as in “Footloose and Fancy Free” . . . G as in “Oh Gee, Mr. Wilson” . . . and then D, which rhymes with The . . . 135 . . . You got it? . . . Read it back to me . . . Where did that 2 2 come from? . . . Oh right, that wasn’t part of it, that was . . . Yes, I can smell it from here, but that wasn’t, that was before I . . . There you go, drop the two 2s . . . Okay, great . . . It was good talking to you, but I should go now, what’s that? . . . Oh yes, I definitely will.
[SCOTT hangs up the phone and turns toward Dave.]
Now then, Dave—let’s you and I figure out a way we can reduce our storage bills. Mint?
Teeth or Testicles?
Matt Taylor
RICHARD FITZPATRICK, almost 40
RICHARD FITZPATRICK is almost 40, and he is as bad at poker as he was when he first started playing as a teenager. RICHARD is playing a game of poker in his kitchen with four of his friends, the most pathetic of which is his neighbor Chris Jones, a man so cowardly he refuses to visit the dentist and has not been for a checkup in over a decade. Unfortunately, he has had toothache for two days and has a dental appointment tomorrow. After Chris has talked about nothing else for the past hour, RICHIE has decided to educate him.
RICHIE I actually can’t believe that a man your age is afraid of the dentist. We are trying to enjoy a leisurely game of poker, and you are pissing and whining because you might need a filling tomorrow? Jesus! At least that guy is stuck working on your mouth and nothing else. If you want to get worked up about a medical practitioner, you should worry about the doctor; he gets to play around with your nuts. Ask a guy whether he wants his teeth or his testicles messed with, a smart one picks the teeth every time.
Shit, I heard that once you hit fifty, it is normal for them to jam a few fingers up your ass to check your prostate! And some guys even have female doctors. Can you imagine that? I wouldn’t want a female doctor looking at my fucking feet, let alone thrusting a few well-manicured fingernails into my back passage.
I hope that’s just my old man yanking my chain . . . . My doctor is a lumbering giant from the Czech Republic or Poland or somewhere and he has fingers like goddamn bananas. He speaks to me as if I was some sort of illiterate asylum seeker who just arrived from the Himalayas, and he talks to me in pigeon English despite the fact it’s the only frigging language I know. I went in last month to get a whooping cough shot before we visit the in-laws in California because my wife swears it’s rife there, and he acted like I had just told him I was going skinny-dipping in Angola and tried to jab me with every needle in his office.
Oh yeah, and when I jokingly asked him about booking my mother-in-law in for a CAT scan he looked at me like I had just dropped my pants in front of his kids, so I suspect that he has no knowledge of some of the most common medical procedures in the developed world. I have no idea where he went to medical school, but it wasn’t anywhere they practiced on humans. He was probably a veterinarian in Kazakhstan and he decided to pursue a new career because all of his dogs kept dying.
Honestly, the guy terrifies me. I wouldn’t trust him with a pair of plastic scissors let alone a scalpel. If I had appendicitis or something and I had to choose between having him treat me or just dusting the crumbs off this table and letting a lumberjack goad my organs with a pitchfork, I would pick the fucking logger.
Anyway, the absolute worst thing that can happen at the dentist is that he pulls the wrong tooth or something, which would suck, but they can fix that kind of shit easy these days. Did you see the state of Nicolas Cage back in the early nineties? He had a set of teeth like the ones you see on a string around a witch doctor’s neck. Fast-forward ten years and he has those big ass shiny Hollywood teeth; looks like he could eat an apple through a tennis racket.
If your doctor fucks up, you might end up leaving his surgery in a bucket.
You should forget worrying about your teeth and lay off the whisky and cigars instead!
Women’s Lib
Alisha Gaddis
CLINT, mid-30s to 40s
CLINT likes to hear himself talk. He is sitting in a recliner and has just been asked a question to which he replies.
CLINT Feminism. Wow.
You know what the worst part about a feminist is? All of it. I mean—the whole concept is ridiculous. I am not antifeminist. I just don’t think it affects me. I was born out of someone’s vagina with a dick. I am a man. I am not a Wo-Man. This feminism crap is not my fight.
I mean—is some hairy-armpit megabutch woman gonna start yelling at me about how women don’t get equal treatment? I mean—is Susan Sontag gonna pop out of the bushes and tell me I’m a jerk? Is someone gonna show me a pamphlet about teen brides?
It’s not that I don’t think women don’t deserve the same as men. But feminists—feminists just want to oppress the man. All men. Push ’em down and rise above ’em. And why would I want to oppress my own kind?
I just don’t have the bandwidth for that bullshit.
I do not have time to care about what feminists want. Do you want me to walk out on the corner and pass around a petition asking for ladies’ boobs to be on display while they breastfeed their kids? I don’t want that. Cover that shit up! No one wants to see your dark nipples and saggy breasts. I just want to see big tits on the Internet from the privacy of my own couch. Use a cover!
But I get it. I love women. I have a mother. I have a sister too.
But I am not going to march in a parade just because I think some chick should make the same thing as me. Maybe if they worked harder (or wore a shorter skirt to work), they would make a few extra cents on the dollar. I mean—am I right or what?
But, I think I am a progressive guy. I cook. I let her drive.
But listen, if I try to open the door for you and you say, “No, I got it”—then bitch, please—I am not going to open it for you again, and you can buy your own drink! Am I right?
But I get it. Women wanna be like men. They want to be the same. But they are WOMEN. We are MEN.
Let’s just be honest—feminists are ugly ass woman who no one wants to marry anyway. THAT is why they are so angry.
But if you want to do your report on feminism, sweetie—I think that is a great idea. Daddy supports you 100 percent—now can you go grab me that remote over there? My car auction is on TV and you’re blocking my view.
Tony Joey
Tammy Jo Dearen
TONY JOEY, all ages/every man
TONY JOEY is best summed up as a chauvinistic douchebag. TONY’s strong East Coast accent, manicured goatee, and slicked-back hair is his signature winning combination. Fist pumps and leg kicks punctuate his social commentary shout-outs and declarations. He is a disgusting pig that speaks louder than his elevated voice.
TONY JOEY I don’t understand lesbians. I call them women who are more challenging to fuck. I said it! Boom. Over the top!
And . . . What’s this “no means no”? Women don’t know what they want. They don’t know. They can bare
ly read.
I said it! Hey!
When a woman says “no,” I hear “I’m thinking about it!”
BOOM!
Cuz I know what they really want.
I’m Tony Joey. Everybody wants a piece of this!
HEY NOW!
You wanna see a magic trick? Huh?
You wanna see a magic trick?
I can split a woman in half . . . WITH MY COCK.
AIR RAID!!! BOOM!!! And the crowd goes wild!!
It’s hard to find a woman these days. They’re so fat.
They got these Natural Woman campaigns for fat chicks . . . to feel better . . . about themselves . . . cuz they’re fat.
I don’t want them feeling better about themselves.
Who wants that?
Clean my house! Bring me a sandwich. Blow me!
I speak for everyone here.
And Plus size? What’s the plus side? Plus what? Plus I’m not fucking you!
Boom! HIT ME! She’s got a full house!
Skinny girls. I like skinny girls . . . My kind of girl is the girl that asks,
“Do my shoulder blades make me look fat?”
HEY!
You know what it’s like fucking a skinny girl?
It’s like fucking a deflated blow-up doll.
Where’s the hole?!
Heyah! Killin’ this!
You wanna see a magic trick?
Huh? You wanna see a magic trick?
I’ve seen Chaz Bono naked.
Now that’s magic!
She’s not a man.
She just got so fat, she went to the other side.
HEY! Biggest Loser!
I fucked this Asian one time. I do favors. Her pubic hairs were straight like the hairs on her head. I put ’em in two ponytails and I was like “Hello Kitty.” HELLO KITTY!
Where’s my puffy sticker?!
I fucked this earthy girl.
She used stones for deodorant and she still smelled.
Men's Comedic Monologues That Are Actually Funny Page 13