The Camping Trip - Villain Monologue

T H E   C A M P I N G   T R I P

BY: Paul William Fassett 

Yeah, my wife gets around. She gotten around to just about every house on the block. That's why I don't sleep with her anymore. It would be like raw dogging it with a prostitute. Don't know what kinds of exotic STDs you could get from that thing. As if it weren't bad enough my kids tore that thing up coming out of her, now I got every guy with half a hard on wearing her out like hobo with a dumpster coat. Don't look so surprised Brad. Everyone knows my wife has been sleeping around. The neighborhood knows it. I know it. You know it...

I can tell by the look on your face you're angry. I would be angry to if someone was bad mouthing my girlfriend.

Now you look confused. Well, allow me to clear things up for you, Brad. You have been fucking my wife.

You think that I didn't know? You thought this camping trip was your idea? You thought we would come out here, act like best pals, and you would break the news to me gently? You might have even prepared yourself for a little fist fight. We would wrestle around, hit each other a couple times and at the end we would hug it out. Best friends forever, bros before hoes!

Sit the fuck down!

I'm the one with the axe, Brad. So listen.

Did you think I was just going to let you run away with my wife, live in my house, raise my kids! And I wouldn't do anything about it! I thought you knew me Brad. Hah! I thought we were close.

Don't run away Brad. You're just making this hard on yourself!

Penicunt - Comedy Monologue

P E N I C U N T

By: Paul William Fassett

Penis... Let the word swirl around in your head like mouth wash, then spit it out.

What a sterile sounding word, right? I prefer cock! 

Wait, that came out wrong. I mean it's a word with a little punch is all. You can almost imagine your dick with a feather mohawk and a beak clawing the eyes out of some other cock. It's a masculine word. That's the problem with society today. People are becoming walking pussies by words that are supposed to describe their fun bits. Even words like cunt. You think cock has punch, try calling someone a cunt. That's like a hard right hook to the jaw. Words create visuals, especially the ones people are afraid of. When I hear cunt, I think of a huge pot hole in the street filled with oily water, surrounded by dead birds.

Pussy though... Now that's a word I can get behind. Like a fluffy cloud floating in a big blue sky, all alone, made yellow and orange by a low hanging sun.

When I think of vagina, though, I don't imagine a warm wet playground like I would like... No. I think of some obscure village in Romania that raises sheep whose number one export are wool pelvic wigs. It's sterile, too clinical a word to be sexy.

Don't believe me? Then let me prove it. Close your eyes for just a moment and imagine this. Your girlfriend is laying on her back, naked, ready to... Receive you... She pulls you closer and whispers into your ear: “I want you to insert your penis into my vagina.”

I think it's safe to assume you would be a half mast sailboat floudering in the water hoping for a wind to take you far far away. So the point is, political correctness is great and all, but leave my genitals alone, unless you plan on knocking them around a bit.

Just don't call it a fucking penis.

Fucking Horrible - Comedy Monolgue

Hello everyone and welcome to my blog. This will be a place for me to post my many MANY monologues which I create on a daily basis. You may use them for auditions as much as you want, the only rule (if you can call it a rule) is that you have to tell us how the audition went in the comment section below.

Without further delay, I bring to you: 

F U C K I N G   H O R R I B L E

BY   Paul William Fassett

 

I have one singular love in this world and it is a simple love. It's the one thing that gets me up in the morning. That love is, you ask?

The squeegee. Yes. I love to clean my car windows.

It's the one thing that keeps me going is knowing, that no matter what happens in my life, at least I know how to get a streak free shine on my windows. See I have this special technique. I go up and down, with the spongy part. Then I go side to side with the squeegee. I never leave a single streak.

So that's why I attacked that homeless man.

He was standing there on the corner, yelling at something imaginary floating in the air around him, when he saw me. At a dead stop. The red light at Vermont and Hollywood. The one that takes forever to change... That's when I saw it. The bottle of blue stuff. Soap streak in liquid form. I wasn't going to let him take away one of the last joys I had in life so I scrambled to get my windows down. My hands out, waving, practically screaming: “No thank you!”

He kept on coming and was already half-way through the intersection when I got out of the car. I stood in front of him but he actually tried to go around me to get to my windows. That's when I pushed him. That's also when I noticed he was an old man.

So yes. I pushed down a crazy old homeless man. To be fair though, tensions were high. I had a change of heart when I saw him laying there. Might have had something to do with him screaming: “I'm trying to clean his windows! Asshole!”

That's when I noticed the car sitting next to me at the light. Hasidic guy. He was wearing one of those crazy top hats and the spiral spaghetti hair. Anyway he looked straight on down the road. Had a white knuckle grip on the steering-wheel. When the light went green he took off like a lightning bolt.

I put a hand out to help the old man up but he slapped it away and got up on his own. Called me every kind of fucker name he could think of. Like mother-fucker, cock-sucker, crazy mother-fucker. Even some colourful variations I can't quite remember. He pushed me and then told me to go: “Fuck my mother.” And given all the accusations of mother fondling before, it sounded like he was giving me a command, so I punched him.

Yes. I know. I punched an old homeless man.

I'm fucking horrible...