Looking for a great comedic monologue? You have come to the right page. We have put together a massive list of comedy monologues for men and women, from theatre, film and TV. We aim to cover all bases – some are from classical playwrights, and others from contemporary TV series. These monologues will work well for auditions, perhaps a showreel update or for just some self-taping fun.
I find actors always have great dramatic pieces on their casting profiles, or at auditions, but rarely have a great comic monologue. Having a really great comedy piece will make you stand out and allow you to show off your range as an actor.
It’s always tricky finding a great comedy monologue as let’s be honest, most comedy monologues aren’t exactly standup routines. Some are laugh out loud, but others are more subtle. As you’ll see from some of the monologues on this list, some are simply just lighter in nature. If you have been asked to prepare a comedy monologue, don’t think that it has to be the funniest two minutes of your life.
How to approach a comedy monologue:
The key to comedy is to play the truth of the situation. Too many actors play up the comedy, trying to make a monologue funnier than it is. In fact, we have to trust the playwright or screenwriter and just fully commit to the situation. I highly recommend reading or watching some of the writer’s work to get the nuance of that writer: a Neil Simon monologue is very different to a Phoebe Waller-Bridge.
How to pick a comedy monologue:
I recommend reading a bunch of monologues below and then just making a gut choice. A monologue will soar if you connect with it! If you are reading a monologue below and feel excited to get up and have a play – that is your monologue.
I hope you enjoy!
Read more: How to rehearse a monologue
Comedic Monologues for Women
Comedic Monologues from Theatre
By Sadie Hasler
He called me by my name. His name for me. Judy Rude. Because I ‘always swear’. Apparently. The only fucking person I have ever allowed to call me Judy. I went and stood in a card shop for a bit to sort my head out. I hadn’t seen him since we split up, not once. Ten years. It’s weird – I always thought I wasn’t that bothered about him, but I’ve not really liked anyone since. Not enough to live with. And you don’t expect that when you break up with someone do you? That they won’t be bettered. Upgraded. That you will just … stand still. Ten years. Fuck.
So I stood there in the shop, and there were loads of congratulations cards – new babies, pink and blue, storks with bundles, balloons, all spewing out. There was one, with a photo of fat little baby feet, next to a card which said ‘It’s your birthday, let’s get wankered’. And all of a sudden I didn’t know who I was anymore. Was I free? Or wasted? Just for a minute. Then I was fine. Left the shop.
AND THEN OF COURSE I STARTED GOING FUCKING STIR-FUCKING-CRAZY THINKING OF ALL THE THINGS I COULD HAVE SAID. Like, ‘What the fuck were you doing having a kid months after breaking up with me’, like ‘You said you were like me, you never wanted kids’, like ‘Damn straight I look good – I haven’t been sucked dry by tit-leeches’. And then I almost threw up, because that lady who smells of egg went by, and also because what if, what if we’d stayed together, what if he’d asked me, and I’d said yes in a moment of madness and let him do his thing, and we’d done the normal stuff, and had the babies, would that be my life now? Would I be happy? Happier? Different? What? WHY WASN’T I GOOD ENOUGH TO WANT TO IMPREGNATE? How come Judy Rude lost out to Molly Blah?
By Wade Bradford
Beatrix, the 17-year old president of the student body, after her “ex-friend” deviously cancels the prom.
Young women need the Prom. It’s a rite of passage as sacred as getting your driver’s license or buying your first bra. There are only a few things in life that are guaranteed to be glorious and memorable and sparkling with gowns and cummerbunds. Prom is the quintessential teenage experience.
Think of the unlucky grown-ups and the elderly who lament the day they decided not to go to the Prom. It is a key ingredient to a happy and meaningful life. Prom is short for Promenade, a slow, gentle walk through a shady glen, and this beloved ceremony symbolizes our journey from the shadows of adolescence to the bright sunshine of the adult world with all its freedoms.
And it may be the only chance I’ll ever have to dance with a boy. Maybe I’ll never have someone get down on a knee and offer me a diamond ring. Maybe I’ll never walk down the aisle with a smug look of bridal triumph. But it is my right, and the right of every plain, frumpy, book-wormy, soon-to-be librarian to have one night of Cinderella magic. Even if we have to go with our cousin, or our gay best friend from tap class, we will have a Prom. And you will help me.
By Debra Oswald
All right. I’m going to admit something I never thought I’d admit to anyone ever. I’ve got a crush on Adam. Head over heels. Uncontrollable passion, etcetera. Unrequited passion, of course. Now I know this sounds like I’m throwing away everything I’ve said so far. And I guess I am. I know every girl at school except Monica is in love with him. I know he’d never go for a dag like me. I know it’s hopeless. I know all that. But I can’t help it. Just thinking he might look at me, my heart starts pounding like mad. And then I worry about whether he can tell my hearts going crazy, and I have to act really cool. This crush – it’s like a disease. Do you know – oh, I’m almost too embarrassed to admit this – Adam misses the bus sometimes. ‘Cos he’s chatting up some girl or something. And do you know what I do? I get off the bus after one stop and walk back to school, so I can hang around the bus stop hoping he’ll turn up. Just so I can ride on the same bus with him. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? I’m crazy. I can lie here for hours thinking about him. Writing these movies in my head where Adam and me are the stars. I try to imagine how he’d notice me and fall hopelessly in love with me and all that. Like, one of my favourites is that the bus breaks down one day in this remote place and there we are stranded together. He discovers that I was this really fascinating woman all along. Far more interesting than all those silly girls at school. But – I say that I can’t bear to be just another notch on his belt. So Adam has to beg me to go out with him. Grovel almost. That’s a pretty over-the-top version.
Noises Off (Theatre)
By Michael Frayn
“It’s no good you going on. I can’t open sardines and answer the phone. I’ve only got one pair of feet. Hello…. Yes, but there’s no one here, love…. No, Mr. Brent’s not here…He lives here, yes, but he don’t live here now because he lives in Spain… Mr. Philip Brent, that’s right…. The one who writes the plays, that’s him, only now he writes them in Spain… No, she’s in Spain, too, they’re all in Spain, there’s no one here… Am I in Spain? No, I’m not in Spain, dear. I look after the house for him, but I go home at one o’clock on Wednesday, only I’ve got a nice plate of sardines to put my feet up with, because it’s the royal what’s-it’s called on the telly — the royal you know — where’s the paper, then? And if it’s to do with letting the house then you’ll have to ring the house-agents, because they’re the agents for the house…. Squire Squire, Hackham and who’s the other one…? No, they’re not in Spain, they’re next to the phone in the study. Squire, Squire, Hackham, and hold on, I’ll go and look. Always the same, isn’t it. Soon as you take the weight off your feet, down it all comes on your head.”
A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Theatre)
By William Shakespeare
Helena: Act 2, Scene 2
“O, I am out of breath in this fond chase!
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe’er she lies;
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:
If so, my eyes are oftener wash’d than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;
For beasts that meet me run away for fear:
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius
Do, as a monster fly my presence thus.
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia’s sphery eyne?
But who is here? Lysander! on the ground!
Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound.
Lysander if you live, good sir, awake”
As You Like It (Theatre)
By William Shakespeare
Rosalind: Act 3, Scene 5
“And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty,–
As by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,–
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you than in the ordinary
Of nature’s sale-work. Od’s my little life!
I think she means to tangle my eyes too.
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it:
‘Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair,
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman: ‘tis such fools as you
That make the world full of ill-favour’d children:
‘Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love:
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.”
Rather Be a Man (Theatre)
By Joseph Arnone
I don’t know what it is with me lately but I just get so UGH! when guys come up to me, with their cheesy lines, (imitating guy) “Hey, you have such a beautiful smile” or “Can I just tell you that you are so beautiful”. Ugh! It disgusts me. I mean, who the hell does this guy or that guy think he is to give me such compliments? What gives him the right? I don’t do anything to give off any kind of interest whatsoever, I completely look the other way when I see eye contact happening and they STILL come over thinking they’re so suave and it’s simply repulsive. You know what I’m saying??
What does a girl have to do these days? Maybe if I just vomited on myself the guy would walk the other way but I bet even then, I’d get, “The way you vomit on yourself is just so, so delightful.”
…All I want is to be left alone. I have a man, I love my man and I do my best to be polite but the irritation and the cheesy lines are getting to be too much. Guys are blind, they really are, OBLIVIOUS to when a girl is not interested. There are days when I rather be a man.”
The Glass Menagerie (Theatre)
By Tennessee Williams
Possess your soul in patience – you will see!
Something I’ve resurrected from that old trunk! Styles haven’t changed so terribly much after all.
(She parts the portières.)
Now just look at your mother !
(She wears a girlish frock of yellowed voile with a blue silk sash. She carries a bunch of jonquils – the legend of her youth is nearly revived.)
(Feverishly) This is the dress in which I led the cotillion, won the cakewalk twice at Sunset Hill, wore one spring to the Governor’s ball in Jackson ! See how I sashayed around the ballroom, Laura?
(She raises her skirt and does a mincing step around the room.)
I wore it on Sundays for my gentlemen callers ! I had it on the day I met your father. I had malaria fever all that spring. The change of climate from East Tennessee to the Delta – weakened resistance I had a little temperature all the time – not enough to be serious – just enough to make me restless and giddy. Invitations poured in – parties all over the Delta! – ‘Stay in bed,’ said mother, ‘you have fever!’ – but I just wouldn’t. – I took quinine but kept on going, going ! Evenings, dances ! – Afternoons, long, long rides! Picnics. – lovely! – So lovely, that country in May. – All lacy with dogwood, literally flooded with jonquils! – That was the spring I had the craze for jonquils. Jonquils became an absolute obsession. Mother said, ‘Honey, there’s no more room for jonquils.’ And still I kept on bringing in more jonquils. Whenever, wherever I saw them, I’d say, “Stop ! Stop! I see jonquils ! I made the young men help me gather the jonquils ! It was a joke, Amanda and her jonquils ! Finally there were no more vases to hold them, every available space was filled with jonquils. No vases to hold them? All right, I’ll hold them myself – And then I – (She stops in front of the picture.) met your father ! Malaria fever and jonquils and then – this – boy…. (She switches on the rose-coloured lamp.) I hope they get here before it starts to rain.”
After Dinner (Theatre)
By Andrew Bovell
I’m fine now. Honestly. Just pretend that nothing happened. It’s just that for a moment I thought Martin was still with me and I panicked. Isn’t that silly. I was thinking about what I was going to order when I remembered that I hadn’t left anything out for Martin. I thought of him searching through the fridge and not finding a morsel. I wanted to say something, to tell you he’d be looking for his dinner but I couldn’t get it out. It was as though a large piece of phlegm had lodged in my throat and my words couldn’t pass it. But then I remembered. Martin wouldn’t be wanting his dinner because Martin’s not with me any more. Martin’s dead. And the phlegm just slid away. Poor Martin. If only I was a little quicker. To have held him in my arms before he went. But how was I to know? How was I to know he was about to die. Men don’t have strokes when they’re thirty eight years old. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault, was it? Have I told you how Martin died? We’d finished our dinner. Martin was in the loungeroom watching television and I was in the kitchen doing the washing-up. I’d nearly finished the pots when I smelt this most vile smell. So I put the dog outside but the smell didn’t go away. I searched high and low through that kitchen. Martin couldn’t stand unidentified smells. Then I realised that the smell was coming from the lounge room. I went in and there was Martin sitting bolt upright in his chair with his nostrils quivering and the most terrible look on his face. He would hate me for telling you but he’d lost control of his bowels. Something he normally never would have done. ‘Martin’, I said. ‘Is everything alright?’ ‘No dear’. And they were his last words. He closed his eyes and slid off the chair. The poor man, he was such a clean person when he was alive. So sad that he had to die in such shame. And thank God we didn’t have any children. And God knows we tried. Still, where would we be now if we had children? Not here, not out on the town having such a good time.
By Tom Wells
Oh, it was fine. I mean: not fine fine – everything’s…
(to Kayleigh.) I’ve been at the hospital, Kayleigh. I don’t know if Stephen said. Getting some tests done. I’ve got angina. Which for some reason I keep calling: vagina. It doesn’t help. It means, Kayleigh, no more fun. No more drinking, no more getting worked up, no more smoking, apparently – I’m ignoring that, obviously but. I’m getting pills, blood-thinners. They’ve showered me with leaflets.
The consultant basically said I could pop my clogs at any moment. Added to which: he was a very pale man, heavy-breather – I did wonder briefly if he might actually be Death, come to get me. But then one of the other doctors popped in, called him Nigel, mentioned something about badminton so I thought: probably not. It’s hard to imagine the Grim Reaper with a shuttlecock. But that’s not the worst bit, Stephen.
Picture this: I’ve been through all the sitting, the waiting, spent three pounds thirty-nine on a mediocre sandwich, been wired up to a monitor, jogged, et cetera, I’ve been jiggled about, prodded, pressed with some very chilly instruments, got released, finally, back into the world, with my clogged-up arteries and uncertain future, I’m in the lift going down, who should I bump into? Who should get into the lift with me on floor number seven? I’ll give you a clue: he’s got a fucking hernia. And did he ask how I was? No. He spotted me, took a deep breath, launched into another two-hour rant about what a rough deal it is – whinging, complaining, whining. I mean, I know it’s not nice to have a bit of your stomach lining poking out, I get it, I do, but really – how much more is there to say?
Anyway, I’m sorry to be so late back.
By Phoebe Waller-Bridge
Into the shower. Boom. Bedroom. Make-up. Boom. Gonna really make an effort. I take half an hour trying to look nice and I ended up looking… amazing. I mean, best in ages. One of those days. Boom.
Gorgeous, fresh-faced, heels, wearing a skirt, new top, little bit sexy, on my way to save my café and yes, I am strutting.
I see a man walking towards me from the bus stop. He can’t take his eyes off me. I’m all walking like I’ve got a paintbrush up my arse, thinking:
Yeah, check me out, cos it’s never gonna happen, Chub Chub.
I opened the café with my friend Boo. She’s dead now. She accidentally killed herself. It wasn’t her intention, but it wasn’t a total accident. She didn’t think she’d actually die, just found out that her boyfriend slept with someone else and she wanted to punish him by ending up in hospital and not letting him visit her for a bit. She decided to walk into a busy cycle lane wanting to get tangled in a bike. Break a finger, maybe. But it turns out bikes can go fast and flip you into the road. Three people died. She was such a dick. I didn’t tell her parents the truth. I told her boyfriend. He cried a lot.
Chub Chub’s getting closer. Oversized jacket. Meaty face. Looks me up and down. It’s like he’s confused about how attractive I am – he can’t quite believe it. I worry for a second I’m going to make a sex offender out of the poor guy. He’s about to say something. Here we fucking go, this better be good. He’s passing, he’s passing. He clears his throat, brings his hand to his mouth and coughs: “Walk of shame.”
It’s too late to go home and change. I have some flat shoes in my bag and anyway, he’s fat.
And he can’t take that off at night.
Harry’s a bit fat. He lightly pats his belly, like he’s a little bear. Proud of what he’s achieved. Hunted. Gathered. Eaten. Pat. Evidence. Pat, pat. It makes me laugh. A pretty girl at a party once asked me if I secretly liked that Harry had a paunch, because it made him less attractive to other women. Her boyfriend was the whale in the corner, blocking the door to the toilets.
I asked her if he made her wash the bits he can’t reach. She slapped me. Actual slap.
Which means he did.
Boo’s death hit the papers.
‘Local café girl is hit by a bike and a car and another bike.’
There was a buzz around the café all of a sudden. Flowers, notes, guinea-pig memorabilia were left outside in her memory.
Boo was built a bit like a guinea pig. No waist or hips. Straight down. She rocked it. And she was beautiful. Tricky though. Jealous. Sensitive. But beautiful and… my best friend.
Comedic Monologues from Film and TV
Adulthood is where dreams go to die. Grow up, get a job, become a drone, that’s it. Then it’s over. Society just wants to put everyone in a box. Well guess what society? There is no box. Cos I mean, if I thought the rest of my life would be spent as a mindless cog in a machine, I swear I’d just get a tattoo across my face that says: “Really man?” Just need to figure out a way of growing up without becoming a boring adult. You probably think I’m some spoiled brat who’s never had it hard cause I didn’t have to walk a mile to school. But here’s the thing, I tried college for a year. Total bust. Everything you wanna learn, you could just look up online. I know how to open champagne with a sword.
Easy A (Film)
Let the record show that I, Olive Penderghast, being of sound mind, ample-ish breast size and an occasional corny knock-knock joke do enter this video blog in the case against me. Since I’m being judged by a jury of my peers I will attempt to insert ‘like’ and ‘totally’ into my confession as much as possible. I will also end statements with a question mark? So here it goes. I confess I’m, in no small part, to blame for all the gossip that has turned my varsity letter scarlet. But for any guy hoping that the sizzling details of my sordid past will inspire you to lock the bathroom door and ‘do it to it’ with your sisters moisturising lotion – you’ll be gravely disappointed. Not to mention unsatisfied. And smelling like hibiscus. Look, I just need to set the record straight and what better way to broadcast my thoughts then here, on the internet. So here it is, Part 1: The Shudder-Inducing-and-Cliched-However-Totally-False-Account-of-How-I-Lost-My-Virginity-To-A-Guy-At-A-Community-College. And Lost my Anonymity Along the Way. Let me just begin by saying that there are two sides to every story. This is my side. The right one. Like, totally.
Are you honestly and truly taking Katrina to the dance? Your mum must be pretty stoked that you’re not taking me. I’m not mad. I’m in a great mood. I mean, you know, despite the fact that I’m in a fat suit that I can’t take off and despite the fact that everyone’s making fun of me behind my back and despite the fact that your little girlfriend gave me the stink eye in class yesterday. You know what? You just take Katrina to the dance because I can think of so many cooler things to do that night. Like, you know what Bleek? I might pumice my feet. Or I might go to church. Or maybe get hit by a truck full of hot garbage juice, you know? Coz all of those things would exponentially cooler than going to the dance with you. Are you mad? Why? Cos I got bored and had sex with you? And I didn’t wanna, like, marry you? You just take Katrina to the dance okay? I’m sure you two will have a real great time. I still have your virginity. What are you ashamed that we did it? Because at least you don’t have the evidence under your sweater. I’m a planet.
This isn’t working! Okay… So, I love you so much, like to the end of the world and back, but…sometimes I love you like… I feel sorry for a monkey. Like they just need so much help and they’re in those ugly cages, you know what I mean? And there’s nobody else – especially not a grown male blonde, you know me better than that. I just can’t deal with your negativity while I’m trying to grow into a fully-formed human. I mean, you hate everything. Seriously. You hate everything. You hate the sound of children playing and you hate all of your living relatives and you hate people who wear sunglasses, even during the day, and you hate going to dinner which you know I love! And you hate ribbons and you hate pillows and you hate colors – you hate everything! And I can’t be the only thing you like! And maybe I can deal with your black soul better when I’m older, but right now I can’t handle it. So many you should go change, and then we can be in love at another time.
Mean Girls (Film)
Why were you talking to Janis Ian?
She’s so pathetic. Let me tell you something about Janis Ian. (as if this is shocking) I was best friends with her in middle school. I know, right? It’s so embarrassing, I don’t even… whatever. Then, in eighth grade, I started going out with my first boyfriend, Kyle, who was totally gorgeous but he moved to Indiana, and Janis was, like weirdly jealous of him. Like, if I blew her off to hang out with Kyle she would be like, “Why didn’t you call me back!?” And I would be, like, “Why are you so obsessed with me?” So then my birthday was an all-girls pool party and I was like, I can’t invite you, Janis, because I think you’re a lesbian. I mean, I couldn’t have a lesbian there. Girls were going to be in their bathing suits. I mean, right? Then her mom called my mom and was, like, yelling at her. It was so retarded and then in the fall when we started high school all her hair was cut off and she was totally weird and now I think she does heroin.
I think you’re ready to hear a little story about a girl named Megan who didn’t have a very good time in high school. I’m referring to myself when I say Megan, it’s me Megan. I know you look at me now and think, boy she must have breezed through high school. Not the case Annie. This was not easy going up and down the halls with. They used to try to blow me up. People used to throw firecrackers on my head in high school. Firecrackers, literally, not figuratively. They called me a freak. Do you think I let that stop me? Do you think I went home crying to my mommy, “Oh, I don’t have any friends.” I did not. You know what I did? I pulled myself up, I studied hard, I read every book in the library and now I work for the government and have the highest possible security clearance. Don’t repeat that. I cannot protect you. I know where all the nukes are and I know the codes.
You would be amazed, a lot of shopping malls. Don’t repeat that.
The Parent Trap (Film)
Knock-knock. Can I join you? Guess the news of the engagement came as a bit of a shock, huh? You know, I remember what it was like to be eleven. I had my first beau at eleven. It’s a wonderful age. You’re starting to feel like a woman and believe it or not soon you’ll understand what it’s like to be in love.
So what if I’m young and beautiful? That’s not a crime, you know. And for your information, I adore your father. He’s exactly-the kind of man I always planned on marrying. This is the real deal, honey and nothing you do is going to come between as. The reality is, angel, you are no longer the only girl in Nick Parker’s life. Get over it.
I hope you’re not suggesting I’m marrying your father for his money. Now you listen and listen good. I’m marrying your father in two weeks whether you like it or not. So I suggest you do not tangle with me anymore. You’re in way over your head. Is that clear?
The Parent Trap (Film)
I have a brilliant beyond brilliant idea. I’m a genius. Annie, wake up, you’re related to a bona fide genius. You want to know what Dad is like, right? And I’m dying to know Mom. So what I’m thinking is … Oh man, this is so brilliant, it’s scary. I think we should switch places. When camp’s over, I leave as you and go back to London and you leave as me and go to California. (off Annie’s look) We can pull it off. We’re twins, aren’t we? I’ll teach you to be me and you teach me to be you. (gets on knees and begs) C’mon, I gotta meet my Mom. I told you I’m brilliant.
So, O.K., like the Haitians need to come to America but some people are all, “What about the sprain on our resources?” And it’s like, when I had this garden party for my father’s birthday and it’s all catered, you know, I said “R.S.V.P.” because it’s a sit down dinner. O.K.? People come that like, didn’t R.S.V.P.! And I’m buggin’. I have to haul ass to the kitchen, re-distribute the food and like squish in extra place-settings and people are on mismatched chairs and all. But by the end of the day it was like “the more, the merrier”. And so if the government could just get to the kitchen and re-arrange some things we could certainly party with Haitians. And in conclusion, may I remind you that it doesn’t say “R.S.V.P.” on the Statue of Liberty.
You were nothing before you met me! You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn! You were a Brownie, you were a Bluebird, you were a Girl Scout Cookie! I got you into a Remington Party! What’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet. I get paid in puke! (totally in control) Monday morning, you’re history. I’ll tell everyone about tonight. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg’s going to let you play their reindeer games.
In & Out (Film)
I lost 75 pounds. I lost 75 pounds! You say you’re sorry? You’re sorry?! You’re sorry?! After I wait for you! No, not just three years! My entire life! After I plan my future around our wedding. After I base my entire concept of self-esteem on the fact that you’re willing to marry me! And you’re sorry! Thank God my parents are dead, this would have killed ’em! Are you really… gay?
Is there – oh – any other time you might have told me this! I’m wearing a wedding dress that you picked out! I highlighted my hair because you said I needed shimmer. I loved you and believed you and pretended not to notice the Streisand thing. I thought you were just creative and I thought you were just smarter than me and more sensitive and more interesting. I just thought you were the most wonderful man that ever lived. I thought you could just change my life and show me the whole world. And teach me about art and life and magic and I thought you could make me feel like a beautiful woman instead of the girl nobody wanted.
Dear Lord Jesus, I do not often speak with You and ask for things, but now I really must insist that You help me win the election tomorrow, because I deserve it and Paul Metzier doesn’t, as You well know. l realize that it was Your divine hand that disqualified Tammy, and now I’m asking that You go that one last mile and make sure to put me in office where I belong, so that I may carry out Your will on Earth as it is in Heaven. If elected I promise that I will pray more often. Okay? Amen.
The Shape of Water (Film)
Made Brewster pigs in a blanket tonight before leavin’. Fresh dough – the good sausages – thick – and Boy, he just ate ‘em up. (beat) No thank-yous – no yum-yums – not a peep, tho – Man is silent as the grave. But if farts were flattery, honey – he would be Shakespeare. Then I get home and I make him breakfast. Bacon and eggs and buttered toast. I butter the man’s toast, Elisa. Both sides – As if he were a child… And I don’t get a “Thank You.”
Will you look at this? Look – Some of the best minds in our country – peeing all over the floor in this here facility. There’s pee freckles on the ceiling!! How do they get it up there? Just how big a target do they need, you figure? They get enough practice that’s for sure. My Brewster, no one ever called him a great mind, even he hits the can seventy percent of the time.
Comedic Monologues for Men
Comedic Monologues from Theatre
Unbearable Hotness (Theatre)
By Gabrielle Davis
I just fuckin’ killed Chuck. I think. I mean, he’s just laying out there. He’s not moving. I don’t think he’s breathing. I mean, there I was just up on the roof with Marissa – talking, laughing, having a great time. I tell her she reminds me of Sandra Bullock. I tell her I loved “Hope Floats”. Who knew those would be the magic words? Next thing I know her clothes are off and we’re loosening roof shingles like there’s no tomorrow. And then there’s biting and kissing and touching and suddenly someone starts beating on me, I mean, just pounding on me and growling. Yeah, growling. And I look up and there’s Chuck. And I’m like, “What’s the problem?” and he says “The problem is, dude, you’re fucking my girlfriend.” So I look at Marissa and I’m like “You’re someone’s girlfriend?” And she says “No.” Then it comes out Chuck just wishes she’s his girlfriend but actually she’s his cousin or something, so he’s got these feelings of guilt about wanting her…and then he starts crying. So that ruined the mood. Marissa puts her clothes on, and she goes back down through the window, back into the party. And I’m left with Chuck. Blubbering, whining, crying Chuck. And he starts in on how he’s just this total fuck up and maybe he should just throw himself off the roof. And for a split second I’m thinking “YES! Throw yourself off the roof! Do it!” But I don’t say that. I say “You’re going to get a girl, buddy, just maybe not your cousin, huh?” And then I give him a friendly pat on the back. A nice manly slap on the back. And he looked heavy, I mean, who knew he’d go flying. Who knew he’d go flying right off the roof?
By John Logan
Bores you?! Bores you?! — Christ almighty, try working for you for a living! — The talking-talking-talking-Jesus-Christ-won’t-he-ever-shut-up titanic self-absorption of the man! You stand there trying to look so deep when you’re nothing but a solipsistic bully with your grandiose self-importance and lectures and arias and let’s-look-at-the- fucking-canvas-for-another-few-weeks-let’s-not-fucking-paint-let’s-just-look. And the pretension! I can’t imagine any other painter in the history of art ever tried so hard to be SIGNIFICANT!
You know, not everything has to be so goddamn IMPORTANT all the time! Not every painting has to rip your guts out and expose your soul! Not everyone wants art that actually HURTS! Sometimes you just want a fucking still life or landscape or soup can or comic book! Which you might learn if you ever actually left your goddamn hermetically sealed submarine here with all the windows closed and no natural light — BECAUSE NATURAL LIGHT ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! …
Key Exchange (Theatre)
By Kevin Wade
If you really want to know, married life sucks. My wife left me.
The composer. The guy she’s been working with. He tells her he can’t help himself.
And she can’t help herself. So they’re out there somewhere helping themselves.
I can’t believe it. We’re in bed. I’m trying to get something started, and she up and turns on the light and starts to cry and says we’ve got to talk. “There’s this man, Michael. You’ve met him. Eric. The musician. I don’t know how this happened. I have, we have feelings for each other. I’ve been trying to rationalize them away, pressure from the wedding, the intimacy of working together, but I can’t. I’m with you now, but I’m thinking about him, and that’s not fair to either of us. I can’t sneak around on you. I have to figure out what I’m doing. I can’t just live in this limbo.” Then we’re in the bathroom, and she’s putting all her makeup and shit into a bag, and she’s telling me that it’s nothing I’ve done, this Eric guy is totally different, they connect on a whole other level. I still can’t believe it. She starts to pack up her diaphragm and jelly, and I say can’t you hold off on the fucking until you know a little better just what the fuck you are doing? And she says physical attraction is part of what’s between them, and it’s her body. We fight. She’s really crying hard now, and she goes back into the bedroom. I see the tube of diaphragm jelly lying next to the sink. I’m nuts, you know, I’m really crazy. I empty the tube of jelly into the toilet, take my tube of muscle liniment, hold the two tubes nozzle to nozzle, and fill up the jelly tube with Tiger Balm.
Key Exchange (Theatre)
By Kevin Wade
So great. So we get keys made for each other’s apartments. So then you know what happens? I’ll tell you what happens. Maybe one night I’m at a party, a bar, whatever, and I met a girl, and right off we know it’s a mutual attraction situation, and we have a little chat and a drink maybe, and next thing you know we’re in a cab, and there’s a physical thing that’s happening, and we’re chewing each other’s faces and trying to decide where to go, you know, your place or mine, only hold the phone here, there is no decision to be made, because you’ve got a key to my place, and I don’t know if you’ve dropped by or what, and I don’t want to chance putting either you or me in that awkward situation, so it’s off to her place somewhere in the East Eighties where I’ve got to climb over her two roommates and three cats to do it on a foam mattress on the floor real, real quiet like because Sally my roommate has a commercial callback at nine- thirty in the morning and this whole time I’m having some resentment towards you because your having a key meant that it had to be the cats and the floor and Sally the roommate asleep or nothing.
This is Our Youth (Theatre)
By Kenneth Lonergan
I don’t really get what you’re upset about. I thought we had a really good time together and I was actually in a fairly Up state of mind for once.
Well, I didn’t mean that in any kind of lascivious way, so I don’t know why you want to take it like that. I really like you.
I’m sorry I said anything to Dennis. I definitely caved in to the peer pressure. But I also definitely said as little as possible and was totally respectful of you in the way I talked about you. Even though I was pretty excited about what happened last night, and also about like, maybe like, the prospect of like, I don’t know, like going out with you – Which I would be very into, if you were. But if you want to think the whole meant nothing to me, then go ahead because that’s not the case.
It’s totally weird, like, taking all your clothes off and having sex with someone you barely know, and then being like “What’s up now?” You know? Like it’s such an intense experience but then nobody knows what to fuckin’ say, even though nothing really bad actually happened. You know?
I really like you… I don’t really agree with most of your opinions…but I don’t meet a lot of people who can actually make me think, you know? And who can hold their own in an interesting discussion. And who I’m totally hot for at the same time. You know?
It’s a fairly effective combination.
Goodbye Charles (Theatre)
By Gabrielle Davis
The Fact Checker:
I’m not the kind of guy who spends hundreds on a last minute flight, back to New York, tears across town, then run up six flights of stairs and knocks on my best friend’s girlfriend’s door in order to run off and elope with her
based on one crazy, thoughtless, inexplicable romantic night. So what am I doing here, Audrey? I’m not passionate. I’m a fact checker for Christ’s sake. And the fact of me – being here – doesn’t check out. It’s
nuts! Soul mates? I don’t believe in them. Never have. So how can I be yours? The fact is, you hardly know me! And I hardly know you! Now your boyfriend, I’ve known since kindergarten. Am I really willing to throw all those years of friendship away based on…what? Some feeling? Because the fact is you are in a relationship. Because the fact is we just met yesterday. Because the fact is I’m not the kind of guy who falls in love. That’s a fact. A cold hard fact. And facts are supposed to be true. But the problem is….despite every fact I can muster, there’s something that still doesn’t check out. Because the truth is despite all facts to the contrary…I still love you madly. And it just defies all reason. All morality. All sense. But I do. I love you madly. And it’s not like me. And I don’t want to. But I can’t help it.
By Gabriel Davis
It was the fault of the psychiatrist. I’d been seeing him because of my Pyromania – that’s a person who likes lighting fires-but you probably know that being University educated. You know the problem with pyromania? It’s the only crime where you have to be at the scene of it to make it a perfect crime, to give yourself satisfaction. “Course, that means the chances of you getting caught are greater, especially if you’re standing in front of the fire, face full of ecstasy and with a gigantic hard on. So, the cops got me and I’m sent to the shrink. He tells me that I’ve got an unresolved problem with my mother. I think, hello, he’s not going to tell me to do something Oedipal, like fuck her or something…but that wasn’t the problem. My ego had taken a severe battering from her. He said I had better resolve it, stop treating her like I was still a child. It made some sort of cosmic sense. I had to stand up to her. So I thought about it and realised that I had to treat it like a boxing match, get the first punch in, so to speak, to give me the upper hand in our relationship. She had five cats. One night I rounded them up, put them in a cage, doused them with
petrol and put a match to them. Well, boy, oh, boy, what a racket! They were running around the backyard burning and howling-there’s no such thing as grace under pressure for a burning cat, let me tell you. I hid in the shrubs when Mum came outside to see what was happening. Totally freaked out, she did. Five of them, running around the backyard like mobile bonfires. I figured I’d wait a couple of hours till the cats were dead and mum was feeling a bit sorry for herself and I’d knock on the front door and say to her ‘Hi, mum, I’ve come to talk about our unresolved conflicts’ but, oh, no, one of those cats ran into the house. In a couple of minutes the whole bloody house was alight and within half an hour there was no bloody front door to knock on.
If it wasn’t for that damn cat, I wouldn’t be here.
Fat Pig (Theatre)
By Neil Labute
Dude, I understand. Like, totally.
I used to walk ahead of her in the mall or, you know, not tell her stuff at school so there wouldn’t be, whatever. My own mom. I mean … I’m fifteen and worried about every little thing, and I’ve got this fucking sumo wrestler in a housecoat trailing behind me. That’s about as bad as it can get! I’m not kidding you. And the thing was, I blamed her for it. I mean, it wasn’t like a disease or like some people have, thyroid or that type of deal … she just shovelled shit into her mouth all the time, had a few kids, and, bang, she’s up there at 350, maybe more. It used to seriously piss me off. My dad was always working late … golfing on weekends, and I knew it was because of her. It had to be! How’s he gonna love something that looks like that, get all sexy with her?
I’m just a kid at the time, but I can remember thinking that. Yeah, it’s whatever, but … this once, in the grocery store, we’re at Albertsons and we’re pushing four baskets around – you wanna know how humiliating that shit is? – and I’m supposed to be at a game by seven, I’m on JV, and she’s just farting around in the candy isle, picking up bags of “fun size” Snickers and checking out the calories. Yeah. I mean, what is that?! So, I suddenly go off on her, like, this sophomore in high school, but I’m all screaming in her face … “Don’t look at the package, take a look in the mirror, you cow! PUT ‘EM DOWN!” Holy shit, there’s stock boys – bunch of guys I know, even – are running down the isle. Manager stumbling out of his glass booth there, the works.
But you know what? She doesn’t say a word about it. Ever. Not about the swearing, the things I called her, nothing. Just this, like, one tear I see … as we’re sitting at a stoplight on the way home. That’s all.
Fat Pig (Theatre)
By Neil Labute
I’m weak. That’s what I basically learned from our time together. I am a weak person, and I don’t know if I can overcome that. No, maybe I do know. Yeah. I do know that I am, and I can’t… overcome it, I mean. I think you are an amazing woman, I honestly do. And I really love what we’ve had here. Our time together… But I think that we’re very different people. Not just who we are- jobs or that kind of thing- but it does play into it as well. Factors in. We probably should’ve realized this earlier, but I’ve been so happy being near you that I just sorta overlooked it and went on. I did. But I feel it coming up now, more and more, and I just think- No, that’s bullshit, actually, the whole work thing. Forget it. (Beat.) I’m just, I feel that we should maybe stop before we get too far. It’s weird to say this, because in many ways I’m already in so deep. Care about you a lot, and that makes it superhard. But- I guess I do care what my peers think about me. Or how they view my choices and, yes, maybe that makes me not very deep, or petty, or some other word, hell, I don’t know! It’s my Achilles flaw or something. It doesn’t matter. What I’m sure of is this- we need to stop. Stop seeing each other or going out or anything like that. Because I know now how weak I am and that I’m not really deserving of you, of all you have to offer me. I can see that now. Helen… things are so tricky, life is. I want to be better… to do good and better things and to make a proper sort of decision here, but I… I can’t.
Myth, Propaganda and Disaster in Nazi Germany and Contemporary America (Theatre)
By Stephen Sewell
Look, mate, I don’t know what’s happening – I just arrived, right? And, all right, I know the Americans go on with all this flag-waving, patriotic bullshit and think the rest of the world hates them, but fuck, Talbot, they’re right: the rest of the world does hate ‘em – I hate ‘em, and I want to live here! It’s envy, isn’t it? Everyone looks at what they’ve got and wants it…They just want the stuff, that’s right, isn’t it? And figure the reason they can’t get the stuff, is because the Americans are stopping them. That’s where we’re at now, and now some prick’s actually done something about it, and killed three thousand people, and the Americans are fucking mad as hell, because they know every single one of them is on that plane hurtling towards the Twin Towers and they don’t like it and they’re not going to stand for it, and they’re going to get the pricks that’re threatening them. Well, all power to George W – I don’t want the fucking pricks to win, either. There were Aussies killed up there, mate, there were English, there were Scots, there were fucking Moslems, for fuck’s sake! There was fucking everybody: everyone’s hopes were up there in those two towers….It’s a war, Talbot – It is a war. It’s a war against terror and it’s a war against ignorance, and it’s a war against prejudice and pure dumb-arsed fuckwittedness, and we’ve got to win that war, otherwise we’re fucked.
Secret Bridesmaids Business (Theatre)
By Elizabeth Coleman
Look, sex and love are separate things…Well, they can be, that’s all I’m saying. This thing with Naomi-okay, it should never have happened-but it didn’t have to impact on what I have with Meg. I thought that was the deal. It was a separate arrangement. She told me she just wanted a bit of fun, and now she turns around and does this…! I mean, where the hell did that come from? If I’d known Naomi felt like that I would’ve broken it off with her months ago. Well maybe. Oh shit, maybe not. But I just-I just wish women would say what they mean. You know-plainly, clearly state what they want instead of expecting you to be psychic. Meg bought me this T-shirt at the Warner Brothers store, and it’s got a picture of Superman on it. He’s wearing this perplexed expression and he’s saying you want me to leap tall buildings and be sensitive and supportive?! That’s how it is with women. They want you to slay a dragon for them one second, then cry at a guide dog commercial the next. And somehow you’re expected to guess when they want you to be controlling and when they want you to be crying-and if you don’t make the right guess at the right time it’s instantly construed as proof that you don’t love them enough. If you really loved me you wouldn’t need to ask. How many times have I heard that? Well I’m sorry, I’ve loved a few people a lot, but no-one’s ever stepped out of the shadows and handed me a crystal ball. Anyway, I know I’m trying to change the subject. The fact is, I’ve been acting like a prick.
Ruben Guthrie (Theatre)
By Brendan Cowell
School school school school school.
Fuck, um – well my parents sent me to a boarding school. I mean how hard is it to have one kid asleep at night in your house how hard is it but no . . . boarding school! Look, I gotta say I wasn’t like ‘this’ at boarding school, I didn’t like getting smashed on rocket fuel and talking about vaginas, honestly I had no interest in Alcohol at all. I spent my money on magazines and electronics – fashion mostly. By the time I reached Year Eight I had fifteen pairs of jeans. So of course the rugby guys and the rowing guys and the wrestling guys would come in at night and they’d pin me down and get it out of their system – the rage. ‘Nice shoes faggot – you got mousse in your hair let’s put mousse in his anus!’ I’d be flipping through MAD magazine and just put the thing down and take it. Fine. But then this guy called Corey joined our school, and suddenly all that stopped. Corey was older than me, bigger than me and a whole lot cooler than me. He drove a black Suzuki Vitara had five earrings and the word ‘Fuck’ tattooed inside his lip. My mum was always saying ‘bring Corey with you on the weekend’ and she’d go all flushed and wear low-cut tops in the kitchen. To this day I don’t know why he chose me but he did.
The Good Father (Theatre)
By Christian O’Reilly
So I decided to go to the doctor. And I don’t know about you, but I hate doctors. Terrify me. ‘Course it was a woman doctor. Jesus, I nearly ran out of the place. But then I was thinkin’, well what would I like better – have a woman or a man feeling me…? So that made it easier. Even so, it was, you know, embarrassin’ – and the mad thing is the room was upstairs with the curtains open and didn’t the 19A fly past – and the whole top deck nearly broke their necks for a gander. She closed the curtains after that. So I start tellin’ her about my mole and cancer and all this and she starts feelin’ me – like she had plastic gloves on and I was lyin’ on this bed, like a baby almost –
That’s the thing. She looks at me and says, ‘Are you aware that you only have one testicle?’ Well, I nearly dropped, or I would have only she was holding me by the – and obviously one of them hadn’t dropped, or somethin’. ‘You’re jokin’?’ I says. She says, ‘Surely you must have noticed?’ But that was the thing. I always just assumed I had two. Like I never bothered countin’ them. I thought, I dunno, I thought maybe they were so close together they felt like one, or maybe when one was down there, the other was off doing somethin’ else – like I dunno, I just never thought about it. So she tells me then that I might have what they call an ‘undescended testes’, meanin’ that one dropped, but the other didn’t…she said I’d have to get it checked out, cos if there was one still up there it would have to be removed because, guess what – it could become cancerous. So she gives me this letter to bring to a urologist at the hospital. I make an appointment, six weeks later in I go.
He tells me there’s a one in four chance I’m not fertile, that I can’t be a father, like. I says. ‘Like is there a way of findin’ out whether I’m fertile or not?’ So he tells me there’s a sperm analysis test that I can do if I really want to. Anyway, I go off and a couple of weeks later I go back for the ultrasound. An’ I’m delighted, like, that I don’t have cancer – cancer of the missin’ ball, an’ I’m thinkin’ I’ve a great story for the lads if ever I had the nerve to tell them, but all I’m thinkin’ is, Am I fertile or not’? Can I be a dad or not?
Like I didn’t know until that moment just how much I wanted to be a father. It’s stupid, but like I’d started imaginin’ it, what I’d be like, walkin’ around with a little fella holdin’ me hand, teachin’ him how to cross the road, or a little girl and holdin’ her up in the air – the way they look down at you, they’re so amazed to be up high. And bein’ a good father like – encouragin’ your kids, givin’ them a tenner if they’re stuck, askin’ them how they are, always knowin’ if somethin’ was up, bein’ there for them, bein’ there for them always, always… givin’ your life for them, givin’ your life to them – fuckin’ hell, that’s the kind of person you want to be somebody, more of those kind of people, the kind of person I want to be. Father I wanted to be.
Much Ado About Nothing (Theatre)
By William Shakespeare
Benedick: Act 2 Scene 3
This can be no trick. The conference was sadly borne; they have the truth of this from Hero. They seem to pity the lady. It seems her affections have their full bent. Love me? Why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say I will bear myself proudly if I perceive the love come from her. They say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection. I did never think to marry. I must not seem proud; happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair – ’tis a truth, I can bear them witness. And virtuous – ’tis so, I cannot reprove it. And wise, but for loving me. By my troth, it is no addition to her wit – nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. I may chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on me because I have railed so long against marriage. But doth not the appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age. Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career his humour? No, the world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (Theatre)
By Tom Stoppard
Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it?
Nor do I, really… It’s silly to be depressed by it. I mean one thinks of it like being alive in a box, one keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead… which should make a difference… shouldn’t it? I mean, you’d never know you were in a box, would you? It would be just like being asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air – you’d wake up dead, for a start and then where would you be? Apart from inside a box. That’s the bit I don’t like, frankly. That’s why I don’t think of it…
Because you’d be helpless, wouldn’t you? Stuffed in a box like that, I mean you’d be in there for ever. Even taking into account the fact that you’re dead, really… ask yourself, if I asked you straight off – I’m going to stuff you in this box now, would you rather be alive or dead? Naturally, you’d prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You’d have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking – well, at least I’m not dead! In a minute someone’s going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out. (Banging on the floor with his fists.)
‘Hey you, whatsyername! Come out of there!’
I wouldn’t think about it, if I were you. You’d only get depressed.
Comedic Monologues from Film
The Notebook (Film)
You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about why we shouldn’t get married. At first, I couldn’t think of any reasons. But then it dawned on me. The one dark secret that will absolutely be the wedge that keeps us apart. Your parents. Dear old Mom and Dad. You see, here’s the problem. They love me. I am exactly the type of man your parents want you to marry. From the south, have a good job… And an absolutely wonderful dancer, if I do say so myself. If you marry me, your parents will be ecstatic, and you will have lost a lifelong battle of defiance against them. See what I’m saying? I think you have to marry me. Because if you do, your parents will always know the unhappiness you feel for not being able to disappoint them. Imagine the guilt they would feel for not allowing you to choose your husband unwisely. They’d be racked with guilt. They’d be miserable. So even though you’ve technically lost, you’ve really won.
12 Monkeys (Film)
WHO CARES WHAT PSYCHIATRISTS WRITE ON WALLS? (moves to Fale, jabs him with a finger) You think I told her about the Army of the 12 Monkeys? Impossible! Know why, you pathetically ineffectual and pusillanimous “pretend-friend-to-animals”?! I’ll tell you why: because when I had anything to do with her six years ago, there was no such thing — I hadn’t even thought of it yet!
JEFFREY abruptly switches from rage to good humor, adopting a supercilious smile and a patronizing tone.
Here’s my theory on that. While I was institutionalized, my brain was studied exhaustively in the guise of mental health. I was interrogated, x-rayed, studied thoroughly. Then, everything about me was entered into a computer where they created a model of my mind.
They all stare, mesmerized, at the strutting JEFFREY. Is he serious? Is he crazy? Doesn’t matter — he’s charismatic.
Then, using the computer model, they generated every thought I could possibly have in the next, say ten years, which they then filtered through a probability matrix to determine everything I was going to do in that period. So you see, she knew I was going to lead the Army of the Twelve Monkeys into the pages of history before it ever even occurred to me. She knows everything I’m ever going to do before I know it myself. How about that? Now I have to get going — do my part. You guys check all this stuff out and load up the van. Make sure you have everything. I’m outta here.
Hey, Lisa. We’re partners today. So, it’s official. My friend Boomer’s hooking me up a job at the Mercedes dealership on Jericho Turnpike. I’m totally psyched. I get a car right away. Way under list price, payments deducted from my check. I’m gonna go for a 560, convertible, in gold, with leather interior, all the options. I’m even gonna get a compact disc player. Gonna be insane. So, hey, Lise – you wanna go see Judas Priest at Nassau Coliseum? My friend Fitzy can get me floor seats.
Um. We’re talking about intercourse? Well, okay, um… There were a few times that I could’ve done that. But none of those times were quite right. (defensive) There were circumstances. For instance, okay, junior year I dated this girl, Sue Hornick. Sue was kind of prude. One day, I was reading some Shakespeare and realized – I don’t really love this person… It was one of the sonnets. Y’know, about authentic love. I thought this isn’t it, I have to breakup. I went straight to Sue’s house and was literally about to tell her – and that’s the night she said she finally wanted to have sex. Can you believe it? That was the night!
500 Days of Summer (Film)
Alison? Listen… It’s great to meet you, really. You’re a very attractive girl. But I should tell you right off the bat … this is not going anywhere.
It’s not you. It’s me. You seem like a real sweet girl and I, just, I don’t want you to get hurt. You know what I mean?
I know we just met like 3 minutes ago but you’re probably looking for someone to get serious with, someone with potential … someone who will take you out to eat a few times, see a movie, fool around a little bit, next thing you know we’re getting a dog and you’re moving in. And that’s not me. You want to come inside, have some chicken fingers awesome. But that other stuff I gotta tell you up front … I’m just not ready, Alison.
I liked this girl. Loved her even. And what did she do? She took a giant shit on my face. Literally. Not literally. Jesus, that’s disgusting, what’s wrong with you? The point is I’m messed up. On one hand, I want to forget her. On the other, I think she’s the only person on Earth who can make me happy.
Every time I think I’m over the hump, I’ll have a dream or I’ll see some girl who looks like her from the back. And that’s it. Back to square one. And you know what… I’m gonna get her back.
50 First Dates (Film)
My grandparents. He was a political prisoner in Argentina. She was a human rights observer sent to interview him. When it was time for her to leave, he asked if he could look at her face for a while so that he would have something beautiful to remember in the long months ahead. He stared at her for a whole hour.
One year later, she went back for a second interview. He reached under his bunk and he showed her a little chip of wood. On this chip he had laboriously painted my grandmother’s face, using ashes mixed with water for ink, and his own hair as a paintbrush. He did it from memory, but it was a perfect likeness of her. She looked at it, and then she looked at him. The moment their eyes met, they fell in love.
For the next three years, they were allowed to see each other only once a year for two hours. But they wrote the most incredible, passionate letters every day, and they really made those two hours count. Thanks to her efforts, my grandfather was finally released, and they moved to the U.S. But every year, to this day, they spend a couple of weeks apart and then when they miss each other so much they can’t stand it, they meet in a tiny hotel room for exactly two hours and re-live the passion of their youth.
I embellished a little. They met in a donut shop.
30 Minutes or Less (Film)
Stop! Just don’t come any closer. I’m gonna give you the short version of an incredibly complicated and f— up situation, so please be cool. (beat) Some very bad guys strapped a bomb to my chest and they are forcing me to commit a crime. I wish I was joking, but I’m not. I know it’s a lot to swallow, but you gotta take it on face value, because there’s a timer attached to this thing and it’s counting down. I didn’t come here for help. I’m taking care of it. I came here because, should things not work out today as I would like them to, I want you to know why I was doing the things I did. (struggling) Do you remember when you found that picture in my car of you, me and Chet, with Chet cut out of it? I need you to remember about the picture, and about how I stop by your office every Friday, and how I’ve always hated all your boyfriends, and how the two girls I’ve ever seriously dated have looked like less attractive versions of you. Do you see where I’m going with this? I love you Kate. I have for a very long time.
I’m sorry to do this to you, but I was afraid I’d never get the chance to tell you. And I know you have feelings for me, too. Maybe you feel for me the way you feel for a good friend, or – if the world f— hates me – a brother. But what I hope is that you don’t really know how you feel for me, and that maybe when you figure it out you’ll realize it’s the same way I feel for you. Does that make any sense?
Wet Hot American Summer (Film)
I wanna thank all of you for a terrific summer. Cooking for all you nice people has really helped me get over the fact that I fought in the Vietnam War. Have a great winter, I’m gonna go hump the fridge. Yes folks, it’s true. I said I’m gonna go hump the fridge. What you may not know is that I also own a bottle of dick cream, I fondle my sweaters, and I often like to smear mud on my ass. You’re probably as yourselves, “Isn’t he a wierdo, outcast, loose cannon?” Maybe. I don’t think so.
I wanna introduce you guys to someone. This is my friend. (Holding a can of vegetables.) I don’t know who he is, but I do know this: At a time when I was trying to hide myself from myself, he was there to show me a new way. ‘Cause I couldn’t hide from him. And I can be proud of who I am. I put it to you, Camp Firewood, as we spend the last dinner together: Be proud of who you are. Look at me, Ma, I made it! I’m okay! Now if you don’t mind, I have some unfinished business to attend to.