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Monologues for Auditions

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Glass Menagerie - Sarcasm speech
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Terms in this set (54)
Listen! You think I'm crazy about the warehouse? You think I'm in love with the Continental Shoemakers? You think I want to spend fifty-five years down there in that - celotex interior! with - fluorescent - tubes! Look! I'd rather somebody picked up a crowbar and battered out my brains - than go back mornings! I go! Every time you come in yelling that ******** "Rise and Shine!" "Rise an Shine!" I say to myself, "How lucky dead people are!" I go! For sixty-five dollars a month I give up all that I dream of doing and being ever! And you say self - self's all I ever think of. Why, listen, if self is what I thought of, Mother, I'd be where father is - GONE! As far as the system of transportation reaches. SO, I'm going to the movies! (break) I'm going to opium dens! Yes, opium dens, dens of vice and criminals' hang-outs, Mother I've joined the Hogan Gang, I'm a hired assassin, I carry a Tommy gun in a violin case. I run a string of cat houses in the Valley. They call me Killer, Killer Wingfield. I'm leading a double life: a simple, honest warehouse worker by day, by night, a dynamic czar of the underworld, Mother. I go to gambling casinos, I spin away fortunes on the roulette table! I wear a patch over one eye and a false mustache, sometimes I put on green whiskers. On those occasions they call me - El Diablo. Oh I could tell you many things to make you sleepless. My enemies plan to dynamite this place. They're going to blow us all sky high some night. I'll be glad, very happy, and so will you! You'll go up, up on a broomstick, over Blue Mountain with seventeen gentleman callers. You ugly, babbling old witch....
I know it's his place. I bet the whole house is. He's not even laying on any gas now either. It's his place, all right. Look at all the other places. You go to this address, there's a key there, there's a teapot, there's never a soul in sight?(He pauses.) Eh, nobody ever hears a thing, have you ever thought of that? We never get any complaints, do we, too much noise or anything like that? You never see a soul, do you? ?except the bloke who comes. You ever noticed that? I wonder if the walls are sound-proof. (He touches the wall above his bed.) Can't tell. All you do is wait, eh? Half the time he doesn't even bother to put in an appearance, Wilson.
I saw the villa get beat in a cup tie once who was it against now white shirts, It was one all at half time I will never for get it their opponents won by a penalty talk about drama yes it was a disputed penalty kick they got beat two one any way because of it you were there your self, yes you were there don't you remember that disputed penalty, he went down just inside the area and they said was just acting I don't think the other bloke touched him myself but he had the ball right on the spot
I'm not the kind of guy who spends hundreds on a last minute flight back to New York, tears across town, then runs 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, inexplicably 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? Some intense, aching, gnawing, burning, torturing feeling that's telling me I must be with you or I'll die a slow and horrible death as my heart slowly breaks into a thousand pieces? No!

I mean, this is the kind of thing that only happens in the movies - and we're not in the movies. We're on McDougal Street, two blocks south of Bleecker - that's where we are. That is an indisputable geographical fact. A solid, rational, clear, black and white fact. And all the facts are pointing to one thing: we can't do this. All the facts say I shouldn't be here.

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....see...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.

I'm yours, Audrey. Completely, totally, hopelessly, and utterly...yours..
I just feckin' 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 fecking 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 totally fecked 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 I "You're gonna 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?