Reading Closely

The Tumblr home of John Warner's Eng 223 course at College of Charleston

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I take on the disturbing practice of teaching that "said is dead" in some of our elementary school classrooms. Don't let this practice continue. Civilization depends on righting this wrong.

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Short Imagined Monologue - Kate Butler

Holden Caulfield finds himself the middle seat of a transcontinental flight

Then before you know it the old goat’s got her head on your shoulder and you sure as hell don’t know what to do. I don’t fly much but every time there’s been a real snorer, the one that you can hear over the engine hum who’s got her mouth gaped open like some damn asthmatic. For a second you feel bad for the woman because she looks older than death itself and so she can’t really help the egg breath on your cheek. But when you try to shut your eyes yourself you get all sick in the stomach and since you can’t bear to push the poor granny into the aisle you start thinking about what it would look like to jump out the escape door with everyone there just watching you. It’s like when D.B. dragged me to this rooftop hotel for Annabelle Davies’s birthday party with all these trust fund brats. And they just keep yapping about their rich parents and some nonsense. It’s enough to make a body want to jump ship.

 I was so bored anyway that I damn near pulled a muscle glancing over at the escape door three rows down. I had a cig in my pocket and so I decided I could crawl under the seats behind me and then light up in the bathroom. I could set an alarm and then all the flight attendants would gather and before they’d know it I’d push the emergency button and pull the latch and the red-haired hostess would shed a tear or some nonsense as I fell. Like hell she would.

I stopped looking around when the lean-muscled Ricky Ricardo type beside me gave me the stink eye. He had been reading the Sunday post for the past three hours under this godawful spotlight. If you want to know the truth, I’m always making up stories like that, you know, the ones with the red-haired hostess or some bond girl type watching me save some godawful puppy or jump in front of a car and get hit. It kills me. Not that I’ve ever done something like that. Mr. Antolini says its because I have an hero complex, but truth is, I just like messing with people. They’ll believe anyone’s a hero if you make a good show of it.

I had taken to staring a the plastic gray wall for a few hours before the old goat’s head made my arm so numb that I decided to buzz a flight hostess. It was one whole hour before anybody showed up and it was some phony with the meal cart wearing those godawful orange slacks and a silk tie. He tapped the lady with one finger and she startled upright like he was some military alarm clock.

“Beef soup or Chicken Cordon Bleu?” He asked me.

Cordon Bleu. That killed me.

“I’m a Vegetarian,” I said. It was cheese ravioli.

I've always liked the thought of flying but I hate it. I really do. 

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Cat with a high opinion- Jenna Conner

Ok. Here’s the deal. I want to be left alone. Doesn’t everyone know that about a cat? Jesus Christ my human thinks I constantly want to be pet and coddled. Little does he know, when he goes to work, it is the best 8 hours of my day. I do not want to be pet. I do not what to be talked to in a stupid baby voice. I am seven years old! I am not a kitten anymore. Little does he know, I pee on his comforter every time he leaves. He’s so dumb he doesn’t even realize where the stench is coming from. He changes my litter box every day thinking that I have dropped some amazing bomb. Idiot. When I was a kitten, surrounded by my kind in the SPCA, life was good. I got my food, plenty of litter; other felines to cuddle with, all the humans pretty much left us alone. It was pure heaven. Then, HE showed up, his stupid giant head staring in at the cat room. I knew immediately that there was no way that I would be going home with him. Most animals want to be adopted. Not me. I am a loner; I don’t need humans to care for me. Don’t get me wrong, it is fine if they want to give me food and shelter, but lets not get it twisted: I am perfectly capable of fending for my self if I feel like it. But when I saw his bulbous head, covered in a fine sheen of sweat and absolutely no hair, I cringed. I am a queen, deserving of a much finer human specimen to share a home with. When I saw him point at me, giggling like some insubordinate child, I nearly died right there. Gross, he actually wanted to hold me. The other kittens in my room were fascinated by him, stupidly circling his feet, rubbing their sides on his dirty jeans. I knew better, I went straight to the corner, avoiding the hot mess that was in my vicinity. But when the SPCA worker picked me up and thrust me into HIS arms, I had to think fast, I immediately peed on his shirt and scratched his fat cheek. He jumped, but not even my panicked assault could loosen his grip on me. The big oaf loved it. Masochist. I knew then and there it was all over for me. To my horror, he took me home! I knew right then and there that I would have to make it my personal mission to make him pay for taking me home. I should be living in castle surrounded by gold and a gem studded litter box. Fresh fish and chicken served to me daily. Instead, I am here, in this awful studio apartment surrounded by a urine soaked comforter and a dingy carpet and a man who perpetually smells like cheese balls. 

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An Encounter with Your Former "Selfie" -Mary Stamato

An old “Selfie” is uncovered on Facebook after years of seclusion by the Selfie subject and a group of her friends.

              Finally! After all these years, it feels good to stretch back out to my original screen size, 465 pixels and all! Whew! It’s been a while! But we’re still looking-

            … Stacy what happened to your braces? And your hair; its completely out of your face, and… blonde? I thought we were going for that punk-emo-skater-secret-girlie-girl-adorable look? Well, I guess it’s a good thing you found me! Don’t you worry girlfriend we will have you right back to the old you in no time and-

            Excuse me?

Ew? Ew! After all these years of hiding in the dark depths of cyberspace, that is all you have to say to me, “ew?” Oh sure, go on and laugh! That’s really mature!

What? No, I did not take this picture myself! Can’t you read the caption: “I don’t remember who took this, but I totally wish the hadn’t! No make-up, no editing, SO embarrassing!!!!!”

Gasp! No we set it as our profile picture because it was real, raw, us in our true- Sh, Stacy! We totally did not take this picture ourselves, ladies. Stacy, shut up! OMG, she really doesn’t know what she is talking about…

Lyrics?

Oh, you mean these lyrics! Aren’t they so cute?! Don’t you just love the font and the color, and, personally, I think the placement is really well strategized. The way it moves diagonally across the waist totally brings attention our curves. What? They are not dumb! Stacey, like who do you hang out with these days?

Listen here girlie, these lyrics are so inspirational. Maybe you think they are dumb because they aren’t from your list of Top 40 songs playing on the radio. Stacey and I are into more the underground scene, you probably aren’t cultured enough to know about this band anyway.

 Yeah? Well we knew them like way before they were somebody. That’s why we hate the radio, don’t we Stacy, because they are always ruining real artists.

…Stacy what are you talking about? Like, OhMyGod disregard her girls we totally knew about the band BEFORE they hit the big time.

And here we go with the laughter again! Ha ha! You know what? The joke’s on you guys! You know there was once a time when you all thought I was “the shit?” Yeah, that’s right Brittany; you know you were the first one to comment on this picture! Scroll down and see for yourself, you said, and I quote, “OMG Stace! This is totally HAWTT! Luv u!” See? Honestly, I don’t know why I am even like trying to justify myself; I have like twenty-six likes and fifteen comments; including one from Jason. Oh you remember Jason don’t you ladies? The hottest guy in the sixth grade… huh?

Well puberty didn’t seem to treat you that well either sweetie.

 Embarrassing? Are you serious? OMG Stacey, I like officially don’t know who you are anymore. You know what? I’m like glad you found me again, Stacey, and I’m glad I embarrass you because I’m not going anywhere! So you can be “mortified” when all of your old friends, new friends, ex-boyfriends, current boyfriends, enemies, employers, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas, grandpas, and you see me, the “epitome of your awkward stage,” pop up on the screen. I’m here to stay, baby and there’s nothing you can do about-

…Hello? Hello!

What was that?

Where am I?

…Empty trash? OMG no! Stacy, no! Do not empty the-

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A Little Dogs Rant- Kadie Huey

The sound of my freshly manicured nails makes such a harsh sound against the concrete. I stay close to the pavement during my brisk walk only breaching the barrier of the grass to take care of necessary business. I wouldn’t dare ruin my freshly groomed self with the dirt and bugs that fester within this public park in fear of my master’s reaction. I walk this path every afternoon around this exact time when families with there own pets are frolicking throughout the park. Oh how I long to be like those other dogs. Free to play in the open fields that never end or from my view on the sidewalk they don’t. Sure I live a fairly easy life. I am in a constant state of full and how many other dogs can say, I have my own room, my own handler, and I’m always clean and healthy. I am a pretty lucky dog so it may seem, but I long for so much more. I want so much more than that room filled with toys.

That room so large and empty, no children to tussle my fur, no man to play tug of war with me. I tug my rope alone. My handler is nice to say the least. He follows me about and picks up after me when need be, but he does it with such lack luster. I need a man who can play rough with me, to get a little dirty when your playing in the yard. My handler does no such thing, and I wouldn’t dare ask my master to play with me. I am but a toy to sit in his lap, to show off to his friends, to show what a rare breed I am. I am nothing more than a trophy. At least his wife can sympathize with me. The little love I do get I receive from her. She is lonely to, I can tell. I see her sadness as she sees mine. She rarely pays attention to me because I am his prize to show not hers, but every so often she will pass by and give me a pat on the head. It is so rewarding to feel that hint of love. With this life I want for nothing, except to be rid of it. I wish only for freedom. I would take the bag food and the dirty hair just to play ball with someone. I would graciously trade my life for any one of these mangy mongrels out here.

I can feel my walk coming to an end though; I must hop into the big, black car that will tow me back to my room where I will lay in my bed squeaking my little rubber bone, alone, again. I can feel the tiny bit of freedom surge through out my body as my handler releases me from the rope tethered to my neck. I feel as though this is the only pure joy I will feel for the rest of the day so I breathe and embrace it, and once more take my position in my designated seat.

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The teddy bear that fell under the bed and still hasn't been found

Ouch. Holy shit that hurt! What a terrible fall, not to mention the distance from the bed to the floor is pretty fucking steep. Heeeeelllllooooo...how could you not hear that? anyone up there? Mike? Come on, that was pretty loud. I’m really not trying to stay down here for the rest of the night. It’s literally so cold down here. The ground is hard and its dark and it smells like dirty socks. I cant see anything above me, but the underneath of this huge-ass bed. How the hell hasn’t he noticed that I’ve fallen off? I think I bruised my head and twisted my arm. God this is painful. More painful than the time that I got squished for an entire night under his massive body. He didn’t notice then that he had rolled on top of me. That sucked, but this time I fell to the ground with a thud. Mike couldn’t have slept through that. There’s no excuse. Mike! MIIIKEE! Wake up damnit!

I can’t seem to move my arm out from under myself. Talk about uncomfortable. I don’t want to deal with this shit, I had a long day already, I was really looking forward to some serious snuggling in that comfy queen bed. Mike is being so inconsiderate. He definitely knows I’m not there anymore... you notice when something like this happens. He’s going to wake up and realize that I’m not sleeping next to him and panic. I know it. He absolutely going to freak out. And when Ellen finds out about this- Oh when she finds out that he is letting me be tortured like this under the bed, she is going to rip his head off. Maybe she’ll take me back home with her, I really liked it much better at her house. Even just for that week, and then one day she stuck me in a bag with lots of stupid colored paper and handed me off, like I was some sort of prize. I’ve been dealing with it though, but I did not sign up to be treated like this.

Morning. Well, at least I think its morning, I heard the alarm scream to wake Mike up, but at this point I have no idea cause its still dark as shit under here. I can’t believe he didn’t even notice- like hello isn’t something important missing from your bed? How do you live with yourself? My arm really hurt for the whole night, but now its numb as shit. I think I’ve gotten used to the pain. It’s probably gonna be permanently stuck twisted behind my back. But nooooo, don’t worry about me Mike... This is exactly where I wanna be..... ASSHOLE! 

Its been three days. I’ve had my weak moments. I get spurts where I feel like I’m two again and crying for my mommy. I’m starting to get worried that I’ll never get out of this small, dark, frigid place. The thought scares me. MIKE. MIKE. one last time... MIKE. Get me out of here. Now!!!! This isn’t funny anymore.

Ellen’s here I see her sandals walk in the room. I could also smell them. Gross. She immediately sat on the bed, the mattress pressed closer to my face. Somehow her keys fell to the floor accidentally. I could see them about a foot away from me. If she saw the keys she would see me right? Come on Ellen. This is my chance!

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Amateur yogi drinks kombucha and rehearses attempt to explain recent alien abduction to boyfriend (boyfriend’s part played by Mr. Sniffers the Cat)

You really have to think about the doctrine of no-self to understand, you know? Yeah, everyone in the West has a problem with an-atman. We are so indoctrinated into Egotism. When I look at the selflessness of Eastern culture, I realize I may as well have been the love child of Friedrich Nietzsche and Ayn Rand. Ayn Nietzsche Jr. No one could pronounce it in kindergarten.

Ah, Mr. Sniffers…Ben doesn’t usually sit in my lap…okay, okay…ow.

I mean, who among us is really independent of other beings? I feel like I could have performed a service for the universal sangha (that’s the community). Like an ambassador to a whole new group of beings, or a missionary.

There were moments, before the beam blinded me, that I knew they could really connect with me in a way that people just can’t do. I could see the emotion in their huge, unblinking eyes. Maybe that’s why they chose me, because I wouldn’t reject them. I mean, they’re drawn to compassion, that’s what I think. Like all creatures are.

If you think about it, it’s like each of us is one of these chia seeds, floating so easefully. They look like individual seeds, with no attachment to the others. But when you drink, you realize they’re all connected by the gelatinous secretions that make them so healthy. And that’s the way the universe operates, too.

Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Sniffers. Of course we’re not all connected by our secretions. No, I don’t think it really matters who probed whom. No, not at all like Slaughterhouse-Five. Hey, watch out! That kombucha is a limited batch, locally made with wild gathered herbs and berries.

No, I feel like they represent a more enlightened type of being. For them, sex is not a lust thing. It’s like they’re trying to understand us. I think they wonder why we still do it, you know, having moved beyond the three kleshas. Desire, hate, and ignorance, of course. Yes, Mr. Sniffers, you have a long way to go before you’re on their level.

I wouldn’t say kidnapping. And that crazy guy off of Exit 136…I mean, he wouldn’t know an enlightened being if it crawled out of his Natty Light can. Unless it was large breasted and wielding a ray gun. How could a space craft be that big go totally unnoticed as it whisked him off from the trailer park for his night of passion? No, he hasn’t been taken. He’s just forgotten to take his schizophrenia meds for the last 35 years.

I think the important thing to get out of this is compassion. Why else would they come here, except to show us that compassion is the way? Maybe they wanted to make sure there were at least some of us who could understand how important it is. You’re right, nothing made me realize the importance of compassion more than waking up naked behind the post office. And that’s what they wanted me to see, a more compassionate way.

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Short Imagined Monologue- Pat Pallitto

High school history teacher only teaches conspiracy theories

            What have you learned about in history over your careers in academia? The Declaration of Independence? A secret document only viewable with special glasses designed by Ben Franklin. The Louisiana Purchase? A government mission to acquire a secret ancient Native American treasure. John F. Kennedy’s death? I still haven’t been able to conclude whether that was a CIA operation or a hit by the mafia, but I am currently engrossed in research on the subject and I will inform you of any breakthroughs. But I can say with conviction that 9/11 was most certainly all part of the U.S. Governments plan to control the worlds dwindling oil supply. I’m sure you all watched the Super Bowl the other night, correct? Well if you think that it’s merely a game of chance, be glad you’re in this class. The Super Bowl is a predetermined sporting event, like every other, designed to subliminally drive consumerism in its viewers.

            You see, ladies and gentlemen most of your teachers are simple pawns. Pawns of the organizations that want you to drink their kool-aid. But, lucky for you, I am not one of those pawns. I am a warrior for the truth and after taking this class, you should be too. Ladies and gentlemen forget all those “facts” and fairy tales you’ve been told to believe over the years, those are nothing more than carefully crafted lies.

            What’s that? Conspiracy theories are bullshit? Ha! The mere fact that you refer to these truths as theories shows your complete ineptitude and lack of understanding. I bet you still believe that we landed on the moon! The hilarity of that thought kills me. Are you aware, young man, that in the photograph from the so-called “lunar landing” the American flag is ruffled as if it were waving? If you have even the most basic understanding of astrophysics and astronomy, which it so happens that I do, you would be aware of the lack of wind currents in the solar system would make such a phenomenon, in fact, impossible. But don’t worry young man, while you are simply a victim of a criminal system

Sure, as we can see, some of you may think I’m crazy, but that is probably due to the fact that you actually consume the same tap-water that highly dubious agencies pump fluoride into, and the neurons in your brain are most likely being melted little by little every day. I will tell you right now, stop believing what you are told. I did. My mind is now completely open and I know the truth about events such as the landing of the first alien life forms. If you want a perfect example of the docile acceptance of the countless fabricated lies we’ve been fed over the years, go ask your English professors if Bill Shakespeare wrote all of those plays. To think that one man wrote all of those is ludicrous! There was a minimum of three, maybe even four writers adopting the Shakespeare name. This is a perfect example of how society just perpetuates these lies. Now class, if you would all kindly remove your text books from your backpacks and place them in the waste receptacle, we may begin learning about one of oldest and most well hidden societies in existence, one responsible for insanely important historical events of the past millennia and with members ranging from popes to presidents, the Illuminati.

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Short Imagined Monologue- Will McCaskey

Dog Waits for His Owner to Return Home

Oh my God, this is the worst day of my life. I can’t believe he just left me like that. What. The. Hell. I mean, seriously, I did nothing wrong, I said hello to him when he woke up, I ate breakfast with him, I watched the news with him, I did everything right. And he still left me. I don’t know what to do. What if he never comes back? What if he’s really gone forever? I don’t know what I’d do without him. I guess there’s nothing I can do but wait and see what happens. Maybe I’ll take a nap. No, no, I’ll go swim in the neighbor’s pool. No, I can’t do that; if he catches me again I’m going to be in big trouble. I could go out in the backyard and try to catch the squirrels again. I hate those bastards so much, always climbing their stupid little trees, looking down at me with their smug faces. Assholes. I swear to God, one day I will catch them, and when that day comes I’ll have my revenge.

Oh my God, I’m so bored, what the hell am I supposed to do? Oh, I know, I’ll go try to find that fuzzy guy that always tries to sneak up behind me. It’s just as bad as the squirrels! Always hiding behind me like a coward. If he’d come out from back there… Well let’s just say he’d be sorry! Oh wait, I see him! Argh, I can’t quite get him! And now I feel all dizzy, damn… Cowardly as he is though, I have to give him credit, he’s at least as fast as me and he never gives up. Oh well, I guess he’s won this battle. Next time though I’ll—who the hell is that!? Who are you? How did you get in here? Why do you look so familiar? Why are you just copying all the things I do? Seriously, are you just going to sit there and do that? God that pisses me off. I’ll show you! Ah, shit, what the hell?  What did I just hit? It felt hard, like a wall but I didn't see anything. Maybe it’s—did I just see a squirrel? I’d better go check it out. Ah! It was a squirrel! I’m going to get you this time you bastard! No, don’t go up that tree! Get the hell down here and fight like a man! Or… a squirrel? Ah, whatever, I’m thirsty, I’m going to get a—what was that sound? Was that the mailman? No! Not that guy again, I freaking hate that guy! God, if I could open the front door I’d make sure he never comes back. For now though, all I can do is yell at him and hope he gets the message.

I’m going to die here. There’s no way out of it. I am going to die here. It’s been so long since he left me, there’s no way he’s ever going to come back. It’s just not possible, and I need to learn to accept it. It’s just… I don’t know what I did wrong. Did I do something to offend him? Did I upset him in some way? Did I—was that another squirrel? Oh, who cares, it’s not like I could catch him anyway. I’m just going to lie down and sleep until I die. No point wasting my energy now. Well, I guess this is—wait, what was that sound? That was a car door. And what’s that smell? Is that… him? It is him! Oh my God, oh my God, he’s back, he’s back and he’s about to come through the door! This is the best day of my life! 

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Short Imagined Monologue- Laura Union

Pocahontas attends the weekly Disney World Characters staff meeting

Yeah yeah. Keep smiling. Be positive. We know. Why do we have these every week? You want to make improvements? How about tell Cinderella to stop smoking behind the Magic Kingdom. People can see her. And smell her. There’s no smoking in Disney World! I’m tired of that bimbo anyway. Ever since she and Peter Pan have been hooking up, it’s all she talks about. But really, that’s gross. Talk about Never NEVER Land.  

Maybe someone should remind Chip n’ Dale that they are rodents, not the Thunder Down Under. Was I the only one who saw that? And which one of those dwarfs keeps parking in Gaston’s spot? Uggh Gaston’s so hot. No wonder Jasmine is always throwing herself at him. Though her dance number this afternoon was truly appalling. I mean, who approved her for dancing anyways. I bet no one noticed, but it was totally worse than the banana taffy incident. Speaking of which, where is Pumbaa? He’s been late everyday this week. Will they fire him for that? What would I have to do to get fired? They kept Aladdin around even after he gave those redheaded twins the middle finger. Gross little kids. I don’t blame him. I swear he’s gay. I mean he’s got to be. Look at him, sitting there all poised with that tiny red hat. Customer service? Aren’t I supposed to stay in character? Does Pocahontas even speak English? So I need bread, carrots, yogurt….this dress is insanely itchy. And it blends into my skin. Just because I have a tan doesn’t mean I should have to play the squaw. Aladdin doesn’t have a tan and he’s supposed to be from Arabia. Arabia? Ara… Arabian. Whatever. I should have gotten Ariel’s part. She can’t even walk in her fins. I always catch Eric rearranging her tail during the parades. He’s so nice. Now he has got to be gay. How long is this going to last? And what’s that smell?

If I have to kiss John Smith one more time I’m going to hurl. It’s bad enough he’s on that gluten cleanse and only drinks kale smoothies but knowing he’s repulsed by me just for being female…well that’s just as bad as being racist. Are there any black Disney characters? Oh. Emm. Gee! Disney is racist! Wait a minute. Does that make me an honorary racist? It can’t! I play the squaw! Or, the Native American character. They are a small minority you know. Doesn’t Hector play one of the dwarfs? He’s from Puerto Rico. I bet he’s the one parking in Gaston’s spot. Ok bread, carrots, yogurt, apples…. seriously though, what is that smell? Are you kidding? Staff concerns? Well I hope someone finally confronts the Fairy Godmother about keeping her costume on until she’s off the stage. No one wants to see that. Hey don’t look at me Eeyore. I didn’t steal your bike lock. Check the dwarves. Isn’t one of them named Klepto or something? 

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Short Imagined Monologue- Laura Loften

Uncle Henry always sings the same song to me every time I see him. I made the silly mistake of telling him what they call me at school and he sings the same few words to me, over and over again;

‘Hey, Fatty Bum Bum, sweet sugar dumpling!’

I don’t mind it so much when he teases me. He’s actually my dad’s uncle, and I love him more than anyone else in the world, including my own mother. My dad left home when I was six months old, so I suppose Uncle Henry is a bit like a surrogate father. None of us had seen my real father for at least ten years. Neither my mum, my brother Creole or even Uncle Henry had a clue where Dad was or what he was doing with his life now. I’d often wondered what he looked like. Mum had long since thrown away every single reminder of ‘that lying, useless cabron’. I had often begged her to tell me what he looked like but I doubt she could even remember herself, its been so long. I’d often write my dad long letters, begging him to come and rescue me from the wicked witch and the evil stepfather, asking him question after question about himself, although I always ended up ripping the letters to pieces in despair.

‘Are you tall, Daddy?’

‘Are you handsome?’

‘Do you have frizzy dark hair and a big nose, like me?’

‘Are you… fat? Like me, Daddy?’

I really really hate being so fat. It’s so unfair, even the teachers call me Fatty now. I know it’s just a silly nickname, they’re not trying to be unkind, but sometimes it makes me so upset I have to sneak into the toilets at school to have little private cry. I hunch up in the smelly little cubicle, breathing snottily into a tissue, praying that nobody  hears me crying. I cant stand cry-babies. Creole cried every day without fail since dad left, but he’s always been a bit different, not at all like an older brother. He’s two years above me in year nine now, but he doesn’t protect me when the others pick on me, or fight the boys that would pull my hair and punch my wobbly bum. He can barely protect himself, so I try to stick up for the both of us when other kids start.

Well... most of the time I try too. 

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Winnie The Pooh's Addiction

"Hey there Christopher Robin, I-I was just wondering... Well I haven't had a jar of honey since this morning... Now I know I told you that I was done with that stuff, that it was the old me, but I just need one more fix. Just one more then I'm off the stuff for good! I swear... I SWEAR just one more, i just need a little taste, a little sample of that sweet golden nectar. Oh how it shimmers within the jar, dripping down the edges, its dense sugary goodness. Hey don't look at me like that, don't you judge me! Who the hell are you to judge me you little shit! You don't know what its like, you don't know my life. Everyday I put up with these psychopaths, Piglet and his anxiety, Tigger and his damn ADHD, and for God's sake will someone get Eeyore some anti-depressants! Its not easy man, all I have is my honey that’s all I have in this world, who are you, who the fuck are you to deny me of that! We are all lost in this world, hopeless, slaves to our own shadows! Wait, wait, wait…just wait a second… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Christopher Robin, I got out of hand. Its just you see, this honey isn’t for me, no no. Ha you thought it was for me? No I actually need it for a friend, he’s in bad man, yeah he’s addicted to the stuff. Now I told him, this is what I told him; I said that once you get on that stuff its hard to get off, I said I knew from experience, but he didn’t listen. I feel bad for him though, he’s in bed shaking, cold sweat, vomit, the whole nine. He needs it bad man… He needs it- Oh God damn it fine! You got me I was lying, I have no friend, you think I have friends? Friends addicted to honey like me? No no no, its me its all me. My life is going nowhere, I walk around in the forest all day pantless, when I’m not eating honey I think about eating honey. It calms me down though, why do you think I look so mellowed out and care free, its what makes me Pooh! I know you don’t understand, but the least you can do is help me out, I’ll do anything, anything at all. You want me to clean your room, I don’t have thumbs but I’ll figure it out. Anything for you Christopher Robin, I know that Rabbit owes you some money, I’ll go over there and get it for you, even shake him up a bit that way he’ll know to pay up on time next time. Huh? How bout it, I help you out and you help me? Hey, where are you going? Why are you getting the phone? You don’t need the phone. Who the hell are you calling? Not rehab Christopher Robin, anything but that! I don’t need it I swear I’m clean! I was never even here, this conversation never happened. Put the fucking phone down!!”

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Short Imagined Monologue – Matthew Piazza

Donald Trump to his House's Cleaning Crew

Hey, Yolanda, keep working like that and you may never have to go back to that tourist-filled shithole you came from. I’ve never seen a floor so shiny in my life, have you been reading my book? Page 249: How To Impress With Simple Shined Floors. Very important – sparkling floors are very important to making the deals go down, to making a good first impression. You know, someone had the audacity to attribute my success to the shiny floor on top of my head, can you believe the scum on the Earth these days. God damn. People are cruel, heartless. 

You know you all could take a hint from Yolanda here (who of course took a hint from me, I mean who wouldn’t – look how rich I am). See how she doesn’t speak up and just polishes and dusts ‘til it’s time to go home, time to go to your CASA. Oh she can’t speak, oh, well, even better, then, her deviant thoughts of standing up to her employer will never come to form. You think I got here, to where I am today, by opening my mouth when I shouldn’t? No. Hell no. I knew exactly when to open my mouth. And when I did I spoke with force. You can try to emulate my prowess after and only after reading chapters 6 & 7 of my latest book: Get Rich (But Don’t Die Trying). Yeah I want you to buy my book. How do you think I can afford you? You think NBC pays me for the worst-rated TV show they air? Well, yeah, they do pay me. But that’s not the point. The point is that you should buy my book for sixteen ninety nine and maybe you wouldn’t have to clean mansions for a living. 

I remember the last time I cleaned something. Except it wasn’t a floor. It was a Fortune 500 company, on the fall, but I swooped in and turned it all around. I cleaned up the shitshow of a company they had. Singlehandedly. You ever seen anyone else do that (other than my close confidant, Mitt)? No, because no one cleans like the Trump. I call you here to do that other type of cleaning, the kind where if you breathe while you work your kid comes out with an extra limb or two. Of course me and Ivana never had that problem, she never cleaned a thing in her life. That’s why I divorced her fat ass. She spent all my money (ha ha what an idea, that’s impossible) and expected me to like it. She didn’t have to breathe in all the fumes and chemicals you do, she was respectable. Not really an “elbow grease” type of person if you know what I mean. Same with the rest of the Trumps, really.

Anyway, I charge eight hundred a quarter hour for consulting so I’ll just have Robby send over a bill when he gets a chance. Don’t forget to buy my book.

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SIM Krysten Hohl

                                          Sock's last laundry cycle

I know we came in together.  I saw him.  I recognized the pattern of stripes: one big, horizontal blue stripe, followed by a thinner grey one, then repeated.  We are identical ya know… or at least we were made to be identical.  We were identical until the day a toe ripped right through the top of him.  Now I’m the one that is favored.  But I know for a fact we came in together; I went in first. I had a good view of the door from where I was placed in the top left corner. I sat on her favorite baby blue sweatshirt; makes sense seeing as how we were worn together last Wednesday.  But my twin and I had been separated as socks usually are.  So I watched to see that he made it in.  And sure enough, I caught a glimpse of him smashed between the red lace panties and sweat stained yoga pants in the opposite corner of the bin. But then the door shut, the lights went out, the room started spinning and the air started to heat up. 

At one point I was struck with a rogue quarter that had been overlooked and left in a pants pocket.  But there are worse things that can happen in here.  Like the Chapstick meltdown last October.  I hope we never have a repeat of that disaster. There is no telling how many times we tossed and turned; constantly spinning in circles is surprisingly exhausting.  At one point we touched, but then as quickly as we had found one another we were ripped apart and tossed to opposite ends again.  Once we were full of warmth and had returned to our dry state, the bin signaled with a beep and the door opened.  I didn’t see him when we were pulled out and dropped into the hamper for I was trapped inside a jean pant’s leg without a view of my surroundings. It wasn’t until we were folded and sorted that I realized he was gone.  Lost to the machine. 

Just as his fate was sealed, so was mine.  No one needs a single sock, after all that is why we are sold by the pair.  I was tossed to the corner of the bed to watch as the others were sorted and placed in their appropriate drawers.  Panties in the third from the top, bras just above them, and socks on top.  The jeans were folded, sweatshirts stacked, the tops hung on color-coded hangers in the closet.  I sat patiently, knowing my destination had changed.  I would never again see the inside of the top drawer.  I would never again be smashed against the floral patterned paper lining the bottom.  I would never again smell the sachet of lavender placed in the back corner to keep us smelling nice.  In fact, I was no longer destined for the dresser nor the closet at all.  After a few minutes had passed and all my piers were where they belonged, I was carried down through the bedroom door, down the stairs and through the kitchen.  I knew it was coming and yet I still couldn’t believe it as the pantry door swung open and the lid to the trashcan was raised just enough to engulf me as its latest victim into the dreary, smelly, darkness.  A sock with no pair.  A clean sock, in a dirty trash.  My life.

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Short Imagined Dialog

LMFAO Auditions to be Opening Act for James Brown’s Final Tour

Y’all want to perform where you standing there on that stage, be part of my act? I got high standards. I'm the Godfather of Soul. This little Georgia theater’s where I got started. Y’all any good? Think so, huh? I’m sitting right here on the front row and you ain’t impressing me yet.

Just you two fellas? Okay. You. Yeah you with the big white glasses. You kidding me, right?  Oh, it’s a look. Yeah, I got it. Damn that long frizzy hair.  Y’all both out of gel?  Look at mine. Smooth, shiny, every hair in place.  No, it ain’t a damn wig! What‘s that you say?  Oh, you want this gig. Come to the edge so I can hear. Man, y’all something.  What’s up with those threads? It’s a look? You look like what, a leopard? At least you got tight pants. Look at me. Purple suit. Tight pants.  I look good. Y’all just skinny assed boys. What are y’all?  Half black, half white? Musicians, yeah.  Where’s your instruments?  I hope you got some horns. Horn is the soul. Ain’t got no horns?  You disappointing me already. You just singing?  Okay, and dancing? What’s that?  You admire me?  That right? You like my moves? Yeah, I’m the greatest. Inspired Elvis, Mick, Michael Jackson. My boys.

Okay, let’s see what you got. What’s your tune called?  Party what? Party rock anthem, eh?  Where’s the music coming from? Recorded? Go ahead. Let’s hear it.

Hmmm.  Good beat. Pop - pop - pop. Damn good beat. Let me slap it out on my thigh. Pop,pop,pop.  What’s that? Sounds like horns.  Good God. That’s a big horn sound. What’s that lyric? Get up, get down. Put your hands up to the sound.  That beat is bad.  You gon’ make me lose my mind? I’m feeling it. Yeah. Shake that.

Let me get up there with you. Just. Get. Up. This. Ledge. No, y’all keep going. I’m just gon’ get in here and dance behind you. Join you. Keep going. Good God! You got some moves. Looking good. What’s that you doing? Looks like a running man move. Yeah, I got that running man. Turn left. Turn right. I got you. Whoa, whoa, you added a turn. Shit, twisted my ankle on that one. I’m okay. Shake it off. Okay, now we really grooving. I got that slide.  Watch my feet. Let’s add one of my moves.  Watch this cross over. All toes and ankles. Got these slick soles. Watch me now. Watch my moonwalk. Yeah.

Keep going. Let me get behind you again. You boys bustin it. I got to step it up, hunh. Man. Look at their feet fly.  Front, back, twist, spin. Turn around and do it again.  Oh damn, my hip. Ouch. Get your hands up. Lookout. What the hell? A back flip. Your toe almost caught my hair.  It’s okay. Just missed me. I’m still back here. Every day I’m shuff ffl- ling. Uh, oh. Here’s that running man again. Work it. Good God. Pop the arms. Oh. Man.  Whooo. I can’t breathe. No, I’m fine.

I’m gon’ shuffle my ass off stage. No, I’m okay. Let me ease over the edge. Easy on that ankle. Ow. Yeah, right back to this soft chair. Y’all keep going.

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Short Imagined Monologue - Sarah James

"Thomas Jefferson Attends a Dave Matthews Band Concert and Subsequently Tries Marijuana for the First Time"

               Charlottesville: A city nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, teeming with opportunity aplenty in industry as well as education.  And, most importantly, the city I call home.  Untainted by the lower classes, this province is representation of our new country in its purest form.  And as I sit by the window of my homestead, Monticello, watching the setting sun slowly disappear over my university and the mountains in the distance, I cannot help but wonder:  what is that smell?

                Though I have smelt many a foul creature during my time in the country, nothing compares to what is wafting through the mountain air as I speak:  the odor of a hundred, no – a thousand putrid skunks seems to be blanketing my city in a dense haze.  Surely, this necessitates investigation.  A trip to the commonplace will do, I suppose.

                But why are the streets so crowded?  And what is that noise?  Like minstrels, but louder, and accompanied by much yelling and great discourse.  Alas!  What great, towering brick edifice we have seems to be the source of the clamor (and, seemingly, the skunks). 

                No, I do not have a ticket, and no, I do not want your ticket, and no, I do not want you to search me with your wand. Beg pardon, sir, but all I request is entrance to your building.  No, I have nothing to hide; I left my musket at home.  Very well, I will pay for entry, do you accept paper money?  I suppose a “floor” seat will suffice, yet does that require me to dwell with the groundlings?  I would prefer a booth if at all possible.

                This edifice contains more citizens than I believed to exist in my city.  What is that, young man?  Half of these commoners attend my university?  Impossible.  At  least, impossible for the ones who are relieving themselves in the corner.  There is an Honor Code here, as you must know.

                Ah, the minstrel on stage agrees!  There is an overwhelming odor in this building, yet I see no skunks.  What’s that?  He enjoys this smell?  An acquired taste, I suppose. 

                And what is that pipe you hold?  Much smaller than mine at home, I would say.  And the plant inside looks quite different from the tobacco in my own pipe.  Ah, this must be the source of the odor!   Would I like a turn?  Sir, quite generous of you to ask!  What do you name this smoking device, again?  A “Jimi thing”?  I hired a slave that was bestowed with the name Jimmy once, but we never exchanged pipes, of course.

                I’m sorry, sir, but do you feel a bit lightheaded?  Perhaps it’s just the smell, or the commoners crowding, or… oh my.  Wow.  Wow.  This music, my friend.  The best I have heard.  A talented minstrel, up there. 

                And, I’m sorry to ask, my new friend.  Forgive me for my bluntness but, that pipe… could I try it once more?

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Short Imagined Monologue-- Kayana Ladson

Dwayne Johnson, The Rock, is hired as new Oompa-Loompa in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory

Who in the blue hell...chose these fruity ass outfits!?! I am a grown ASS man, not some little fruitcake with pointy hips and green hair! Whoa, now...all this sweetness round here is gonna make The GREAT ONE go insane. I made millions dressing up as a tooth fairy for Disney and now I gotta fight off some cavities! Oh yes, I will Layeth the Smacketh downnn!

Willy wants a song, eh? Alright, I got one for ya, big man. Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo, I’ve got a perfect puzzle for you. Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dee, If you are wise you’ll listen to me. What do you get when you’re up in my face? Your candy ass all over the place! Shut the Hell Up! Ya’ll lil’ midgets are messin’ with my vibe.  This ain’t sing along with the Champ! Hey Wonka, if you smeellllll….what the Rock…Is…COOKING, put the damn flavor in yo’ Gobstoppers. The little girl ate em all? That’s what she gets! All blue and fat, messin’ with my money. Yeah, take her to the juicer, my brothers, or else! You don’t think it’s a good idea? IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK! Just listen to the Rock and take her to the juicer. The Rock will NOT be held accountable for the consequences of her greed. Now, Willy Wonka wants another song. Who knew that a man with 24 inch Nerd ropes would have half inch testicles! Fired!?! You can’t fire the Champ! If it’s a song you want, then it’s a song you’ll get. . Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo, I’ve got another puzzle for you. Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dee, If you are wise you’ll listen to me. What will I say if you fill me with doubt? Know your damn role and shut your damn mouth.....like the Oompa Loompa doo-ba-dee-do! Didn’t like that either, did you? Maybe you will like this instead. I’m gonna take this lollipop, shine it up real nice, turn it sideways, and stick it STRAIGHT UP YOUR CANDY ASS! Man, oh man, Willy. You make me wanna take you back to my days in the ring, slamming suckas who thought they could beat me. Wanna know what’ll make me feel more at home? The Rock taking your monkey ass down to the corner of Know Your Role Boulevard and Jabroni Drive and check you in to the Smackdown Hotel!

But I guess that is gonna have to wait.

It’s Monday, baby! You know what that means? Monday Night Raw, here I come! Gonna get my WWE Championship back and make those wrestlers wish they never set foot in the ring again. What the hell was I thinking working in this factory anyways? Probably gonna use it as inspiration for another one of my multi-million dollar movies. I quit!!! Wonka, Oompa Loompas, if any of you have the balls to step to me, any time or any place....JUST BRING IT! Cause the Rock WILL lay the Smackdown on that ass!