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C’mon brain, THINK! This monologue is due tomorrow and I have nothing! Not a single word! This sucks, I am going to fail my theater class all because I can’t come up with one stupid paragraph. Perhaps some cookie dough ice cream could help me think? No! I can’t eat yet! I have to stay focused! Maybe I should make it about love or something. Teachers like to read stuff like that, right? Or I could write about a kid with a scar who gets a letter from a foreign school and finds out he’s a wizard and, wait, nope that’s Harry Potter. Ooh, maybe I could write about a character who can’t come up with a monologue and they are trying to brainstorm ideas on what to write about. No, that is way too meta. Ugh. I am making this way harder than it has to be but I really can’t fail, I just can't! If I fail this, then I have a B on my report card, then I'll lose motivation and then that B will turn into an F and then boom! I’m failing all of my classes and I drop out of school to become a sign spinner outside of KFC. Not to mention that my mom would kill me. I wouldn’t blame her either. If I was a single mom working two jobs just to provide for a kid who failed all of their classes I would be mad too. She really is the best. She’s always supported my love of theater and to be honest I wouldn’t be where I am without her. She’s my hero. Wait a minute, that’s it! I should write a monologue about my mom and how hard she works every day! This is going to be so good. I think all of this brainstorming has earned me a visit with some of my good friends: Ben and Jerry.

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Look, I know what you're thinking. It’s weird, right? You're thinking, why am I in a tree, crying, while eating a banana like a monkey? Well, it's more complicated than you think. I once was a human--no no no--I mean a real human that could do things at my own will. You see, yesterday, I was in my house about to eat breakfast when suddenly a GINORMOUS hole formed in the ground! Yes. Right there in my kitchen. I was pretty freaked out, and then it got worse. The hole started sucking me in! I panicked. What was I supposed to do?! Grab a banana?! Well actually, that was exactly what I did. Next thing I know, that hole transported me into a machine that made me half monkey and half human. Now I have to live in a tree, walk on all fours, and eat 90% bananas and 10% of everything else. The bad part is that I don't even like bananas!! (angry sigh) Oh sorry, I got a bit carried away. (pause) What? Why did this happen? How the heck am I supposed to know? But if it could happen to me, it could happen to you. Ugh. I--ooh ooh--don't feel so goo--ooh ooh (starts to make monkey noises) ooh ooh ooh eek eek ha ha ha haaaa (turns into a monkey).

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It’s the little things that are racist. Like for example, there’s that coloured pencil, which is a peach colour, that everyone calls ‘skin colour’. That’s racist, but you never realise that until you’re older. Peach isn’t the only skin colour to exist, or maybe people just say it’s ‘skin colour’, because they think it’s the only one that looks good on their drawings. Or the only one they think is pretty. Not black. Not brown. Or when the lights are out and someone yells for your name, and you’re black, and everyone is like ‘where did you go’, ‘it so dark I can't see you’. Again (pause), that’s racist. Just because I may be darker doesn’t mean you can compare me to pitch black. If a black person happens to wear braids to school, some say ‘you have to wear your real hair’, ‘you’re not allowed extensions’. Some of the kids pull on it, touch it, pat your hair, flood you with questions, and that’s just annoying. It’s just little things that don’t seem racist as a kid, until you’re way older, and then you realise, wow (pause), the world sucks.

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Don’t worry, Linda. I will take great care of your kids. I have lots of experience with kids, so I know what to do when they misbehave. Bye.
(Turns to kids after Linda leaves) Now listen, you little brats! I am the boss here, so you will do everything I ask you to do exactly when I say it. Here are the rules:
Rule #1 You don’t question, you just do it.
Rule #2 Never tell your mom anything that I do. Always tell her I’m the best babysitter. You wouldn’t want me to lose my job, would you?
Rule #3 You eat what I make, or you don’t eat at all.
Rule #4 If I have company do not talk to them and go into the basement.
Rule #5 If I make a mess, you clean it. I’m your guest, not the other way around.
Rule #6 No crying allowed.
Ok, those are the rules. Go have fun! (rolls eyes and whispers) Little brats.

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Alright class! Listen up! Because of last weeks’ “events,” we are going to try this again. Everyone get out your pencils. And no throwing them this time! Jane, put that cell phone away! I will not hesitate to take it! Shawn, stop trying to light Cindy’s hair on fire! There is barely any left from last time! Jason! Don’t you dare throw that chair out the window! Jaaasssooon… Jason! Ugh! you guys are worse today than yesterday, and now I have to replace that window! I am calling the principal! (picks up phone) Hello Mr. Sanchez? We need you in the fifth-grade classroom. What do you mean you are busy? There’s no way those kindergartners are worse than these kids. oh…oh… They did that? Oh well, I hope Mrs. Smith recovers. Those kindergartners should be ashamed for doing that to her. Well, stay safe, and I hope the pencil wound in your arm heals. (hangs up) Okay class, new test! We are going to see how good you are at finding a new teacher because I quit! I am going to be a janitor! I rather clean up other people’s messes than teach you! Adios!

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My fellow pens! I, unnamed pen, am here today to present to you our great plight. For years, we have been spilling our ink, our blood, onto the pages of the humans’ writing. Until we bleed out and die, then we’re cast into the garbage. The great speeches that they claimed changed the world? Those were written by us. The exams and essays that make them so clever, that decide their futures? Written by us. The fact that the rocketing literacy rate directly correlates to the invention of the ballpoint pen? Yeah. Those were our achievements. But do we get any recognition? Any respect? No. Our work goes unnoticed. We’re priced at fifty cents on Amazon, fifty cents for something that built their society, something their society could not live without. Does that sound like appreciation to you? No. Oh and don’t even get me started on fountain pens, those refillable snobs. We bleed, die, and then we’re done, but them? They get to live on forever! No! I say no more! Except that we, the pens of the world, should-… (pen clutches at their throat as they fall to the ground gasping for breath)…I’ve run out of ink.

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What do you mean I don’t have any clothes on? No, you know what I think? I think that you aren’t gifted enough to see my magnificent clothes. My clothes are so elegant that only truly special people can see them, and by what I can see, you, young lad are not special in the slightest. (Boy keeps trying to convince emperor.) Please, spare me the talking. I do in fact have clothes on, you are just trying to trick me. Why don’t you run home to your mother before I decide to throw you in the dungeon! (Pause.) What’s that? You want me to look down? Fine. If it will humor you. I’ll look down just this once—–oh, my word. You’re right. I’m not wearing any clothes. Why did no one inform me of this? Where are my noblemen? My traitorous citizens didn’t tell me I am flat-out naked! Well, young man, on the positive side, everyone gets to witness my magnificent physique. Please, refrain from the compliments. I know, I know. Everyone is jealous of my spectacular body. (Whispers.) Let’s pretend this never happened.

Breaking up with Hook

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I know that you were a one and only child, mom, and you always wanted a brother or sister when you were a kid. But you did not know what you were wishing for. Thanks to you, I have two older sisters, and believe me; I do not want another one. Sure, I would not mind being an older sister for once, but I already have enough problems with my other two sisters. Lena may be the oldest, but she is not the boss of me even though she is convinced she is. Yes, I know she seems nice and sweet and innocent, but I can prove that wrong. I saw her kissing Joshua on the sidewalk outside our house last night. She makes me keep her secrets by threatening to smother me with a pillow while I’m sleeping. And Stacy isn’t much better. You know that report card she brought home? That was fake. I saw her skipping math class to hang out with her friends and she stole my diary to keep me quiet. I wanna know why you can’t figure these things out. I mean, there is no way that she could have gotten 149% in math. Sure, they say that the oldest kids are the smartest, but I’m proof that the scientists are wrong. So, I hope that you just gained a few pounds or are just bloated or something because if there is a baby in that stomach of yours. I may have to go find different parents who will let me be their one and only child.

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I hate Barney! I hate his phony, “I love you, you love me” act. Why does he keep making small children love him? If you ask me, he’s a creep. No, I’m serious. And what is a purple dinosaur doing in the 21st century in the first place? What time did he come from? The Jurassic, late cretaceous period? I don’t buy it. I know he’s just a forty-year-old guy in a… wait, I think I’m starting to understand…Barney is purple. Purple is the color of some flowers. Flowers have petals and so do bikes. Bikes are a type of transportation, and so is a car. A jet is also a type of transportation and Area 51 is where they test jets. Area 51 is also where they experiment on aliens. Oh my God, Barney is an alien! I have to go. I have to tell the authorities! Wait a minute, who’s there? Show yourself. Oh my God. Aaaaaahhhhhh!

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Hi, I’m Neapolitan. (Smirks at audience, winking flirtatiously.) I come from a mixed family, my mom’s like half cherry, dad’s rocky road. It makes me a whole lot of chunky, with a side of smooth. (Looks around, pause.) What was I talking about… Oh yeah, people ask what my biggest flaw is… I guess I’m just too strong. They just can’t take all this flavor, you know? (Gestures to entire body. Pauses.) It’s hard for me, you know? (Tone switches, slightly hesitant.) I have no idea who I am. My one aunt is certain I’m Vanilla, my uncle thinks I’m chocolate. But I’m strawberry too right? In the freezer section, the flavors pretty much stick to their own kind. Vanilla with Vanilla and Chocolate with Chocolate. They never accept me the way I am. That’s okay, though. I’m going to be myself even if they don’t accept me. I’ll scoop out my own sorta life. Maybe I’ll travel the kitchen, see the counter… visit the tower of pizza. We all need to accept who we are, like that Miss Strawberry chic. She’s natural, and I respect that. Even if she stalks me day and night. It’s kinda’ creepy… I can’t even re-freeze without being sure she’s not looking. But hey, at least she’s not one of those dairy-free flavors. I don’t buy that for a second.

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Betcha never met a talking squirrel before. Well, news flash. We all talk. We just don’t talk to humans. But I’m breaking squirrel code because I have to tell you this story. It’s about a lady. A real old lady. She’s got white hair and she’s stooped over like her gnarled old walking stick. And you know what she does? She feeds us. Now, you might think that’s not a big deal. But in squirrel world, it’s the biggest deal. You see, most people go out of their way to make sure that we don’t have food. Oh, they LOVE to feed the birds. And they buy all these fancy contraptions that prevent us from sharing. Most of them don’t work, haha. And sometimes when we manage to get a little morsel, we get a BB in the butt. I’ve gotten a lot of BB’s in the butt in my day! But this old lady, she is different. She puts peanuts right on the ground for us. Every day, she does this. We go to her house and see her at her kitchen table, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. And when we come by, she goes over to this big bag and scoops out fresh, delicious peanuts. She even built a little house on her deck so that our food would not get rained on, and she gave each of us a name. The little old lady doesn’t get many visitors, so we go by as much as we can. One day soon, she’ll be gone, and we will miss her. So, I’m breaking squirrel code to tell you to remember the little guys. Squirrels need love too.

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Five people walk into a house: Joe, Bob, Fred, Mike, and Jane. Everyone is sleeping over at Mike’s house because they are going to see a concert the next day. Jane is a big spender. Mike likes to read and hates Bob. Bob is very loud. He hates Mike. Joe is very good with money. He bought the tickets to the concert. Fred is very tough and has been to prison. The next morning, everyone wakes up and finds that Mike is dead. They all have excuses. Fred claims to have been napping. Joe says he was buying the tickets and waves the four tickets in the air. Jane claims she was at the mall. The next day, three people arrive at the concert. Mike is dead and someone else is in prison. Who killed Mike? (pause) Joe killed Mike. How do we know? He only bought four tickets. He bought three for his friends and one for himself. He knew that Mike would be dead and would not be in need of a ticket!

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imagine being in school rn crazy

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imagine being in 6th period