Shakes-fear

Isaiah:

Now is the winter of my discontent.
For rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
I Please Get a Job and I am forsaken.
Grim-visaged directors hath handed down
their instructions. And now, instead of merely
hiring me much to the dismay of my less
talented adversaries, they demand two
contrasting Shakespearean monologues!
But I, am not prepared for such tricks
Nor made to court an amorous kleenex,
I, that am distressed and want to get cast,
To run around my apartment in victory
am made to scramble like an ambling nymph
I, that am cheated of success by mediocre selections past,
desperate, overwhelmed, called back before my time
Into this expecting world, should I make something up?
And therefore, since I cannot prove a Shakespearean Actor
to entertain these fair well spoken casting agents,
I am determined to prove an improviser,
and hate these theater bigwig gents.
Dive thoughts, down to my soul; here
my roommate comes.

Season Three: Advanced Annoyance

Jake


I hate technology. It never gives you what you want. I don't understand why we need to make progress in our lifestyle when that lifestyle does not include a flying car. Instead of thinking big, we keep thinking smaller. "Oh, look, now we have a computer that can fit into a manila envelope" "Oh, check this out bro, my phone is smaller than my wallet" "Wow, I can't believe it, I lost my bluetooth in my left ear!" I mean, seriously people. We are living in a time that was once written by famous authors as this mysterious future. But there is no mystery. There is just annoyance. We used to envision this time as a time of space travel, and jet packs, and conveyor belts in every home; now, we just have personal music devices that get lost in our butt cracks. And robots! Where are the robots? I tell you where: right in front of a mirror. I walked down a college campus the other day and saw no interaction between students. They all ignored each other as they talked on their phones, the minuscule keys being pounded by their whale like fingers by comparison. If I could, I would throw every single piece of these advanced accessories out of the window and start thinking big! Let's get the houses a hundred feet off the ground and put some mysterious fog around it. Let's take our college bound kids and program them to serve us willingly. Let's put explosives in our footwear so we can fly. Let's start thinking bigger before our brains get smaller.

Season Three: Us Vs. Phones

Anna Marie


I've thought about it, and I've come to the conclusion that the problem really, is you. You sit there, glorified in your shiny black case, and you think you're just too cool for school. And you may be right. You have moving 3D objects as wallpaper. My last phone only had one kind of background, and it looked like an IBM screensaver from 1994. You don't even have any buttons, it's all touch screen, and half the time I'm touching the wrong thing...I've accidentally called my landlord more times than I care to admit. And he's not a sexy landlord, like in those porno's where the girl is all "Oh, thanks for coming over to fix my heater, it's in the bedroom", no, he's a very unsexy landlord, we call him landlard behind his back if that's any kind of a hint. But what do you care? You're a sleek, modern phone that everyone has and hates. But we don't dare complain about it because we were blinded by your shiny black exterior at the store. We were drawn in by the ads that made us feel inferior. "Here we are, attractive thin people having so much fun! You can be just like us, if, and only if, you get this attractive, thin phone!" I bought the lie. I bought the phone. I exchanged numbers with a guy who also had an attractive thin phone. Was that phone not up to your standards? Don't you realize that I am not as picky? He was a guy! He was there! I'm pretty sure he was real. He seemed like a very nice man, so I refuse to believe that he didn't respond to my cute and flirty text. I am blaming you, you sleek piece of shit.

Season Three: Liz's Monologue

(Lights rise to reveal Liz, sitting in a chair with a spotlight on her. She indignantly looks up)


Liz


I'm pretty sure it was asking for it. It was just standing there, white and smug looking. And in these days, it's given me nothing. No acceptance letters to community college, no unemployment checks, not even a nice, random card in the mail from my senile grandmother who used to think every week was my birthday! Man, those were some sweet times....no, all I get from that self righteous piece of crap is credit card offers. It KNOWS I can't even afford to get a new credit card, I know it knows, because it keeps sending me statements from my recent credit cards. I don't even use them anymore, but I still have to pay them off. I forgot what I even purchased on my old American Express, but they sure as heck didn't! And you know what was even worse? The anticipation. The hope. The optimistic, delusional feeling that THIS day might be it. You might get something good in the mail. It's so pathetic, how you walk out of your house with all the grace of Charlie Brown. You dance back and forth between clarity and ambiguity with each step you take. Something's there. Nothing's coming. Something is going to be there. It was never there. It's maddening because no matter what, it's still a mailbox. It's still fulfilling it's purpose in life. It's still doing better than you! So yeah, I ran over that piece of shit with my car! I felt good about it! I don't care if you think I was going too fast or if I was over the (overly dramatic finger quotes) "legal limit", I took one for the team here! And there is no "mail" in team!

Season Three: Cookie Monster

Amy


Okay, can we just cut the crap here for one second, you backstabber? I know you have them. I know what's been going on around here. You're holding out on me, aren't you? Don't even try to deny it. The truth is in your pudgy little irises. I can see it. I can see it all. I've lived in this hicks-ville of a town for twenty five years, okay? I knew what you were going to wear before you got up this morning. I've seen your face behind the rows of merchandise almost all my life. I just saw you giving them away to kids, okay? KIDS. What kind of sick freak are you? They're innocent little tykes with no clue how it's going to go down. They just think they'll always get it whatever they want. Until one day, they'll be grown, like me, and have too much shame to ask for it. Well, fuck that! I've had a really hard day, and I WANT A FREE COOKIE!!
It's not fair! I know you have free samples out there, and it's not fair! I know that as time goes on, we are denied certain things. I accepted the tragedy that was the McDonald's Happy Meal Toy. I'm still trying to accept that my metabolism is now the speed of a slightly retarded turtle. But I'm looking around this store and I cannot, CANNOT accept the substitutes for free cookies. I mean, what do you have here? Slices of bread. BREAD. WHO THE FUCK WANTS A FREE SAMPLE OF BREAD, HUH? I'll tell you who: No one. That's why there's always a ton of it out there. Or those stale corn chips and salmon dip you try to pass off as fresh! And don't even get me started on those old ladies trying to sell me tiny cups of clam chowder. I've never even heard of clam chowder acting as a comfort food. No.
I want a cookie, and I want it from you. With a big smile. I even want the condescending voice, "Do you want a free sample today?" Yes. The longer you live life, the more you need a jolly baker handing you a cookie. And when it's just one and it's free, it's like someone picking you up after you've been kicked down by a world that is filled with sugar free, lactose intolerant bastards. C is for cookie, and that's fucking good enough for me!

Season Three: Ari's Monologue

Ari is practicing in front of a mirror, wearing a veil.


Ari

All right, here we go. Here we go, here we go, here we go.

I, Ariana, take you, Steve, to be my lawfully wedded husband. Even though I think that it should be more than just lawful. What about moral or ethical? And what does it really mean to be lawfully wedded? It just means not against the law. And really, what does that mean? That gay people can't do this? I don't want our love to be purely exclusive. I mean, I do, but not in that sense. I want our marriage to be something that everyone can celebrate, and as an artist, I'm going to have a lot of gay friends in the audience. I don't want to rub that in their faces, some of them are coming from out of state, where they can't wed, into another state where they can't wed. Oh god, I'm a terrible person, I can't say this in my vows! Okay, we'll just skip that part. I, Ariana, take you, Steve, to be my husband. Okay wait. My husband? I'm going to take him to be my husband. No one else. Just mine. So that's supposed to mean what, exactly? That we don't condone polygamy? Well that's not going to work, some of our best friends are coming in from Idaho and Utah! They all watch "Big Love" and I can't have them thinking that I don't approve of their lifestyle when I'm up at the altar! The altar is like their mothership to them, it'll be like I'm spitting on their mothership. How can I be so insensitive? I'm just going to have to skip that part too. I can't worry about hurling chunks of my phlegm onto their mothership during my wedding!

Maybe I'll just pantomime my vows instead.

Season Three: Marci's Monologue

Marci


I don't know where these are coming from, but someone needs to put them back. This is a new millennium, women can be executives, sports casters, and can run for president, for God's sake! But there are some things that should not be equal. There are some things that women should not partake in, and that my friends, is the naming of our private parts. It's just a vagina! It's something that should just have an "insert here" label. It's not something to fuss over or create stupid little nicknames that don't make any sense! Who wants to refer their private parts as a Va Jay Jay or Woo Ha or Muff? Or a Peep, Poop A Loo or Pussycat? Who are these people, and when did they think that these names could work? It's ridiculous! Let men name their situations, it's embarrassing enough when they do it. I guess when it's just dangling in front of you all day you feel compelled to name it, but we're women. All of our sex organs are tucked up neatly inside. We don't just let it all hang out. We're different than our male counterparts for a reason. There are some things we can share. Love of sports, beer, certain kinds of music, but this, this is where it ends. There is just no good word for what we've got going on down there. There never will be. But can't we all just agree to not continue the search for ridiculous words for our private areas? Could we not use nicknames during foreplay? Just shut up and do me! God!