Mustang Muse

Every year, the San Marin Drama department competes in a drama festival called Lenaea. It’s held at Sacramento State College and it is quite the enjoyable experience. You learn, laugh, and love everything about it. In this festival, you can compete with One-act plays, Scenes, Monologues, and Music. For the monologues, one of our fellow students(Zachary Alexander Mead) wrote his own monologue to compete in the festival. You may have seen him perform it during school when some classes were able to see some of the material we were bringing to Lenaea. Now, this monologue is quite humorous and I thought I would share it with the whole world wide web to see. It is from a play that he wrote called “Robot High”, this is how the play starts off, Enjoy!

Hello, my name is Bob Jenkins.  I’m a senior at robot high school in Burbank California.  I’m not really a “cool” kid, but I do have one thing that everyone is envious of.  Now before I tell you, let me stomp and destroy all of your theories for why I am so great.  Firstly, it is not because I have a super-model girlfriend. Secondly, I am not the starting quarterback on the varsity football team, and thirdly I am NOT an alcoholic.  Now with that out of the way, here it is.  “What could it be?” you’re asking yourself. Right? Well… I own a monkey.  Yea a freaking monkey. A primate!  Not just any kind of monkey though, a CRAB EATING MACAQUE.  Mostly found in the southwestern region of Guadalupe Hidalgo mountain tops. Otherwise known as Southeast Asia.  My monkey’s name is Alfred, named after the butler from the Batman movies.  Now let me tell you Alfred is NOTHING like I thought he would be.  I thought he would pick up my clothes and make me food, drive me around, and cuddle at night.  But NO!  All he does is drink hard alcohol and play World of Warcraft.  Now, as impressive as that is, I can’t help but to get angry with him.  But while I just try and talk to him about his problems, he decides to walk away, and then out of nowhere…. he attacks me with his monkey quickness.  He slings himself at me with his paw of sharp daggers, which slice into my face.  So I usual slam his stupid monkey body into the ground and hold him there until he calms down.  Then he realizes who the real alpha male in the house is.  Me b****, me. Once I beat his a** down, I make him scratch my back for 15 minutes.  He’s a great masseuse.  On another note, Alfred doesn’t speak English yet but that will change, you see I got him hooked on this stuff the other day.  Phonics you might have heard of it (laughing to yourself).  He can’t speak yet, but he can type.  That’s why he plays WOW; he sticks to 4 sayings on that d*** game. They are as following. WTF.  LOL.  ROFL.  And BRB.  As much as I hate Alfred I have to love him, since I am stuck with him for another 10 years, you see this species of monkeys don’t last long in normal society because, well they spontaneously combust if they don’t hurl their feces at people.  That’s why everyone at my school loves me!  I brought Alfred to school one day and he threw doo doo at our principle!  Everyone said it was the senior prank!!!!!  NOW IM FAMOUS AT SCHOOL!!!

Lunch With a Leprechaun

I walked down the street employing a method of walking commonly known as ’strutting.’ I knew that the concerned and frightened expressions etched on the faces of those fortunate enough to be around me were really just masks they were using to hide their feelings of immense lust and envy. I expected this however, as my rock hard body weighed only 200 pounds, which is a perfectly reasonable weight for someone who is six feet tall, so why couldn’t it be okay for someone like me at a towering five feet. As I walked, my rolls of fat spilled over my belt and quivered, my hips swayed and rocked in an attractive, saucy manner, and I pondered the impending issue of lunch. Obviously wanting something that wouldn’t ruin my girlish figure, I decided to forgo the Mexican, Italian, French, American, Hungarian, Greek, Cambodian, Samoan, Vietnamese, Brazilian, Kenyan, Indian, Swedish, and Russian restaurants that were my usual places of culinary consumption. After an impressive three blocks of sauntering and thinking, I was beginning to become winded and thought I would never find a suitable eatery. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a side street I had never seen before. Curious, I lumbered closer. There it was, a restaurant I had never seen or, in fact, heard of. A simple, canvas banner stated quite plainly, ‘Food.’ I could not comprehend my luck, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation of the many calories it was about to receive. Slowly, I approached the door while struggling in vain to keep from losing control. My pupils dilated to the extreme, my lips involuntarily drew back and exposed my teeth, which were thick with semi-translucent saliva, and my swollen hands twitched as if they were alive. The strain of keeping my hungering body in one place caused sweat to break out in many places, some of them unexpected. Finally I could control myself no longer, and I waddled as fast as my tiny feet could carry me to the entrance. The door, which was covered in peeling off-white paint, had no windows and carried the same slogan as the banner above it. I reached for the doorknob, but froze as I realized that it was a small skull, possibly from a small dog, or so I sincerely hoped. Eventually, my desire to eat overcame my initial disgust at placing my hand upon what was once probably once a dog’s head, or worse. I threw the door open and rushed inside, ‘rushed’ of course meaning that my bulk, as usual, got me stuck in the door, and that it took me only ten minutes to navigate my way across the threshold. Once inside, I paused to examine the interior of this new place. The windows were painted over with black paint, and the only feature of the room was an old bar that looked as if had been hastily jammed against one wall by a hand of enormous proportions. Intrigued, I found the strongest looking stool I could find and gently lowered my immense weight upon it. No one was behind the bar. Wondering if these people had ever heard of a little thing called the lunch rush, I swiveled my head to survey the building and made sure that I hadn’t missed anything. Turning back around, I saw a small bartender where there had previously been none. He leaned against the wall behind the bar cleaning a pint glass with a smudged, gold rag. I couldn’t see his face, as it was shadowed by a dark green top hat with a curious looking buckle on the front. He was wearing a moss colored coat with tails that touched the floor, but the sleeves were cut off at his shoulders. It was only then that I realized he was about three feet tall. “Well hi!” I said warmly.

“What d’you want?” said the small, green bartender.

“I would love to hear what the lunch special is today,” I suggested. He raised his head and stared at me with eyes that were an unnatural green and gold color. He reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. Perhaps an uncle. He stopped with the rag, and put his hand into his shockingly red beard before replying.

“Beer. And potatoes.” He snapped.

“Oh.” My face must have reflected my disappointment, because he scoffed and shook his head.

“Will yeh be wantin’ anything, or are yeh gonna leave?” he asked.

“Um, do you have like, a cheeseburger or something?” I tried the puppy dog look, to see if maybe he would pity me. It didn’t work. In fact, he looked rather disgusted. I hunkered down into my seat and pondered my situation. Before I could come up with a solution to my hunger issue, a rainbow came out of the ceiling and bathed the curious bartender in its colorful light.

“Oh damn,” he grunted.

“Hey look! A pretty little rainbow!” I could not contain my excitement.

“I hate you.” These were his last words. Literally as soon as the words left his mouth, a giant black pot filled with grimy gold coins crashed through the roof and crushed the poor little man.