Satiric Monologues


October 13, 2009




Isn’t It Romantic?

A few weeks ago I went to opening night of a romantic comedy at a little community theater.

At intermission I checked out the audience and found the usual: 75% old women, a smattering of couples and a few stray older men.

The older single women were in their little safety groups.

They watched me warily, as the buffalo keep an eye on the wolf, put off by the unfamiliar flicker of hope left in my eyes.

The men of the couples were oblivious, thinking only of getting home to their couches. When they noticed me, the women grasped their men, crossing them selves and muttering, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

The older single men were clustered about the coffee counter and subscription table, chatting up the young actresses, laughing at their own corny jokes.

For all their nonchalance, though, they avoided me with the skill of the ninjas.

At my approach they leapt away from the condiment tray, deserted the line for the water fountain, shrunk from my glance as if I were the Medusa.

I felt like a human leaf blower.

Later, after my second glass of wine at the courtyard reception, there was a sly Santa Ana wind and you could feel fall in the air, the promise of change, the season of the spirits.

Wandering around under the fairy lights and streamers, I completely forgot my own rude ejection from life’s E ride.

Completely forgot my failed attempts at trying to climb back on.

Why, on a night like this, anything’s possible!


February 10, 2009



“Little Boy Lost”

People constantly come to Los Angeles to make it in the business. I know why-they look at the caliber of so much of the writing and performance and say, “I could do that! I could have no talent and still make the big bucks.” What’s sad is when a person does have ideas and originality and character but they get swept away by the sellers at the temple.

Have you:

New head shots? A resume? Performance piece on tape?

An Acting class? An agent? A monologue on rape?

Do you:

Dance? Sing? Fence? Clown? Talk in dialect?


Acrobatics? Nudity? Worked with Berthoud Brecht?

So they chase after all these bits and pieces, audition for everything and anything, accost celebrities, neglect friends, take parts they hate, humiliate themselves, ‘till one night they’re sitting on the curb in front of The Improv asking, “What happened to me?”


February 3, 2009






I just heard from mom. They’re closing the home. They’re kicking everyone out. Yes, I know, now, when nobody has any money!

And you know mom-any new trauma wakes up the big one-namely escaping Nazi Germany in the middle of the night!  

But listen how they tried to sell it to the old folks: It was after supper. You know, the room was full of walkers and wheel chairs. And the walkers and wheel chairs were full of Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, Dementia. I know-sounds like a rock concert. They had a small jazz group, passed out party favors, poured some cheap champagne. Then they said it was a grand opportunity to open up your life-get out of the rut-move on to great new worlds. “Great new worlds”-for an 84 year old woman! She couldn’t handle a great new bed pan!

Anyway, I’ve got to go over there-mom’s chained herself to the bingo machine yelling, “It’s Berlin 1933 all over again!”


December 7, 2009



Ladies Who Lunch

I have had it with the REAL HOUSEWIFES of AA.

They are so elitist.

Always so busy, busy, busy.

Those lectures, this luncheon, that party.

Always so “busier than thou.”

And so pretentious

They never say “Bob” or “Bill.”

It’s always, “my husband.”

As in, “Here’s my husband-where’s yours?”

Ya know, if that’s sobriety, than I don’t want it.

So I’m back drinking again.

It’s OK, I know what I’m doing.

I can handle myself.

And at least I’m not wasting my time with those losers! 



September 15, 2009



Little Girl Blue

 Sex and love are the pursuits of youth.

The men want sex and the women want love.

That’s why the churches are full of old women and the porn shows are full of old men.

Men have the nerve to keep seeking sex when they’re old because they have no shame.

Women are different.

They have better manners.

They simply suffer in silence.

It’s just the way the world is and there’s no use saying it’s unfair.

No one ever world the world was fair.

But it does run on schedule.


May 12, 2009

 Monologue 1


“Guess Who I Saw Today”

There exist some wonderful marriages and relationships where the partners are true to each other and never want to be apart.

But more commonly, trying to keep a man faithful is like trying to reform a lion: “Don’t look at those other zebras dear, I’m your permanent, renewable zebra now.”

And you know the old saying, “Men are dogs.”

Any man on a boat is single.

Any man whose wife is away visiting her family is single.

Even some men whose wives are in the hospital giving birth are single!

It’s understandable; men’s whole purpose in life is sex.

But knowing all this doesn’t make it any easier for the legions of the betrayed, who thought their man was different.


June 2, 2009

 Monologue 1



 God we live in such impersonal times!

I’m always being typecast because of my age, being unemployed, being single: loser! 

And it’s so unfair!

I’m no ordinary loser-it took a lot of work to get where I am today.

I’m an urban, metro non-winner with an edge- pushing the envelope, not the shopping cart.


I would never treat a person like I get treated. I pride myself on getting to know the individual.

And if I’m attracted to someone, I take pride in letting them know that they are unique.

So, bearing all this in mind…



June 1, 2009

Monologue 2



God we live in such impersonal times. I’m getting the Kafka’s Castle treatment with Unemployment-

You cannot call them, you cannot correspond with them-I am my social security number. Period.

Same with turning middle aged. People never look at you-they never speak to you-I am my age. Period. Employers either need you or they don’t. And either way your identity is their particular profile. Period.

Replacement meat

A Booty call

A Slummy dog

 A Suit.

If you cry, “I’m human.”

They yell, “Stop before I shoot!”

So I pride myself on getting to know the individual-you know, like their name, in case I need to ask for money. If they have a car, in case I need a ride home. Or a truck, in case I need to move.  If they cook, so I can get them to bring me a sample. Important things like that.

So, bearing all this in mind…


Monologue 1


“I’ve Still Got My Health”

Well, that’s it with the art contest snobs.

They went with that no-talent David Schlockny when I offered them a nice picture of a kitty!

I said I’d give this artist bit a full year, but I think its OK to knock off before the stress gets to me.



Monologue 2


“I’ve Still Got My Health”

I don’t care if I don’t get my grant!

I don’t care if I starve!

I’m never going to another snooty Arts Society reception again!

Ooh that old battle axe Deidre Fletchbottom!

50 years in this country and still making with the phony British accent.

And that mean as cat shit Rodger Rot-Snivel!

All he knows about art is the price.

And his winging little rat terrier assistant Barry Backbiter!

“Oh, its you is it? Calling again are we? What could it possibly be this time?”

Let ‘em make someone else’s live miserable.

I’ve got a lot going for myself and I need to count my blessings.


Monologue 3


“I’ve Still Got My Health”

Oh my God we had so much fun last night!

My girlfriend and I crashed the Fashion Institute’s Memorial Tribute to Yves St. Laurent.

We crawled in under the caterer’s tent and pretended we were looking for the ladies room!


It was pretty boring-all there really serious speeches-some of them in French.

So we hung out at the bar swilling the free champagne and scarfing the free hors d’oeuvres.

And all the women were searing black-I guess it’s some kind of fashion thing.

I was definitely the only one in red sequins.


Somehow I lost my shoes and my friend threw up all over the guest book.

But I got 3 champagne glasses and a martini glass and a big crystal ashtray and 6 goody bags!

And the security guards were so nice.

They explained that we couldn’t start taking the flowers until the event was actually over.

But we each got 3 arraignments anyway!


But the funny thing is, every time I crash one of these high class dos, no one ever seems to talk to me.

No one’s ever really friendly.

I guess its some kind of rich thing.