The Perfect Monologue by Ginger Howard Friedman

Author:Ginger Howard Friedman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780879106201
Publisher: Limelight
Published: 2013-12-05T16:00:00+00:00

The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.

VITO (to JIMMY), age 20s to 30s.

pp. 54—58 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

You know how it makes me feel to break into another man’s home and clean him out? Makes me feel like a—crumb. Like a punk—yeah, a lousy little crumb. Hey, I’d loosen up a lot more if I had a little smoke, then I’d really talk. It’s like truth serum. Come on, goddammit, you got a depressed person on your hands, and that don’t make for good talk. Well, we oughtta be able to come up with somethin’—if we ain’t gonna smoke. Hey, I got it, why don’t we just—make it? Yeah, you’re here and I sure-in-the-fuck-am. Besides, you’re humpy, in an off-beat sort of way. Yeah, you got this . . . something, like they just took the bandages off.

I been all fouled up lately, account of personal tragedy which I had in my life. Tonight I needed bread to buy some presents for my daughter. I didn’t get to see her over Christmas. Melody Antonucci, ain’t that a pisser to hang on a kid? Not my idea, my wife’s. Listen, who gives a rat’s ass anymore. I was married at sixteen, got a daughter nine, so don’t give me that oh-my-shocked-ass-you’re-queer bit. Double-gaited, okay. Versatile—definitely! So. . . what about you? You gay? Ever been married? (Slyly.) Mmn . . . and thirty-eight, too. Just haven’t found the right girl yet, huh? Yeah, well, I got a rule for you. Like I said before, give me my smoke. No smokee, no talkie! (Has been handed a joint by JIMMY.) Hey . . . how about a little fuego, too? Fire . . . fire! Jesus.

Hey—you know how to circumcise an Italian baby? (Making chopping gesture with one hand.) Wop! (Takes a deep drag, speaks while holding the smoke down.) Wanna hit? C’mon, guy, just take a little toke. You’d get a kick outta this. This stuffs guaranteed to make a chihuahua snap at a bulldog’s ass. Oh, I get it, you’re scared. You’re afraid if you got high, you’d let me up. I think Kate was right about you. Chicken, chicken, chicken! (Imitating a chicken.) Puck-puck-pa-kaw!

(JIMMY is now smoking joint.) Guy, you smoke like Pat Boone! Here, watch. You take it way in, suck it down. Let the goodies do their work, leave the gates of heaven open, let that Senegalese Thunderfuck work its magic spell, hold it down with all you got—just like you was holding back a fart in an elevator. Here, make Daddy proud of you. Go on, go on. . .. That’s a good boy. Good, hold it down now. Good! You’re gonna get a Gold Star, and if you’re extra good—you’re gonna get to stay after school and do naughties with the teacher.

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