"I can't quite hear the whirring, are you sure this thing is on? They used to whirr. And crumple, and I was forever losing them under the couch, only to try and move it when I was doing the vacuuming or something and *crunch*, there goes another tape, with bits of plastic and the little intestines of tape running all over the floor like an alive little something, and I'd bend over to pick it up, dropping the vacuum cleaner on the floor, and it was one of those wonderfully self-propelling ones, you know? The ones that almost do the Hoover(tm)ing themselves, they sort of pull you along, you only have to suggest where they might find dirt, it's a good thing, love those vacuum cleaners. Ehm, well, good thing unless..."
"...you're trying to pick something up and you've dropped the vacuum cleaner and it's whirling about on the floor there behind you and it only dawns on you that it's whirling around behind you like a dervish in May when you hear the *clack* *clack* against the very couch you'd moved, the very couch that'd broken the tape in the first place (or maybe it was you that had broken the tape, if you want to place the spot of blame at the point at which it was lost), ..."
"... the wooden defenseless leg of the couch, or maybe it's my own wooden leg, which is when I remember I never had a wooden leg, so it was probably the couch's leg after all, but then there goes the clacking-clacking again, and I turn around, and there's this huge beast raring up behind me, and the next thing you know the tape's intestines have scittered across the floor and further under the couch, like the couch has some sort of magnetic property that attracts tape guts to it, and I'm not able to do a whole lot because I've got the beast of a vacuum cleaner wrapped around my arms and neck and torso, and I can't be sure who instigated the wrapping --whether I struck first or the vacuum cleaner did it's hard to tell, it might be some sort of defense mechanism on the part of my brain, shutting down details like that, otherwise I might just not be able to handle them later-- d**n'd if you wouldn't believe the mess I made of the place."
"Ehm, It's on."
"But are you sure? D**n this stuff. Sorry, can we rewind, there? I don't want to start off so early on swearing."
"We can edit it out later."
"So go on... say something."
"What the hell was that?"
"That was nothing."
"It was almost a whirr, wasn't it?"
"Actually, I'm a bit tired now... isn't it late? It's late, isn't it? It's probably really late, like... late. Probably well on into evening, anyway, right? Do you have a watch on? Why don't you have a watch on? J***s, why don't you have a watch? Oh, sorry, can you not afford one or something? Do you want mine? It's not on, or working, or whatever watches do, but still, you know, you might get it fixed or something. You know? Aren't you tired? You're sure you're not tired? I'm really tired. Exhausted. I'm just going to sort of lay my head down... this desk is a bit of a mess, isn't it? Not really a decent place for a person to lay their head, really. That's a shame, as I'm a bit tired, it must be past midnight or something now. I would put my head down for a bit of a rest, but there's not really any room on the desk, without impaling my head on something, I'm guessing. But I'm tired, aren't you?"
"All right, fine, fine."
This and other fine rediscoveries of the arts and dramatics available for licence to drama departments and for production world-wide at reasonable prices.
New and exciting monologues, dialogues, and silent plays for you to shock and amaze your friends, loved ones, and people passing by in Grafton Street who won't throw change in your hat no matter what you're performing!