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Question: Anyone know a good comedic monologue from a play!?
It's for my theatre arts class and a governor school audition!. It has to be from a play or musical, male, doesn't matter what age it is!. But since it is a class, it has to be semi clean!. Which is why I'm having trouble!. I can't find any good CLEAN monologues!. Help!?Www@QuestionHome@Com


Best Answer - Chosen by Asker:
THis is one of my favorites (from Chekov's The Seagull):
TRIGORIN:

Hm! !. !. !. You talk of fame and happiness, of some brilliant interesting life; but for me all these pretty words, if I may say so, are just like marmalade, which I never eat!. You are very young and very kind, but I don't know what is so delightful about my life!. You have heard of obsessions, when a man is haunted day and night, say, by the idea of the moon or something!? Well, I've got my moon!. Day and night I am obsessed by the same persistent thought; I must write, I must write, I must write!. !. !. !. No sooner have I finished one story than I am somehow compelled to write another, then a third, after a third a fourth!. I write without stopping, except to change horses like a postchaise!. I have no choice!. What is there brilliant or delightful in that, I should like to know!? It's a dog's life! Here I am talking to you, excited and delighted, yet never for one moment do I forget that there is an unfinished story waiting for me indoors!. I see a cloud shaped like a grand piano!. I think: I must mention somewhere in a story that a cloud went by, shaped like a grand piano!. I smell heliotrope!. I say to myself: Sickly smell, mourning shade, must be mentioned in describing a summer evening!. I lie in wait for each phrase, for each word that falls from my lips or yours and hasten to lock all these words and phrases away in my literary storeroom: they may come in handy some day!. When I finish a piece of work, I fly to the theatre or go fishing, in the hope of resting, of forgetting myself, but no, a new subject is already turning, like a heavy iron ball, in my brain, some invisible force drags me to my table and I must make haste to write and write!. And so on for ever and ever!. I have no rest from myself; I feel that I am devouring my own life, that for the honey which I give to unknown mouths out in the void, I rob my choicest flowers of their pollen, pluck the flowers themselves and trample on their roots!. Surely I must be mad!? Surely my friends and acquaintances do not treat me as they would treat a sane man!? "What are you writing at now!? What are we going to have next!?" So the same thing goes on over and over again, until I feel as if my friends' interest, their praise and admiration, were all a deception; they are deceiving me as one deceives a sick man, and sometimes I'm afraid that at any moment they may steal on me from behind and seize me and carry me off, like PĆ³prishtchin, to a madhouse!.

also try this site:
http://www!.monologuesearch!.com/Www@QuestionHome@Com