1Minute Monologue Results #10-6

Mr. Granger, you wanted to speak to me? Before you say anything, it's been a privilege working for you this past year. I look forward to getting your coffee every morning. Quad, grande, hazelnut cappuccino, extra hot, medium wet, hold the phone high, hazelnut coffee. I thoroughly enjoy bringing you a fresh shirt each hour, polishing your shoes, and refilling your bottle with scotch decanter. I even take pride in screaming your calls. You know, it's a lot for one girl to keep up with. In between your mother, your wife, and your seven mistresses, I can't keep them all straight anymore. So when you asked me to send flowers to Tatiana, along with your sexy card, I accidentally sent them to your wife instead. What? It was the best night of your life? You want me to fire the mistresses? Okay. Just email me the list again, sir. Thank you. You're a bunch of tough guys, huh? Like a bunch of fifth-grade sisters after a catfight. You got anger? You don't need it. That's good. Sometimes you got aggression, that's even better. You don't need that, too. But football is about controlling your anger, harnessing that aggression into a team effort to achieve perfection. Now, some coaches say, they'll come up with that thing you're not up to, son. Things hurt the team. No, no, it's a public school program. I would never, ever, ever play with a girl who doesn't play for me. But when you put on that uniform, that tight-as-shit uniform, you let it come to work. We're perfect in every aspect of the game. You drop a pass, you run a mile. You miss a blocking side, you run a mile. You throw me the ball, and I will break my foot off of your John Brown-on boss. And then you will run a mile. Perfection. Now, let's go to work. Send me. As you exhale, release any anxiety you may have brought into the room. Embrace the serenity of our shared time and space. Be present in your practice. If you do feel the need to converse with your neighbor, please refrain from doing so until after our time together. Or simply step outside of our sanctuary. Respect the tranquility in the room. Focus inwardly on your own journey. Would you shut up? Just shut the hell up. We're practicing peace here. Enlightening me by enlightening you. Namaste. So I had this dream. He was inside a baked potato. I was afraid people would see him there and how small he was. So I tried to close the baked potato. But I guess the baked potato was hot, because every time I tried to shut it, he would cry. So I didn't know what to do. Do I send it back? No, I'm not going to send it back. I just felt guilty deserting my dad. Dessert, the waiter brings. And I ate it. Oh, I ate it. And then I woke up hungry. My therapist, he says the baked potato was either the womb or where I tried to put my father during the Oedipal conflict. Oedipal conflict? I keep telling him I won. Hands down. Says my dad cried because he was sad. The cake was there because I was hungry. This guy is nuts. Maybe they should give us gurus or turn on Oprah or something, because what they're doing, it ain't working. See? I had a boyfriend, Dick. No, no, no, that really was his name, who said to me, if you ever want me to marry you, you're going to have to get yourself a boob job. Now, I thought that was sort of an odd thing to say. I mean, especially right after telling me he loved me. Right after he had this wild orgasm. I mean, why would you say that to someone right after this huge, incredible spiritual experience? Would my boobs, being any bigger, have made his orgasm any better? I was stunned. I wanted to retaliate with, maybe you should look into getting a dick job. I don't think those operations are as popular, though. Anyway, instead, it came out, you should really look into getting a job, Dick. And since he was actually looking for a job with the recession, it seemed like a logical thing for me to say. Like, maybe I was hinting that if he would get a job, he could finance this boob thing. You know, I should have just given him a knife, and he could have cut off the fat from my thighs and stuck it on my chest. Oh, he always said my thighs were pudgy. They're not fat, just pudgy. Dick didn't need a knife, though. He had words, see. I'm sorry, Your Honor, but defense counsel keeps saying that I'm making this case too personal. Well, I like to come in here thinking that the work that I do counts for something. But I keep seeing criminals getting turned loose on technicalities that have absolutely nothing to do with merit. So yes, I'm asking you to overrule recent decisions made by the Supreme Court. The Fourth Amendment was designed to protect people against unreasonable searches, but it has never, by its language, required warrants. The modern Supreme Court interpreted it that way. They got it wrong. He mutilated a nun. He killed a nun, and he stuffed her in a closet. The Constitution was designed to protect the innocent, not the guilty. And the Fourth Amendment was never intended to protect that animal. I'm sorry, Your Honor. This is very personal. See you. Thank you.