Comedy monologue for women (20s – 50s): Serial Killer PUBLISHED!
I was lucky enough to encounter a fun and challenging writing exercise this weekend. A woman named Jenni was going to audition for a musical comedy. She had her song picked out (nothing less than some JOURNEY, believe it or not…) and for some fool reason figured I’d be the writer to give her something to put her over the top. I asked what kind of character she always wanted to play, and Jenni’s response was… <drum roll…> A serial killer.
Putting aside my worry over what that might foretell about Jenni’s psyche, I tried to tackle creating a monologue. I gotta say, it was really, really hard! First of all, you have to make someone who kills people come across as likeable. (The second season of Dexter premiered this weekend. That helped a little.) Then, it’s a twist that the killer is female–not the way we usually picture chain murderers. And once you’ve created a likeable murderess, you must make the whole thing funny!
I gotta tell you, dark is not my style. But, I did my best, and I hope Jenni’s audition went well.
Camera on? You read– OK. So, um, my name is Jenni. Let’s see… Well, I enjoy sports… I’m a Virgo… I like men who are well dressed. That’s extreeeeemmmely important. If a guy’s a slob, he doesn’t have a chance, but I just melt for a suit and tie. And I like my men tall. Six feet tall, EXACTLY, as a matter of fact. I guess I’m a little OCD. <strained, nervous laughter>
I’ve haven’t had much luck with dating… Gosh, my first boyfriend, was just the love of my life, Trevor. He was six feet, which I like. <embarrassed smile of pleasure at the thought> And he was a stock broker, so that meant suits to work every day.
And… this might sound weird, but he sorta smelled like my father. Is that weird? Is that weird that I like that? Anyway, things didn’t work out… Obviously! No ring on this finger!
Ummm, and then of course came Kevin and Manuel and Derek… They were practically exact repeats of my relationship with Trevor. That’s when they label you an actual serial killer, right around your fourth or fifth victim. Oh… did I not mention how my relationships ended? Yeah, usually after a few months dating a guy, if I don’t feel that spark, well, I have to end things. End… him. I probably should have put that out there at the beginning. Really, though, a girl has to look out for herself. There’s nothing worse than you you meet a great guy, and you think he’s just perfect, but soon enough you discover that he’s actually 5 foot eleven and seven-eights, or some bullshit!
But, oh, then there was Jean-Pierre. Mmmm… Jean-Pierre. Exactly six feet, always in Armani. I so wanted things to work out between us. I tried to be good. I did. I’d make him breakfast, and I’d butcher the pets of any other girls who talked to him… My Jean-Pierre. Other than eventually ramming knitting needles into his larynx, I’d say I was a pretty good girlfriend.
There was Steve, who worked at a Men’s Wearhouse, so he’d get a discount on suits, and he was six even. But this one time he wore sweat pants, so I had to break things off. You know… things he needed to live.
And then of course there was my Danny. Oh, Danny, Danny, Danny. My Danny was so sweet. But he wasn’t as into Us as I was. Some guys don’t appreciate a thirtieth or fortieth voicemail in an afternoon. Oh, why didn’t you love me, Daddy? I mean… Danny. Anyway, that relationship didn’t end well. Well, you know. You were there, with the handcuffs and all.
So… There’s your confession tape, detective. By the way… nice suit. How tall are you?
Want to use this piece for an audition? Need to know my name? Want me to create a custom monologue for you? See the monologues page.