Can’t I talk to you for just a minute? Look, I know I was a jerk (beat). Have fun reading this hilarious monologue for men. Here is how Kevin tries to explain the scene to Maria and makes a total mess of it. Stephenie is their batchmate and a friend of Kevin’s. Plot – Kevin’s girlfriend, Maria, recently broke up with him because he didn’t meet her, and was at Stephenie’s house. In short, the best part of this profession is, that there exists among the dead an honesty, a discretion that nothing can surpass and never as yet has one been known to complain of the doctor who had killed him. The blunders are not ours, and the fault is always that of the dead man. A shoe maker in making shoes can’t spoil a scrap of leather without having to pay for it, but we can spoil a man without paying one farthing for the damage done. We are never responsible for the bad work, and we cut away as we please in the stuff we work on. I find it the best of trades for, whether we are right or wrong, we are paid equally well. They come to fetch me from right and left and if things go on in that fashion, I think I had better stick to physic all my life. Yet you would hardly believe how the error has spread abroad, and how everyone is obstinately determined to see a great doctor in me. I can’t imagine what put that whim into their heads but when I saw that they were resolved to force me to be a doctor, I made up my mind to be one at the expense of those I might have to do with. I had never dreamt of being so learned as that, and all my studies came to an end in the lowest form. No, I tell you they made a doctor of me in spite of myself. Here’s his witty and absolutely hilarious monologue, describing his current state, and at the same time, taking a dig at a doctor’s profession. Plot – Sganarelle, an intelligent woodcutter, is mistaken to be a doctor, and everyone seems to throng to him with their problems. He has never known the pain of a broken heart, nor has he ever sprained his wrist while moving furniture, though he does suffer from tennis elbow and he gets dreadfully angry at crossword puzzles, and he has the sweetest smile in the entire world. He whistles showtunes, donates spare change to organ grinder monkeys, and makes a wish during every lunar eclipse. He enjoys wearing sweaters, despises the color aqua-marine, and eats pineapple for breakfast every Sunday morning. He loves the great outdoors, animals, large families, and pasta. As a lover we would be gentle but rough, ruggedly soft yet delicately rigid. The sort of man who can laugh fondly at a memorial service, shed a tear at a wedding, and cry openly after making passionate love. And whether it be the rolling seas or the towering skyscrapers, he should love his work, and love it even more when he rushes home to ask how my day has been. He should be devilishly handsome and angelically humble. A man who is kind, and who is honest, unless of course his honesty would be unkind, then he should be diplomatic, but still firm, both in integrity and physique. What do I look for in a man? Oh, what every simple woman wants, I suppose. Her description makes this monologue a fun one for women. Plot – Trapped in the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb, Veronica Melville tries to get rid of her boredom by describing her ‘perfect man’ to a sailor, Rodney Gunther, whom she just met. I’ll write to him a very taunting letter, and thou shalt bear it. But that’s all one omittance is no quittance. There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him in parcels as I did, would have gone near to fall in love with him but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him for what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black and, now I am rememb’red, scorned at me. There was a pretty redness in his lip, a little riper and more lusty red than that mixed in his cheek ’twas just the difference betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. He is not very tall yet for his year’s he’s tall. The best thing in him is his complexion and faster than his tongue did make offense, his eye did heal it up. It is a pretty youth not very pretty But sure he’s proud and yet his pride becomes him. But what care I for words? Yet words do well, when he that speaks them pleases those that hear. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ‘Tis but a peevish boy yet he talks well.
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