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A monologue from the play by Terrence McNally
Hugh
The main thing I can tell you about Ruth Benson is that she was fat. About 280, I’d say. I mean, she was circus fat. What else about her?
I think Ruth Benson is the only person, man, woman or child, I ever asked to take a bath. She used to smoke six packs a day, minimum. Cigarillos.
Nicotine stains right up to her elbow! I don’t guess she ever drew a sober breath. My main image of her is passed out on the floor like a big rancid mountain.
And talk about being a slob! She had dustballs under her bed the size of watermelons. She didn’t have roaches in her kitchen. She raised them.
It was like a goddamn stud farm in there. You’d light the oven and there’d be a flash-fire from all the grease.
She was an out and out pig. We had a lot in common, Ruthie and I. I’ll never forget the night we each caught the other precisely the same instant picking their nose.
God, she was gross. Just thinking of her with all those fingers up there and I have to smile. You’re bringing back a lot of bad memories, Nurse.
I haven’t thought of Ruth Benson and her soiled sheets in a long time.
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