20 Comedic Monologues For Teenage Females

comedic monologues for teenage females - teenage-girl-with-freckles



20 Super Funny Comedic Monologues For Teenage Females From Plays


A monologue from the play by Charles Johnson


Welcome to the show. My name is Scotty Devlin. I know what you’re all thinking… How come she has a boy’s name? Actually my real name is Heidi.

But I had to change it when I lost my virginity.  Everyone named Heidi must change their name when they lose their virginity. That’s the rule.

Look at these girls over here all rustling through their programs. You’re all Heidis, right? Sorry.  Am I embarrassed or what? Actually, I lied to you.

Scotty is my real name. You see, when I was born the doctor was either far-sighted or a prankster, because as I popped out, I remember it vividly, he declared “it’s a boy.” 

In fact, I was a boy until my mother changed my diapers for the first time. Can you imagine their surprise. My mother fainted. My father just stared, “he can’t be my boy.” I was in stitches.

They tried calling me Judy for a while but I just wouldn’t respond. Would you have? There’s a Heidi nodding her head.

Oh, by the way, the part about all Heidis having to change their names when they lose their virginity, I didn’t lie about that. 

That is a known fact. Yes, it’s true. Think about it. How many grown women do you know named Heidi? All the Heidis I know are about 8 years old with long blond braids down their backs. 

They all wear pink dirndls with little white aprons. And are surrounded by goats. They skip their way into high school, getting A’s in Home Ec.

Then one day, probably on their 21st birthday- wham- Veronica, Yvonne, Desiree.  This is absolutely true, I promise you. You’ve never heard of a child being called Yvonne, have you?

If I had been called Judy, I’d have to change my name when I stopped wearing bangs. Have you ever met a seventy year old woman named Judy? 

It sounds like she should be chewing gum and skipping rope. I’m not making this up. Right before middle age sets in, Cindys become Harriet, or Beatrice, they have that option. 

All Wendy’s die at puberty. Regrettable, but necessary. I sort of like being called Scotty, besides it’s better than my middle name – Doug. Look, I gotta run. 

But before I go, I just want to say that I hope all the guys who are sitting here tonight with a girl named Heidi, wake up tomorrow morning with a Desiree.

2. Container of Sharks!

A monologue from the play by Don Zolidis


(JOYCE, a nervous inventor presenting her idea to investors)

Hello Sharks. (She takes a deep breath) Sometimes with all of the trauma we are experiencing on a daily basis, we need something that’s a little bit of a stick-me-up. Pick-me-up. 

A pick-me-up. (She is trying to hold it together) I mean a pick-me-up. I said the word wrong. Which is really stupid of me. I always do this – as soon as I have a chance at doing something great I screw it up.

I forgot to tell you my name.  My name is Joyce. Actually you probably already know that from what the Voice said so why am I bothering to say it again?

(She shivers and twitches) Can I start over please? (She starts over)

 Hello Sharks! (Takes another moment) Hello Sharks. Hello Sharks! Hello Sharks. I am so sorry. Hello Humans and Shark!

My name is Joyce, and sometimes with the daily trauma in our lives we need a little something to… a pick-me-up. 

(She’s about to lose it again. She hisses to herself) ‘Get it together, Joyce. You can do this.’ ‘Everyone was right about you.’

‘Shut your face. Shut your stupid face. I’m not listening to you.’ ‘That’s why you fail.’ ‘No. NO. Nooooo.’ (She growls like the Hulk and rallies, talking really fast) 

So what I decided to do was make these stickers! Yes I did! And these stickers come in packs of twelve and you can put them on things!

Like this one if you need to remind yourself of your capabilities!  It says “You can do it!” (She puts the sticker on herself)

But of course you can’t read it if you put it on your shirt, so you need to put it somewhere else so I’m actually going to take the sticker off and put it here. 

(She takes the sticker off and puts it on her arm) It doesn’t really stick as well to skin because that’s not how stickers work, but I’m working on that,

this is just the prototype actually, but… there are other stickers, like this one that says “I believe in you!” Yes! Sometimes you need that. 

Sometimes you need to have someone believe in you, even if you’re the only person who believes in you.

Even if everyone else thinks you’re a loon, and thinks you’ll never make it, and says that your sticker idea is dumb and you’ll never amount to anything and you should’ve never left Bemidji and you’re going to fail in a blaze of fire and you will die alone. Even then. 

(She puts the other sticker on herself and looks at it. Sadly) Sometimes the stickers don’t work. (She sniffles) (She rallies) But I have others!

Like this one which says “You will not die alone.” (She contemplates that sticker)  This one is dark. I mean you probably don’t need a sticker to say this if you were a confident person.

I guess I’m the kind of person who needs a sticker to tell me I’m not going to die alone. But what does the sticker know, honestly?

The sticker doesn’t have some kind of stranglehold on truth. The sticker is just a meaningless saying. Why did I even make them? 

Who would do that? (She takes another sticker, reads it) “You can avoid poor decisions.” (She stops) Can I start over?

Read the play here


A monologue from the play by Kristen Doherty


Okay so, I was on Insta right and saw Pete McIntire’s name online. I don’t know what possessed me, but I got brave and just wrote “Hi” … I know! … I can’t believe I did either…

Anyway, he writes back! Straight away, almost, and said “Hi Jeanie… How R U?” Just the letters R U… Ok pay attention to that because it becomes important later in the story… Ok?

So anyway, I wrote “Great!” but with an 8 instead of the letters… so like Grr and then the number 8. Because I thought that sounded cooler… and he just used RU…

Are you keeping up? Yes? Good! Because then he wrote “We should totally catch up and watch a movie or something!” Yes! He actually did.

I couldn’t believe the words that popped up on the screen. Pete McIntire asking me to hang out… and see a movie with him … In a dark cinema, where he could totally like want to kiss me or something.

And anyway, I was like you know… trying not to get too excited. Because this is Pete! Pete McIntire… So, I just like waited for like a whole minute, which was torture…

But I didn’t want to be too keen, so I was patient for like 65 agonising seconds… Then finally I wrote “Yeah I’m up for that”.

So, all casual like when I felt like screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes! I’ll have your baby Pete McIntire!” Anyway… Now this part is what I need your advice on…

Because now it gets confusing…. Ok, so he wrote. “I can ask Steven to come and you can ask Stace” Boo! Double date… Harder to get a pash when we have our besties in tow.

Anyway, I’m thinking “at least I will be on a date with Pete McIntire” … But then I thought “Does he mean a double date like as in ‘him and I’ and ‘Steven and Stacey?’

… Or a double date of ‘Steven and me’ and ‘him and Stacey?’ Does he like Stacey? … He’s never met Stacey… or has he? Are they secretly together?

I mean she would have told me, right?… She tells me everything… But then why would he call her Stace if they’ve never met?

Stace is a nickname and you only give people nicknames if you know them personally and generally like them… If you are friends… Or more than friends….

Do you think they are together, and Stacey hasn’t told me because she knows I am totally in love with him and have been for months?

Anyway, then it got really, really confusing because I said. “Sure I’ll ask her” I know! I showed so much restraint because I really wanted to scream at him “Are you cheating on me with my best friend?

… But I didn’t I just said “sure.” Then anyway, then he wrote “Thanks Jeannie, I love you.” What the actual…? I love you! Exclamation point.

Spelt out. ‘I L.O.V.E you.’ Not just ‘L.U.V’. That means something right? I mean it’s got to mean something! And this relates to the RU reference from earlier.

If he is the sort of guy to use letter abbreviations in his texting like RU, why would he use the actual word LOVE if he didn’t actually love me… Like for real?

Okay. Then it gets really, really complicated because he put one love heart emoji and one laughing crying emoji. Does the laughing crying emoji cancel out the love heart, or is it the other way around?

Because it changes the whole meaning if it does.

Read the play here

Time Stamp: 20:46 – 23:49

4. Provenance

A monologue from the play by Ronnie Burkett


And just as I was about to give up, there was a miracle. There was a school play. See my high school had this drama teacher, Mr. Garfinkel, who apparently had studied at a lesser institution of higher learning in a suburb of Toronto that made him like this total theatre expert. 

He was always doing collectives and student-created work. That‟s just a step up from musicals and murder mysteries, I suppose, but, just the same, they were always so lame. 

But in his mind they were completely relevant to our teenage angst.

Anyway, there was a play – or rather a student collective – called Beautiful Voices, a hodge-podge of melting-pot stories reflecting the diversity of teenage experience and the one-ness of our global village, blah blah blah. 

It was a series of monologues and choral chanting with yoga-base movement, and featured the usual cast of characters. 

Amy Tamblidge, this totally annoying born again “ho” with giant t*ts talking about her dreams for global peace, Randall Betrick ranting on about his parents‟ divorce again, 

Trey Fergusson and Amber Witherspoon in this embarrassing dialogue regarding teenage suicide without having the courtesy to actually perform it for us, 

Blaine Hawker confessing that he was gay – oh puh-leese, like that was news – and now were all supposed to like him even though he was just as annoying as before but out, and on and on and on, blah, blah, blah. 

But in the end, there he was. My miracle. A boy who had never dipped his toe into the cesspool of drama club before, but had been coerced into my group by Mr. Garfinkel because of his brooding intensity and sullen mystique. 

Which meant he was totally hot, in that damaged and dangerous kind of way.

Read the play here

5. Surface Tension

A monologue from the play by Elyne Quan


(Sighs) I‟ve always wanted to be taller. I‟ve wanted to be taller and… different. Sometimes blond. That would be something.

I clearly remember that in grade one I wished I had blond curly hair so I could wear pale blue ribbons in it and be really cute.

Not just kind of cute, but really cute. I was walking home for lunch. The sun was out and it was a beautiful day. I was looking down at the ground at my silhouette – specifically my head – and I remember wishing I had curly blond hair. 

I would be noticed. Pale blue ribbons and pigtails. And a matching dress, frilly but not too frilly. And matching little blue shoes with white patent bows on them.

Shoes can make or break an outfit, you know.  Well as hard as I wished I never became blond. Go figure. And dye jobs in the early eighties weren‟t the science they are now.

Curly blond hair for a little Chinese girl was bit far-fetched so I did the best I could. Perms!  So I could actually have curly pigtails if I wanted them.

Of course I was older by now so pigtails were out of the question. (Takes out a photo and presents it to the audience.) 

Parted down the middle and curly and away from my face. Like the girl in Aha‟s “Take On Me” video. Yeah. So I had bad hair all the way through my formative years.

But hair isn‟t everything.

Read the play here

6. All This Intimacy

A monologue from the play by Rajiv Joseph


Ty… I wasn’t going to bring this up today, but seeing as you have laryngitis, I figured this might be the best time for a conversation.

Because any inclination you may have to interrupt me, well that just won’t be possible because you can’t speak. Ha. Oh well.

Ok, OK, just sit still for a second and let me speak before you start scribbling away like a madman, Jeez! I knew you’d do this or something, just sit there and let me say my peace! 

Listen… Okay. Ty: So as you know, as we both well know… there has never been a time in my life, when I haven’t been, you know in school! (she sees him scribbling) Let me finish! 

(she reads what he holds up) You know I don’t like that word, it’s rude. (He starts writing again) I can’t believe you have laryngitis and you’re still interrupting me! Constantly! 

Look I’m going to talk and you can listen or not listen, but (Ty holds up a note) No, I don’t want to order in pizza! I am not staying for dinner!

BREAK UP, OK, BREAK UP. Me. Break up. With you.  How about that? Oh this has never happened to Ty Greene before, because he is so smooth and no one can ever get in two words in edgewise (pause) 

And don’t look at me like that. Don’t act so heartbroken. It’s not you. I just never feel we’re on the same page. This is what I’m talking about, Ty.

I’m trying to pull things together. I love you, but when I’m around you, things come apart. They come apart.

Read the play here

7. Hold Me

A monologue from the play by Jules Feiffer


I talk too much. I’m quite bright, so it’s interesting, but nevertheless, I talk too much. You see, already I’m saying much more than I should say.

Boys hate it for a girl to blurt out, ‘I’m bright.’  They think she’s really saying, I’m brighter than you are.’ As a matter of fact, that is what I am saying.

I’m brighter than even the brightest boys I know.  That’s why it’s a mistake to talk too much. Boys fall behind and feel challenged and grow hostile.

So when I’m very attracted to a boy I make a point to talk more slowly than I would to one of my girl friends. 

And because I guide him along from insight he ends up being terribly impressed with his own brilliance. And with mine for being able to keep up with him.

And he tells me I’m the first girl he’s ever met who’s as interesting as one of his mates. That’s love.

Read the play here

8. Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead 

A monologue from the play by Bert V. Royal


I was pregnant. Don’t worry. It wasn’t yours. I had just gotten an abortion the day before and the next day in Biology, we were ironically learning about reproduction.

I’m listening to Miss Rainey talking about fallopian tubes, the uterus, eggs and I’m feeling sick to my stomach already.  Trying to zone out on anything I can.

So I start reading a note over Miss Puritanical Princess’ shoulder and she’s telling her friend “how happy she is that she’s a virgin and that she’s going to stay that way until she gets married and how repulsed she is by all the little wh*res at our school.” 

Without thinking, I reached into my pocket for my cute, little red Bic lighter and lit her cute, little red hair on fire. And every day in therapy, they ask me if I’m sorry yet and I just can’t be. 

No matter how hard I try. B*tches like that make me sick. They’ve made me sick. I am officially sick, psychotic, unrepentant and unremorseful.

I’ve been branded a sociopath and I have no choice but to believe it.

Read the play here

9. August: Osage County

 A monologue from the play by Tracy Letts


I ever tell you the story of Raymond Qualls? Not much story to it. Boy I had a crush on when I was thirteen or so. Real rough-looking boy, beat up Levis, messy hair. Terrible under-bite.

But he had these beautiful cowboy boots, shiny chocolate leather. He was so proud of those boots, you could tell, the way he‟d strut around, all arms and elbows, puffed up and cocksure.

I decided I needed to get a girly pair of those same boots and I knew he‟d ask me to go steady, convinced myself of it. He‟d see me in those boots and say, “Now there the gal for me.”

Found the boots in a window downtown and just went crazy: I‟d stay up late in bed, rehearsing the conversation I was going to have with Raymond when he saw me in my boots.

Must‟ve asked Momma a hundred times if I could get those boots. “What do you want for Christmas, Vi?” “Momma, I‟ll give all of it up for those boots.” Bargaining, you know?

She started dropping hints about a package under the tree she had wrapped up, about the size of a boot box, real nice wrapping paper.

“Now Vi, don‟t you cheat and look in there before Christmas morning.” Little smile on her face. Christmas morning, I was up like a shot, boy under the tree, tearing open that box.

There was a pair of boots, all right… men‟s work boots, holes in the toes, chewed up laces, caked in mud and dog poo.

Lord, my Momma laughed for days. My Momma was a mean, nasty old woman. I suppose that‟s where I got it from.

Read the play here

10. Hello

A monologue from the play by Stefan Marks


Have you started filming? No! Please don’t start, can you rewind it? Okay. Alright. Okay… Can I stand? No, okay. Alright. I’ll sit. Um, okay, you’re really going to cut this part out, right?

Okay, okay, sorry, okay. Start now. Hello, everybody. My name is Alice and I write untraditional children’s stories. I try to write with the wisdom of an adult and the honesty of a child. I’ve written seven books.

There Is No God and I Can Prove it, that’s one of them, and Waking Up Early Sucks, Grandma’s Gonna Die Soon But That’s Okay, Mom and Dad Lie All the Time, and.. oh God, I’m thinking… Okay, well, there’s three more.

And I try to teach kids that you know, you’re probably not going to get everything you want when you grow up, but that’s okay because society has brainwashed you into thinking that you want something that you probably didn’t want in the first place.

OH, do I want to have children… Well, you see, I like to think of my stories as my children, you know, ones you can legally kill off after they’ve been published. (Awkward laughter.)

.. And usually I think before I speak, but lately I’ve been speaking and then thinking and I’m like Oh my God Alice why the f*** did you just say that and I’m like… Oh my god, I’m so sorry I don’t usually swear.

Can you please cut that out? Okay, thank you. Do I actually think that there’s no God? Um, well, I don’t think that’s going to help me get dates.

…Okay. I believe that if there is a God, it’d probably be smart enough to hide its existence from me.

11. Skid Marks: A Play About Driving 

A monologue from the play by Lindsay Price


Jillian confronts her car.

Herman, I want you to listen up and listen good. We’re going for a drive and you’re not going to give me any grief. You’re going to start properly.

You’re not going to stall. You’re not going to make those knock, knock, cha-ping noises like last time. 

I know you were just doing it to spite me ‘cause I took you to the mechanic and the mechanic said there was nothing wrong! So there’s no point in making knock, knock, cha-ping noises. 

I’m on to you now. I know the little game you’re trying to play. But who’s in charge here Herman? Who’s got the keys? Is it Jillian or Herman?

Jillian or Herman? JillianHerman? I could put you in a no-park zone, let you get towed and never collect you. 

How’d you like that, huh? I could take you to the wrong side of town and leave you all alone with the windows down and the keys in the ignition.

That wouldn’t be nice would it? Would it?  So you just better behave yourself from now on. No more knock, knock, cha-ping noises.

No more chugha-ka-sloughing. No more wheeza, wheeza, humpa humpa znack znack znack when we’re going up hills.  No more flashing the oil light when the oil is full and fine.

I HATE that. And absolutely no more spitting gas when I’m filling the tank. Oh I can hear you snickering, Herman, when I’m standing there covered in gas but it is so not funny.

Not funny. Repeat after me please. I will not spit gas on Jillian when she is trying to fill the tank. (she listens) Don’t mumble! (she listens) Thank you.

There. I’m glad we had this little talk.  I hope we can continue working on our relationship and put this little difficulty behind us. All right then.

Let’s drive.

Read the play here

12. Puffs, Or Seven Increasingly Eventful Years At A Certain School Of Magic And Magic

A monologue from the play by Matt Cox

Leanne is super excited and extremely proud that she is a Puff.


No! I don’t want to leave. Why is everyone always so down on us? I won’t stand for it anymore! And I won’t sit for it either. And I also won’t stand on one leg because I can’t.

Watch. Anyways. Look at your hand! You have a wand! (Everyone looks at the hand that in fact does not have a wand in it.) Unless you looked at your other hand.

Look at yourselves! Hannah. You used to be so awkward. And you still are, but we don’t mind anymore! Who’s that? It’s Ernie Mac. And he is basically the best. And Sally.

Remember the time you did that thing?! ​It was amazing! Susie! We all thought you’d be dead by now. But look at you, standing there, alive. Wayne. You give the best hugs.

Megan! You give better hugs than you think you do. And J. Finch. He’s imaginary, AND HE CAN DO MAGIC! We all can. We’re wizards. So, sure. It would be easy to leave.

But wouldn’t it be wrong? We should do what’s right. Like Cedric. I’m a Puff and I’m staying, because if we don’t fight now we may never find out how that hat talks!

Read the play here


A monologue from the play by Jack Frakes


The director is loud, frustrated, the distraught type, trying to be orderly and businesslike and tries to keep everything going smoothly,

but the lights are lagging, stage crew and cast members arrive late, and the sassy stage crew is noisy.

The degree of humor of what goes wrong is largely dependent on the director’s reactions to the frustrations.

All right! All right! Let’s get this show on the road! Let’s get started! Hey, stage manager, let’s turn on some lights! (lights off) Now quit that!

I said I want light, stage manager, liiiiights!  (lights on) There! That’s better! All right, Stage Manager, nobody likes a smart aleck! We’ve got to get this rehearsal started.

Hear me, Stage Manager? Or are you hiding from me again? Stage Manager, we’re in a hurry! Where is my stage manager!! Oh. Now look!-

We’re running late and this is the final dress rehearsal. Turn on some more lights. Now get the cast on stage for roll call. All ready for roll call.

We’ll start with the technical crew. Stage Manager? Is all your crew here? Good…good. Prompter? Prompter! I’m calling roll. No one ever talks while I’m calling roll.

Sound effects girl? Wardrobe and Props girl? Oh okay, Makeup Girl? All right, now for the cast members. The Stepmother? What’s wrong with your nose?

It looks terrible! You look like a big silly bird. Moving on…Younger Sister? Godmother? Fairy Godmother! What is wrong with your dress?!

It looks horrid! No Fairy Godmother would ever look like that. And, Fairy Godmother, adjust your crown-it looks silly.  Okay, good!

(Like a football coach) All right, cast. This is it. This is the final dress rehearsal. It’s important that you concentrate and stay in character.

Keep the show moving at all costs. Remember, I’ll be out front watching. Watching every move you make. Pulling and rooting for you all the way down the line.

Tonight’s the night-the final dress . So give it the old stuff! The old oompa! (With gesture) All right-places!

Read the play here

14. Peter And The Starcatcher

 A monologue from the play by Rick Elice (based on the book by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson)

Act 2 Scene Nine


You stop that right now. I won’t answer any such question. You’re leaning toward the sentimental and that’s all well and good for a boy, but the fact is we girls can’t afford to be sentimental.

We must instead be strong. And when I marry, I shall make it very clear to this person – that sentimentality is not on the calendar. He will have to lump it or leave it.

And if he should leave, I’ll stay a spinster and pin my hair back and volunteer weekends at the hospital. And I will love words for their own sake, like “hyacinth” and “Piccadilly” and “onyx.”

And I’ll have a good old dog, and think what I like, and be a part of a different sort of family, with friends, you know? – who understand that things are only worth what you’re willing to give up for them.

Read the play here

15. The Monologue Show (From Hell)

A monologue from the play by Don Zoldis


(Lola strides downstage, full of confidence.)

I’m going to tell you a story about my greatest triumph. The seventh grade spelling bee. You can learn parts of words and waste your time memorizing the dictionary or whatever, but that’s not what wins. 

What wins is mental domination. The key is to introduce fear into the hearts of the other competitors. Break their spirits. You can tell right away which of them are going to crack like tiny little eggs. 

You make eye contact. Stare into their souls. (She shows of her dead-eyed stare.) This is my look. I call it Corpse Eye. I find the first little boy.

A sixth grader. Suhail Patel. He’s about four foot nine. I get about this close to him. I’m so close that our noses might touch. And then I whisper: ‘You think you understand the proper spelling of latinate verbs? 

Go home, little boy. I’m going to enjoy crushing you. ‘ And then you know what I do? I blow on his face. (she blows) He freaks out like a swarm of bees just stung him. Starts crying. 

He’ll be out in the first round. I use a different tactic with the girls. They’ve prepared for months. they ‘re all full of confidence and hope.

They got little pigtails and smiles — I start the rumors – ‘So I hear you’re using performance enhancing drugs.’ ‘What?’ ‘I won’t tell anyone.

But people are talking’ Then I move on to the next girl. ‘Miranda says even if you win she’s stealing your boyfriend.’ ‘That’s not what Suhail Patel says.’ 

By the time we get on stage everyone hates each other. Who’s their friend? Who’s their enemy? Who’s taking drugs? It’s a slaughter. Down to the final two.

Me and Steven Williams.  Steven is cold as ice. He stares forward, acts like he’s deaf, he pretends not to see me, not to hear me. He’s a machine.

The word is Syzgy. Definition please: An arrangement of heavenly bodies. Country of origin: Undetermined.  He starts spelling — S Y Z.

He thinks he’s going to win. He knows the word. But then just for an instant, he glances my direction, as if to say, I’m going to win, and that’s when I unleash the look that will win me this competition:

I call it: Spastic Thunder. (Lola makes ‘Spastic Thunder’)  It looks like I’m having a seizure. My eyes cross. My teeth start shaking – spit flies out of my mouth – Steven loses his place, he makes a mistake.

A second Z. Ding. He’s out. That’s when I give him my final look. Flaming Triumph. (Lola makes “Flaming Triumph”) My word is pulchritudinous.

I’m so awesome I don’t ask for country of origin. Pulchritudinous. P U L C H R I T U D I N O U S. Boom. Mic drop. I’m taking home a cool hundred dollar gift certificate to Barnes and Noble.

And that’s how the game is played suckers. (Lola gives one last look.) (She turns and returns to her place)

Read the play here

16. The Auditioners

A monologue from the play by Doug Rand

Auditioner #2 (teens to twenties)

This play is a comedy about the audition process for actors. Auditioner #2 is an actress doing a classical monologue.

My classical monologue is from the tragically underproduced masterwork of Natalie Stannard, entitled Rosaline’s Lament. (#2 begins:)

O Romeo, Romeo — I’m gonna hurt you, Romeo.
I was looking forward to Uncle Capulet’s party for months!

And you said you were going to sneak in so that you could dance with me. If you can remember back that far.

Back when you told me that I was the most beautiful girl in the world, and that your eyes were only for me, that you’d die without my smile.

It feels like only yesterday you said these things. Oh, wait, that’s because it was only yesterday, right before you suddenly decided that my loser cousin Juliet should get every last scrap of your attention.

Frankly, Romeo, I’m disappointed. I question your judgment, really. Because guess what: Juliet’s not that pretty.

Her eyes are too far apart, and she wears too much makeup, and I know from way too many summers at sleepaway camp that she snores like a bear.

Also, FYI, Romeo, she’s thirteen. You may not see that as a problem, but we have certain laws in Verona you might want to think about before busting a move on little miss jailbait.

Not that you care. You’re probably laying the moves on Juliet right now, tonight of all nights: the tortured sighing. The balcony by moonlight.

The rhymed couplets. Ungh, you are so predictable. And here you told me “the all-seeing sun ne’er saw my match since first the world begun.”

You wouldn’t shut up about my bright eyes, my high forehead and my scarlet lip; my fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh; and the demesnes that there adjacent lie —

not that you’re getting anywhere near these demesnes without a ring, lover boy. Maybe Juliet is less persnickety on that front. Is that it, Romeo?

Is that why you dropped me for a thirteen-year-old who snores? O Romeo, Romeo — you see me coming and you’d better run, Romeo.

What’s in a name? that which we call an a** By any other name would smell as foul. You are so dead.

Read the play here

17. How I Got that Part

A monologue from the play by Robert Pridham

Beth (ten to fourteen)

Auditioning for a part in the middle school play is a do-or-die matter for one group of girls. Here, Beth reveals her ongoing battle with stage fright.

I don’t know how any of this happened. My being here, I mean. I don’t want to be in the play. Actually, I’d rather do almost anything else you can think of than be in the play.

Standing out there on the stage? In front of all those people? (She shudders.) I think I’m just here because everyone else is here. It’s like mass hysteria or something.

Everyone’s trying to be in the play, they’re all shouting and pushing so I just run right along with them because it seems like the right thing to do, right?

I mean, I don’t want to be left out or anything. My mother says: “Beth honey, the play is coming up soon and I hope you’ll try out because you could really use a boost to your self-confidence!”

What’s wrong with my self-confidence? I don’t have anything wrong with my self-confidence. I’m just quiet, that’s all. The only thing wrong with my self-confidence is that my mother keeps worrying that there’s something wrong with my self-confidence.

“I remember my first play,” she says, “and I remember how wonderful it was to be up there in front of all those people! Just wonderful!” Wonderful? Hah!

You’re standing up there in the dark worrying that you’ll forget your lines or sing the wrong note or fall off the edge of the stage. And now here I am, standing up on the stage, and the director is saying: “Alright, I want big, big voices and lots of feeling!”

And my palms are all sweaty and my knees are shaking and I can’t get my mouth to open and my tongue won’t work and I can’t breathe and I’m starting to see spots in front of my eyes and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be dead in about three seconds.

What’s so wonderful about that?

Read the play here

18. Space Girl

A monologue from the play by Mora V. Harris

Arugula (16-year-old alien who looks like a human)

Since her arrival on Earth, Arugula has struggled to fit in with the adolescent Humans she has been forced among.

After her first roller derby bout leads to an unexpected sexual encounter with her super-cool teammate Bruise, Arugula has a big realization and almost blows her cover.

Do you ever feel like…like you’re this alien being, who just ended up here on Earth with all these humans but you don’t really belong?

And you’re always asking yourself, like, “Am I doing this, right?” Like you’ll be in the audience at a show and you clap because the Humans are clapping, but you’re also thinking, Is this right?

Is this how people clap?” and that’s like a simple thing. Talking to people is even worse. You never know what to say. You ‘re never ready with your beverage order.

You think people think your Dad is weird but you don’t know why. You answer machines you’re not supposed to answer and people look at you.

But then, sometimes, every once in a while, finally, some one thing will click into place.

You have this one supercharged burst of understanding that makes like a hundred other little things make sense because you suddenly realize, “Oh, I’m a lesbian alien” And like, at least you figured that out.

Read the play here

19. Sez She

A monologue from the play by Jane Martin


An eighth grader is upset by the way her mother has dressed to go
to the P.T.A. meeting.

Oh my God, Mom! You are not, I am completely serious, goinout of this house wearing that! B*tch me out. Do you know what you look like?

You are mega-embarrassing, OK? Mom! You are representing me at the P.T.A., I can’t have everybody’s eighth grade parents seeing you in hooker wear.

Ohmygod. Do you know how old you are? You are an ancient, decrepit person, Mom. Sorreee, but you are. Spaghetti straps, and don’t tell me that skirt passes the finger test, Mom!

Wait a minute, wait one minute, open your mouth and hold it open. Ohmygod, gross! Ohmygod, is that a tongue piercing?

Mother, menopause and tongue piercing are polar opposites, OK? Mom, there is a dress code, you can’t walk into the P.T.A. direct from the wh*re wars.

God, Mom, have a little respect, will you, you’re a dentist. I mean where are we headed here I would like to ask. Are you going to be one of those sixty-year-olds who look like steel prunes showing endless leg with plucked eyebrows and breast augmentation?

I warn you, Mom, if you set foot in the P.T.A. I will get Dad and Aunt Lucy and your therapist and Father O’Keefe, and we’ll do an intervention in the parking lot.

I mean hand over the tanning salon discount coupons. You know, I’m sorry but the difference between who you are and who you think you are is an unbelievable sag factor.

Now go upstairs this minute and put on something with long sleeves and flats. You can go to the meeting but, after that, ohmygod, you are soooo grounded!

Read the play here

20. You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown

A monologue from the musical by Clark Gesner


“A ‘C’? A ‘C’? I got a ‘C’ on my coat hanger sculpture? How could anyone get a ‘C’ in coat hanger sculpture? May I ask a question? Was I judged on the piece of sculpture itself?

If so, is it not true that time alone can judge a work of art? Or was I judged on my talent? If so, is it fair that I be judged on a part of my life over which I have no control?

If I was judged on my effort, then I was judged unfairly, for I tried as hard as I could! Was I judged on what I had learned about this project?

If so, then were not you, my teacher, also being judged on your ability to transmit your knowledge to me?

Are you willing to share my ‘C’? Perhaps I was being judged on the quality of coat hanger itself out of which my creation was made…now is this not also unfair?

Am I to be judged by the quality of coat hangers that are used by the dry cleaning establishment that returns our garments? Is that not the responsibility of my parents?

Should they not share my ‘C’?”

Read the play here

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