Jihad Jones And The Kalashnikov Babes – Monologue (Cassandra)

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A monologue from the play by Jussef El Guindi

CASSANDRA ( twenties – thirties)

Cassandra is an actress in a movie which is nothing but a mass of anti-Muslim clichés. She doesn’t care and she’s miffed that her co-star, Ashraf, is. He has principles—she doesn’t.

So you’re miffed you’re not playing a boffo character with a great personality and charm to spare. Well, boo-hoo. My pu**y weeps for you. Excuse me while I break out the tissues for another struggling actor asked to play sh*t and make it real.

What the hell kind of business do you think this is? An academy for the study of human behavior? This is the land of gummy bears and popcorn; and making out in the back row and leaving a mess for the ushers to clean up.

It ain’t deep; it’s not real, and if you’re lucky you get paid a whole lot. Shove it. I don’t want to hear it. Save it for after I leave. Do you think I got to where I am today because I was picky?

I’m a woman. Do you know what I get offered as a woman? In a business that prizes eye-candy before everything else? B**bs and a** before character and content? Honey: the pickings are slim.

I get my choice of wh*res, skanks, saints or virgins. And that’s when I’m not being offered wh*res, skanks, saints or virgins. Or b*tches. Or warrior princesses with p*nis envy.

Or any combination of the above. The trough is full of swill, hon, and always has been, and if you’re lucky you find one or two great nuggets in your career and that’s what you live off while you forage through more trash.

Stereotypes, please. You don’t know anything about stereotypes till you’ve walked in my hook*r boots for six weeks on a movie set. Get over it. I know my part isn’t great.

But I’m going to give it everything I have and make those pimply kids in back row stop tonguing for two minutes and give me their full sex-crazed attention because goddamn it I deserve it.

And if you’ve got any balls, you’ll take this part and do the same. Jesus. You’re an actor. Act like one you little piss-ant. You all think on that while I go make some calls.

And when I get back, if you’re not finished agonizing over whatever it is you’ve got your boxers in a twist about, then—I’m gone.

Read the play here

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