(Enter dancer.)

(Removes all clothing.)

(Looks at audience.)

Am I boring you?
Nude Monologue by Jeff Goode (copyright © 1996) All rights reserved. This script may not be performed, printed, downloaded or re-transmitted without the author's consent.

(Takes a pose.)

I'm sorry. It can't be helped.

I had planned, you know, to entertain you.

I had costumes and jewelry.
And a box of chickens.

They took away my chickens.
Too suggestive.

I offered to encase them in latex. But they wouldn't hear it.

"No chickens" they said.
"Chickens are not to be trusted."

Especially
...the cocks.
You never know what they'll doodle do.

"A chicken is not wholesome."
Unless it's fried.
And they whisked them away.

To be fried, presumeably.

So you won't see any chickens tonight.

"Now about the clothes" they said.

"These clothes?" I asked,
gesturing toward my wardrobe of red and black leather bondage gear.

"Yes, those" they said.
As if they were afraid to touch them even with their words.
"These?" I said. "Those." they said.
"These?" "Those."
"These right here?" "Those, yes, those!" (with disgust:) "Those... clothes.

What about 'em?

Well, they said. You can't wear them.
Of course I can, I said, and I offered to demonstrate how to fit 5 inches of spandex around a 35 inch waist.
No, no, no, they clarified.
It's not that you can't wear them. You seem quite limber.
But you can't be allowed to wear them.
It can't be permitted. Condoned.
It's unethical. Unacceptable.
Unseemly.

Really? I asked. Unethical? I asked.

Because of the crucifix embroidered across the codpiece?

Oh, no, it's not that, they stammered. We hadn't even noticed that. No, it's just that it's
...too revealing.

But how can that be? I said.
All my nasty bits are covered.
My nipples.
My... well, you know - the nasty bits.

Yes, we see that, they said. You've covered all your bases quite nicely.

I was flattered.

But it's not the bases that worry us. It's the basepaths.

Yes, those unbroken expanses of flesh leave nothing to the imagination.

Well, I wouldn't call it nothing, but I didn't want to argue, so I offered to substitute a fishnet body stocking which breaks up the flesh into nice bite-sized chunks. Or a skin tight outfit I could make with spray paint and a handful of sequins.
But they wouldn't have any of it.

The simple fact is. You can't wear any of these costumes.

That's all right. I said.
Art is art.
I'll do the show in jeans and a t-shirt.

That's what we like to hear. Jeans and a t-shirt. But, oh, you don't mean that t-shirt you're wearing?

Well, it doesn't have to be this one. Why? Is there a hole in the fabric? Is my chest hair protruding in an undignified manner. Is my turtle neck collar slung too low in back?
What -
they quavered with great timidity -
is that thing emblazoned across your chest?

Oh, this? Oh, it's nothing. A slogan. A saying. Just something I believe in.
Beliefs? Oh no! they shrieked.
You mustn't believe.
Or at least, they looked around to be sure the Constitution hadn't overheard them. You mustn't let anyone know you believe. It is, after all, a free country.
Thank God! I said.
Yes, but not in public.

Smoking, religion, sex. These are things which must be confined to the privacy of one's own bedroom. They said. If then. ...Especially the smoking.

I see, and I take it the same goes for political statements.

Well, at this point, someone fainted and had to be carried out on a stretcher, so I decided not to press the subject.

I offered to wear a t-shirt blank on both sides so as not to make any political statements at all, but they peered at me warily and told me that that smacked of protest.
And the only thing worse than dissension is outright subversion.
As they chuckled at the absurdity of my naive suggestion, I laughed along with them.

Well, I said, if I'm going to do this show, I have to wear something.
Can you suggest anything that might be appropriate?

Nothing at all, they said.

And with that, they filed out without even discussing my text.