How to write a personal monologue?

How to write a monologue from a tired and bored teachers point of veiw?

• for school i have to write a monologue . When i was in work expericance i was toled to look a person closely and look at their personalitly now i have to write a 2 minuet monolouge about them as if i were them having a bad day or at home with thier husband. help! ?

• Answer:

  As a teacher? "**** me I hate kids. I mean seriously. They don't ******* know anything. What do they do all day? Just have sex with each other and make jokes about their teachers? I'm not fat. I am NOT fat. I'm hefty. It's healthy. When you have a little excess weight, toxins reside in the fatty tissue of the backside and stomach instead of the heart and kidneys. That's a good thing. They would know that if they listened to me. All these little whores, starving themselves to be skinny so mister football player man will plow their fertile fields. I wish my fields were still fertile. I wish I could see what those football players would look like at 50. Ha! Bet then they'd know a thing or two about having a gut. Unless they're dead. I hope they're dead. If karma is real, they'll probably all be done for in about a decade. A decade. Damn. Where will I be in a decade? Will I be dead? I hope not. Nah, my heart is protected from those toxins. Plus I don't do anything fun. No bad decisions. Ever. Now I'm going to live forever, and never have fun. Is that the rule? Maybe it's an inverse relationship between enjoyment of life and duration of life. Maybe I should explain that to these punks. Or would they just be more likely to do stupid things? Do I care? I know some of my colleagues act like they care about these kids. Want them to succeed. In their personal lives. In general. By just not ending up dead. But I don't want them to succeed. Sure, I act nice. To their faces. It's my job, after all. I can't very well get fired. Then what would I have? My dogs depend on me for my income. And my cats. My precious cats. But any asshole who asks me for a college recommendation may find themselves relying on their safety schools a bit more than they anticipated. Is that petty? I undermine their attempts to succeed in life. And I'm okay with it. Well, succeed is a touchy word. Apparently I succeeded. I graduated top of my class. Decided I wanted to share my knowledge with others. What a joke. No one else wants what I have to offer. Mentally or...physically. I need to find a man. But no one will want me. Because I'm a teacher. And not one of those bitches fresh out of college. Why didn't I start teaching right out of college? I should have. Then maybe they would have lusted after me like they do that ******* WHORE Barbara. No, I was hefty then too. HEFTY, damn it. You know what? I can't take this anymore. Those kids can teach themselves. They'll walk into their class and see their teacher dead on her desk. After all, a teacher wouldn't go home, no. They don't have personal lives. That's what they think. Well they're right. I have nothing. Nothing but ungrateful kids. I'll live a note, of course. Yes, a note. Use small words. Spell everything correctly. That way even in my last act, I'll be teaching. They'll understand everything, but also see another example of proper English. Which they haven't seen before, I'm sure. Not like they even know what books are. Books. What should I do with all my books before I die? Give them to a library? No, then other snot nosed kids might be able to touch my precious books. Not that they would ever go there. Does that make it okay? No. What if they did. Not acceptable. Perhaps I'll burn down my house. That will deal with the books. But what about the cats? And the dogs. Well I guess I'll just burn them too. That's what they would want. To be with me. Now to do the deed..." From the perspective of a fat, world-weary, female teacher approximately age 50. You're welcome.