Hi. My name's John Schmidt. Well, okay, it's really John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. (At this point, someone in the audience will probably shout out "His name is my name too!" If not, prompt them: "Go ahead, say it...You know you want to." If still nobody says it, then the monologue will probably flop, but say it yourself and go on.) Yeah, yeah. I've heard it a million times. But that's not the worst part. Whenever I walk out, the people ALWAYS shout "There goes John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt!" And then they sing this stupid little "La la la la la" thing and burst into laughter. I tell ya, it pisses me off. One of these days...(Toy with an imaginary gun)
(Calm down a bit) But that's okay. I can deal with it. But then I have a girlfriend named Suzanna. Once people find out my name, they're already in a "stupid folk songs" mood, so when they find out my girlfriend's name, they mime crying, and then ask to see the banjo on my knee. Without fail. To put an end to it, I actually had a banjo tattooed on my knee. See? (If it's at all possible, actually show the audience your bare knee; failing that, just gesture at your knee.) You'd think that that would give them the idea that I've heard the jokes a million times. But nooo. They think they're so witty. And I'm not even from Alabama. Never even been there.
Just to top things off, I used to Suzanna's older sister, Clementine. She drowned. Lost and gone forever. I mention this to people, and they pretend to be sympathetic. "Dreadful sorry," they say. But I notice that they tend to cut off conversations pretty soon afterward, and then I hear laughter from the next room.
What have I done to deserve this, huh? Why is my life seemingly predetermined by folk songs? I have a dog. His name is Bingo. B-I-N-G-O. I didn't name him that, but he won't answer to anything else. And of course it's only a matter of time before I get fired from my current job, and when I do, the only job available will be workin' on the railroad, and I'll have a sadistic boss who'll make me work all the livelong day. Of course, (brighten for a moment) the upside of that is that I'll get to be in the kitchen with Dinah, "strummin' on the ol' banjo," if you know what I mean. (Darken again.) But still, I'm fed up. Maybe I'll change my name to "the guy formerly known as John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt." You think that'll help?