24-Hour Play Festival Monologue

The children have eaten their parents.  You don’t believe me, but it’s true.  Look at them out on that playground like fat little birds in the winter—going around and around on the merry-go-round pretending that their stomachs are full of sweets and toffee instead of Mom and Dad.  Oh, you think you can defeat them?  You go right ahead and try.  We’ll be out back play possum sticks waiting for you to realize that these little bastards cannot be defeated.  I bet their Mama’s made the saddest little sound when the devouring happened.  Have you ever heard a child ingest its own mother?  It sounds like a cat watching the snow from a window—soft, and yet, menacing.  A paw print on icy glass—signifying nothing.  What we need to do here is camouflage ourselves and trick those filthy toddlers into destroying themselves.  We are the hole in the forest floor.  We are the knife in the kitchen drawer.  You know what we are?  A shark that has painted itself yellow to trick children into thinking it is a  school bus.  The buck stops with us, ladies and gentlemen.  Hell is, in fact, for children, and we are Hell.  Now I want you all to strip naked, put on this camouflage paint, and lay down near the jungle gym.  When the kids step on you, I want you to—yes, I said ‘Strip naked.’  Yes, all the way naked—are there degrees of naked that I was unaware of?  You need to take off all your clothes, cover yourself in paint, and then wait for the children to step on you so you can grab them and throw them in the back of that van over there!  It’s a simple plan, ladies and gentlemen.  I’m not asking you to reinvent the wheel here.  I’m simply asking for justice for the mothers and fathers of those chubby little cannibals.  Is that too much to ask?