Taylor B Banner
Taylor B

Taylor B

Colorado springs, Colorado, US

Taylor B Banner
Taylor B

Taylor B

  Colorado springs, Colorado, US

Moral Orel Project(Clay)
22

North American

Category
Animation
Language
English (North American)
Voice Age
Young Adult
Description

Collaborative effort with a friend, my lines are all of Clay's, while his were other characters
Video for reference: (Website hidden)

Clay: (After a large swig of alcohol) I gotta tell you, Orel; your cup is always half empty. You need to be more like your old man and look at the blight side of things.
Orel: Blight?
Clay: I didn't say bright, I said blight. "My life is sunny and blight". Bright means the opposite, it means sudden withering death, and...(Suddenly despondent)...Oh, who am I kidding? My life is full of bright.
Orel: You mean blight?
Clay: Oh God...
Orel: What's the matter?
Clay: ...I hate myself...
[Orel's eyes tear up as Clay looks at the bottle he's holding.]
Clay: (Screaming) Why did you quit working on me?! She always fools me, Orel. "I'll make things better dear. Drink me. Put me inside you, I'm great!" And she chokes me just like every other whore out there! They're all worthless, kid. Every woman. Don't let 'em get ya. All of 'em wanna get ya. They just grab you and pull you into them! And then you're forced to stay in and pull out and stay in and pull out! And then they gut ya. And then they've got ya by the part where it counts. And then they start squeezing things out! Things that are like weights around your head! You sit there for the rest of your life, with nowhere to go and no one to be!!! AAAAHHHH!!! AAAAHHHH!!! AAAAHHHH!!!
[Orel, terrified at this rant, accidentally discharges his gun.]
Orel: Dad! Are you okay?
Clay: (Laughing) Okay? Am I okay? You shoot one thing this whole trip.. Count 'em! One thing! And it's two of my last bottles of liquor?!
Orel: (Crying) I'm sorry, dad! It was an accident!
Clay: There are no accidents! You have done nothing but whine and complain like a lady in a flowery, sissy skirt and attractive high heels about my drinking since we got here!
Orel: (Half crying) It's because you become a bad person when you drink!!


Clay: Well, well, well, Dr. Quentin Xavier Potterswheel!
Potterswheel: Clay.
Clay: Hey, Doc, we were just talking about ex-wives.
Potterswheel: Uh, I'm a widower.
Clay: Oh, right, right. Must be nice to lose a wife to sickness and death instead of her just plain ol' getting sick of you.
Potterswheel: No... Not so nice, especially when you're a doctor.
Clay: She just loved those painkillers! Probably didn't even realize she was infected, right Doc?
Potterswheel: She was... quite comfortable when she passed.
Clay: "Numb", some call it! Now, me and Jesus, we like to feel the pain. Tell me, doc. Did some of those painkillers protect her against you?
Potterswheel: What does that mean?
Clay: You know. The pain. Of you. Day in, day out, being there. With that face. Not knowing what to say. Not caring anymore. Not even knowing that you'll probably only care about her when it's finally too late. Forgetting about all those desperate- those desperate years you spent alone, your barren years when no woman would even consider resting her tired head on your shaky little shoulder. Stinking of belly semen. Why even wipe? And when you finally get one of these [Points at Dolly and imitates a fanfare] coveted pieces of tail that have been built up as the grand trophy in your nothing life, you try desperately to keep it. Not to protect it! But to hoard it. To keep it away from the other wolves and jackals circling your territory! And you realize, all too soon, that you're not good enough! That maybe there was a jerk-off called Darwin after all. And that you never acknowledged his existence because you knew deep inside that you were really what you feared you were-- weak. And passive. And ultimately, broken by the ones who were made the fittest. And that through your weaknesses, you built up a poison that poisoned others around you. [About to cry] That you love. And the only true justice was to let those dominant jackals feed on you. Survive off you.

[After everyone has left the bar]
Clay: With all you people as role models, no wonder my son is...sensitive...

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