(A sea of darkness surrounds a boxing ring glowing as bright as a neon disco floor in a pitch black nightclub.)

MC: Welcome mateys and estrogen, Portnoys and pearls, to the ultimate fight, an epic karmic kerfuffle, the Last Circle of Hell. Tonight, sex symbol is pitted against literary figure, Pulitzer Prize versus Hollywood Walk of Fame, to see who has what it takes to dominate the arena. That’s right, it’s Marilyn Monroe vs. Arthur Miller here to find out who’s got what it takes to take home the title. Button up, folks, this oughta be interesting!

(The crowd roars. Some chant Ma-ri-lyn, Ma-ri-lyn, while others clap hardbound books together.)

MC: First, a creature who needs no introduction, the blondest, bombest bombshell of them all, the greenest m & m in the package, weighing in at 5’5” and a half, 118 pounds, 37-23-36, just grab an eyeful folks, just read it and weep.

MM: (Like a kitten with yarn she gets tangled in the ropes on her way into the ring. The crowd surges forward to help. After patting her hair and straightening her dress she waves with both hands, blowing kisses.)

MC: And in the opposite corner you might recognize the sizzling Crucible, The Death of the Salesman himself, playwright Arthur Miller weighing almost twice as much and standing nearly a foot taller than his opponent. But the question is, can he measure up, folks?

AM: (In his corner brandishing a pen.) “I fall like an ocean! I will bring a pointy reckoning that will shudder you!”

MC: That looks like a fountain pen he has there. Where will you put your moolah, folks– on the egghead or the hourglass? Whose side are you on?

(The bell rings. Marilyn takes a brisk tour of the ring, shimmying and shaking like a bowl of jell-o on springs. The crowd oohs and aaaahs.)

MC: I don’t know about you folks but from here, it looks like Marilyn is naked under those clothes. I mean, I don’t think she’s wearing undergarments.

AM: It’s like trying to summon up the smell of roses in a cellar.

MM: I learned to walk as a baby, and I haven’t had a lesson since.

AM: (Shuffles to the center of the ring and stands there with his arms crossed.) You live in a perennial silly season. See the little crazy children jangling keys. The two most common elements in the world are hydrogen and stupidity and you’re just a beautiful piece of ass trying to shake yourself seriously.

MM: Well, aren’t you judgy? (She struts out to face him. A sudden blast of air shoots up from the center of the stage and lifts her skirt up over her head. The crowd screams with delight as she wrestles it down.) Well, my little judgy-wudgy, I defy gravity.

AM: The world is an oyster but you don’t crack it open on a mattress. (Stomps back to his corner to sulk.)

MC: Looks like Marilyn has him in a corner, folks. She may be small but she’s got something up her sleeve.

MM: (From her cleavage she pulls a ping pong paddle with a ball attached and starts hitting the ball with the paddle.) It shakes me! It quakes me! It makes me feel goose-pimply all over! (The crowd is counting– every time she hits the ball, the crowd shouts out the number.) But square-cut or pear-shaped, these rocks won’t lost their shape. (...Eleven, twelve, thirteen….) Seems to me, women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition.

AM: (Standing atop the stool in the corner.) The shadow of a cornstalk on the ground is lovely, but it is no denial of its loveliness to see as one looks on it that it is telling the time of day, the position of the earth and the sun, the size of our planet and its shape, and perhaps even the length of its life and ours among the stars.

MM: A stairway to nowhere! I think that’s just elegant. (Fanning herself against the ropes, stage whispering to the crowd.) If I have to be alone I’d rather be by myself.

AM: That’s my line! I wrote that line!

MM: Yeah, but you gave it to me, baby.

AM: I have given you my soul; leave me my name! Besides– without me, you’re just a mute prop on a stage.

MM: Boop oop e doo!

AM: Attention must be paid!

MM: (Pulls a ukelele from under her skirt.)

AM: (Grabs it, throws it down, and smashes it with his foot.)

MM: (Grabs his necktie with one hand and hooks a stool with one foot. Sits down on the stool, flips him over her lap, retrieves the paddle and begins spanking him with it, singing Happy Birthday To You.)

AM: (Shouts and struggles incoherently.)

MC: (Counting spanks along with the audience) …five, six, seven…

MM: What do you have to say for yourself now, baby?

AM: More weight! More weight!


My daughter and I have been thoroughly enjoying Epic Rap Battles of History.  I’m sure this explains my motivation.  Here’s a little example:


What’s inspiring you these days?

And where would you put your money?

About Anna Fonté

Girl in the Hat, aka Anna Fonté, is an author who writes about invisibility, outsider status, everyday monsters, and her attempts to befriend the neighborhood crows. The things she writes want you to look at them.


  1. My money is on MM! What a smackdown.

  2. Hahaha!!!!! Anna, how many people out there do you think know who AM and MM really are??? 🙂

  3. Todd

    $2 4 MM.
    FU AM!
    I am not WL!!!

    • Uh. Willing to Lose? World Literature? Wrestling Lemons?

      • Todd

        Willie Loman… an arrogant, stuffed shirt’s sneer at an inexcusably banal occupation. Who the hell really smokes a pipe anyway?

        • I’ve always found pipes rather lovely. I could see me smoking one– one of those curly ones carved from oak or something– very Sherlocky– I could fiddle with my pipe-prop while I thought of something to say– can’t imagine the tobacco tastes as good as it smells, though.

          • Todd

            Yes, you’re right of course. Pipes do smell nice… but don’t taste the same. We used to smoked pot in pipes made of apples, coke cans and the notorious bong… didn’t much like that taste either but taste wasn’t really the point. Hey, wait a minute… maybe I’ll try making my sales presentations while fondling a pipe-prop! I’ll be the professorial, Pulitzer-like salesman… the anti-Loman. Customers will naturally assimilate themselves into my sage worldview. Perceiving my immense intellectual superiority they will be lulled into trance of compliance and enthusiastically exchange their signature for my autograph! “Now Billy-Bob, would you mind holding my pipe while I draw up the agreement?” “Oh my, it would be an honor Sir”.

  4. My god, this is brilliant. Have you ever submitted anything to The Sun Magazine?

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