It's free!

My anthology of short comedies based on my experiences with cancer is now a free download for any who would like to read my chemo-crazed words. Please download it, read it, and write a little review for me (on Lulu) - I'd appreciate the feedback. I'm not beyond begging. Actually, you may have already read them in my journal entries. Still, it's free, and I'm granting permission for performance with no royalties, just credit and a notification to me.



I'm in Breezewood, PA staying in an abandoned underground silo with a tricky mil network that barely functions. ARPANET, I think, though I've never seen it used. Just an assumption.

I found a pickup that still works. I actually found quite a few cars on I-70 that could have worked, but the bite marks and stains were enough to keep me from doing anything other than looking. I am gathering a slow but steady supply of canned goods from stock rooms of the various hotels, restaurants, and gas stations - the ones that haven't been completely looted or burned out, that is. A cat made friends with me two days ago. Cute calico, barely able to do much but offer a pathetic little meow, came to me whikle I was liberating supplies from the Bob's big Boy. Looks like a mouser, but probably not always. She had a little red collar smudged with dirt, mud, and other crap. It was nearly falling off of her. I opened a can of tuna and she's been following me ever since. Another lost soul. I call her Perdita.

I'm almost done gathering supplies. Once I'm ready, I'm heading for Philly. Maybe I'll find another living human not off the reservation.

Chances are. . .

I've recently revised Damn the Cancer: Short Comedies, some funny comedies about farting gods, death, and HIPPA forms, and in my continuing efforts to at least create some sort of interest for it, I am posting the link in many places.

You should buy three right now - one for yourself, one for a friend, and one for your local theatre.

In this collection of short plays and comedy sketches, playwright and cancer survivor Brett Fauver examines subjects he encountered daily while going through five years of chemotherapy treatment, radiation therapy, and two bone-marrow/stem cell transplants. Use one or use all for your next event, or just read to yourself and laugh-out-loud at the absurdity of life with this collection of pathos and comedy.

Brett Fauver is the Managing Director of Bull Brother Media (Part of Fauver Arts Enterprises). He also served as the founder and Artistic Director of the South Jersey Shakespeare Company (Holly City Repertory Theatre). Brett is a survivor of Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

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Download: 1 documents, 173 KB

Printed: 67 pages, 6" x 9", perfect binding, cream interior paper (60# weight), black and white interior ink, white exterior paper (100# weight), full-color exterior ink

Listed in: Humor


Attention Deficit Classics Presents The Second Most Overrated Film of All-Time in just under 15 minu

Attention Deficit Classics Presents
The Second Most Overrated Film of All-Time in just under 15 minutes

2006 Brett Fauver

SOG:  What do we care, anyway, we’re expelled from college and the yanks will want war.  WAR, I tells ya!
Chartreuse:  Fiddle-dee-dee, war.  War, war, war.  This war talk will spoil all of our fun.  Besides there won’t be any war.  No war.  Not now.  Not gonna be no war nohow.
SOG:  Those yanks just want a war.  What do you mean no war?  Of course there’s gonna be a war.
Chartreuse:  If you say war one more time. . . 
SOG:  Don’t you want a war?
Chartreuse:  Enough with the war, already!
SOG:  What else is there to talk about besides the wuh – impending conflict?
Char:  How about the barbecue at the Wilts over at Twelve Shrubs?
SOG:  Only if we can Waltz, Chartreuse.
Char:  You ensemble player, you, you should call me Ms. O’Hara.
SOG:  Only if it’s expository.
CHAR:  Oh, it is, honey, it is.
SOG:  So, Chartreuse O’Hara, I hear that Melonhead Hamilton, Ashley Wilt’s goody-goody cousin from Atlanta will be here soon to go to the barbecue.  She’s a pretty one, and you know how it is in their family.  With the marriage of the cousins and all.  Ashley will probably marry melonhead.  Hey, look at that, it’s the next day and we’re at the barbecue.
CHAR:  GASP!  It can’t be true.  It can’t it can’t it can’t!  Ashley loves me!  Not melonhead that ninny idiot blonde vapid good-for nothing –
CHAR: wonderful girl that you are melonhead.  I haven’t seen you in ages.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, Turquiose, I’m so glad to see you again/
Char:  That’s Chartreuse, darling.
ASHLEY:  Chartreuse!  Chartreuse!  I have something to tell you, my dear.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, I hope we can become real friends, Periwinkle.
CHAR:  Yes.
ASHLEY:  We’ll take care of her here, won’t we Chartreuse?
CHAR:  Yes.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, Fuchsia, I wish I could be like you with all that life.
CHARTREUSE: It’s Chartreuse.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, Aquamarine, I’ve admired you so, I wish I could be like you.
CHARTREUSE:  Don’t flatter, insincerity is unbecoming of a lady.
ASHLEY:  Melonhead is nothing if not sincere.
CHARTREUSE:  Don’t mind Ashley, dear, he never says what he means.
ASHLEY:  Chartreuse. . .
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, who is that dog lookin’ fella looking over at us?
SOG:  That’s Brett Rutler.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare. . .
CHARTREUSE:  I wonder who built him.
SOG:  We’re going to war!  Georgia’s fightin’ and so is we!  War with the yanks.
CHARTREUSE:  What did I tell you about that word?
SOG:  Conflict!  Conflict with the Yanks because of their Northern Aggression!

CHARTREUSE:  That’s better.

BRETT:  War is something we can’t win against the yanks.  They’re better equipped and history proves we’ll lose.
CHARTREUSE:  Excuse me, Mr. Rutler, but I’ve already said I have heard enough of this war.
BRETT:  Frankly, Chartreuse. . .
CHARTREUSE:  Not yet, Brett.
BRETT:  The North has all the factories and cannons, all we have is cotton and arrogance.
SOG:  Are you saying that the North will lick us?
ALL:  Eeeeeeewwwhttp://www.  Cotton mouth.
SOG:  Why I oughta-
ASHLEY:  No!  Nononononono!  No!  He best shot in county.  He take you make you dead.  Me take Brett around plantation.  Let cool head prevail.
ASHLEY and BRETT leave.
SOG:  That coward!
CHARTREUSE:  Wait!  Ashley, are you going to conflict?
ASHLEY:  Yes, I am Chartreuse.
CHARTREUSE:  But I thought you were going to marry me.
ASHLEY:  Don’t be ridiculous, I was going to marry Melonhead.
CHARTREUSE:  But you don’t really love Melonhead!
ASHLEY:  Who cares about love!  Have you seen her melons?  I mean, she is blood.
CHARTREUSE:  Eeeeww.  I thought this was Georgia, not Kentucky.
ASHLEY:  I must go.
ASHLEY leaves.  CHARTREUSE stomps around, breaking stuff.
BRETT:  Whah?  Ahh!  Has the war started?
CHARTREUSE:  How dare you sneak up on me like that?
BRETT:  I have a cold.
CHARTREUSE:  you should have made you’re presence known.  You are no gentleman.
BRETT:  And you no lady.
SOG:  The war’s starting, the war’s starting!
SOC:  Miss O’Hara, Miss O’Hara, Miss O’Hara!  The war!  The war!  The war!  It’s a starting!
CHAR slaps SOC and SOG, regains composure.
CHARTREUSE:  Fiddle-dee-dee.  Everyone is leaving me?
SOG:  Everyone.  Will that upset you?
CHAR:  I’ll cry on my pillow every night.
SOG:   Oh, Miss O'Hara, I've told you I loved you. I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world. And the sweetest, the dearest. I know that I couldn't hope that you could love me, so "clumsy and stupid, not nearly good enough for you. But if you could, if you could think of marrying me, I'd do anything in the world for you, just anything, I promise!
CHAR:  What?
SOG:  Marry me, become Mrs. Chuck Hamilton.
CHAR:  Eh, why not.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, Tangerine, that makes us sisters!
CHAR:  Fiddle-dee-dee.
SOG:  Ladies, do you remember Brett Rutler?  He’s a great boon to our cause – Captain Rutler is a blockade runner!  Ladies, we’ll need your jewelry for the cause.
CHAR:  We’re not wearing any.  We’re in mourning.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, you can take my ring.
CHAR:  Yeah, sure, mine too.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, I have to tinkle.
CHAR:  the great Captain Rutler.  Noble cause, eh?
BRETT:  Not noble or anything.  Money is money. For profit.  I believe in me.  I love me.
SOG:  Can I have your attention!  We’re gonna auction off some ladies now.
BRETT:  One hundred and fifty for the cow in taffeta!
SOG:  Sold!  One Mrs. Chuck Hamilton aka Chartreuse O’Hara sold to one Brett Rutler.
BRETT:  Here, Char, it’s the latest from Peruvian fashion.
CHAR:  A hat?
BRETT:  To hide that pointy head.
SOC:  Miss Chartreuse!  Miss Chartreuse!  Miss Chartreuse!
CHAR slaps SOC.
SOC:  thanks, I needed that!
CHAR:  What is it?
SOC:  The war’s done come!  The come!
CHAR: Fiddle dee dee war.
SOC:  Atlanta’s burning!  Atlanta’s burning!
CHAR:  Fiddle-dee-dee.
BRETT:  Come with me, Char, to London, Paris, Schenectady . .  Melonhead is having a baby.  It must be hard for a man to love a woman with a baby.  It’s a lot easier to love a woman that’s cold and hard and doesn’t care about her future, only her looks and what men see in her.  Just like me.  You are just like me.
CHAR:  I hate and despise you, Brett Rutler!
BRETT:  Frankly, Chartreuse, I don’t—
CHAR:  Not yet.
SOG:  Miss Wilts is gonna have the baby any minute now.
CHAR:  What we gonna do?  What we gonna do?  What we gonna do?  I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies!
SOC slaps CHAR
CHAR:  Thanks, I needed that.
SOC:  You can do it, miss O’hara.  You can deliver this child!
CHAR:  Melonhead!  Let’s go!
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, I’m so tired.
CHAR:  Move it or lose it!
BRETT:  Now that we’ve decided to flee Atlanta, I’m going to leave you three women on your own and help the boys in gray fight a losing battle.
CHAR:  You’re kidding!
BRETT:  Selfish to the end, O’Hara.
CHAR:  I’m so helpless.
BRETT:  Like a Tiger on steroids.
CHAR:  What?
BRETT:  Nothing!  God help any Yanks who try to capture you.
CHAR: Don’t leave me!  I’ll never forgive you!’
BRETT:  I don’t want you to forgive me.  There’s one thing I do know, I love me.  And you, of course.  We’re bad lots, both of us.  I love you (and me).  I know that is one thing I know I know that I’ve known.  My love.  Look at me!  Love me!  I love you more than I love any woman, and almost as much as I love myself.  I’ve waited for you for a loooooong time.  Kiss me.  Kiss me.  Kiss meeeeeee.
CHAR:  You low-down dirty coward.  I hope you get an ass full of cannonballs!  I hope you get fleas nesting in your undergarments!  I hope you get covered in paper cuts and fall into a vat of lemon juice –
BRETT:  I get the idea.  So long.
CHAR:  Look, Melonhead and Prissy!  It’s Scarra!
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, Burnt Umber, it looks like Scarra is surrounded by Yankees!
CHAR:  I’m home!  It’s my servant!
SOG:  Miss O’Hara!  I have good news and bad news.
CHAR:  I’ll take the bad news first.
SOG:  Everybody is sick or dead, the barn’s burnt down, there is no food, we’re surrounded by angry Yankees, there’s only me left as a servant, and there ain’t nothing but a few radishes in the garden.
CHAR:  What’s the good news?
SOG:  This skit is almost over!
CHAR:  Fiddle-dee-dee!  As God as my witness, they are not going to lick me-
ALL:  Eeeehttp://www.
CHAR:  Shaddup!  I’m going to live through this and when it’s all over I’ll never go hungry again!  No, nor any of my folk.  If I have to lie, cheat, steal, kill, maim, embezzle, pinch, wait, conquer, destroy, use my feminine wiles, dance the hokey-pokey, sell dope, or play cards, as God as my witness, I will never go hungry again!
SOC:  The war!  The war!  The war!  It’s over!
CHAR:  thank God!  We can plant some cotton.  It will go sky-high next year.
SOC:  Mr. Ashley Wilts is back!
CHAR:  Ashley, Ashley, Ashley!
ASHLEY:  Chartreuse!  Chartreuse!  Chartreuse!
CHAR:  I need help!  Scarra needs help.  Help with the land!
ASHLEY:  Of course, how dumb of me – civilization is crumbling but I should think of your precious plantation.
CHAR:  Don’t you love me?
ASHLEY:  No, even if I’m lying I don’t love you.
CHAR:  leave with me!
ASHLEY:  Never!  I have Melonhead and the baby to think of!
CHAR:  I need money!
AHSLEY:  I have no money.
CHAR:  Take me away!  There’s nothing here!
ASHLEY:  Nothing but honor!  Don’t cry, my dear!
CHAR:  I love you, Ashley!  Take me away!
ASHLEY:  Frankly, Chartreuse, I don’t –
CHAR:  that’s not your line.
ASHLEY:  Sorry.  I’m taking Melonhead and the baby away!
CHAR:  Say you love me!
ASHLEY:  Fine, I love you, now get off my back woman!  You have Scarra!
SOG:  I plan on buying Scarra.  I know how much trouble you’re in, Miss O’Hara.
CHAR:  I ain’t sellin’.
SOG:  Come on, I hear your daddy’s an idiot and you can’t survive here.  Stupid Irish.
CHAR:  Stupid Yankee!
SOC:  Miss Chartreuse, Miss Chartreuse, miss Chartreuse.  (Slaps herself)  I needed that!
CHAR: Whut now?
SOC:  Cap’n Rutler coming.  Cap’n Rutler coming!  Cap’n Rutler coming!
CHAR:  I’m so thin and pale and I got nothing to wear and don’t feel like doing the Carol Burnett shtick!
SOC:  But it always gets a good laugh, Miss O’Hara!
CHAR:  We’re skipping ahead!  Brett get in here!
BRETT:  Frankly,
CHAR:  Not yet.
BRETT:  What do you need, Chartreuse?
CHAR:  300 dollars to pay the taxes on Scarra!
BRETT:  What will you give me as collateral?
CHAR:  My ear bobs?
BRETT:  nope.
CHAR: The mortgage on Scarra?
BRETT:  Don’t want it.
CHAR: Tupperware?
BRETT:  Keep trying.
CHAR:  Beatles White Album?
BRETT:  Tempting, but no.
CHAR:  Me.  Is it me you want?
BRETT:  You’re not worth three hundred dollars.
CHAR:  I’ll be there when they hang you.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, this is an odd transition, but it’s so nice that you got the money to pay the taxes by marrying the rich Mr. Franklin so suddenly, Azure Blue.
CHAR:  Char – Why do I even try?
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, Crimson, you sold yourself into a marriage to get the money.
CHAR:  We’re starting a lumber business.  All of us!
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, I am going to New York.
CHAR:  I do declare, I think I’m going to strangle the life out of you.
ASHLEY:  Never mind, we’ll go to Atlanta for the lumber business, Chartreuse.
CHAR:  Well, that was a quick decision.
ASHLEY:  Had to advance the plot somehow.
CHAR:  Back to Atlanta.
ASHLEY: Back to Atlanta.
BRETT:  It’s no good, Chartreuse.
CHAR:  What?
BRETT:  The cologne.  Too eau du drunken hobo.
CHAR:  I’m so afraid, Brett.  I’m afraid of going to hell.
BRETT:  You could be management.
CHAR:  I killed my husband.  I did.  I did.  Boo-hoo.  Boo-hoo-hoo.
BRETT:  Enough with the crying jag.  You’re like the thief who’s not sorry he stole but very very very very very very very very sorry he’s going to jail.  I see you have the lumber mill and money and all sorts of hoo-hahs.  So, marry me.
CHAR:  I’m sorry, what?
BRETT:  you’ll marry me.
CHAR:  No I won’t
BRETT: Yes you will
CHAR: No I wont
BRETT will
CHAR won’t
BRETT willwillwillwillwillwill
CHAR wontwontwontwontwont
They kiss
CHAR What the hell!
BRETT Ohh look at my blue eyed bonnie!
CHAR We’re having a party for Melonhead!
BRETT You’re going to that party whether you like it or not!
CHAR  You’re drunk!
BRETT  And I plan on getting drunker!
CHAR  Take your hands off me, you drunken fool!
BRETT Let’s admit our mistake and get a divorce.
CHAR  A divorce?
BRETT A divorce.
CHAR  You’ll never take my child!  Never!
BRETT  If you were a man, I’d break your neck!
CHAR  I’m going to have another baby and I wish it were any man’s but yours!
BRETT  maybe you’ll have an accident!
CHAR slips and falls
BRETT  Forgive me.  I’m sorry, I’m sure we can be happy together.
CHAR  What’s our baby Bonnie doing?
BRETT  Don’t jump!
CHAR  Don’t jump, Bonnie, don’t!
CHAR  Don’t
BRETT She did it.
CHAR She died.
BRETT She did.
MELONHEAD:  I do declare, I’m dying.  Do treat Mr. Rutler, kindly, Clementine, he is a good man.  And look after my Ashley Wilts for me when I’m gone.
BRETT Convenient to have the first wife’s permission.  I want a divorce.
CHAR  Here we go again.
BRETT  Please remember some dignity to get out of this marriage.
CHAR  Don’t leave Brett!
BRETT  you love Ashley, I saw you with him this morning!
CHAR  No, I never really loved Ashley.  I loved you Brett!
BRETT:  I’ve had enough of this crap, I’m going to Charleston.
CHAR:  Charleston!  What will I do!  Where will I go!  If you go, what will I do?
Pause, everyone comes out and looks at Brett.
BRETT:  Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.
NARRATOR:  this concludes the Attention Deficit Theatre’s production of a classic film that is highly overrated.

Notes on Sunday the 17th

Well, I spent the day in the sun, trying to catch a tan.

To be more accurate, I was tied to a cross and blindfolded, left to cook in the heat.  Why?  Bait, maybe?  No, no, something far more nefarious.

I don't really know how long I was standing in the heat, tied to that large metal cross, but salvation came quickly with buckets of water falling from the sky.  The wetness of the rain mingles with my greasy sweat, and I felt the bindings loosen a little.  I squirmed and struggled and pulled, trying to free my right hand.  It finally tore free, but I left some skin and blood on the rope.  I untied my left hand and then pulled the piece of cloth off of my eyes.

The rain came down in thunderous sheets for a few minutes, and stopped altogether.  I was mostly free, but had trouble with the knot they did around my ankles.  Then I heard several things.  The first was a scream from a woman, and I turned to look - it was Lynette, standing in the rain, pointing at me with her left hand, her right holding a sinister looking pitchfork.  Lynette's mouth was open unnaturally large.  I doubled my efforts to untie my feet.

"The sacrifice is trying to escape!"

Sacrifice?  WTF!  I tripled my efforts.

Silence fell and I had an uneasy feeling.  I looked up towards the road and the forest beyond.  It seemed to move on it's own and sounds came from the interior, snaps and cracks and thrushing of leaves.  On top of that, and the most chilling, were the low moans and. . . whispers?  The zombies were whispering?  I quadrupled my effort.

Lynette ran to the cross and smacked me hard across the face.  I felt blood trickle from my mouth and nose.  Lynette looked down at me, anger flaming in her eyes and around her wrinkly chin.  Her hat had fallen off and her straw-like hair wisped wildly in the air, the ends wet from the rain.

"You will destroy everythin we worked fer!  You needs to be sacrificed to save the rest!  It has been written!"

She hit me again.

"Hatters, he's trying to 'scape!"

I brought my arm up to fend myself from another hit and it knocked her off-balance and she tumbled down the stairs and onto the ground on the other side of the barricade.  The zombies saw her fall and picked their pace up from a shamble to a disjointed walk.  Lynette recovered a bit and saw the army of darkness descending upon her.  I untied the knot just as six men with rifles and long black robes exited from the barn.  They ran towards me, saw I was free, and stopped to take aim.  I dropped flat on the platform just as several shots rang out, zipping around me.  To my right was the group of straw-hatters, to my left, Lynette and an army of zombies.  I felt so incredibly. . . fucked.

Just a second, I heard something.  Let me check it out, then I'll tell you how I escaped.

Journal Note

This journal has not been used in a while (since I haven't acted in a while), so it's becoming my writing/acting experiment.

The whole Blog Like it's the End of the World inspired me to keep writing, so this journal is now dedicated to Michael North trying to get back to his hometown after the "Zombie" outbreak of 6-13-07.

A Friends only journal. Also crossposted on the LiveJournal community - zombie_uprising.


Hi, I was just cast in a production of Much Ado About Nothing as Benedick. It's been a while since I've acted, so I'm a little nervous. It's a community theatre production, so I don't know how it will turn out. I've decided to keep this little journal to keep record of what happens.

EDIT 10/18/04
The show has closed and this journal (the Much Ado About Nothing section) has been locked.