Characters:
Shakespearean Actor--Must be overly dramatic.
Californian Shakespearean Actor--Must be overly dramatic, with just a touch of a Californian accent.

This script is dedicated to Joe. Joe who? Jo' mama! Ha ha ha...uh...um...anyway...

Author's Note: Yeah, I have two scripts this week. That's 'cause I won't be here next week; I'm hosting a chunk of the Sci-Fi House Binge. 72 straight hours of sci-fi and fantasy, running all midterm break. Stop by anytime, there's something for anyone.

Author's Note 2: Ahem. Sorry about the gratuitous plug. Anyway, I got the idea for this script in Russia, when I was talking about a bad translation in "Carmen." They had translated a line in such a way that it kept the basic meaning, but removed the metaphor. I said that it was as if they had translated "To be or not to be" as "should I kill myself or not." One thing led to another...

(Note to SA: Overact this in a grand Shakespearean tradition.)
(Note to CSA: Overact this in the grand Shakespearean tradition, but with just a touch of a California accent. But don't overdo the Californian; the primary sound should still be overacted Shakespearean.)

(Shakespearean Actor and Californian Shakespearean Actor are on opposite sides of the stage.)
SA: To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

CSA: Should I kill myself, or not? Gosh, that's a stumper. Is it better to take all the crap that life hands out, and just suck it up and deal, or to off myself? Hey, dying is pretty much like falling asleep, right? And everybody wants to get more sleep. What's more, when you're asleep, you dream! So if I die, I may have all kinds of freaky dreams! Why do we put up with all this crap, like minimum wage jobs, getting dumped, drawn-out lawsuits, and obnoxious bureaucrats, when we could just stab ourselves with needles? Because Death scares the hell out of us, since we don't know what it's like. As a result, we just sit around and talk and talk instead of doing anything about it.

SA:O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

CSA: (Mournfully) Romeo, Romeo, Romeo...why'd you have to be called Romeo? Of all the names you could've picked, why Romeo? (Thoughtfully) Actually, if you think about it, it's not the name "Romeo" I have a problem with, but the name "Montague." I guess "Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Montague" doesn't quite have the same ring to it. Where was I? Oh yeah... Why don't you just give up that name and pretend to be someone else? Then we could get it on. Or if that doesn't work for you, just let me know and I'll change my name! After all, it's not like your name's a body part. It doesn't take major surgery or anything. And hey, what does a name matter? A cow by any other name would still be meat. So you'd still be you, even if you were named Jack or something, right? So give up your name and take me now, like the wild animal that you are!

SA: Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

CSA: Hey, everyone, listen up! I didn't like Caesar any more than the rest of you. After someone dies, everyone takes the chance to dump on 'em, and far be it from me to stop them. Brutus just told you that Caesar wanted to be king. If that's true, he sure paid for it. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't trust Brutus, but Caesar was always one of my buds. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't trust Brutus, but when Caesar kidnapped people, he gave the money to Rome. He felt sorry for the poor, even. Does this sound like someone who wants to be king? But Brutus said he did, and I'm not saying you shouldn't trust Brutus. I offered to let him be king three times, and he said no. Does that sound like someone who wanted to be king? But Brutus said he did, and I'm not saying you shouldn't trust Brutus. I'm not trying to argue with Brutus, I'm just telling you what it looks like to me. You used to like Caesar; what's WRONG with you people? What are you all, nuts? Well, I'm sorry he's dead, and (feign a burst of tears, which you quickly cover up) I'm sorry, I have to go now.

SA: To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

CSA: Life's a bitch, and then you die.

(Exeunt.)