Brian Brijbag

In a late-night train station, a resigned professor and a grieving poet debate probability, loss, and the impossible. What begins as an intellectual exercise slowly gives way to something more fragile and human, as the two discover that even the most unlikely arrivals - whether elephants or second chances - can restore belief in connection.

Funeral of god is a full-length absurdist tragicomedy set on a bare stage where a troupe of performers attempts to rehearse - and ultimately perform - the funeral of a divine presence. As they navigate rituals, eulogies, and half-remembered blocking, they confront the collapse of faith, the slipperiness of meaning, and the haunting silence at the center of existence.
The DIRECTOR clings to order; HELEN clings to reverence; MARVIN clings to cynicism; JAX clings to humor; and the STAGEHAND speaks only through action. Together, they circle a casket that is alternately empty, glowing, breathing, or symbolic - never fully knowable.
Across both acts, the characters debate whether god is dead, late, sleeping, watching, or simply uninterested. Scenes unravel into meta-theatrical spirals: failed warm-ups, quantum casket arguments, cosmic RSVPs, rewound blocking, and improvised theology. The ritual repeatedly breaks under the weight of doubt, comedy, grief, and unspoken longing.
In Act II, the funeral becomes a performance for an unseen audience - possibly the divine, possibly the humans watching from the real seats. When the casket is finally opened, each character sees something different: memory, absence, possibility, themselves. The play culminates in a direct address to the audience, interrogating their complicity in shaping god, grief, and narrative.
By the end, the ritual collapses into raw honesty: nothing changes, everything changes, and meaning is a rehearsal that never quite reaches opening night.

On an early weekday morning aboard the Staten Island Ferry, SAL - an aging shoeshiner who has spent decades working the same route - encounters JULES, a frantic young professional rushing toward a job interview he may not even want. What begins as a brusque, comedic exchange about time, dignity, and shiny shoes unfolds into an intimate reckoning with grief, ambition, and the cost of never slowing down. As the ferry moves steadily between Manhattan and Staten Island, the two men - strangers bound briefly by transit - discover that the space “in between” may be the only place where reflection is still possible. The Last Shine is a quiet, deeply human two-hander about time, work, loss, and the courage to stop running long enough to be seen.

On their first night in a grim, barely affordable apartment, newlyweds KARA and ETHAN attempt to convince themselves that love - and disinfectant - will be enough. When ETHAN faints at the sight of a cockroach, KARA is left alone with SAL: a bathrobe-wearing, memoir-writing roach who claims senior tenancy and an uncanny talent for unsolicited therapy. What begins as an absurd infestation becomes an unexpected counseling session about marriage, identity, fear of permanence, and the quiet panic that follows big life choices. As ETHAN slowly revives, KARA must decide whether marriage is a trap, a transformation, or simply another form of cohabitation. Love, Lysol, and Other Delusions is a darkly funny, intimate play about commitment, survival, and learning to live comfortably with what refuses to disappear.

In a quiet funeral home office, a grieving adult arrives demanding a refund for a funeral that has already taken place. What begins as a procedural dispute between a CUSTOMER and a calm, bureaucratic funeral home REPRESENTATIVE evolves into a darkly funny and deeply human confrontation about grief, control, and the limits of planning ahead. As contracts, policies, and “authorized forms” collide with unresolved regret and emotional avoidance, the play interrogates whether paperwork can ever substitute for presence, forgiveness, or saying goodbye. The Customer Is Always Dead is a two-character dark comedy about institutional grief, emotional deferral, and the moment when a person realizes that what feels like a customer service failure is actually the cost of being human.

As a hurricane bears down on a modest Florida home, longtime spouses DORIS and EARL argue over what may be the last slice of key lime pie - a stand-in for unresolved tension, lingering affection, and the quiet fear that their marriage may not survive the storm. When an eccentric neighbor known only as FLORIDA MAN bursts in with apocalyptic warnings and wildly impractical survival instincts, the argument escalates into a comic standoff over scarcity, legacy, and what’s worth protecting when everything feels like it’s about to disappear. Set entirely in a small kitchen during a single afternoon, The Last Key Lime Pie is a sharp, funny, and tender examination of marriage, mortality, and choosing connection over panic when the wind is loud and the future uncertain.

This play won Second Place in “Best Drama” at the 2025 Tampa Bay Theatre Festival.

Dog-Eared Truths by Brian S. Brijbag, Esq. is a haunting, intimate two-character psychological drama that blurs the line between memory and self-confrontation. In an undefined realm that exists everywhere and nowhere, Ronan- a man burdened by regret and self-doubt - faces Caelum, an ageless presence who holds a mysterious book containing every detail of Ronan’s life. As the pages turn, Ronan is forced to revisit his deepest wounds, missed opportunities, and unspoken fears.

Through sharp, lyrical dialogue, the play unfolds as a metaphysical reckoning between a man and the mirror of his own conscience. Dog-Eared Truths explores the fragility of identity, the courage to face one’s past, and the possibility of rewriting the story before the final page is turned. It is a profound meditation on guilt, hope, and the human need for redemption - where truth itself becomes both the wound and the cure.

At a county fair baking contest, retired science teacher Marjorie Tillman unravels after losing - again - to a flashy rival’s gimmicky pie. Alone with her lemons and knife, she delivers a blisteringly funny monologue about perfection, integrity, and the absurdity of modern taste. As her rant spirals from comedy to conviction, Marjorie transforms from frustrated baker to self-proclaimed “vigilante of citrus,” defending the sacred art of pastry in a world gone sticky with chaos.