Thursday, May 12, 2011

A Critical Analysis of... The Eleventh Doctor

The Eleventh Hour
Eww, the young teeny-demographic freak Matt Smith! Another Troughton copycat! *spit* That Scottish moron is trying to appeal to children! I refuse to watch a single episode, no matter how good the commoners insist it is - and to think the new showrunner can't even come up with new companions! All he's done is get Mickey and Rose both white and married and thinks we won't notice the difference!

The Beast Below
A sequel to The Ark in Space. With ventriloquist dummies of evil. And the Doctor trying to kill whales. You'd think the Rainbow Warrior had never happened! Too many women in this story - damn hetrosexuals...

Victory of the Daleks
Awesomeness squared! New Daleks! World War II! And stuff! You wouldn't see David Cameron ring the Doctor up because he's sent Cybermen into Afghanistan, would you?

Time of the Angels
Ooh, Weeping Angels come back! BIG originality there, Steve! Give em shit loads of new superpowers and then have the Doctor wait around until they stupidly get themselves killed. Yeah, really brave and clever. I bet Captain Kirk would have done it a lot better. Amy is a slut. In a red T-shirt. She deserves to die.

Vampires in Venice
This lacks the bite of previous seasons. Get it? Bite? Coz of vampires? Bite? Funny? No? Little bit? No? Nothing? Funny? No? Amy is a whore who deserves to be raped by a fish, which is why she joins that brothel. And it is a brothel. Oh yes. Don't say otherwise. It's clever to mock child abuse is it? That poor little vampire boy is clearly being sexually molested by his mother and Rory just makes fun of it! THE SICK BASTARD! Also, I would do Madame Calvieri like lightning through a wet dog.

Amy's Choice
Children of Earth was great, wasn't it? I like it because this totally does the same thing, except it's Rory not that Ian-whatever Welsh git who dies and Amy has abortion-by-campervan. And then they laugh about how they killed the baby! The Dream Lord calls them all arseholes. He'd be a much better Doctor. Remember the Valeyard? You wouldn't get him going on about "skullcaps are cool". This story is all about self-harm. So when Matt Smith and Moffat make this show crap, cut yourself to ease the pain. And then watch Space: 1999.

Cold Blood
Ah Pertwee. Silurians. Trite moralizing. Amy getting all upset. I like it when the miniskirted slut cries. Time-crack erasing Rory? The bitch was just on heat and totally forgot him. You know what I hate about this new series full of young people? None of them were in Space: 1999. Yeah, sure Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, but Space: 1999? When is BBC Wales going to wake up and get some quality in?!

Vincent and the Doctor
This episode does not exist. Hound down anyone who says otherwise.

The Lodger
Yay, the yoof demographic get a Doctor who plays football, cockblocks his roommate, sexually harrasses women while showing off his washboard abs and pretends to be a drug dealer! There is a TMNT action figure! FUCKING PRODUCT PLACEMENT! And then the apartment turns out to be a TARDIS. Show your working you dim bastards. And look - another crack. What a surprise.

The Big Bang
Oh wow. The Doctor gets the shit kicked out of him by the Daleks and his companions have to save the day. Rue britannia! Who is this River Song people keep mentioning, I never noticed her. What a stupid fucking story arc - they actually say "it's all a dream!" I bought a Lithuanian sex slave and ritualistically slaughtered her because this plot twist pissed me off so much. Ooh, the Doctor gatecrashes his redhead pal's wedding! Except this time the family are Scottish pricks! WHERE'S BERNARD CRIBBENS, PLOPPY-PANTS?!

Cancel this stupid show!!

A Critical Analysis of... The Tenth Doctor

The Christmas Invasion
What a stupid idea, introducing the new Doctor on Christmas day. No wonder no one liked him, being all suave and sophisticated and camp and gay, with his stupid little "regrow hand" trick which he never uses again and is just in it for some cheap Star Wars imagery. Note how it's the English who get the world into trouble? America didn't make Torchwood or send space probes or invent Cybermen, did it? No. That's the good thing about this Welsh show, they aren't afraid to make America look fricken awesome. Its the Master versus the President that makes things epic. No one cares when he kills English people, but when he attacks Bush and Obama, that's a cliffhanger moment. The English PM doesn't even get a death scene. America rules! USA-USA-STAND-UP-SIT-DOWN-FIGHT-FIGHT-FIGHT!

New Earth
Never heard of it.

Tooth and Claw
Brilliant. Gothic. Hairy. Antimonochist. The Doctor stands up for American values, rejecting the English crown because they fear his innate strength and power, and exile him even though he'll just be the stronger for it and the English are left bitter. Bitter and twisted. You Limey Bastards.

School Reunion
Meh. Sarah Jane Smith. Again. Get over yourself. Anyone heard of Buffy? No? Then make yourself comfortable, this could take a while...

The Girl in the Fireplace
Arthur is a bit like Mr. Edd. Or K9. There's all sorts of companions who never made the grade. I think it would be better if Mickey and Rose died and Reinette and Arthur stayed in the TARDIS. That would be interesting. Clockwork robots? Wow, must have taken five minutes to think that one up.

Rise of the Cybermen
Yeah, the Borg-rip-offs are in da house! And this time, they're just Iron Man painted silver! And they get rid of Mickey. You might say they TAKE THE MICKEY! Mwahahahahahahahahaha! Ah, you Brits and your European sense of humor! This is actually another Big Finish only without that loser Davison in it. Much better.

The Idiot's Lantern
God, more of this stupid English stuff. Other things happened in the 1950s you know! This should have been set in Princess Diana's wedding like Ashes to Ashes did. That was by the guy who did Fear Her. Which is a bit similar to this. And to that ATA episode. Without the drawings eating people. Or the TV eating people. Maybe if there was a giant white clown stalking Rose, it might be interesting. Didn't Tom Baker dress up as a giant white clown at some point? I wonder what Tom Baker's doing nowadays? Oh, look, out of space.

The Satan Pit
SATAN IN SPACE! This isn't just strange, it's quirky. And it brings in the Ood. Because we don't have enough stupid-named aliens wandering about being stupid enough in Doctor Who. Why not have them as blacks if you want people to understand the metaphor? Of course, Bill and Ted fought the Devil. That was cool.

Love & Monsters
This was dismal. To say anything more would risk me killing you.

Fear Her
This story is stupid. Why don't they break the girl's arms to stop her drawing? Why's the mum such a useless bitch? She should stand up for herself instead of singing stupid songs. Yeah, I bet that stopped your husband smacking you - or maybe it encouraged him, coz you can't sing for shit. And those drawings are rubbish.

EXCELLENT! BODACIOUS! PARTY-TIME! Rose leaves in this. The Daleks and Cybermen fight. Man, this practically writes itself. I won't even talk about Torchwood, coz, hell, there's not much room here...

The Runaway Bride
RTD, are you on crack? Donna Noble as a companion? Where's the love interest?! The Doctor wouldn't shag Donna, so what's the bloody point of her?! And why hire someone with a dry sense of humor?

Smith & Jones
Ah. Martha J. Much better. She's significant. And black. But not just black. Coz that would be well racist. And she wants the Time Lord's salty goodness. It's so mature, it's no wonder she got into Torchwood. You wouldn't find that show of professional experts dealing with a thick bint like Donna, would you? Sexual ambiguity, people, that's where the money is. Oh, look. Space rhinos. How quaint. They're like Sontarans. Only not. Policemen are stupid. Anyway, moving on.

The Shakespeare Code
Ptfft. Like Shakespeare's so cool anyway. What's wrong with Mark Twain all of a sudden? He's way cooler.

Oh, what a tortured soul the Doctor is. How noble in reason, how like a god in however the rest of it goes, I think this is McBeth but I'm not sure. And the Macra come back. Just goes to show no matter what you do, people always prefer the Troughton era. Did that have a cat prank-calling geriatric lesbians in a traffic jam? And Being Human, let's talk about that for a while...

Evolution of the Daleks
Woo-hoo! Best story ever! Daleks with legs and Star Trek homilies! Everyone loves this story as the best ever! AND it's in America! AND it's a historical! AND it's a two-parter! There is nothing about this I do not like. Except, you know, getting rid of the new Daleks and keeping the old shithouse ones. Apart from that? Perfection, mofos! PERFECTION!

The Lazarus Experiment
Um... let's talk about how complex the season finale is. Mark Gattis > Pete Davison.


*one eye explodes and blood spurts out of the socket for a long time*

Human Nature
What in the name of Greek buggery is this shit? The Doctor turns himself into an even bigger tool to hide from some scarecrows that can't actually kill anyone? He like meets Joan for five minutes and suddenly he's in love with her and wants to have babies! Randy little David Tennant, more like. Martha is too good for this crap.

Wow, follow scarecrows that can't hurt people with statues that can't hurt people. Or move. And can be defeated with a group hug. This story is so shit the Doctor and Martha try to avoid it. Carey Mulligan did nothing with her life after this story, but Lawrence appeared in Robin Hood. So. Yeah.

The Sound of the Drums
Longest story eva! An epic to rock the foundations of everything! Captain Jack is back! Yeah, he's gonna get some hot loving unlike that poofy wounded humanitarian Doctor who's such a prude. Even the Master thinks he's gay. And then he cries at the end - what a tosser! No wonder Martha dumps his bony ass. What a moron the Doctor is, not using his godlike powers to do more than cop a feel off his enemy. He's so complex and deep... the Master, I mean. You never got motivations like that in the old days. Imagine if Delgado went "My dear Doctor, I must kill you because I have a headache", the world would be a better place. RTD, the pervert, makes the Doctor gay for his own brother. Sick evil bastard. In a perfect world, we'd just watch Torchwood from now on.

Time Crash
Out of all the Doctors, they chose bland boy Davo. Give me fucking strength. They just did this to sell DVDs. Losers.

Voyage of the Damned
They changed the music! Stupid flat orchestral! Did Kylie Minogue write it or something. I hate that fucking bitch. I only watched this to see her die. I bet even her fans want her to die. They fucking applauded. I know I did. I want them all to die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Sorry, miles away. Enough of these pointless celebrity cameos. And isn't the music awful?

Partners in Time (sic)
This is some strange shit happening here, my man. Fat people shake their booty which turns into alien smurfs! What the fuck was RTD smoking! He gets Rose back for this episode... AND MAKES DONNA THE COMPANION! Is that SANE I ask you?!? He could have brought back Rose AND the Rani AND had chest bursters, but no. This is so infantile, what with infants everywhere. Sylvia's a total Mary Sue, calling Donna a stupid cow because the audience can't. She's a way better regular than Jacki.

The Fires of Pompeii
Yay! Another historical! You don't get many of them, do you? You know, this is totally inspired by the Brain of Morbius. Not because of the cults of wise women with psychic powers worshipping sacred flames that threaten to destroy them, but because Tom Baker mentioned Pompeii in that story. The Doctor should have stuck to his guns and let everyone die. Hartnell would have!

The Planet of the Ood
Ooh, ark at them! Western society is bad all of a sudden is it? Those tentacled freaks deserve whatever they get - they only get whipped or insulted when they're stupid. If they were smarter and nicer, they wouldn't be made slaves, would they? And then the Doctor lets them murder people because he's a fucking communist all of a sudden! Ohh, fry Sunali's brain, as long as you sing some fricken Enya afterwards and act all nice! At least psycho black bastard was HONEST!!!

The Sontaran Stratagem
This story explores the ethics of cloning. Rather like the next story. Lets talk about the next story, because it has a fit blonde with big tits in a tight T-shirt and a machine gun. This just has the wussy-wussy-woo-woo peacenik bum Doctor hate guns and hang out with nerds who never get any sex. Luke would be a better companion than Donna. A treefrog would be a better companion than Donna. Martha should have been in this story. If she wasn't, I don't know why. There's a lot of potential in that idea if you ask me. Let's talk about the next one...

The Doctor's Daughter
You know if this was like To The Devil, A Daughter, the Doctor would have got a demon to rape Donna, then tied her up till Jenny was born like a chest-burster, then raised Jenny and had her raped by another demon. Or something. Not entirely sure where I was going with that one. Very Hammer Horror. Plenty of Hammer movies had giant tropical fish with machine guns. Well, one. The one with Servalan as the snake lady who plays the sitar. Jenny's a bit like Servalan. She kills people, flaunts her hideous girly bits, steals things, makes witty bon mots and fakes her death. Blake's 7, eh? Not nearly as good as Space: 1999.

The Unicorn and the Wasp
Yay! Another historical! You don't get many of them, do you? Here's a list of all the historicals since RTD took over, that should pad out a few pages. They say it's a comedy, but whenever Donna makes a joke, the urge to kill rises. I can't believe RTD didn't sack her already. Surely no one could put up with her for this long?!

Silence in the Library
River Song is the Rani. Definitely. This is a fact. I mean, she disguised herself as Mel for crying out loud...

Woo-hoo! Donna ain't in this one! Pity it's just Lord of the Rings meets that Twilight Zone episode. Did I say Lord of the Rings? I meant Lord of the Flies. Definitely. Ahahahah. CAST LIST!

Journey's End
Davros returns like an outbreak of herpes in the longest story ever... well, since the last one anyway. And Cybermen are in it too! Somewhere! Don't ask for details. RTD totally loses the plot. He should have killed Donna and kept Rose. Or at least made the Handy Doctor the Valeyard in his own spin-off. Much better than some dross about Sarah Jane. Oh well, who cares? Just thank God Donna's gone. No one likes her. Or ever will. Clearly an epic failure or else RTD would have brought her back.

The Next Doctor
It's going all peculiar again! They should have got Paul McGann in this. It's just not funny otherwise. The title's a bit of a lie. Is Matt Smith in this? I'm confused. Seriously. The concept is totally over my head.

Planet of the Dead
This story does not exist.

The Waters of Mars
Nor does this one.

The End of Time
WTF?! Time Lords are evil? Thank god RTD's left coz he is totally losing his grip on reality! And then he kills off the Master too! What the hell? Moffat, bring him back, he's way cooler than this emo tosser David Tennant plays! Oh, and the Doctor dies coz of the Immortality Gate! Which is designed not to kill you! You know the definition of "irony", huh? Well, this is it, bitch, THIS IS IT!

A Critical Analysis of... The Ninth Doctor

Yes, John Kenneth "No... Sudden... Moves..." Muir is back for more...

What were they THINKING?!? They get that, that DEVIANT to turn this show into in-yer--face-gay-sex-a-thon?! No wonder Doctor Who is censored in so many countries, like Australia, for example, they never show it there! RTfuckingD wants to make the Doctor a gay man with a girl stalker! Any show could pull off this shit! No sane person can think this is the same show once spoken of in the same breath as Space: 1999, may its tribe increase...

The End of the Road
Yes, this is so sophisticated. Why couldn't that hack Douglas Adams achieve such greatness? And then they ruin it all by having this cold, bitter warrior Doctor trying to murder someone connected with Michael Jackson! Oh, the horror! The stigma! How vapid and backbiting society has become! The last human beings are white girls! And not only does the black chick die, she's actually a tree! RACIST FUCKS!

The Unquiet Dead
Zombies. Fucking zombies. Must have taken them, ooh, MINUTES, to think that up. Zombies and ghosts? How the hell does that work? DOES NO ONE WATCH SUPERNATURAL ANY MORE?!? Charles Dickens created Torchwood!

Aliens of London
Oh god, more of Mickey and her mother. I mean, Rose's mother. Not Mickey's mother. Mickey's mother never turns up. Odd that. Don't black people HAVE parents? RTD you racist bastard! Stupid aliens coming around here, eating our wifes and getting our livestock to pretend to be aliens! Yeah, how are we gonna preach tolerance with an attitude like that? And aliens that fart? You think Ellen Ripley became famous by fighting aliens that fart? A CLUE: SHE BLOODY WELL DID NOT!

No Davros. Oh, wait, they mention him. Goddammit. Doesn't anyone have any original ideas any more? A TV episode based on audio based on a TV episode which isn't as good as Silence of the Lambs in the first place. Adam's more interesting than Rose. Or the Doctor. Or the Dalek come to think of it. Why doesn't Adam get his own spin-off? Just because he isn't a blond with big tits? Damn you, Buffy, you have ruined everything with your revolting internal ovaries! At least we get some hot, throbbing XXX-rated Dalek tentacle action. Oh yeah. GIGGITY!

The Long Game
Simon Pegg - worst Master ever. Albinos are evil too, are they? Oh, and look - ZOMBIES! "Rustle T Davis" what is WRONG WITH YOU?!? I bet you hate Foxtel too! How the hell can a severed head get pregnant anyway? Oh, how manly the Doctor is! How butch! I get turned on whenever he calls someone a stupid ape. I often call people stupid apes. It's true, isn't it? How come Adam and Jack both get fucked over by Satellite Five but only one of them gets a spin-off? HOW IS THAT FAIR! Adam could have been the new Adric, but no, let's get Tom Cruise with a gun up his arse! Everyone involved should be ashamed! Especially Simon Pegg!

Father's Day
Another B-Grade movie. After the Slitheen, had we not suffered enough? They should have kept Pete alive and run over Rose! Goddamn it, this "sacrifice yourself for your child" is just ageist! Sacrifice the kid! It worked for Jesus's Dad, didn't it? I mean, who the hell is interested in Jackie? This episode is set in the same universe as Bottom for Christ's sake! Are we supposed to imagine Eddie and Richie fighting off Reapers? STOP RAPING MY CHILDHOOD, RTD!!!

The Empty Child
Captain Jack Harness in da house! Suddenly things get DARK, mofo! When was the last time we had a bissexual trickster as a companion? Well, apart from Turlough, anyway. And the gay Doctor preeches group sex but refuses to have anything to do with Rose. Is it coz she is a chav? Nancy would be a well-better companion. More zombies. Christ... Stephen Moffit, you overrated loon. No one cares. If people shot the empty child through the head, this would have been over a lot sooner. And Susan's dead? Bullshit.

More Slitheen. Let joy be unconfined. This is worse than Father's Day. We can't change the past, so stop LYING THAT WE CAN!

The Bad Wolf (sic)
This story... intrigues me. Is the Doctor willing to become as vicious as a Dalek? Oh, what moral dilemmas! What enormous genocide, to wipe out a handful of people for the greater good! You never saw Peter (spit) Davidson moralizing like that, the great big wet celery stinking poof. Typical, Rose has to become a Time Lord to turn on the Doctor. This story demonstrates the dangers of STDs, with the Doctor catching aids from kissing a girl without protection and having to die. And then they use all this Hindu/Bhuddist bullshit to turn the Doctor into some Scottish metrosexual! No wonder no one likes him!

In summary... Eclestone was too good for this sinful world of camp! I HATE YOU ALL!!!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Cultural Exchange Part 2


OK, it's time to start afresh and put Doctor Who/Ben Chatham fiction aside, and I will post this whole new sitcom which is intended as a post-modern satire which blends elements of farce with straightforward drama. It will feature an entirely new cast and involve them dealing with topical social problems.

Main characters:

Dave Restal: A tortured 17-year-old hoodie who works in a DVD shop. A disillusioned idealist struggling to accept his sexuality. Dave is slim and resembles "Doomwatch" star Robert Powell in his heyday.

Andrew Beeblebabbrox: Feisty 18-year-old twenty-something who lives in an immature fantasy world, takes drugs and works part-time as odd-job man at a toy store. He physically resembles Paul McGann when he played Peter Marwood in "Whitnail and I".

Nigel Verkoff: Aged around 19, a young and attractive reformed alcoholic with shoulder-length dyed hair and a muscular frame. Personable ex-musician and TV celebrity until a bitter ex outed him live on television. He is a big fan of 180s progressive star Kylie Minogue, embracing his Australian cultural heritage. He also likes singer-songwriters such as Rufus Wainwright and Teddy Thompson.

Evelyn Markson: Swiss-educated and daughter of famous oil magnate. She is attractive and businesslike. She is more mature than the others and strong without being shouty. Also she enjoys classical.


Dave and Andrew are in their flat which is furnished in the style of a retro country house with wooden panelling and bookshelves. It is raining.

Dave: Oh, I simply can't take it any more, Drew. For years I've been attracted to women, but ever since my long-term parter Phoebe abandoned me for being boring, I just haven't found any girl to my tastes.

Andrew: *reading comic* Jeez Louise, cobba! You dun grousin yet? Everyone can tell you're more bent than a wallaby giving a kangaroo it up the back passage!

Dave: Oh, why am I even talking to you? You're so uncouth, you don't even know how to play chess! All you do is sit around all day consuming illegal substances, or pretending to work at that sweatshop. How can you live with yourself?

Andrew: Look at you, cobba. Yer falling ta pieces. If you just took a bit of gunja now and again, you wouldn't be such an upright tight prick! No wonder Phoebe went to another billabong to dip her punani!

Dave: Oh, please, don't mention that harlot in my presence!

Andrew: *confused* You're the one what said her name first, mate.

Dave: Oh, stop bullying me, Drew. I know what you're saying, which makes a change given your appalling grasp of English.

Andrew: Good. Get me a beer from the fridge, ya nancy.

Dave: *does so* Oh, if only I could drink as much bitter beer as you do. It would end the pain. I can't hide it any more, Drew. I admit it. I do bat for the other side. I've been lying to myself all my life.

Andrew: *cracks open beer* Guess it's better than lying to real folk, eh? Ah, lighten up, ya woofter! It's bad enough you take it up the donger without haveing to be a ****ing wuss all the time.

Dave: Oh, but it's worse than that, Drew. It's not just men I crave... but one man in particular.

Andrew: That's very sweet of you, gay-boy, but I'll got all the action a true-blue Aussie could want. And they're all sheilas!

Dave: Oh, don't be so disgusting. It's not you I need... It's Nigel.

Andrew: *stares at him in shock* Cripes.

.................. to be continued.

OK folks, here is the next part of this script:

"A NEW DAWN" cnt'd.

Andrew: You'll never get to give Nigel it up the arse, you stupid ****. He's been totally celibate ever since his boyfriend outed him at the AFL. He's not had a root that didn't involve his right hand for years, if you know what I mean?

Dave: Oh, god, you're so vulgar. You're just like my parents, wanting to punish and humiliate me for the most natural of feelings!

Andrew: I thought your brother Doug was a pansy boy too.

Dave: Oh, but he's too ashamed to tell my parents. This county is so backward it refuses to accept other sexualities. A few political shortcuts and tokenism like the Mardis Gras, but queer-bashing is more popular than boomerangs down here.

Andrew: *farts*

Dave: Oh, no. Did you just drop one?

Andrew: Well, you've been talking crap for five minutes, it's only fair for me to join in, right, cobba?

Dave: Oh god! I hate you! You take a perverse pleasure in tormenting me.

Andrew: *sniggers* You're one ta talk about perverse pleasures!

Dave: Oh, why can't you be more tolerant?

Andrew: Yer right, Dave. I'm being totally unAustralian. Tell you what, I know, I'll help you and Nigel get it together - even if you do frighten the wombats when you're nobbing each other in spit roasts!

Dave: Oh, I suppose I should be grateful, but there are times I wonder why the state wasted thirteen years trying to educate you. Very well, what is this strategem of which you speak, Drew?

Andrew: It's well crafty, mate. See, we set it up so when Nigel comes back he finds you hanging from the ceiling, right, in a noose.

Dave: Oh, Drew, this does not sound a sensible course of activity.

Andrew: You haven't heard the whole brumby, nancy-boy. See, you leave a note saying "Oh, Nigel, I can't live another day without roggering you like a Patrick steveadore" or some puffy gay thing like that. So he sees the note, and he finds out how you feel about him without any stupid queer talk.

Dave: Oh, if you say so. There is a kind of crude elegance to it. But won't I choke to death in a noose.

Andrew: Nah, with the things you pooftahs put down your throats, I bet you can breathe underwater by now!

Dave: Oh, I suppose it's worth a try. *dreamily* Nigel will come in, his lucious locks gleaming against his gravy-coloured skin, and see me dying for our forbidden love. He'll rescue me, there'll be a whirlwind of guilt, of remorse, of self-loathing...

Andrew: And then you'll get out the dildos and the jelly. Score one for Andrew. Andrew the genius. No, Andrew the Super genius.

Dave: Oh, Andrew, if only you could turn down your addiction to drugs, you could be a useful member of the community. It's tragic to see you waste your talents.

Andrew: Dave?

Dave: Oh?

Andrew: When I want a girly poof like you to worry about me, I'll ask. No, wait, I won't. SUCKED IN, LOSER!

There is the sound of someone at the door.

Dave: Oh no, he's here! I can't wait another day, I must do it now!

Andrew: Ooh-er.

Dave: Oh no! Quick, get a noose!

Andrew throws a noose over a light fitting and puts it round Dave's neck, then lifts him up in the air. Dave gurgles and chokes. Andrew returns to the sofa and turns on the TV. Nigel and Eve arrive.

Nigel: *talking to Eve* I can't thank you enough, Eve, for driving me to the job centre. I finally feel like I'm recovered enough from my devastating experiences to reenter the work force. Did you know my ex killed himself last week? He hanged himself in his room. He even left a note saying how he couldn't live without me. If something like that happened again, I think I might not be able to cope!

Andrew: *to himself* Uh-oh.

........... to be continued.

Ok, here is the next part of this outline pitch script:

"A NEW DAWN" continued

Andrew tries to distract Nigel and Eve, stopping them noticing Dave hanging from the ceiling, starting to choke.

Nigel: I don't want to talk to you now, Andrew. My sensibilites have been offended enough.

Andrew: *guiding them into kitchen* Rough day, cobba?

Nigel: You wouldn't believe the trouble. I spent hours at center link. They aren't willing to allow me any more dole payments, even though I cannot possibly resume my media career, given the anti-gay conspiracy in television today. What do they want me to do? Camp it up and wear neck scarves, perpetrating the stereotype?

Andrew: I half wish I understood that and am half glad I didn't. Did all the dole people recognize you and want autographs?

Nigel: Quite so. The rigors of fame and anonymity. I just want to be myself, which is why I live in this substandard housing apartment with you. For all your vulgarity and debouchedness, Andrew, at least you treat me like a human being.

Andrew: Stop trying to flirt, ya queer!

Nigel: I'm not prepared to rise to it, Andrew.

Andrew: That's what all the girls say!

*canned laughter*

Nigel: ...what was that?

Andrew: *holds up phone* I thought my life could do with a laughter track.

Nigel: It would function at a higher quality with a volume control.

Andrew presses a button on his phone.


Andrew: You can easily get a job, though, Nigel. Sure-fire thing, just go to one of those topless dancing places for other perverts. You get your kinky thrills AND you get paid. It works for my bitches, doesn't it?

Nigel: You are the eptiome of pathetic are you not? The only reason you aren't running a child brothel is because you lack the educational standards - and don't come the straight one with me. I know SOMEONE is using gay pornography in this house when I'm not here, and it's not me.

Andrew: It's probably Eve. She looks like she could use a good seeingto.

Nigel: Don't be smutty. Who else in this flat would enjoy my erotica collection?

Andrew: *blinks* Cor, that reminds me! Scuse me, mates, got to see a bloke about a joke.

Nigel: A joke?

Andrew: Yeah. Gallows humor.

*canned laughter*

Nigel: How tiresome he is, is he not, Eve?

Andrew rushes into the living room and releases Dave from the noose.

Andrew: Luv a duck! The poof's not breathing! Good thing that skank in King's Cross showed me what to do if auto-erotic asphyxiation gets out of hand...

Andrew starts to give Dave the kiss of life. Nigel and Eve enter.

Nigel: I knew it.

Andrew: This isn't what it looks like!

......... to be continued.

OK folks, here is the next part of my script:

"NEW DAWN" continued.

Andrew, Dave and Nigel are sitting at the kitchen table as Eve makes them dinner.

Andrew: *to Eve* Hurry up, you stuck-up cow! I'm starving!

Nigel: That hunger is drug-induced! I bet you haven't done a thing to day apart from sexually molest poor David.

Dave: Oh, Nigel, I explained...

Nigel: Don't try and make excuses. Andrew is clearly that most detestable of sexual deviants, a sadio-masochistic rapist in denial at his own homosexuality.

Andrew: Bull****. I get girls between my legs every night. None of them can even walk straight after I've finished with them.

Dave: Oh, don't be disgusting!

Andrew: At least I'm doing it the way god intended instead of the sick **** you queers get up to. When you're not impaling each other's arses, it's all buckets of fish, druidic sacrifice, giant inflatable bananas while you hang upside down in leather restraints...

Nigel: You know nothing about the love gay men can have for each other.

Andrew: Like you do. Your Y-fronts have cobwebs on them.

Dave: Oh, please, this conversation is making me physically ill. And now they've cut off Nigel's benefit payments I'm the only one with a steady income. I doubt we could survive on the pittance Andrew gets even if he stopped hiring prostitutes and buying drugs.

Nigel: We're lucky. Most households have children to feed.

Andrew: No chance of any kids with you two woofters. Mind you, I bet if I got Eve preggers we could get some more cash out of social security.

Nigel: I trust you speak in jest.

Andrew: I trust you speak in bollocks, you dumb gob****.

Dave: Oh, no, he's getting angry again. You see where the path of vice leads?

Andrew: It leads to the ****ing munchies! Where's the food, ya stupid bitch?

Eve hands them plates of food.

Andrew: Stuck in a bedsit with two queers and a chick whose arse is so tight she needs an industrial spanner to sit down, listening to you two whine on and on about your feelings and how no men go down on you... JUST SHUT UP!

Nigel: You may hate us for our sexuality, Andrew.

Andrew: Yes. Yes I do.

Nigel: But you can't live without us. You squander your money on dope and ice and heroine, get easy pleasures from the working girls you haven't caught venereal diseases from, and then you come swanning in here and expect to have your dinner on the table. And I don't know why I do it.

Dave: Oh, and it's so kind of Eve to take the burden of responsibility off your noble shoulders, Nigel. After all, she is better off financially than the rest of us, through no fault of our own.

Andrew drinks another can of beer.

Nigel: Must you consume yet MORE alcohol tonight?

Andrew: It's to wash out the flavor of this gross muck. What is it?

Dave: Oh, honestly, Andrew. This is vegetarian quiche. Do you need a label?

Andrew: I need a stomach pump more like.

Dave: Oh, why don't you watch some television or something populist like that?

Andrew: That does it. I try and help you get your gay arse out of the closet and all I get is abuse. Right, you bunch of fairies can do what you like. My bitches await, and the sooner they get their soapy, fist-like ****s around my **** the better for all ****ing concerned!

Andrew storms out.

Nigel: He's in denial, David. I can tell he longs for you.

Dave: *weeps* Oh, Nigel. I don't long for him, though.

Andrew: I understand. I know what it's like to be obsessed over by those you find completely sexually unattractive. I remember when Channell 28 demanded I have a female sidekick for my current affairs discussion panel. The thought of her naked body, the curling hair, the sagging breasts... I threw up in my mouth, I really did.

Dave: Oh, how awful.

Nigel: Yes, it made that opening monologue rather indistinct, I can tell you. The complaints we got! People thought it was stage fright, that I couldn't act! The paparazzi hounded me, Dave! Even now they never leave me in peace! *sobbs* I'm not sure I can go on any more!

Nigel bursts into tears. Eve comforts him while Dave looks bitter and jealous..................

...................... to be continued.

Here is the next part of this gripping script:

"A NEW DAWN" continued.

It is now evening. Nigel sits on the couch, sipping some finest French wine as Eve massages his feet. Dave is texting on his phone.

Nigel: It's just a pity that television is so popularist nowadays. Where is the classical dramas of yesteryear? Thank goodness the national broadcast imports high quality drama from the BBC or else there would be nothing except philistines hunting crocodiles or eating bush tucker.

Dave: Oh? What's on next?

Nigel: A repeat of the Graham Norton show. High culture I doubt the masses appreciate.

Andrew enters with a gum-chewing redhead wearing a leather jacket over her unwear with numerous tatoos.

Andrew: G'day, sickos. This is Katy from King's Cross.

Dave: Oh dear. I presume she's a prostitute.

Andrew: Don't go all indefinite article, you puff. She is THE prostitute. What she can do with ping pong balls puts most professional jugglers to shame.

Katy: As long as, like, you don't mind the odd bit of furniture getting dented.

Nigel: Ugh. Drew, I will not have immoral happenings under this roof! We have a respectable image to maintain in Suburban Sydney. This isn't Redfern, you know!

Andrew: I'll have you know, we are very much in lust *coughs loud* I mean, love.

Katy: Yeah. By the way, like, I wanna get paid in advance, Drew, you ****.

Andrew: *hands over cash* Yeah, but less teeth this time, ho.

Nigel: That's an obscene amount of money!

Andrew: Right amount for the right job.

*canned laughter*

Katy: That is, like, so lame.

Nigel: For a low-quality slapper like yourself, you show remarkable good taste.

Katy: Dunno. Whatever.

Dave: Oh, Andrew, I can't believe you're wasting that much money on carnal desires!

Andrew: At least I'm getting some, unlike you two nerds from the planet virgin. Besides, I'm going to be rich any minute. *sits down* Good thing the TV's on, I've been looking forward to this for ages. The series final of Australian Idol.

Nigel: Hah! Australian IDLE more like!

Everyone stares at him.

Nigel: I really must circulate with higher quality of individuals. Anyway, Andrew, I'm watching Graham Norton.

Andrew: Oh, for crying out loud! This is approaching critical mass of gaylordism!

Katy: This is, like, a repeat anyway.

Nigel: It still has great cultural significance! Not that YOU would appreciate it.

Dave: Oh yes, it's our favorite program.

Andrew: Get married if you love each other so much.

Dave: Oh, if only. I'm surprised you endorse civil partnerships, Drew.

Andrew: I am more than you wankers think I am.

Nigel: It would be hard to be any less.

Andrew: Besides, with all the pooftahs married to each other, it leaves the chicks for REAL men like me, right Katy?

Katy: Whatever. Are we, like, gonna watch this thing or not?

Andrew: Yeah, go on, Nigel. She has got school in the morning.

Dave: Oh, what a damning indichtment of modern society.

Andrew takes the remote and flips the channel. Dave rushes over to the TV and manually flips it back. Andrew flips the channel, presses a button marked "REMOTE ONLY" and then stuffs it down Katy's bra.

Andrew: None of you wooftahs will reach in there in case you turn straight. Guess we're stuck with Australian Idol for the rest of the night.

Nigel: I do not have to sit here and watch this lowest-common-denominator filth!

Katy: **** off then.

Nigel: Fine! I shall! I shall go to my ****ing-off place, free from common harlots who have had more backstreet abortions than sensible vegetarian meals. Come on, David, let's leave this scum to wallow in its own filth.

Dave: Oh, yes please.

Nigel storms off to another room. Dave skips after him.

Nigel: You too Eve!

Eve follows. In the next room, Nigel broods over a dart board.

Dave: Oh, Nigel, I... I know it's hard to believe, Nigel, but I'm a very lonely person.

Nigel: Nonsense. You just need to find the right girl, someone who looks good on your arm, who your parents will accept. Do you know how many girls there are in the world?

Dave: Oh, Three point five billion. And do you know how many I've been intimate with?

Nigel: No.

Dave: Oh... None. Not even that hussy Phoebe.

Nigel: Statistically that's really quite impressive, isn't it?

Dave: Oh, no, you see, Nigel, what I'm saying is...

Nigel: You know, David, I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time, you see. 21st Century Australia, a backward hole of degenerate convicts ruled by some ineffective Welsh tart who only seized power by backstabbing her far superior leader. No, that Rudd woman isn't a patch on Queen Elizabeth. Either of them. You know, I'd be better suited to the Shakespearan era, the seventeenth century, a time of passion and creativity unlike the vapid celebrity-obsessed yoof culture of today. I'm just too good for this vile world. Eve, pour me some absinthe.

Dave: Oh? Absinthe? Isn't that the drink that makes you want to kill yourself?

Nigel: I know you were poorly educated, David, but try not to let the common insularity affect your perceptions.

Eve pours them fizzy green drinks.

Nigel: They say Telouse Lautrec used to drink this.

Dave: Oh?

Nigel: Yes, apparently it made him go blind. Pah, lightweight.

They drink. The effect is instantaneous.

Nigel: Dammit, David, why don't we have regular lovers? Why haven't you got a girlfriend, Dave? You'd look great with a girlfriend.

Oh, never had one. Never will.

Nigel: Maybe you're the new Messiah.

Oh, yeah! Maybe that's it!

A long pause.

Dave: Yo! Pretty boytoys around the world,
Got a weird thing to show you
So tell all the boys and men.
Tell your brother, your cousin, and your father too!
'Cause we're about to throw down
And you'll know just what to do!

Nigel: Wave your hands in the air
Like you don't care!
Glide by the people
As they start to look and stare.

Dave: Ah word up!
Everybody say,
When you hear the call,
You've got to get it underway.

Nigel: Word up!
It's the code word,
No matter where you say it
You'll know that you'll be heard.

Dave: Now all you useless heteroes who think your fly,
There's got to be a reason and we know the reason why.

Nigel: You try to put on those airs and act real cool!
But ya got to realize that you're acting like fools!

Dave: Give us music, we can use it! Be free to shag.

Nigel: We don't have the time for psychological romance.

Dave: No romance, no romance, no romance for me!

Nigel: C'mon hunky baby, tell me what's the word?

Both: Ah word up!

They slump back in their chairs. In the main room, Andrew and Katy are enjoying a bit of sex on the sofa.

Katy: Oh yes, yes, faster..... YES - give it to me!

Andrew: Stop moaning while I'm giving you one, you dim tart!

Katy: Like, Drew.

Andrew: Don't call me that, you daft bint.

Katy: Whatever. What should I call you then, like?

Andrew: Something subtle, understated, yet with a certain earthy dignity.

Katy: *thinks* Hmmm. "Lieutenant Sex Machine, Homicide?"

Andrew: Yep. That'll do.

Katy: So, Lieuitenant, like, why are you so desperate to watch Australian, like, Idole?

Andrew: Because I nicked Nigel's credit card put all his money on who would win. That way, if I lose, Nigel's the one who's poor and if I win I get to keep the money on little luxuries like you and the weed.

Katy: *shocked* That is well minging, like, officer.

Andrew: I don't pay you to care about my loveable hijinks, bimbo. You're only here because - me balls are like rocks! Now keep wriggling... be continued.

OK folks, here is the penultimate part of this successful satirical sitcom:


Andrew and Katy are having sex on the sofa.

Katy: mmmm ooohhhh mmmm yes, like - ah deeper thrusts .. mmmmm, whatever.

Andrew: Cor, girl, I can do without the running DVD commentary!

Nigel storms in.

Nigel: Andrew! What is the meaning of this?!

Andrew: What do I look like? A ****ing dictionary?

Nigel: You stole my credit card and put all the money on who would win some ghastly talent show for the educationally subnormal!

Andrew: Who says?

Nigel: Eve told me!

Andrew: Oh, that mouthy tart! She never shuts up!

Dave: Oh, Andrew, to compound it all you're not only playing merry hell with our financial security, you're soiling the sofa with that whore's juices!

Andrew: Do I preech at you when you're giving it to Nigel up the arse?

Nigel: Tch. More queer bashing. I'll have you know I have never had sex with Dave.

Dave: Oh, um, Nigel, about that...

Nigel: I demand you remove the bet you placed!

Andrew: No.


Nigel: OK, I find myself out of options. Eve, call the police!

Katy: *worried* You can't arrest me, I've, like, got the school certificate to revise for!

Dave: Oh, I'm sure the Depertment of Education won't even miss you, since you're clearly so stupid you can't even spell your own name!

Katy: Oi, at least I don't start every sentence with "Oh"!


Dave: Oh, I do not.

Andrew: Much as I want to get back to this interrupted ****ing, I have to say, she's got you over a barrel there.

Dave: Oh, Andrew...

Nigel: The backward troglodyte is right, David. It is a most annoying verbal tic.

Dave: Oh, what verbal tic? *twigs* Oh no! Oh, I can't stop!

Andrew: I weep with sympathy. Now can you let me get back to ****ing this harlot? The only reason she doesn't charge by the hour is that she's rubbish at long multiplication!

Nigel: Well, I suppose there's nothing to do except watch as you put all my life savings down the drain, since it is obvious that you can't pick a winner if your so-called life depended on it.

Nigel and Dave sit down on the sofa next to Andrew and Katy.


Katy: *twists around* I want to watch too, like.

Andrew: GIMME A ****ING BREAK!

Nigel: Which contestant did you bet my hard-earned money on, Drew?

Andrew: Oh, I dunno. Alistair something.

Nigel: Not Alistair Jennings!

Andrew: Maybe, does it matter?

Dave: Oh, Andrew, didn't you realize - Alistair Jennings was the ex-boyfriend who outed Nigel on TV all those years ago!


Andrew: I still don't care, though...

............... to be continued.

OK, here it is. The final gripping scene in this major new stage sitocm:


Nigel: Andrew, I can't believe you put my money on someone who deserves to lose!

Andrew: Stop yer moaning, poof! Of course he deserves to lose, which is why I got odds of a thousand to one - so if he wins I stand to make ten million dollars, fair dinkum! Just imagine how much pot I could smoke and how many hookers I could hire!

Katy: *upset* Aint I good enough for you, like?

Andrew: I don't pay you to talk, bimbo.

Announcer: "In second place, number twelve, Amelia Lockhart."

Dave: Oh, Nigel, she's the favorite! We're in with a chance!

Nigel: This is the ultimate humiliation! Either way, I lose! Betrayed by my love yet again, the pain sears me with its injustice.

Announcer: "And this year's winner of Asutralian Idol is.."

Andrew: Here it comes!

Katy: Oo-eer.

Announcer: "..Number seven, Susannah Lewis."

Dave: Oh, I don't believe it!

Andrew: *drug-fueled anger* it's a fix!

He throws a bong through the television, which explodes.

Andrew: Someone get me the TV station on the phone! I wanna complain in the strongest possible terms! They made me break the TV!

Katy: *confused* So, like, did we win?

Nigel: Stop talking you vacuous prostitute!

Andrew: Will you two go off and bugger each other while I get me oats?

Dave: Oh, no, we've lost everything thank to you!

Andrew: Ahahah. That's the clever bit. I never actually put the bet on. All my dealers were after cash, so I gave them your credit card and spent what was left over on that dull-witted slut. I just said I did so that you'd insist we watch Australian Idol.

Nigel: Well, the joke is on you, Andrew. That was just my expenses account. I still have plenty of money and I intend to use some of it to sue you for deformation of character, and get you cleaned up and on a work for the dole scheme. It's time you made some kind of positive contribution to this household.

Dave: Oh, hang on. That means that you've been keeping money back from us! Oh, Nigel, I thought I could trust you and you've just gone and betrayed us.

Nigel: Don't be so ****ing immature, David!

Andrew: That's pooftahs for you. You can trust them to root properly, let alone anything else. It looks like we're all stuck in the same kayak we were this morning.

Katy: *shocked* Like, bugger me sideways.

Andrew: *flirty smile* I thought you'd never ask.

Everyone laughs. Nigel ruffles Dave's hair.


Cultural Exchange Part 1


Greater Love Has No Man Than This...

Sinking back in the pilot's seat, Ben let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. Not that he'd had any serious doubts about the outcome between himself and the Trods, whose Confederacy had now pledged to serve and protect the human race in honor for Ben's selfless actions in getting Operation: Delta to save the robotic race from the deadly computer virus unleashed by the Slitheen.

"That went well, don't you think?" he said as Kyle sat down.

"I'll believe it went well once we're back at Cambridge, like."

"Well, that shouldn't be very long, should it?" Truth be told, Ben wouldn't mind having them back safe and sound on Earth as soon as possible. He didn't entirely share Kyle's conviction that the Super-Trod had a grudge against Ben for his association with the Doctor, but the giant black and gold robot was quite enough to make a person as uncultured and paranoid as Kyle uneasy.

"Ang about, like," Kyle frowned, pointing at the control panel. "Ain't that the petrol gauge?"

"Dear, dear, Kyle," Ben snorted. "Trodos shuttle craft work on cold fusion technology, not petrol. Honestly, sometimes I really think I'm wasting my time trying to educate you at all. You just refuse to absorb any of the knowledge I have to offer."

"Arright, arright, like!" Kyle complained. "It's the fuel meter! Look at it."

Ben sat up straight. "My, that is looking a little low!"

"If we run out of fuel, what'll happen, like?" Kyle wondered. "We'll just stop or what?"

Ben's keen mind fought off the sudden, pathological desire for absinthe and worked with amazing speed. "If we're inside the atmosphere of Earth when it runs out," he said a few minutes later, "we'll crash!"

Kyle, as ever, looked nonplussed. "Well, you're the one with the degree, like! Any ideas?"


Ben spent the next fifteen minutes very loudly hurling abuse at the Super-Trod over its chav-like betrayal of an Earth Ambassador, immediately deciding this was an assassination attempt to lower the morale of humanity as prelude to a full-scale invasion. Ben's find was filled with nightmarish images of Trod saucers descending while the people of Earth were worried about Ben's state funeral, and the leaders of the world too busy weeping with the tears of a thousand Radiohead albums to organize a defense. How many young people he had inspired would simply give up if he died in a tragic, senseless waste?

Kyle meanwhile had been working frantically to seize control of the shuttle. Since it was controlled by radio signals from the Trod Mothership, it seemed sensible to block that signal and switch to manual control. He had little idea how to maneuver the craft, but if they could get into a stable orbit, maybe Torchwood or the BRG could come to their rescue. It was a small chance, but better than certain death.

"This had better work," Ben blubbered miserably.

"If it doesn't, we're dead like!" Kyle observed grimly. He kicked the transciever circuits apart, shattering them utterly. A light began to flash. "Why aye!" Kyle laughed, indicated a panel marked "MANUAL CONTROL". "We have control!"

"Quickly, ASBO boy!" Ben wailed. "Put all drives onto maximum! We might be able to land before we run out of fuel!"

"No we won't! We'll just crash quicker!"

Ben made a mental calculation using the calculator function of his mobile. "We've only got nine minutes!"

Kyle looked at the fuel gauge as it dropped lower. "There must be some way round this!" he groaned. "How can we make the fuel last longer?" he wondered. "I mean, we need fuel to get to Earth, we need enough fuel to move a shuttle this heavy to Earth... so if the shuttle didn't weigh so much, we'd need less fuel!"

Ben sat back, unimpressed. "What does it matter? We've only got eight minutes left!"

"There has to be something we can do!"

"I don't intend to waste my last minutes doing manual labor!" Ben spat.

"You're gonna sit around waiting to die? If we can lighten the load, the fuel might be enough to get us to land," Kyle concluded.

"It's a waste of time, Kyle."

"Well then, it'll be the last time we ever waste. We can at least make the effort," Kyle said, reaching over to haul Ben to his feet. "Come on!"


Ben clearly didn't believe this would make enough of a difference, but pitched in anyway - and pitched out whatever presented itself. He'd balked when Kyle made to put the crate of exclusive Blue Ridge Columbian coffee and Harrods silk pyjamas Ben had brought with them as luxury baggage out the airlock, but really, it was hardly vital equipment under the circumstances. He would make Kyle pay back the seven thousand pounds he now owed Ben once they were safe on Earth.

Ben strongly suspected the shuttle wasn't going to make it. They'd jettisoned everything possible, but were still overweight. "Dump this, like!" Kyle commanded as he pulled the small cart from its place.

"This? Wake up, Kyle! It only weighs about half a kilo. That won't make any difference."

"Just do it, like!"

The smoothe-chested amateur matched stares with Kyle for a second, then started towards the airlock.

This recent uppity behavior was going to be punished when all this was over.


Back on the flight deck, Ben was scrounging for something more to jettison as Kyle checked their position. "We've got about four minutes fifty seconds before we crash, but we're only five minutes away from landing!" he groaned. "We've got to lose more weight!"

"I've lost quite enough weight at the moment, thank you very much," Ben sniffed. "I'm down to a nice ninety-two kilos, thank you very much."

Kyle stood there for a moment, staring at him. It wasn't something that would have normally occurred to him, but now it had been brought up, it couldn't be easily banished.

"What the hell do you think you're looking at?" Ben snorted. With adrenaline-fueled sobriety he suddenly realized what was suggested, even as the seconds literally ticked away. "You can't seriously expect me to sacrifice myself! How do you know it would even help?"

"That's ninety-two less kilos to shift," Kyle pointed out. "I'd do the same for you!"

"Then do so!" Ben spat, annoyed Kyle had not already done so.

"But I only weigh seventy!" Kyle protested. "That's 22 kilos less than you! There's more chance of me making it than you!"

"All right," Ben said nobly. "Come and see me off," he said and moved out towards the airlock hatch...

...and at the last second flung himself at Kyle, knocking him to the deck.

Ben managed to straddle Kyle and (trying not to enjoy the homoerotic thoughts bubbling through his mind) used his superior weight to keep the younger man down while he reached out for the hatch. When he had it open, Kyle shoved Ben, hard, spending him sprawling through into the airlock. But then Ben was on top of him again, grasping him around the waist, hauling him into the airlock as well and wrestling him down. Trying to get free again, Kyle rolled them over and over until they were both out of the airlock again.

In desperation, Ben reached out for the eject button in the hope that Kyle would be sucked out into space before Ben was, and he'd be enough to shut the hatch in time.

Alas, Ben was never fully aware of Kyle's capabilities and regularly underestimated. Kyle swung his uninjured right arm and hit Ben in his perfect - if glass - jaw. The millionaire playboy slumped to the floor as Kyle stood, breathing heavily. He felt like kicking Ben, but restrained himself - they were both running out of time. If there was too little fuel left, they were finished anyway.

Sweat dripping from his forehead, Kyle dragged Ben's limp form towards the airlock. Ben was crying with fear, gripped with fear of death... and sacrifice.


Feeling the shuttle shift and gain momentum, Kyle threw himself into the chair and took the controls, managing to guide the shuttle into a landing outside the Mermaid Wine Bar where Katie, Barry Tuck and Shakey Jake were waiting for him. The shuttle shook as it clanged into the deserted carpark.

The hatch opened and Kyle marched out. "Get me a drink, you sexist bastard," he ordered Tuck.

Katie was the first to move after him. "Just hang on a moment," she called after Kyle's receding back. "What about Ben?"

Kyle didn't break step. "What about him?"

"What about...? Well, where is he, for a start?"

"Ben didn't make it," he said, concentrating on what he was doing. He might have been deliberately trying to avoid facing Katie, or any or all of them, but somehow he didn't give that impression.

Katie's face fell in horror. "You mean, he's dead? How?" she demanded. When Kyle didn't answer, she walked over and forced the man to face him. "How, Kyle? How did it happen?"


Kyle couldn't do it. He couldn't, even though he had dragged Ben into the airlock, even though it was either him or both of them.

Ben stood there with the tracks of tears on his face, wanting, wanting so much to live, but knowing he was doomed. Just when Kyle was about speak, Ben took the decision out of his hands. With a jerk faster than Kyle could move, Ben slammed his hand down on the door button. The airlock door shut in Kyle's face, with Ben on the other side of it. Then the lock cycled through, and he was gone in a glitter of frozen fog, like a mist of tears.

Kyle clung to the door, stunned. Then he shook himself - the shuttle still needed piloting, there were no spare moments to waste. No more sacrifices to waste. He stumbled to the flight deck, as unheeded tears trickled down his face.

"Them Trods'll pay, my friend, they'll pay," he growled as he urged the shuttle towards Earth.


When Kyle finished the story, looking the others squarely in the eyes, Barry Tuck gasped in shocked astonishment. Katie found himself unable to speak. Shakey Jake raised an eyebrow.

"He did what?" spluttered Katie.

"He sacrificed his life to save me," Kyle lied, snatching a bottle of cheap cider and downing it one go. "You lot, you slow or somthin? The shuttle was overweight. Ben jumped out the airlock just in time."

Katie backed away from Kyle as if she couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Just like that? I take it you got rid of the luggage as well?"

"Course I did, like! We chucked that first, if it's any consolation! It didn't help. Life's like that!"


The shuttle lurched as it fought the gravity of Earth, and Kyle hissed angrily as he was thrown against a storage compartment. "He's going to get me!" Ben sobbed from the airlock. "He's going to get me! Oh God, where is he? Get me and get it over! No, don't get me! I want to live! I'm miserable but I want to live! I I must live! I HAVE A DEGREE!"

Ben suddenly took out his hip flash and smashed it on the airlock hatch, turning it into a kind of broken glass and metal dagger. Kyle's eyes drew wide with astonishment as Ben leapt from the alcove, thrusting the makeshift weapon at his former friend's chest.

At the last moment, Kyle grabbed Ben's arm, twisted it and forced the jagged edges into Ben's own smooth chest. As he wasn't wearing a shirt, the weapon surged upwards under his ribcage. Ben Chatham collapsed with a small sound, toppling backwards into the airlock.

Kicking Ben's legs through the portal with enough force to make his back twinge, Kyle shut the door and cycled the lock.


"I can't believe the Trods were so afraid of Ben they'd try to kill him!" Katie mused.

"You'd be surprised at what people will do, when they're desperate enough," Kyle said later, when the Mermaid Wine Bar had been drunk dry in memory of Benjamin James Sebastian Chatham.

Shakey Jake approached him, his lip trembling. "Suppose that's what yer call the only logical solution, right?"

"Just how hard did you try to save Ben?" asked Barry Tuck with woozy cunning.

"About as hard as I did to save meself, like," he replied. "How hard would you have tried?"

"Kyle," said Katie defensively, "wouldn't let Ben down if he could help it."

"Isn't that his problem, not mine?" the barman retorted.

Kyle went to the kitchen, ostensibly to search for another wine bottle but actually searching for the sharpest knife he could find. The odious Tuck was already suspicious. Luckily only he and the other two knew enough about Ben's habits to doubt his story. Getting rid of those three would ensure no one ever connected Kyle to the failed diplomatic trip, as Ben had made sure no one knew Kyle was accompanying him aboard the shuttle. He'd wanted all the glory for himself. He'd have hated the idea of Kyle or the rest of Operation: Delta outshining him.

Well, Ben old mate, Kyle thought as he returned to the wine bar, knife in hand, it's the least I can do...

Monday, May 9, 2011

We Can Be The Angry Hero Summer Heights Boys!

[Ja'mie King is leading Nigel Verkoff around a North Shore high school. Nigel is holding a mobile phone, looking bored.]

Nigel: So, Jamie...

Ja'mie: Ja'mie.

Nigel: Jah-MAY. I hate chicks who get prissy about their names.

Ja'mie: Hello, it is, like, my identity!

Nigel: Your "identity" sounds like a Scottish guy in a skirt.

Ja'mie: I am not Scottish! I was born in South Africa!

Nigel: You still look like a guy in drag, Jamie.

Ja'mie: Ja'mie!

Nigel: You know, you don't look 16.

Ja'mie: [flicks hair] Thanks.

Nigel: You look mid-thirties at least. And particularly rough at that.

Ja'mie: Oh, who cares what you think? You wear those stupid glasses all the time, you look like a total child molestor.

Nigel: Well, I thought about dressing up like an unconvincing drag act, but you beat me to it. And aren't you the Jamie King girl going out with a boy in Year 7, who isn't even ten years old yet? Anyone the pedophile round here, it's you.

Ja'mie: That doesn't count, I dumped him for a whole month.

Nigel: You shouldn't have picked him up in the first place. Bitch.

Ja'mie: How dare you? How dare you call me a bitch!

Nigel: Oh, dear. I call you a man you get offended, I call you a woman you get offended.

Ja'mie: Shut up! I'm only leading you around school because you're the new kid.

Nigel: About twenty years newer than you, Methusalah.

Ja'mie: Are you saying my hair looks like snakes?

[Nigel stops and stares at her.]

Nigel: god, I can hear the brain cells dying of loneliness as we speak.

Ja'mie: I don't dye my hair like you.

Nigel: No. You don't. What do you want, a medal for superb observational powers?

Ja'mie: Like any medal from this bogan school is worth it.

[They start walking again.]

Nigel: You're not a native then?

Ja'mie: Oh, just because you're Aboriginal, don't go all abbo-pride on me?

Nigel: Abbo-pride? You have Tourette's or something, lady? Apart from anything else, I'm legally Japanese.

Ja'mie: Oh, great. Another Asian. Just what this country needs.

Nigel: Says the Seth Efrikan snob.

Ja'mie: I am so totally not a snob!

Nigel: So why do you hate everyone who isn't white?

Ja'mie: I don't, I just don't have patience for them, that's all. It's like being stuck in a remedial class when you're totally smart, surrounded by lesser skanks.

Nigel: Ah, racial supremacy.

Ja'mie: I am not a racist!

Nigel: You're a better racist than you are a teenage girl.

Ja'mie: Shut up! I'm internationally famous, and what are you?

Nigel: I'm surprised you don't know me off television.

Ja'mie: I was too busy being on television myself, you dickhead.

Nigel: Yeah, I saw that. I loved the last episode.

Ja'mie: Good.

Nigel: The one where you lost. In front of millions. Classic. It's the only reason I bought the DVD, to watch your stupid and yet strangely masculine face fall as reality knocked politely on the door and kicked you up your transsexual arse.

Ja'mie: I don't have to put up with this!

Nigel: Sadly, the rest of us do.

[Ja'mie turns and runs down some stairs. Nigel keeps up.]

Nigel: I'm trying to be nice, Ja'mie...

Ja'mie: JAMIE! [twigs] Oh, wait, shit!

Nigel: Hah! Oh, you wouldn't be an intellectual threat to a dead cockroach, would you? Seriously though, Jamie, we have to talk about what an atrocious and callous bitch you are because you're too narcissistic to talk about anything else.

Ja'mie: Bullshit! I can talk about all sorts of stuff!

Nigel: Yeah, course you can. I'm being sarcastic, and I'm telling you I'm being sarcastic because I honestly don't think you're clever enough to realize it on your own.

Ja'mie: Hey, I was dux at Hilford Girls' Grammar School!

Nigel: Like that's anything to be proud of.

Ja'mie: Proud? You fugly dipshit, I sponsor 85 Sudanese children for Global Vision.

Nigel: But only the cute ones. You let ugly children starve to death. I'd say "how caring", but, seriously you don't get sarcasm, do you?

Ja'mie: Hey, I keep the cute ones alive. Or they'd be dead too! I've got the National Record, and Global Vision made me their poster-child.

Nigel: Yeah, part of their "spot the trannie" competition, I bet.

Ja'mie: I do the 40 Hour Famine once a week!

Nigel: And what do you do the other 128 hours? Apart from being a bitch with an eating dissorder?

Ja'mie: Hey, that eating dissorder cost me my breasts!

Nigel: Along with most of your brain. Maybe if you ate properly you wouldn't be a non-functional drag-act with smaller pectorals than the children you CLAIM to sponsor.

Ja'mie: You know, normally I act fake-nice to people...

Nigel: ...well, you're shithouse at acting as much as everything else.

Ja'mie: [ignoring him] ...but I like, totally hate you right now.

Nigel: Remind me why I should care? You hate everyone else at this school.

Ja'mie: Of course I do, they're all stupid povo redneck skank sluts with huge tits, skin problems and no sense of humor!

Nigel: [shrugs] You're the one who can't take a joke.

[They both stop.]

Ja'mie: ...seriously? Is this all a joke?

Nigel: No, I hate your guts. Your lack of humor is entirely incidental.

Ja'mie: Shut up, you ugly abbo bastard!

[Nigel holds up his mobile phone.]

Nigel: Oh, THIS is going to be so good on youtube!

Ja'mie: What? You filmed me?

Nigel: Yeah, I thought you'd have been used to it by now. Actually, I'm amazed the lens didn't crack at your ugliness, but that's Asian technology for you. Wonder why Seth Efrica never made such amazing leaps in technology... still, give them their dues, they're still recovering from the fact you were born there. Assuming, of course, you were born and not summoned by some drunk witch-doctors.

Ja'mie: You can't put that online!

Nigel: Can't I? Don't you want more media exposure? See ya in the headlines, McCrimmon.

[Nigel wanders off.]


Nigel: Yeah, that's really going to upset me. Oh, I am so upset.


Nigel: And she learned something! Public schools DO work!

[Ja'mie headbuts the wall. The wig falls off.]

Ja'mie: FUCK!!!

[Meanwhile, Dave Restal is sitting beside the drama room, eating his lunch. Mr. G approaches with his wheelchair-bound dog, Celine.]

Mr. G: Excuse me, you're blocking the way.

Dave: So I am.

Mr. G: And what are you doing here?

Dave: It's lunchtime. I'm eating lunch.

Mr. G: Do you know who I am?

Dave: Does it matter?

Mr. G: Of course it matters! I am Mr. G!

Dave: Oh yeah. Knew THAT.

Mr. G: Your attitude is frankly appalling. What's your name?

Dave: Dave.

Mr. G: Well, David, you're not going to have a nice time at this school if you don't learn how to respect others...

Dave: Come on, sir, if I want advice on relating to people, I'm not going to ask the teacher who is always arguing with the principal and shouting at all the special ed kids for being freaks.

Mr. G: That is a gross exaggeration, David.

Dave: No, it isn't.

Mr. G: Look, disabled students would damage the quality of my musical material.

Dave: Can't be that good then, can it? You ever hear about that guy Carl Unthen?

Mr. G: [uncomfortable] Yes I have and...

Dave: He was born without any arms, but he became a concert violinist at sixteen - and everyone thought his music was brilliant.

Mr. G: That's as maybe...

Dave: One time, his violin string snapped live on stage, so he replaced it in front of everyone. Only using his feet. I think I'm right in saying it was the E string, but...

Mr. G: Yes, David, but the point you're missing is...

Dave: And he could do card tricks.


[Dave stares at him, startled at the outburst.]

Dave: ...Johan Strauss thought he was pretty good.

Mr. G: Oh, but Strauss doesn't attend this school, does he? He's dead. And music has moved on. And if he was impressed by some cripple, then my musicals would astound him!

Dave: What, like your one about the tsunami?

Mr. G: Exactly!

Dave: The one you just used Bananarama songs with the words changed.

Mr. G: I didn't hide that. It was called "Tsunamarama". The clue was in the name.

Dave: You only changed "Robert de Niro" to "Mr. G". Or what about when you ripped off Aviril Lavigne? And as for "IKEA: The Musical". Weird Al Yankovic does more original material than you, sir.

Mr. G: Yes. Well. Your opinion, David, is in the minority.

Dave: How do you know?

Mr. G: What?

Dave: How do you know? When was the last time you ASKED students what they thought instead of telling them what you wanted to do? I mean, if you're so incredibly talented and well-liked, how come when you quit in that hissy-fit no one said goodbye to you. So you had to unquit because no one cared...

Mr. G: That is a total lie and you know it. It would be a betrayal of the intense passion my students have for drama and performance.

Dave: You didn't ask them what they thought, though? Toby told me you did everything you could to stop him getting in that musical, even though all the kids thought he was brilliant. Even when you let him in, you dubbed over his voice. And the whole play was about you being worshipped by students, and you wanted to play yourself. I mean, seriously, I used to think that I was pathetic...

Mr. G: It just shows how much you know, doesn't it? I had to rewrite that play top to bottom, just because the Dicksons complained about their daughter's death being made the subject of a musical!

Dave: Yeah, Mr. G tries to help girl with drug habit. Nice work of fiction, dude, you don't try to help any students, do you?

Mr. G: I can either focus on constructing a lavish performing arts centre that would dwarf this school or I can fuss about the day-to-day problems of a bunch of ungrateful students...

Dave: The "Mr. G" performance arts centre, where productions of "Mr. G: The Musical" are performed, written and starring Mr. G as... Mr. G.

[Dave grins at him and finishes his lunch.]

Dave: You don't have much of an imagination do you?

Mr. G: I am a modern day Leonardo da Vinci.

Dave: Cowabunga. I bet he could have designed a performing arts centre that fitted dramatic sciences in it, especially if it was so big it blotted out the sun.

Mr. G: [sniffs] Have you been smoking? Drinking?

Dave: Nope. Stone cold sober. Terrifying, isn't it?

Mr. G: I don't have to put up with abuse. I am a highly respected teacher and if I recommend to the principal that you're expelled...

Dave: You don't even know who I am.

Mr. G: You're David... something.

Dave: Mmmm. Mr. G's incredible intellect strikes again. What does Mr. G stand for, anyway?

Mr. G: Gregson. But my friends call me Greg.

Dave: Why don't they call you by your first name?

Mr. G: Because I don't want them to!

Dave: Just curious, sir. Sounds like you're deeply ashamed of your real name.

Mr. G: You can think what you like, David...

Dave: Not that Mr. G is interested in what students think.

Mr. G: Fine, it's Hellen, right!

Dave: "Helen"?

Mr. G: HELLEN! Too Ls!

[sudden understanding] Oh. Right. Sorry.

Mr. G: What?

Dave: I get it, sorry for the fuss.

Mr. G: Get what?

Dave: You like being called "MR. G", don't you? Don't like having a girl's name? Wanting to divert attention away from it all the time? Hatred for disabled, the idea of being stuck in a less-than-perfect body, the fact Mr. Parsons has the hots for you...

Mr. G: What are you implying?

Dave: Transsexuality is nothing to be ashamed of, I saw that Money or the Gun special way back. You want to be a man, go for it, girl.

Mr. G: I am not a girl.

Dave: No, course not. You've had the operation, I bet. Pity you can't find someone tolerant to share your life. There'll never be a Mrs. G...


[Dave gets to his feet.]

Dave: You can't expell me, sir.

Mr. G: And why not?

Dave: I'm don't even go to school here! You're the only teacher to think I was!

[Chuckling, Dave wanders away. Mr. G watches him go, then kicks Celine furiously.]

[In another part of the school, a sign in an office window says "ANDREW BEEBLEBROX - ACTING COUNSELLOR AND CASUAL KEBAB MAKING WHILE-U-WAIT". Inside, Andrew sits behind a desk, making a kebab and talking animatedly.]

Andrew: You see, I'm sure it's all connected. Being the youngest of five children, raised by your father, forced to emigrate from Tonga at such a young age, followed only four years later by the death of your mother... how could all these factors NOT lead to defiance, to a hatred of order, and society? Your life has been chaotic, why should anyone else get it easy? Your pyromania, serious academic struggles, your inability to breakdance DESPITE the sheer amount of effort you put into it, all of these make sense to me. They're irritating, pointless and easily-avoidable, showing you to be a fundamentally stupid and selfish bastard who hasn't even the wit to realize the only reason the Year 7s are out to get you is because you've bullied them relentlessly since they arrived. But I UNDERSTAND.

[Sitting before him is Jonah Takalua, bored.]

Andrew: What puzzles me is this obsession with your tag. "Dicktation". Rather funny use of picture-writing the first time, but the 783rd time? I mean, can't you come up with something different? Original? Do you honestly think people look at it and go "Gee, I'm glad that Polynesian kid who looks like a white guy in his late 30s wearing shoe polish defaced our property!"? No one likes it. They'll just paint over it or wash it off and this tiny mark you've made on the world is erased. All you've done is waste paint and made everyone think the worse of you. I understand coming up with new tags is difficult for someone so totally illiterate and who only wants to read Harry Potter to see if Hermione gives Ron blow-jobs in between classes, but come on! You can draw, you understand the concepts of symbols and perceptions, you can do more than a very crude and anatomically-incorrect depiction of your own genitalia! It doesn't have to be great art, but just something DIFFERENT! You've been flogging this crap for years without variation or thought. You're better than this, surely? Or are you some kind of rubber stamp, unable to do anything but the same sodding trick that wasn't funny the first time? Is that what you want? To have no future destiny beyond your substandard present?

[Jonah yawns. Andrew finishes the kebab and starts to eat it.]

Andrew: Or am I wrong? Your penis obsession, Jonah, could be more significant than a crude attempt to shock people and get them talking about sex. Some might assume you were working out your homoerotic frustration, unable to admit you're gay since while all your friends and family are male but unerringly straight. Some might assume you simply felt inadequate and drew these phalluses to compensate. Me? I'm convinced that your tagging can mean only one thing.

[He finishes the kebab.]

Andrew: You're actually a boy trapped in a girl's body. Why else would you be at a school packed to the gills with such obvious transsexuals?

Jonah: Puck you, man.

Andrew: No, no, Jonah. Feel free to swear. It's not like anyone cares what you say or think any more, is it? Now, one last question - and I want you to be absolutely honest here - why DID you falsely accuse your father of sexually abusing you, risking putting him in jail as a sex offender for the rest of his life? What was so terrible and horrific that mercilessly destroying your own dad's life was better?

Jonah: I didn't want to do my assignment for English.

Andrew: Yes, very amusing. What was the real reason?

Jonah: That's it.

Andrew: Seriously?

Jonah: Yeah.

Andrew: So you thought, "Oh well, my dad's going to get dubbed a sex offender and none of the family will ever see him again because he's stuck in a jail cell somewhere getting beaten up for being a nonce." You thought "Oh well, the family's going to be split up and everyone will think I'm traumatized to the point of insanity because my father abused me." You thought, "but, on the bright side, I won't have to do one particular bit of homework for a few days. That's a good idea."

Jonah: Yeah.

Andrew: And you did it anyway?

Jonah: Yep.

Andrew: Do you feel ashamed?

Jonah: No.

[Andrew gets up from the desk and collects a cricket bat from the hatstand by the door. He stands behind Jonah now.]

Andrew: I see. You know, Jonah, I think you need to be a bit more Bhuddist about life.

Jonah: Watcha mean, bro?

Andrew: Well. The Bhudda said that life is suffering. And you need to live a little.

[Andrew smashes the cricket bat over Jonah's head, slamming him to the floor. He slams the bat down on Jonah's ribs again and again and again, then smacks him in the face and starts kicking his head in repeatedly.]

Andrew: Sorry, Jonah, but even I have my limits.

[He grabs Jonah's bleeding, bruised head and then slams it against the corner of the desk a record twenty-two times. Then he lifts his leg, places his sandaled foot against Jonah's spine, and slams down until there is a hideous splintering sound. Jonah gurgles, screams and goes limp. Andrew jumps up and down on him for a few minutes, each time with a hideous crack.]

Andrew: Oh yeah, by the way, you know that locker you set fire to?

[Andrew empties a miniature tank of petrol over Jonah.]

Andrew: It wasn't mine. But I thought I'd do this anyway.

[He lights a match against the blood-spattered Jonah, who immediately is engulfed in flames. He moans and twitches, but cannot move. Andrew warms his hands as he burns.]

Andrew: Let's be honest here, Takalua, no one's gonna miss you.

[Jonah starts to scream.]

Andrew: Sad but true.

[Jonah's screams stop. Andrew picks up a fire extinguisher and douses the flames.]

Andrew: I'd say "see you in hell", but even Satan has some standards.

[Andrew turns and breaks the fourth wall completely.]

Andrew: Message recieved and understood, Mr. Lilley?

[Whistling, he turns and leaves. Jonah's corpse smolders on the floor.]

Andrew: [sings] She's a naughty girl with a, a bad habit, a bad habit for drugs...

Monday, May 2, 2011

The Implausible Astronaut/Day of the Loon


It’s been two months since Amy and Rory last saw the Doctor, and they are now living back on Earth in wedded bliss, indulging in bondage, whipped-cream orgies and lesbian animal threesomes. Rory has never been happier, and neither has the local suppliers of KY jelly, swarfega and gimp outfits.

However, they soon realise that the Doctor is trying to attract their attention, deliberately leaving ridiculous adventures in history for them to find - by cunning use of editing wikipedia pages so he not only shagged King Charles' I prostitute, aided the Nazis in recapturing British prisoners, and being the main star in the Laurel and Hardy comedy "By My Fez I was Betrayed".

Amy and Rory dismiss the clingy loser and get back to shagging.

Finally, the Doctor is finally able to get their attention with some junkmail claiming that they have one a brand new Ford Tippex which they can collect absolutely free on their holiday to the middle of the Utah Desert (minus flights and accomodation, anyway). Being vapid consumer whores, the Ponds immediately do as they're told and arrive at the rendezvous to meet Dr River Song, who has broken out of a maximum security prison three millennia in the future because she got some junk mail saying she'd won first prize in an Annoyingly Secretive And Smug Bitch contest.

However, they do not find their prizes, merely the Doctor and his TARDIS (now in the inconspicuous shape of an obsolete Metropoliton Edsel) who is eager to know if any of his loser mates have missed him at all since the last Christmas Special.

A clue: No.

After River has repeatedly fired her gun at the Doctor's head, screaming he is a "lying motherfucker" who best provide that pop-up toaster she believes she's won, the Last of the Time Lord has a pathetic attack of miserable self-pity. He whines and moans he just wanted his friends to have a picnic in a ridiculously inconvenient and unpleasant locale for old time's sake, but it looks like everyone hates him all of a sudden and he's so lonely.

Following a good fifteen minutes of tears, recriminations and self-pity, the Doctor shouts that if Amy, Rory and River don't want to be his friends any more well, he'll just throw himself in front of the first homicidal astronaut he finds climing out of the nearby Lake StoryArcius. "Yeah, maybe when I'm DEAD you'll all be sorry!" he shouts unhappily before he is zapped dead by a homicidal astronaut who just happened to emerge from the lake while he was talking.

River and the Ponds are convinced this is all some stupid practical joke and wait patiently for the Doctor to stop holding his breath and get to his feet. However, after the first six hours, Rory begins to wonder if maybe the Doctor's on the level this time, but Amy remains unconvinced... at least until a passing redneck wanders over to the body, pours gasoline on it, lights a fire and starts toasting marshmallows before wandering off.

Suddenly Rory burst into tears and falls to the ground wailing how unfair this is - but mainly to show Amy how embarrassing she looks when she pines after the Time Lord. Amy takes offense, but River agrees the ginger girl can get pretty awkward in social situations at times.

Just then, a younger and less pathetic version of the Eleventh Doctor arrived - having got some junkmail promising a lifetime's supply of stupid hats. Realising that they must keep the Doctor’s future a secret from him, Amy, River and Rory take great pleasure in making lots of dumb jokes about "spacemen" and "lakes", most of which not even the audience understand because they're not even remotely funny.

For want of something to do now they know how the series ends, the Doctor, the Ponds and River decide to travel back to 1969 and humiliate Richard Nixon just before the Watergate scandal. However, after turning the TARDIS invisible, parking in the oval office and lining the place with bugs and tape recorders, all they get is Nixon getting lots of prank phone calls from someone claiming to be "Little Timmy" who is "trapped down the well".

The Doctor bursts from the TARDIS and shouts that he recognizes that wheedling American voice as none other than Captain Jack Harkness-nee-Sparrow, who is passing the time before Woodstock prank-calling political leaders and taking vast amounts of LSD. President Nixon does not take kindly to an invisible Edsel in the White House and has the TARDIS crew beaten up, stripped naked and forced to form a human pyramid while he laughs evilly and fires high-pressure hoses at them.

When the Doctor notes that this was one of the many reasons Nixon was a fuckwit, River calls him a stupid hippy peacenik commie bastard - which, in the 51st century, is the highest of compliments for someone with a keen grasp on human behavior.

Once enough of the episode has gone by to justify the expensive Oval Office set, Amy complains she's all nauseous, bloated, hormonal and has missed at least three mentrual cycles. The others assume this is some weak attempt at characterization, and simply wander off in the TARDIS while Nixon rants he will soon achieve the Ultimate Victory - THE DESTRUCTION! OF VIETNAM! ITSELF!!!

The budget for overseas filming has run out so rather than visiting anywhere interesting in America, the TARDIS must arrive in the Deserted Warehouse District of Nervada - which, coincidentally, is where they find Captain Jack... ripped off his tits of cocaine and down to "six green bottles hanging on the wall".

Idly wandering around the warehouse to pad out the rest of the episode, River stumbles across another TARDIS disguised cunningly as a Nervada sewage treatment plant. As Rory point out that, out of all the regulars present SHE is undoubtedly the most smug and annoying, River breaks open the door and finds a TARDIS control room and immediately decides to hotwire it. Rory notes that the blaring car alarms and unfashionable furry dice suggest it might be a good reason to get the hell out of there pretty darn quick.

He is then attacked by a potted cactus screaming "VENGEANCE SHALL BE MINE!"

Upstairs, the Doctor is surreptitiously nicking Captain Jack's wallet and offers some strange pills he finds there to Amy. Amy, being suicidally insane and reckless, takes the pills. Her pupils grow very, very large and she announces that she is pregnant. When the Doctor points out "that's the drugs talkin", she pulls out a gun and tries to shoot him - but luckily the Doctor finds a six-year-old girl to use as a human sheild.

As Amy fires round after round into the helpless, screaming child, the Doctor turns directly to camera and says, "Blimey, last time I give anyone Fox's glacier mints any time soon..."

To Be Continued...


Realizing that that last cliffhanger was incredibly pissweak, the TARDIS crew decide to combine their forces to make the most epic of all possible dramatic peaks and in three minutes, Captain Jack has hunted down Amy and Rory, shot them dead and sealed them in body bags. Not to be outdone, River Song throws herself off a tall building (since she's from a time period where the audience have yet to see what a cheap and pathetic ploy that is).

The Doctor, however, goes for gold by travelling to Area 51 and personally insulting every single operative's mother, ending with the oft-quoted tagline "...and the pigs had to be blindfolded before they could achieve an erection!"

Minutes later the Time Lord is chained up inside a block of pure dwarf star alloy, the most perfect prison ever devised... since the last one... also, curiously enough, used for a cheap-ass cliffhanger. As the last brick is sealed, the Doctor realizes that he hasn't actually thought of a kickass dues ex machina of wibbly wobby escape clause to save all their lives.

"Au contraire, shipmate," Captain Jack slurs, having ingeniously used the TARDIS to save everyone from their stick fates. Even River, unfortunately.

With this completely pointless sequence resolved, the Doctor decides it's time to get dark and gritty, time for Doctor Who to GROW THE BEARD. However, the beard looks shithouse and is quickly shaved off by the time of the opening credits.

Wandering around, desperate for some kind of plotline, Amy, Rory and River start tally-marking their own skin as the Moffat cliches pile up. Captain Jack suggests they check out a creepy, stormlashed orphanage where a single kid is being all sinister and supernatural. Amy quickly covers her own face in tally-marks.

After meeting the bewildered, mindwiped and insect-eating Dr Renfield in the dilapidated orphanage daubed with warnings to "Get Out", the team can't take how predictable things are getting. The Doctor goes to fiddle with the controls of the Apollo 11 command capsule so Michael Collins is the only one able to operate it, meaning that Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin get to do all the fun stuff while he stays behind in the spaceship. River Song becomes a White House intern who does naughty things to all the good-looking CIA MIBs at gunpoint (HER gun, obviously), while Rory takes a truly impressive amount of LSD and starts wearing classes and demands to be called "mild-mannered millionaire playboy Bruce Kent".

After Captain Jack wanders around the deserted wards on the orphanage's upper levels, flirting with a mysterious woman with an eyepatch locked in a cell marked "101 STORY ARCS", he finally notices that Amy is missing. He spots a space-suited figure lumbering through the orphanage and politely asks if she's seen a ridiculously tall redhead in a flannelette shirt flirting with anyone. The astronaut apologizes but she hasn't, and the two bizarre figures go their separate ways.

Back in Area 51, the Doctor notes that there aren't any villains this week, meaning they're stuck with a rather surreal Big-Train-style comedy sketch TV show. "We need an enemy, some kind of space bastards... from space! You know the type, all big and grey with huge heads and spindly fingers, the sort of people who say "We are Space Bastards and you can't do anything about it. Look, observe our bastardry! Now we shall taunt you with our creepy voice and mind control abilities! Now, go, little human person, go and be suckered into our machiavellian schemes. Also: Evil!"

Unfortunately, despite all the hype, Area 51 has nothing on offer.

"This place is a lot cooler in the films," the Time Lord grumbles.

Eleven days later, as the Apollo 11 mission approaches the Moon, Rory finally suggests simply checking the proto-TARDIS downstairs to see if Amy's there. And bugger us sideways, it turns out she is. Pausing to watch Niel Armstrong step on the moon, the Doctor finally releases Amy and they all skip happily away... bar River who goes batshit crazy with a laser gun until the proto-TARDIS is in ruins, thus allowing its canonical appearance several episodes ago.

"Continuity is like karma," River notes. "Inescapable."

Dropping off Captain Jack at the Oval Office to have sex with the nearest intern, the Doctor gets President Nixon to sign the Time Lord's prized copy of Alan Moore's Watchmen, and promising the President he will always be remembered as a minor recurring character in "Futurama", albeit not as funny or popular as Hermes.

Next, River Song returns to the Stormcage Facility until she can work out whether or not this story occurs before or after the last two-parter she was in. The archaeologists attempts to bum some money off the Doctor leave him flummoxed. For him, its the first time she's borrowed money off him, but River rather unconvincingly promises she's already paid him back.

Back in the TARDIS, it strikes the Doctor and Rory that Amy bigged up how pregnant she was in the previous episode and absolutely nothing has been made of that plot twist ever since. Amy shrugs, and suggests they could do another love triangle this year about which one of her boys is the father.

"Pfft!" the Doctor snorts. "Who do you think is writing this? Gary Russell?"

The Doctor programs the TARDIS to scan the redhead and see if she's even actually pregnant. However, the console monitor simply reads "REPLY HAZY - TRY AGAIN LATER", so the trio decide to forget all about this until the epic season finale where it might possibly become relevent. Somehow. Maybe.

Meanwhile, six months later in a story arc moment that will no doubt be ignored for the next two years, we discover that Jenny, the Doctor's Daughter, has caught a fatal dose of the clap at a New York brothel. Luckily, being a Time Lady, she can regenerate - and unfortunately does so during sex with her latest customer, Nigel Verkoff. The end result is that Jenny has a brand new, disease-free body... and Nigel has some nasty burns on a very awkward part of his anatomy.

(NOTE: apparently there were some evil alien masterminds in this story, but I sure as hell don't remember any.)