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.



Jared "No Nickname" Hansen said...

Strewth, cobba, this bit of don't-yer-know gave me a fair whack of the kookaburras and no mistake. Crikey, reckon we need more picture shows about how these shirt-lifters always want more than their share of the lamingtons, bloody dingos.

Seriously, though, surprisingly entertaining. My favourite in-jokes were Eve getting no lines and the "my balls are like rocks!" line, which was already a classic.

Youth of Australia said...

Oddly enough, I actually ran out of stereotypical Aussie slang. Never said "Strewth", for example, though considering who's supposed to have written this, I guess it adds verisimilitude.

I was a bit worried how in character Nigel stayed, and how some of the lines might have been ("What is the meaning of this?" "What am I? A Dictionary?"), and just hope the relentless sexist abuse and social interolance balances it out.

Seriously, though, surprisingly entertaining.

My favourite in-jokes were Eve getting no lines and the "my balls are like rocks!" line, which was already a classic.
Ah, but did you spot the incredibly massive internal continuity error?

BTW, I finished "reviewing" Day of the Moon. The pirate one's not bad, but it was edited by the same tool that hacked out Victory of the Daleks, so characters and explanations vanish.

Jared "No Nickname" Hansen said...

I was a bit worried how in character Nigel stayed, and how some of the lines might have been ("What is the meaning of this?" "What am I? A Dictionary?")

Lol are you saying you think you wrote some stuff that is far too clever for Spara?

Ah, but did you spot the incredibly massive internal continuity error?

Erm... no. I wasn't looking too hard. Something to do with the credit card thing?

Youth of Australia said...

Lol are you saying you think you wrote some stuff that is far too clever for Spara?
Pretty much. At the very least it's too true to YOA for the satire to work.

Erm... no. I wasn't looking too hard.
Don't blame you.

Something to do with the credit card thing?
Maybe, I dunno, since I deliberately tried to be as careless and inaccurate as possible, but the deliberate error is Nigel announcing his ex killed himself weeks ago half an hour before said ex appears live on Australian Idol.


Speaking of spara, he had a rare flash of his old genius - demanding Steven Moffat be sacked because a friend of a friend of a friend said Moffat wanted all opinion forums closed down.

(Moff was just pissed off someone gave an incredibly detailed, scene-by-scene spoiler for the Astronaut story after he specifically ASKED that someone not to).

Arco Chamber said...

"Strewth, cobba, this bit of don't-yer-know gave me a fair whack of the kookaburras and no mistake. Crikey, reckon we need more picture shows about how these shirt-lifters always want more than their share of the lamingtons, bloody dingos.

Seriously, though, surprisingly entertaining. My favourite in-jokes were Eve getting no lines and the "my balls are like rocks!" line, which was already a classic.

"I was a bit worried how in character Nigel stayed, and how some of the lines might have been ("What is the meaning of this?" "What am I? A Dictionary?")"

"Lol are you saying you think you wrote some stuff that is far too clever for Spara?"

"Ah, but did you spot the incredibly massive internal continuity error?"

"Erm... no. I wasn't looking too hard. Something to do with the credit card thing?"

"Nigel claims his boyfriend has committed suicide and it turns out he's a finalist on AI."