YOA's Blog Of The Unusally Pointless

Booyah Bitches (Xmas Edition)

2011-12-01T17:51:00.000-08:00

Yes, the next installment is out and all the signs are that C---------n Blue will be finished sometime before the Mayan apocalypse, proving that the production schedule is still ten times more efficient than anything starring Eve Myles and John Barrowman. (And please remember to delete that semi-colon at the end of the filename. Otherwise it just don't work. Tch, amateurs I have to deal with...)

0:04 - Oh, "pure evil". I though you said "you're evil" and was surprised how well Vlyn took it, all things consider.

0:36 - what a prick tease Gelver is when it comes to teleport duty. Unless maybe it's the Evil-Dead-style supernatural delay. Hmmm. Can you tell someone else came up with this cliffhanger?

1:19 - I love how the theme music has that last, wailing note that sounds like Murray Gold keeling over and sighing "I am SO freaking stoned..."

1:33 - "You should really try this self-harm stuff more often." Hah! You can tell I wrote this before slashing my wrist open, can't you? Again, huge props to Gelver. He and Palleen should get their own Will/Grace style sitcom! Only, you know, funny.

2:07 - I'm being way too visual again. Damn.

3:22 - Try and spot how many lines I knicked from Harvest of Kairos for this single scene. I mean, "keel section". Never heard that anywhere else in the English language, and here it is...

4:04 - The cast are making this a lot funnier than it was written down. I seem to have written this bit solely to be used as exposition in Next Time... trailers.

5:23 - Yes, you might be able to spot where I come down on in that Nightmare of Eden dialogue debate.

6:14 - Whoa. I totally stole that from Moffat and the Weeping Angels. I never even noticed it before. Well, the explanation. The whole "disappearing out of sight" business was mine from the start. Ahem. Moving on.

7:03 - Gosh this makes me sound clever...

9:13 - I did mention this episode would be 90% explanations, didn't I? That might be why the Doctor goes "GOODY! I LOVE EXPLANATIONS!" very loudly around this point.

9:31 - Oh yes. Alexis. I'd forgotten he was in this. Bugger.

10:31 - Vlyn, are you phoning your performance in? Or is that a cutting Vincent Savage impression of being hastily edited from poor stock footage? Or is she talking over the communicator? Hmmm. Let's go for the latter.

11:41 - Brilliant acting from the imposters, I think you'll agree. Convincing. But slightly off.

13:14 - Emma's explanation of the TARDIS = hilarity. "It's... nice." LOL.

14:33 - No, the Transfer Scoop does NOT resemble Amelia Pond's backyard. No matter what the music may indicate.

15:37 - Isn't odd that the bit Amber bigs up as funny is the most tedious bit of the plot? I'll just say that this is cunning characterization. Because it is. HAHA.

16:38 - Aquitar! WOOOHOO! Up yours, B7 Enterprises!

17:32 - "Why not?" "Because they want to kill us. And are very goal-orientated." Heh. I wrote that.

19:27 - Nigel, stop stealing the scene! It's my own fault, but really...

21:09 - Amber stumbling over her words isn't in the script. But, hey, it's not Richard Briers (or even Dude-Playing-Alexis) levels, so we can live with it.

23:03 - Wow. Alexis delivers a joke properly. That showed me.

23:22 - Eep.

24:15 - I have no idea where that music comes from but it's... very excitable...

25:12 - "I missed those." Smooth.

25:46 - And now the long awaited cliffhanger to part two. Slightly better in my head, but the Doctor has good reason to sound bored. Alexis, however, doesn't and Vlyn still seems to be represented by a dodgy mobile phone connection. Oh well. At least Emma sells the moment.

25:57 - MY APOTHEOSIS IS REINFORCED! MWAHAAHAHAHAHAHAH!

26:34 - Um... Dio wasn't in this episode. Hello? Hello?!?

Well. That was nice, all things considered (though killing off Eljay and leaving Alexis alive does rank up there with clicking on a sparacus thread in 2005 as "Biggest Regrets of the 21st Century"), and I can be proud of making a shitload of exposition and monster chases at least mildly diverting and a few mysteries left unresolved. Certainly, hand on my heart, this is better paced than a few Pertwee six-parters and the comic performances here might have made Night Terrors bearable if they were in the cast... but maybe not. Night Terrors WAS weapons-grade shite. Hopefully Jared will like it if nothing else.

Now, let's all just pray that the next two parts are released before anyone else important dies. You realize when part one came out, Lis Sladen, Nicholas Courtney and an iota of respect for Mark Gatiss were still alive?!?

Oh well, at least in quality not quantity, Darker Project delivers.

48 Years of Space and Time... Or Something.

2011-11-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

The Doctor slumped down into the pilot seat and managed to fumble his numb, blistered hands into clipping the safety belt around his person. The purple flight deck of the gun runner ship seemed to be tumbling and spinning around him, and everything sounded two rooms away.

Fighting off the warm blackness of oblivion, the Doctor reached out and began to tap commands into the flight computer. Ignoring the spasms of pain shooting up and down his arms he programmed the ship to leave geo-stationary orbit and return to plateau where he'd left the TARDIS. But his fingers were growing more and more clumsy, making mistakes he was finding it harder to correct. The engines hummed as the ship spun down towards the bleak grey-brown sphere of Androzani Minor.

The Doctor dimly realized the entire ship was shaking without the auto-stabilizers to keep the ride smooth. Stotz and the others would have realized what was happening and come to stop him... panic gripped his hearts for a moment, and then the Doctor giddily realized he'd already locked the hatches. They couldn't get him now.

The vibration was lulling him into a doze, like being on a steam train... one of the trains he'd always wanted to drive when he was a child... the Doctor grimaced, focussing on the pain in his flesh and bones, to drag him back to the present. He had to get back to Peri, get her the cure. The enormity of the task loomed over him. He had no idea where she was, or even if she was still alive. And he was on the point of total collapse, himself. How was he going to save her?

A violent jolt slammed into his back, and the Doctor opened his eyes to blackness. Had there been a power cut? Weakly he tried to rub his eyes to clear them, but to no avail. Sluggishly, the Doctor realized his optic nerves were burning out - the poison was blinding him as it slowly killed his nervous system. The beatings, the burns, the Spectrox Toxaema was squeezing the life out of him. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to survive the landing.

Unless...

As the last of his strength slipped away, a strange sensation rippled through him. His body was struggling to cheat death one more, to regenerate and purge itself of its increasing injuries - replacing, renewing and rearranging every cell in his body. His synapses were realigning themselves.

For a moment, the Doctor considered trying to abort the regeneration. The transformation would splutter to a halt, partially healing and repairing his body - enough to survive a few more hours, perhaps even restore his sight to him once again. But he would weaken all too soon, especially with gun runners, army troops and androids on his tail. No, he needed every advantage if he was to save Peri.

There should have been another way, but as usual, there wasn't.

"Sorry, Peri," he croaked weakly. "Can't... make... it..."

Light was appearing before his blind eyes, a rapidly expanding vortex of colours shattering into fragments... rushing towards him, faster and faster and faster, building to a devastating crescendo... oblivion was hurtling towards him...

The Doctor felt the tsunami overtake him, flooding every pore, every cell, every last atom of his being. His skin tingled. His bones itched. His very essence began to shift. His mind was shifting, flooded with strange thoughts and desires. Then there was a sudden, shocking roar of sound somewhere between a nuclear explosion and a coffin lid slamming shut.

And it was all over.

* * *

Stotz ran up the passageway to the flight deck, smacking his hand onto the hatchway control. To his combined surprise and fury, the hatch remained stubbornly closed. A quick check showed the flight deck's hijack protocal had been engaged, every entrance shut and deadlock sealed - from the inside.

There was only one possible candidate.

"Doctor, unlock this door!" Stotz roared at the top of his voice.

There was no reply, just the growing rumble of atmosphere against the hull.

"What are you doing in there?" Stotz shouted, but again no reply. "Are you going to open this door or not?" Silence. The Spectrox must have rotted him away, Stotz realized - not only was the Boss going to be even more irritated than normal, there was no way to stop the ship's death-dive into the atmosphere. "Krelper, go and get the cutting gear!" he snapped as his fellow gun-runners caught up with him.

Krelper turned and lumbered off as Stotz slammed his fist against the bulkhead in fury. The Doctor was cursed, he decided. Since the strange blond snoop had appeared in the caves, everything had gone wrong - two of his men dead, Jek refusing to pay full price, the Boss ordering them to stay in orbit...

The ship shuddered around them again. They could only be a few minutes away from the surface, and without someone to manually land the ship - or engage auto pilot - they would be smashed to pieces on the surface. "Damn it, Krelper!" he heard Stark grunt, the first thing the other man had said in hours. "Hurry up!"

By the time Krelper finally arrived with a thermal lance, the entire shuttle was shaking like a tuning fork around them and the roar of the engines was now so loud they couldn't speak. Krelper and Stark struggled to keep the lance steady as it cut a crude oblong through the metal, while Stotz began to pray that the Doctor was only unconscious - thereby allowing Stotz to brutally murder the troublemaker. Using the snoop's corpse as target practice just wouldn't be the same...

Finally the segment of hatch fell away, letting the magenta glow of the flight deck to fill the passageway. Stotz reached in through the hole, howling in pain as the bare flesh of his forearm sizzled on the molten edges of the gap, but he managed to smack the emergency release on the other side of the hatch. The warped metal scraped as the hatch slid back, finally allowing the gun-runners onto the flight deck.

Even as Stark and Krelper ran around to the raised pilot throne, the howl of the engines became a deafening scream. The ship was now through the atmosphere and hurtling out of control at too-high a velocity to the craggy wastelands they had taken off from a few hours earlier. The rocky landscape rushed up into the scanner even as Krelper tried to reach around the Doctor's body to hit the retros.

Stotz knew it was too late to avoid the crash. He knew the ship and all aboard were doomed and his remaining life would be counted in seconds. He knew he would never be able to seize control of the Spectrox supply and make himself so reach that not even Morgus could use him in future. He was going to die in a ship full of idiots in the middle of a war that hadn't even made him a decent profit.

But as the ship struck and his life ended, all Stotz could think of was...

...who was the strange man in the pilot seat wearing the Doctor's clothes?

* * *

Morgus slipped his private planet hopper into beta-drive, accelerating away from Androzani Major towards its bleak and desolate twin. In the admittedly-cramped luxury of the cockpit, Morgus fiddled with the controls. Everything was computer controlled, requiring next-to-no piloting skills and while Morgus was quite capable of take-off, landing and docking his ship, plotting a course was rather difficult. He set the scanners again for Stotz's stealth freighter and again found nothing.

"Why has he disobeyed my orders?" Morgus asked himself. "I told him to stay in orbit. Stotz is no fool, he would not risk angering me on a whim. No, the Doctor must have made him a better offer - perhaps a free pardon on behalf of the Praesidium, a plea-bargain to testify against me?"

Morgus brooded for a moment. "But there is no way the Doctor and Stotz could reach Androzani Major in so short a time. There is no evidence against me at the moment, and always the possibility that the President was the only one to suspect my part in all this. If that is the case, with the President dead only the Doctor and Stotz will be any danger to me."

Morgus nodded. "I shall merely have Krau Timmin alert the ground forces on Major to destroy Stotz's ship should it enter orbit. There will be no proof of my activities. My hands will be guiltless. The only question is whether or not the President shared his suspicions with anyone else - and if he has, I may not be able to return..."

The computer chirped at him. Androzani Minor was looming on the scanners, and the detectors had picked up the energy shadow of an exploding ion drive on the planet's surface. A few keystrokes and the computer identified the cause of the explosion.

Stotz's ship, smashed to pieces on the magma plateau.

Why had the ship crashed? Had there been a fight? A malfunction? Had Stotz chosen to end his life rather than face justice? Either way, Stotz's untimely death was to be regretted - there was no way he could tell Morgus about his lead on Jek's hideout...

Morgus considered his options. With no secure fix on the Spectrox supply, there was no real reason to continue to Minor. On the other hand, returning to Major would be quite difficult if he was suspected. He adjusted the communicator to the secret frequency to his office and opened the channel.

A familiar blonde woman was sitting back in a chair, her booted feet rested casually on the table before her. Morgus was already speaking his bland platitudes before his brain confirmed what his eyes were seeing.

"Ah, Krau Timmin, I would like you... Are you sitting at my desk?" he gasped. After the chain of disasters he had suffered already today, Morgus was in no mood for insolense or excuses. "How dare you! I'll have you punished for this, Krau Timmin!" he warned her with cold fury.

On the screen, his trusted secretary yawned at him. "I don't think so, Morgus. You're finished. Washed up. Kaput."

Morgus stared at her coldly. "What do you mean?"

"The Praesidium has issued warrants for your arrest on seventeen counts," Timmin said lazily, "ranging from the murder of the President, to treason, grant fraud, embezzlement. Oh, and that little business at the Northcawl copper mine? They know about that."

"Falsehoods, fabrications, malicious lies," Morgus said, not wasting any energy on sounding upset. "They can't possibly have any proof."

Timmin threw a folder of print outs on the desk. "It's all fully documented," she assured him. "And they have an excellent witness."

Morgus smiled. The President, the Doctor and Stotz were all dead. No one else could possibly know or even suspect enough to be a danger. "Who is this foul slanderer?" he asked her flatly.

"Me."

For once, Morgus was speechless. "You betrayed me? After all these years?" he eventually mumbled.

Timmin laughed at him. "Think of it this way, Morgus: I... deposed you. I," she continued with grand cruelty, "am now Chairman and Chief Director of the Sirius Conglomerate!"

"I will be exhonerated of all charges," Morgus predicted. "My conscience is clear: I had to keep the supply of Spectrox flowing, and if I hadn't provided Jek with the arms, he would have found some other source."

"The Praesidium will find your actions treasonable, and you know it."

"Yes, well, I have a contingency plan," Morgus sneered. "I may not be able to return to Androzani Major but I have a considerable private fortune invested in other planets in the Sirius system!"

Timmin giggled. "Oh, yes, that reminds me: the Government have also sequestered all your private assets, including those secret funds you'd salted away on the outer planets."

Morgus was trying to keep his breathing level as his mind raced, trying to find something to wipe that smug smile from his former assistant. "I'm not beaten yet. I will soon have the key to unlimited power: Jek's private hoard of Spectrox!"

Timmin laughed in his face. "Good luck with that, Morgus. By now the army will be attacking Jerk's headquarters in strength. Even if you got to Androzani Minor before the night's over, and assuming the Major doesn't execute you on sight, the mud bursts are starting as we speak. But then, being boiled alive in that mud would be poetic justice, would it not?"

"Justice?" Morgus spat. "I am Morgus. I am no cowardly, miserable gutter trash - I'm descended from the first colonists, the great 900..."

Timmin was bored. "Goodbye, Morgus," she said with a final cruel smile and shut down the communication link.

"I'm not beaten yet. My plans may have to change drastically but I am not beaten yet," Morgus insisted, and set the flight computer to land on the plateau - as close to the entrance of the caves as possible.

* * *

General Chellak and his troops were moving through the caves of Yellow Level. Despite Major Salateen's promise to have memorized the route, he seemed more and more uncertain. While part of Chellak was glad his ADC wasn't so sickeningly perfect, he was also furious that Salateen was letting them down right now when things were so important.

Salateen looked around the cave yet again. The vaulted roof and the pillars of dried lava stuck in his memory, and they could only be a few minutes away from Jek's headquarters but which direction? Trying to keep one eye on the girl Peri meant he wasn't entirely sure which tunnel he'd come from. Had he dragged her over that rockfall to the tunnel on the left? Or the one to the right?

Chellak had had enough. "Safety catches off," he barked at the troopers, who armed their machine pistols. Plasma rifles didn't so much as scratch the android rebels, requiring cruder (but cheaper) weaponry. The General remembered the cave from their first campaign months ago, when they had recaptured the old Spectrox refinery from Jek's robot troops. However, when the androids managed to snatch back the refined Spectrox, the army hadn't bothered much with this patch of the caves. It would be typical if Jek was hiding right under their noses all along.

"You go forward and recce," the general told Salateen. "I'll call Red Force to get them to hold their advance; I don't want them leap-frogging us..."

A shape stepped out of the shadows from the left-hand tunnel. A black-clad figure with a blank egg-like head with a single glaring yellow eye. The troopers tensed, and Salateen did not. "It won't fire at the belt plate," Salateen assured them.

The android raised its machine gun and opened fire.

By the time Chellak and his men had managed to return fire and destroy the android, half the squad lay crumbled on the hot stone ground. The general crouched down beside Salateen's still body as blood pooled around his chest. Chellak felt a stab of grief that turned to fury - Salateen was the crux of which the campaign depended, not to mention his efficiency was the only thing keeping the army together. Worse, he would never recieve the gallantry citation Chellak himself has recommended to the President, all those months ago (ironically the feat of surviving a deep penetration mission had been a trick allowing an android duplicate to replace him.)

Another part of Chellak was glad he no longer had a threat to his career, and it also meant the Android Salateen could no longer fool anyone. It didn't matter how good a copy it was when he knew the original was dead.

"Forward!" Chellak shouted at the survivors and they advanced down the tunnel the android had emerged from.

No sooner were they inside the tunnel than a second android emerged from the darkness, lifting its rifle. The soldiers, already on alert, opened fire instantly. After a few moments of bombardment, the android exploded in a burst of flame. As the gutted robot collapsed in ruins, the glare illuminated a further two androids advancing up the tunnel towards them.

Diving behind cover, Chellak swapped his ammunition clip for a fresh one, and then fired a burst down the passage to the twin androids. He heard a third, satisfying explosion and fired again.

Jek only had a dozen androids to his side and four had already perished tonight. Their belt-plate advantage might have been lost, but the army were in the right place and sheer force of numbers would overrun the remaining robots. "Jek can't stop us now," the general laughed, and snatched his communicator. In the excitement he had forgotten to contact Red Force after all.

"This is Flag Carrier to Red Force, do you recieve me? Over?" he called, but there was no reply. "Our support group must have hit trouble," he realized lamely. The other troopers would have been slaughtered by the androids, taken by surprise when the belt-plates failed to function.

Suddenly the rocks behind Chellak began to shake, the black ground beneath his boots rumbling loudly. A mud burst was coming. The only chance now was to press on to Jek's HQ and get behind the mud barriers before everything in the caves was boiled by the outrush of primeval mud...

There was another explosion as the last android was destroyed.

"Follow me," the general shouted, leading what few survivors he had left further down the passageway, towards their destiny.

* * *

The realignment was complete.

The Doctor blinked awake, taking a deep breath and glancing at his surroundings. He was strapped down to a pilto's seat, the laser-gyroscope the only thing holding up a series of twisted girders and broken metal. Around him was the ruins of a flight deck, looking as though it had been torn to shreds and crudely shoved back together in the middle of a desert. There were pools of blood and chemicals everywhere, and a crumbled body of one of the gun runners - there was no way of telling which one - lay in a heap nearby.

Struggling from the straps, the Doctor idly noticed that his cricketting gear was now slightly too short and quite a bit too small for him. He winced as the seams at a sleeve tore around his larger build. Oh well, it was a small price to pay considering he was alive and in much better shape than he had been... whatever shape he was now in, anyway.

It took him a few minutes to climb out of the wreckage through the widest hull breach he could find. The sky above was full of smoke and glittering stars, a strange beauty he wished he could enjoy for longer. But he had to hurry. Tegan was depending on him. Or was it Nyssa? In any case, she needed help.

Wiping the perspiration from his new forehead (and noticing his hair was now shorter and very curly), the Doctor ran off across the plains to where the dirty blue police box was waiting for him. It looked old and hideous, he reflected. Once he was out of this mess, he'd half a mind to finally repair the chameleon circuit.

First thing's first, though. Leela needed help.

* * *

Sharaz Jek paced his headquarters. The displays showed the same. The sheer amount of troops attacking from all sides had overrun his androids. As he studied the display, the last two androids to his name were falling back to their final defence posts - but they never made it. Their indicators blinked out.

He was alone - bar Peri, who was lying unconscious on the nearby table.

Jek hugged himself tighter, focussing on the pain. Peri had told him she had Spectrox Toxaemia and Jek could no longer ignore the symptoms. The blisters of her infection had ravaged her beautiful legs, cramps and nervous damage was leaving her in agony and a fever was pushing her into a coma. He had done all he could to ease her pain but in a few hours she would be dead. He had not had time to equip his hideout with the antitoxin, and felt a strange morbid desire not to do so, to increase the chances of his misery ending.

Another subterranean rumble shook the base with enough force to revive Peri. "What was that?" she asked groggily

"It's the start of a mud burst," Jek assured her casually. "You'll be safe here."

Inspiration struck. In a few minutes, the cave system would be flooded as the mud erupted its way to the surface. Anyone outside the mud barriers would perish - including General Chellak and his troopers. All they needed to do was delay him for a little longer. Jek snatched up a rifle and strode out of the base. He'd repaired the androids before, he could do so again. They only had to last long enough to occupy the enemy for a minute or two...

Jek emerged into the cavern which was littered with bodies. The android stood over the dead troops like a triumphant warrior - the impression ruined by the burning stump where its head should have been. Jek examined the damage hopefully, but knew that it would not be a simple repair job.

Already a scalding breeze was blowing stronger and stronger as the tidal wave of mud rumbled its way up from the core of the planet. Jek turned to retreat to his base when a loud shout echoed across the cave. "All right, Jek! The war's over!" roared a figure from the shadows. It was General Chellak, who's obsession with victory and a strong cowardly streak had allowed to survive the massacre.

He aimed a machine gun at Jek. "Will you surrender?" he demanded.

Jek didn't bother to answer. Instead he just opened fire.

Chellak dived for cover and Jek sprinted for the doorway. Rivulets of black-brown mud were creeping up the cave floor, steaming hot. The rumbling of the mud burst was getting louder and louder.

Jek bumped into Peri as he entered the base. The beautiful girl was dazedly getting to her feet, seemingly unaware what was going on. Grabbing her waist, Jek heaved her away from the doorway. He had to seal the hatch before the...

Chellak was standing behind him, machine gun at the ready, a crooked grin on his face. "I wanted a bloodless victory, Jek," Chellak sneered. "But I suppose your blood will make it all worthwhile..."

Jek stood in front of Peri, unafraid. The idiot General had not closed the hatch. Death by bullet was preferable to the boiling mud, Jek knew that from bitter experience. Let Chellak do what he will, he'd be dead in a few seconds.

But as Chellak's finger tightened on the trigger a strange noise filled the chamber. For a moment it seemed the mud burst was early, and then a rectangle of blue began to manifest in the middle of the chamber, turning into an upright blue box surmounted by a light flashing frantically.

The distraction was all Jek needed. Swinging down his arm, he smashed the gun from the general's grasp and shoulder-charged him out into the tunnel. Chellak hit the ground, now ankle-deep in steaming liquid, and screamed as it burnt through his grubby uniform. Jek sneered and heaved the hatch shut, deadlocking it as the rumble of the approaching mud became a volcanic screech.

There was a muffled thumping on the hatch. Chellak was screaming for Jek to open the door and spare his life, the coward. The rumbling became even louder and Chellak's screams and thumps suddenly stopped. The base grew uncomfortably as the white-hot mud surged past them and on the way to the surface.

"It seems the war has ended in my favor," Jek reflected smugly.

"It seems that way, I grant you," agreed a mellow, distinguished voice.

Jek spun to face the strange blue box that had appeared in the base. The door was open and a man was emerging. He wore the Doctor's strange cream-clothing, although it was tight fit, but this man was nothing like the Doctor. His curling hair was blond with dark roots, his mouth wider lips fuller.

"How did you get in here?" Jek demanded, raising his rifle.

"My ship," the man replied arrogantly. "It's how I arrived on this planet, and how I intend to leave - and I'm taking Peri with me."

Jek was tempted to shoot the man right there and then. "Who are you?" he hissed.

"We've already met," he said casually. "I am usually referred to as the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" Jek chuckled. "You will have to do better than that."

"We're wasting time," the man insisted. "Peri has Spectrox Toxaemia and she's dying even as we speak. She needs the cure." He strode over to the chair Peri was slumped in, tearing off the vegetable from his lapel and crushing it beneath his fingers. He held it beneath her nose. "Come on, Peri. Wake up."

"Celery soup," she slurred, blinking her bloodshot and baggy eyes.

"Peri, listen to me. You must not give up. You've got to keep fighting it."

Peri peered up at him. "Leave me lone," she grunted, sliding back into a doze.

Jek peered suspiciously at the crushed vegetable which the man threw to the floor in disgust. His old medical learning made him curious. "What was that?"

"Supposed to be a powerful restorative where I come from," the man fumed. "Unfortunately it appears that the human olfactory system is quite feeble in comparison. We must get her the cure as soon as possible!"

"We'd need the queen of a milk bat, but the dormant queens are too deep for us to reach," Jek wailed. "There won't be any oxygen in those levels by now."

"Can't you send your androids to collect it?"

Jek waved bitterly at his empty operation screens. "I have no androids! Those not destroyed by the army will have been washed away in the mud-burst by now." He groaned. "Salateen might have survived, but he couldn't get down there and back in time to save her life..."

"Don't get emotional," the man snapped. "Hystrionics won't help anyone. Now, Jek, do you actually know where the queen bats are?"

Jek fumed. "Of course I do!" he shouted. "My androids surveyed and mapped the whole system when I first came here." He pointed to an outline of the route. "They are there, two hundred metres down - no one could get that far without collapsing."

"I am not no one," the man told Jek frostily. "I am the Doctor, whether you believe me or not. Since your obsession for Peri won't make you risk your own miserable neck, you can stay here and look after her."

"There is nothing I can do for her!" Jek protested. "If there was, don't you think I would have done it for her by now?"

The Doctor brushed some more sweat from his brow. "You can turn the air conditioning on for a start! Keep her temperature down, do everything possible until I return with the milk - and I will return."

Jek nodded. He wasn't sure if this man was the Doctor, but his identity didn't matter - as long as he saved Peri's life. The man's blue, cat-light eyes stared at Jek for a long moment, then he turned and reentered the blue box. Seconds later it had disappeared with its strange shriek of displaced atoms.

* * *

Morgus waited for the mud burst to abate before daring to leave his ship. He had heard that the mudbursts were a beautiful sight, but had no interest in natural phenomena, especially when they could kill him. As soon as the tide had spread thin enough for him to traverse, he emerged into the choking heat and - pistol in hand - ran for the nearest blowhole.

The cave was stiflingly hot, reminding Morgus of the last time he had been there, supervising the chaos followed by an "industrial accident" that should have rid him of Sharaz Jek and left him with a fully-working android-run Spectrox refinery. It had gone rather differently, but Morgus had made the best of a bad situation - he had made a neat profit from selling arms to Jek, while the ongoing conflict raised the prices of existing Spectrox and made him even richer.

As he struggled through the steamy gloom, the ground fell away from him and Morgus was plunging into infinity...

...he bounced twice and landed in a heap of stinking, fuzzy muck.

A Spectrox nest.

The Spectrox nest that Jek had had his androids place there to ensure no wandering passer-by could use this entrance and live to tell the tale. Only Jek and the gun-runners knew about the nest and how to avoid it, and Morgus should have remembered it. Desperately he tore away the cobweb-like bat excrement, the skin on his face and hands already stinging from infection.

He, Morgus, now had Spextrox Toxaemia.

The self-inflicted injury all Federal Forces were warned about. Morgus thought of the first-aid kit in his ship - a heavy dose of sulphadione at this early stage would slow the progress of the condition down, buy him a few days to get a supply of the cure. Bat's milk wasn't easy to get, but with his fortune he could buy some from somewhere... once he had the Spectrox. He needed to find Jek's stock before the next mudburst. If he returned to the ship for drugs, he'd lose valuable time.

There was no choice.

Ignoring the shooting pains ripping through his upper body, Morgus threw himself into the dripping, roasting depths of Androzani Minor.

* * *

The TARDIS listed at a worrying angle on the sloping ledge. The light from its windows barely illuminated the rock walls around them. The heat was like a furnace and any perspiration on the Doctor's skin evaporated almost immediately. Delicately, he clambered down towards the shaggy black shape spread across the rock face like some strange hairy moth. Although called a bat, it seemed more reptile than mammal - though like a mammal its lactic fluid was full of the antibiotics required to survive the toxic chemicals the bats produced.

His new lungs beginning to ache from deprivation, the Doctor gripped a glass phial and began to milk the bat - trying to focus his thoughts. Dimpled dairy maids and hay-scented cow byres filled his mind at this beucolic scene.

And then the queen bat's eye slowly opened, glowing a fierce green.

The Doctor tensed.

The bat closed its eye, returning to its sleep.

Carefully, the Doctor placed the full vial into his coat pocket and then began to try and milk out another vial's worth...

* * *

The base was humming loudly as cool air was blasted through the complex. Jek had found some ice water and soaked a cloth in it before bathing Peri's forehead. Her breathing had steadied but her temperature continued to climb. Even with these measures it would not be long before she reached thermal death point.

Jek began to weep. Peri didn't deserve this. She was better than anyone else on this stinking ball of super-heated mud. The callous and cowardly soldiers, the cynical and corrupt rulers of Major... the entire Sirius system was unworthy of her. And now she was being taken away from him, all thanks to Morgus and his cowardice. If he had accepted Jek's demands at the start, none of this would have been necessary. If he had shown remorse, accepted punishment, Jek might even have allowed him to live.

Actually, no, he wouldn't have.

But Morgus had allowed all this carnage to take place, for the innocent to suffer.

"She's so beautiful, so very beautiful," Jek realized he was singing, as if to a frightened child. "So beautiful, so beautiful..."

Then, to his amazed delight, she opened her eyes.

"Hey..." she croaked weakly.

"It's all right, Peri," he assured her. "Please don't be frightened. It's just the two of us now. We're the only survivors. Chellak and those pitiful fools in his army have been swept away to their deaths. My androids survived the mud burst intact, though they aren't functioning..."

Peri gazed up at him emotionlessly. "Water..."

"You want some water?" Eager to please he snatched up the bowl and helped her sip from it. Jek continued to talk, glad for conversation. It was one of the reasons he'd kept Salateen alive. "I can repair the androids," he told Peri cheerfully, "Their synaptic links may have burnt out, but I promise you - within a week, everything will be back to normal. They won't send another army. They daren't!"

Peri said nothing, still drinking the water.

"I'll reopen the refinery," Jek decided after a moment's thought. "Begin trading again, and you can have anything your heart desires. Furs? Silks? Jewels? Stay with me, Peri, and I will make you a princess!"

Peri finished drinking and licked her lips. "Sweet ice water," she said dreamily. She took the bowl and tipped it over her head, soaking her hair and shirt.

Jek gazed at her adoringly. There was none of the disgust and fear she'd shown earlier. Hopefully, he continued, "I shall ask for nothing in return!" he promised. "Just the sight of your beauty is reward enough for me."

Peri smiled at him.

Jek had never felt happier.

"Waiter," she croaked. "I'll just have the double peach melba and choclate soda."

"Peri?" asked Jek uncertainly.

The girl's head rolled on her shoulders. The ice water was already drying on her overheated skin. "What's that tune?" she asked, frowning.

"Are you all right?" Jek asked pleadingly.

Peri groaned. "Tell them to stop," she begged him. "Please tell them to stop! I don't like it!"

Jek touched her forehead, wincing at the burning fever. Her temperature had risen higher than it was before they had started. She was approaching thermal death point rapidly. Jek began to hyperventilate.

"Why is it so dark, Doctor?" Peri asked weakly. "I can't see anything."

Blindness. The final symptom as the toxaemia destroyed her nervous system.

With his shaking gloved hand, Sharaz Jek closed her eyes. Peri didn't react, continuing to shudder and gasp with heat. Even as he watched, her shuddering came to an end and she was still - slipping straight into the coma that lead to death.

"No, no!" Jek screamed, leaping to her feat. "You cannot be taken from me!"

Furiously, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently. She remained limp, a dead weight in his hands. "You cannot die, Peri!" he screamed at her, but she was beyond his grasp any more.

He ran to the communicator. The chances of any of the androids still functioning were slightly below zero, but he didn't care. There had to be some one or something out there to help Peri. There had to. Otherwise she was dead.

"This is Sharaz Jek!" he growled into the microphone. "Are there any units still functioning? Any android units still functioning report immediately?"

There was nothing but static from the speakers.

Just as Jek felt despair about to claim him, a voice rang out.

"I hear you, Master."

It was Salateen.

* * *

Once again, Morgus cursed Stotz for dying without telling him the way. The former-executive wracked his brains, remembering Jek's rendezvous was supposed to be on yellow level, a cave in the late twenties. Morgus brightened - yellow level wasn't too deep below the surface, and since the first wave of bursts had come and gone there would be a decent amount of time before the major eruption. And while the army and Jek were fighting each other, he could locate the Spectrox store and grab whatever he could. If he timed it right, he might even be able to make a few trips...

Refusing to accept how insanely optimistic his plan was, Morgus plunged deeper into the caves. He barely paid any attention to the corpses sprawled around the place, roasted beyond recognition by the mud burst. He had heard no gunfire, so presumably the fighting was over. But which side - if any - had won?

The stinging pain in his face grew worse and he scratched at an eye. His face was tender and misshapen with blisters. Already he was starting to get painful cramps in his arms and a sickening nausea in his gut.

Normally people might get raw Spectrox on their hands or fingers, and he had practically bathed in it. His immune system was under seige. He might only have hours before the poison burnt the life out of him.

Hours...

Long enough, Morgus decided. Long enough to get the refined Spectrox and make himself rich to get a cure. He thought of all the tonnes of Spectrox and the effort of having to carry it. Spectrox was going up by a factor of 50 every month. Soon even a few kilos of the substance would make him a fortune.

Maybe just two bags. As long as they weren't too heavy.

Morgus forced himself into the stifling heat, ignoring the agony in his limbs.

* * *

The Doctor popped his head out of the police box door and looked around. The TARDIS should have returned back to Jek's headquarters, but instead it had materialized in the middle of a tunnel. As he looked around he noticed that a strange shape was sticking out of the muddy sludge - some kind of measuring tool, maybe something that had once been a theodolite. Obvious the army had been trying to survey the area, and abandoned it for some reason.

A reason that seemed to have slipped the Doctor's mind, even though it was clearly obvious.

There was a primeval roar behind him.

The Doctor spun around, the quick movement tearing fresh holes in his battered and muddy frock coat. Before him loomed one of the other native life forms of Androzani Minor, a huge armored reptile able to survive the heat that turned melted rock. Magma creatures that ate flesh.

The creature advanced on the Doctor.

Snatching up the theodolite, the Time Lord swung the broken mass of metal frames straight into the gaping jaw of the monster as it lurched closer. It roared again, this time in frustration as it realized its jaws were jammed open by the theodolite. It swung a savage claw with long talons towards the Doctor, who managed to duck and throw himself to the ground.

The mud had cooled but was still slippery and suddenly the Doctor was scooting across the tunnel floor into darkness. The Time Lord grabbed an outcrop of rock and managed to halt his path, even as his legs slipped into the darkness. There was nothing beneath them but a gaping abyss of billowing, hot steam.

The roaring magma creature was charging towards him. Before the Doctor could do anything, its elephant-like stubby hind legs lost control on the muddy surface and it began to skate down the slope towards the Time Lord and the abyss.

Gritting his teeth, the Doctor curled up his legs to his chest.

There was nothing to stop the creature blundering straight past him and over the edge of the abyss with a final, helpless roar.

The Doctor managed to haul himself to his feet, grimacing at the muddy stains that coated most of his clothing. He half wanted to return to the TARDIS and change, but he had to find Jek and Peri. Then he saw someone shuffling down the tunnel, seemingly unaware of the altercation.

It was Morgus. His fine clothing and pony tail were matted with mud and angry grey-pink blistered coated his face and hands, until he was barely recognizable. His breath rattled in his lungs as though he had tuberculosis. Gripping the gun tightly in his hand, the Chairman struggled down the tunnel. Ahead there was the distant whirr of ventilation systems.

Curious, the Doctor decided to follow him.

In the distance there was another rumble. The main mud burst wasn't far away.

* * *

"Peri, can you hear me?" Jek pleaded.

She was struggling to breathe now, forcing one breath after another into her failing lungs. He gripped her hot little hand in his own, feeling helpless and useless. Where was the Doctor? Where was Salateen? If Peri died, what was left?

The answer crashed through the hatchway, which Jek had opened to try and help reduce the heat.

It was Morgus.

"Jek," he rasped, "where's the Spectrox?"

"Morgus," purred Jek, getting to his feet.

"Where is it?" he demanded.

"Spectrox cannot help you now, Morgus," Jek sneered. "You have contracted Spectrox Toxaemia. Soon you will begin to boil. In a few hours you will be dead."

"You work down here!" Morgus rasped. "You must have a cure!"

"Must I?" Jek laughed. "If I had, there are those more deserving of it than you."

"Give me the Spectrox!"

"Convince me," Jek hissed, advancing on him.

Morgus swayed unsteadily. "You take one more step and I shoot!"

"Do you think bullets could stop me now?" Jek asked lightly.

Morgus fought against the groggy fever and saw the girl lying on the table - the one with the Doctor. The one Jek had been fussing over. The vain little monomaniac had upset quite a few of his "featherheads", a reason why he'd been forced to give up his career as a medic. Complaints of harrassment... and worse.

Morgus aimed the pistol at the girl. "I can kill her with a single shot."

Jek froze.

"I don't think that will be necessary, gentlemen," boomed a voice from the doorway. A curly-haired man in strange mud-crusted clothing was entering, holding a vial of murky green liquid. "I think I can resolve matters."

"Who are you?" Morgus coughed.

"You know, I don't think you'd believe me. But by a staggering coincidence, I happen to have a vial of pure, undilusted bat's milk in my hand," the Doctor replied, waving the glass tube and sloshing its contents. "The one and only cure to Spectrox Toxaemia, assuming Professor Jackijj knew his stuff. I think it's an anti-vesicant that does the hard work..."

"Give me the cure!" Morgus ranted.

"Now how did someone become Chairman of the Sirius Conglomerate with such poor manners?" the Doctor tutted. "You can't have been any good at it, considering you need to moonlight as an arm's dealer, can it?"

"What are you talking about?" Jek demanded, not taking his eye off Morgus.

"Didn't you wonder who was supplying the weapons that Stotz and the others brought to you at such cheap prices?" the Doctor asked, carefully inching towards the table where Peri lay. "The whole of the five planets should have been knocking down your door, but someone very powerful managed to make sure you only had one option. Someone who wanted the Spectrox War to go on for quite a while, for their own ends. Limiting the supplies the great unwashed got, but keeping his own stockpile growing. Rather ingenious, wouldn't you say? The politics of power."

"That isn't true," Jek hissed. "It can't be."

"Can't it?" the Doctor asked. "Your worst enemy is your greatest ally, helping you slaughter his own soldiers to keep the stock market prices just the way he wants them. Your daily irony supplement, Sharaz Jek."

"You owe me, Jek," Morgus spluttered, sounding even worse. "I've helped you."

"Helped me? You stinking offal, Morgus! LOOK AT ME!"

Jek tore the patterned and moulded mask from his face. Beneath it was a hairless skull, devoid any facial flesh above the nose. One mad yellow eye glared out from the ravaged face, what little skin was there looking like mouldy green cheese.

"You did this, Morgus. Look at what you did. Look... and die!"

Morgus stared, slack-jawed at his former partner. Jek lunged at him, knocking the gun aside and clamping both hands around Morgus' blistered throat. Morgus stumbled back, beating his weak, bloodied hands against Jek but to no avail.

Wasting no time, the Doctor dived over to Peri and emptied the vial's contents into her open mouth. She gagged, spluttered, but eventually managed to swallow the liquid. The Doctor glanced up at Jek and Morgus, now both stumbling around the room in a grosteque ballroom dance.

Then another figure stepped into the room. It was Salateen, or rather the android Salateen, who had answered his Master's call. Seeing the situation, the android raised his rifle and opened fire. For a moment, both Jek and Morgus were frozen in mid-struggle, and then they collapsed in a bloody heap.

"Jek!" the Doctor shouted, rushing over to him. Dark, arterial blood was gushing from wounds across his chest. The Time Lord tore away the black leather coat, wincing at the hideously pale and tender flesh beneath. It was amazing Jek was alive at all, let alone surviving the bullet wounds.

"Too... late..." Sharaz Jek rasped.

"I'm the Doctor, I'll tell you when it's too late," the Time Lord retorted, but there was nothing he could do.

"Save her... save Peri..." Jek whimpered.

The room shuddered, making Jek moan in pain.

"Another mud burst..." the Doctor realized.

"Salateen!" Jek growled. "Help them!"

The Doctor frowned sadly. "Thank you. It doesn't absolve anything you've done, Jek," he told the dying madman. "But thank you. Even so."

Jek couldn't hear him any more. His ravaged skull had lolled to one side, allowing him to gaze up at Peri, who was coughing and spluttering - and now almost conscious. A strange rictus grin tightened what was left of Jek's face.

The Doctor got to his feet, only to be knocked off them by another tremor. "You heard your master, Salateen, help me!" he shouted.

For a moment the android stayed where it was, staring down expressionlessly at Jek's body. Then it turned and wordlessly assisted the Doctor in picking up the semi-conscious Peri and steering her to the open hatch. Stepping out the base was like walking into a furnace, and the gale of displaced air was almost enough to blow the trio off their feet. Nevertheless they somehow managed to make their way into the next gallery where the TARDIS was waiting for them.

Leaving Salateen to support Peri, the Doctor darted over to the door of the police box and unlocked it. Salateen helped the Time Lord carry his companion into the cool white interior of the TARDIS. The android showed no interest in the impossibly huge control room, already turning and heading out the doors.

"Where do you think you're going?" the Doctor demanded.

"You must leave," the android said flatly. "The final mudburst is only seconds away. It will destroy everything here."

"Even the Spectrox?" the Doctor asked idly.

"If I lower the mud barriers around the depot."

"You don't have to go back there," the Doctor protested. "You can come with us."

"I was created by Sharaz Jek," the android replied. "He would not wish to be alone."

The Doctor thought for a moment. "No, he wouldn't. Good luck."

The android nodded, frowning. Then, looking back at the Doctor, smiled sadly, and turned and strode back through the shaking inferno outside. The Time Lord watched him go, then closed the doors and powered up the TARDIS.

A few moments after the time machine had vanished from the caves of Androzani, the mudburst ripped through the tunnels destroying everything in its wake. Only the queen bats and their hibernating young survived the disaster, as it had happened before and it would happen again.

Sharaz Jek's base, the refinery, the army base and every last trace of human occupation was utterly annihilated. Even Morgus' ship on the surface was annihilated in the holocaust. As the tides of mud receded, there was no sign anyone had ever been there...

* * *

Peri coughed and spluttered, trying desperately to get the horrible taste out of her mouth. Her legs felt as itchy as if she'd been attacked by a thousand mosquitos, her joints ached as though they were rusty, and her eyesight was so blurred she could barely see. Eventually it occured to her that she was actually feeling better than she had for some time. Her sight cleared more and more, enough to see the blisters were vanishing from her legs.

She realized she was back in the TARDIS, which was flying through time and space once more. There was a blond figure in a muddy cricketing outfit moving around the console, adjusting controls. "Doctor," she rasped thirstily, "what's happening?"

"Ah, Peri," the figure said in a deep, unfamiliar voice. "I see Professor Jackij knew his stuff. Good old Jackij..."

Peri struggled to her feet, peering at the man before her. The clothes were right, but the build, the hair, they were all wrong. Her eyesight fully returned and she realized the man before her was a complete stranger.

"Doctor?"

The curly-haired man glanced up from the controls. "You were expecting someone else?" he replied with a smile. "Oh, that reminds me," he said, taking a vial of green milk from his pocket and daintily swallowing the contents. "Ugh. Still, that should take care of any lingering toxins in my system, that could lead to some dangerous abnormalities." He realized Peri was staring at him. "Oh, I kept the spare vial around in case you needed another dose."

Peri continued to stare at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked shakily.

"Setting coordinates for our next destination," he replied. "I would have taken you to the Eye of Orion - wonderful place for a holiday, and we both need a rest. Unfortunately, the specific coordinates elude me for the moment, so we're heading somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful, somewhere tranquil - a panacea for body and soul, they call it Joconda the Beautiful... what's the matter?" he asked as she continued to stare at him.

"What's happened?" Peri wondered, sounding lost.

The Doctor considered his answer.

"Change, my dear Peri," he concluded. "And it was just in the nick of time!"

Meanwhile, during Easter 2009...

2011-11-20T03:12:00.001-08:00

(Changing Room.)

Nigel: I don't believe this! This isn't a changing room, it's a storeroom!
How am I supposed to get in character with servers and computers and
monitors and filing cabinets with special locks? It's going to stifle my
creativity...

Andrew: Stifle be the operative word. It's hot, isn't it?

Nigel: Dear God, you're right. I'm starting to perspire even as I speak!
Dave, be a tool and get the suit out, will you?

Dave: Wow. Big head.

Nigel: Christ, it's more terrifying than the last one. What's with all those
bits of foam around it?

Andrew: They're part of the suit.

Nigel: Bullshit.

Andrew: They are.

Nigel: I have to wear this? I'll look like a cross between an empty cicada
shell and... and...

Dave: A Slitheen?

Nigel: Yes! No one could score dressed like that!

Andrew: You're the Easter Bunny.

Nigel: Yes. An ancient anglo saxon fertility symbol.

Dave: That's what this suit is for, then.

Nigel: Give me strength. I have to dress up in this fetishistic foam body
suit AND have a fur suit strapped over the top? I thought it would just be a
white fur pyjama set like last time.

Andrew: This is what you get for signing up with professionals.

Nigel: Oh god. The fur alone weighs more than your ego! Oh well...

(He puts the suit on.)

Nigel: (very muffled) How do I look?

Andrew: I struggle to think of an answer that doesn't include "Donnie
Darko".

Dave: Hang on, what's this?

Andrew: Some kind of harness... full of bottles.

Nigel: What?

Andrew: I think they've given you a belt of drinks.

Dave: Why can't I open them then?

Nigel: Because they're not for drinking you unreliable heathens! They're
freezer packs! Put them in the freezer!

Andrew: OK, OK. They'll be halfway cold in two hours.

Nigel: Good. I survived a seven hour stint at the last place. A two hour
stint in this one-horse mall will be easy.

(One hour later...)

Nigel: Oh god! Face... melting! Internal organs cooking! Must... speak...
in... fragments!

Andrew: The superhuman Verkoff fails again.

Nigel: I had a different suit before. And it was much cooler. That head is
full of foam! I can barely breathe in there, let alone see!

Dave: Your packs aren't frozen yet.

Nigel: Don't care. Give them over.

Andrew: OK. You'll have to take off your suit first...

Nigel: Fuck that. Give them. I'll just shove it down the front and... there.
You see, cooling all ready.

Dave: OK, you ready?

Nigel: (head on) Born ready...

(Half an hour later)

Nigel: God I'm hot. These packs aren't cooling me down at all. Maybe if I...
ah yeah, if I lean back, they fall against my chest. Ah, nice and cool.

Andrew: You know, Dave, the idea strikes me that that harness was designed
for a reason.

Dave: Does it?

Andrew: Indeed it does. Designed to be tied around the torso.

Nigel: You know, come to mention it, I'm feeling a little groggy.

Dave: Lean back more and let the packs work.

Nigel: OK...

Andrew: And it was designed to be tied around the torso for a reason and
presumably not around the neck.

Dave: What's your point?

Nigel: Feeling VERY groggy actually.

Dave: That wearing around the neck is wrong?

Andrew: Think about it. What are the packs cooling down?

Dave: Nigel?

Nigel: Oh, Christ... everything's spinning...

Andrew: The area below Nigel's neck to be precise. Heart and lungs.

Dave: So? The coolth will disperse and cool him all down eventually.

Andrew: Yes, but in the meantime...

Nigel: Ohhhhhhh man... Gonna be sick now...

Dave: In the meantime?

Andrew: His heart will be cooling down, yes?

Dave: Uhuh.

Andrew: But the rest of him is still hot and, presumably getting hotter.

Dave: Uhuh.

Nigel: Agh.... agh... please... oh gof.... can't... breathe...

Andrew: So we have boiling hot blood rushing into a very cold heart.

Dave: Sort of like cold water on a hot tin can.

Andrew: Yep.

Nigel: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

(Changing room)

Nigel: Oh... god... heart attack... going to die... never see Planet of the
Dead...

Dave: You read the Highest Science, didn't you?

Nigel: No... just... synopsis... agh...

Andrew: Oh, get over it. Drink this cold water, stay still and shut the hell
up.

(They leave Nigel on their own. Guard enters.)

Guard: Um. Hi.

Nigel: ...yeah... hi.

Guard: Why are you sitting next to the servers in your underwear?

Nigel: I'm the Easter Bunny.

Guard: ...aaaaaaand?

Nigel: I got the Kalesi Virus! OK?

Guard: Oh. You overheated in suit. Sissy. Oh well, I need to use the
computer.

Nigel: And I need the use of my legs. Life's harsh, isn't it?

Guard: Fine. Hold open the door.

Nigel: Um. OK.

Guard: Some silly bitch left her card in an ATM, I got to check the security
cameras.

Nigel: OK.

(A long hour passes as the guard stands there checking the monitors,
squashed up against Nigel, holding the door open so they can both fit in.
Awkward silence.)

Andrew: You dead yet?

Nigel: Not quite.

Andrew: K. We'll come back later then.

(Another fifteen minutes. Guard finally leaves in disgust.)

Guard: I don't have to put up with this. That cow can suffer.

Nigel: Charming.

Guard: Oh, die already, sissy.

(Leaves.)

Nigel: Wow. To think I could be so humiliated NOT being dressed as a giant
rabbit.

Offcuts of the Big N

2011-10-31T04:00:00.000-07:00

It is a truth, universally acknowledged by me, that if you can't comfortably play the end theme of The Young Ones over a given piece of drama then it just ain't a comedy. And as the last installment of Andrew and the Vanishing Verkoff failed that, I idly present all the stuff from The Rise of the Big N that I never got round to actually completing between his first day of school to his supposed death (with a side order of rampant sex, angst, suicidal remorse to go.)

And so, the first extract....

ACT FOUR – CHANGE THE CHANNEL

[Yang dining room. Togi is serving out plates of noodles and stir-fry. Nigel, his brother and sisters are present. The mood is somber. Nigel speaks with forced cheer.]

Nigel: So, another weekend without the folks huh? We could go wild. Have a party.

[Togi finishes serving and walks off. Silence. Then a ringtone goes off – “What I Like About You” by Lillix. Grimacing, Nigel answers it.]

Nigel: Hey. Yeah. Busy now. Sorry.

[He hangs up and grins at the others.]

Nigel: Sorry.

Benny: So who was that then?

Kenji: Dame Joan Kerner?

Akiro: Myopic Spice?

Benny: Your agent?

[Nigel gives a very forced peal of laughter, then stops suddenly.]

Nigel: So, anything interesting happen at your school this week?

Benny: Nope.

[A pause.]

Nigel: Make any new friends?

Kenji: Nah.

Akiro: No.

Benny: They were mainly from our old school. Same old people.

Nigel: Yeah. Quite.

[Long pause.]

Nigel: Pretty boring then?

Benny: Yeah.

Kenji: Pretty much.

[Suddenly a mobile phone goes off – “Get Ready for This” by 2 Unlimited. Kenji quickly answers it.]

Kenji: [to others] Sorry. [into phone] Hello? [brightly] Hey, mate, how are you? Where were you today?! I suppose Ruby told you all about the whole “initiation ceremony” thing, huh? I know! Whole jar of vegemite, I am not kidding!

[Nigel stares at Kenji expressionlessly. Kenji eventually notices.]

Kenji: Yeah. Better go. Having dinner. Call you later. Yeah. Ciao.

[He hangs up.]

Nigel: [dryly] So, you were saying what a dull day you had.

Kenji: Yeah, well, it was just the usual.

Nigel: So what happened?

Benny: I’m sure it doesn’t match to your epic life, Nige.

Nigel: [frowns] I didn’t say my life was epic.

Akiro: [snorts] Makes a change for once.

Nigel: Hey, I’m here, making an effort to reconnect with my immediate family, being so strongly separated for the first time in years.

Akiro: Well, maybe we don’t WANT to be reconnected.

Kenji: Yeah, who do you think you are? Telstra?

Nigel: [annoyed] Oh what does it take? You’re never happy! You blank me all for diving into celebrity lifestyle, but when I take a break from it, you blank me all again.

Benny: [bored] Not at all, we just have nothing to say. We had a really boring, ordinary week.

Nigel: Seriously?

Akiro: Sure.

[Another ringtone. “Monkey Magic”. Akiro collects her mobile.]

Akiro: Yo? [laughs] Hey, Mirando! Yeah just like the old times. We were all there! Yeah, what WAS she wearing?! No, I MEANT her boyfriend! [laughs dorkily] Yeah, catch you later tonight. [hangs up] Boring and ordinary, as I said.

Nigel: Anyway, perhaps we should go out tomorrow night. Just the four of us.

Akiro: What? Moon a police officer and have a few car chases?

Nigel: [smiles charmingly] Well, if that particular perversion works for you Akiro, I’d be more than happy to indulge your disturbing whims.

Benny: I dunno, Nige. Been a long first week. Probably best to take it easy.

Nigel: You sure, Benny?

Benny: Definitely.

Nigel: OK. Quiet night in, then.

Benny: Probably.

[She takes out a mobile and dials a number.]

Benny: Hey, Beccy? [laughs] Chocolate slut! What are you up to? Seriously? [looks at Nigel] No, tomorrow night’s good. I got nothing on. No, I’d be up for it. Akiro and Kenji?

Kenji: Yup.

Akiro: Me too.

Benny: [into phone] You bet. Yeah. Just the three of us. Oh, wash your mouth out! Or at least make sure he does! Yeah, I so went there. OK. See you later. Bye. Bye. Beccy, I’m hanging up. [laughs] Yeah, best friends forever and all that crap. Bye.

[She hangs up.]

Nigel: Such subtlety Beriniko. Perhaps you should explain it for Kenji in case he lost that gossamer thread of conversation?

Kenji: No, I think I got the jist of it.

Benny & Nigel: [simultaneous] Shut up, Kenji!

Nigel: Is this going to be how it is from now on, Benny? Us at each other’s throats? Nothing but hate for the rest of our lives?

Benny: Not at all, Nigel. [glares] I refuse to give you the dignity of hate.

Nigel: And dignity is such a big thing for you, isn’t it? Miss Cheat Her Way To the Top! Yeah? What have you got to say to that?

Benny: I’ll let you do all the talking, Media Whore. It’s what you’re best at.

Nigel: [dangerous fury] WHICH IS ONE BETTER THAN ANY OF YOU MISERABLE PARASITES HAVE EVER MANAGED IN YOUR WORTHLESS AND STUNTED LIVES!!

[The others stare at him, shocked. Then, one by one, they leave the table. Nigel is on his own.]

Nigel: [calls after them] All the more for me, then, eh?

[Nigel helps himself to their bowls, emptying it into a huge pile of food over his own plate. He regards it for a moment, his pleasure at winning the argument rapidly turning to despair. Finally he sighs and slumps face forward into the pile of food. A long pause.]

Nigel: [muffled] I regret nothing!

[The school in the morning. We hear the first unsteady strains of "Everybody Needs Somebody" from The Blues Brothers.]

Teacher 1: [VO] No, no, you’ve got it all wrong! Try it again! No! No! We’re playing in C! It’s the easiest key there is! Now TRY it AGAIN! NOOOO! It’s all wrong! Wait! Can’t you even get the most basic melody right without butchering the music! YOU CALL THAT PRACTICING?

[Outside music classroom. A small, cramped foyer area leading out into the playground. A graying, bearded teacher storms out of one doorway and into the even more cramped office.]

Teacher 1: That does it! You tone-deaf idiots are raping my memories of The Blues Brothers! I should leave you all to rot!

[He slams the office door and can be heard sobbing inside. A completely different teacher enters and walks into the classroom.]

Teacher 2: Sorry I’m late everyone, but I hope Mr. Matthews the Computer Science tutor was able to keep you occupied for those three long minutes...

[Music classroom. A brick-walled room in the heart of the school where the music cannot be heard. The back half of the room is full of instruments (drum kit, keyboards, a few guitars). The front half is full of tables and chairs facing a whiteboard. Musical posters are everywhere. Students are milling around as some of them, including Harry Hill, start to get ready to rehearse. Nigel loiters with Jason and Betty, arms folded, looking pissed off. Jason is struggling to fill out a photocopied homework sheet.]

Teacher 2 : [waffling on] Now, your choice of guitar are two yellow acoustics, a black Gibson rip-off electric, a green Fender Stratocaster and a pink Fender Stratocaster. Now, it’s easier to learn on an electric guitar...

Jason: [desperate] Name of the song...

Nigel: [bored] “Trouble”.

[Jason hastily scribbles in the answer.]

Jason: Performer?

Nigel: “Shampoo”.

Jason: Instruments?

Nigel: [increasingly irritable] “Drum, guitar, back-up vocals, harmony, keyboard, bass!” Time signature, “4/4”, appropriate word for chorus is “unison”, for verse is “alternating female”, style is “pop”, number of interludes is “8”, singing style description “annoying”! Hell, Jason, this is hardly difficult, is it?!

Jason: It is to me, my liege! Oh god, I hate Music!

Betty: I know what you mean. It all sort of turns into a mindless bad rhythm after a while.

Nigel: After a while?? It’s a miracle that we’re even still alive at this point. If I hear them do one more number from the Blues Brothers I shall pray for the mercy of death by flesh-eating bacteria.

Harry: Oh give a rest you two, it’s only the third lesson!

[Nigel mockingly mimes repeating Harry, ignoring Jadi absent-mindedly tugging a cord to attach a guitar to an amp.]

Nigel: Can you not see that this is an unsuitable environment for the Big N? The youngest recording artist of this financial quarter, who has two hit singles? It’s like asking Beethoven to take part in a Spice Girls tribute! I am a man of genius, inspiration, and above all, élan—

[Nigel takes a step forward and trips over the unintentional tripwire cord Jadi has unwittingly set up. Nigel falls flat on his face, snapping the cord from Jadi’s hand and causing him to drop the guitar. It lands on Nigel’s head, denting, and the strips snap. Nigel screams, but his voice is muffled since he is face down in the carpet.]

Nigel: ARGH! MY HEAD! MY ANKLE! My head AND my ankle! You’ve broken both!

[Jadi looks between the ruined guitar and Nigel in pain.]

Jadi: I wonder which is going to get me in more trouble?

Nigel: Jason! AVENGE ME! Sue everyone!

Jason: [looks around in confusion] Which one’s Sue?

[Nigel moans in pain and frustration.]

[Playground next morning before class. Nigel has a brace around his ankle and a funky walking stick with NV carved into the handle.]

Nigel: ...all right, so I haven’t actually broken anything, but my private surgeon has got me out of all athletic requirements for the rest of term.

Jason: [impressed] Amazing!

Nigel: You have no idea what I just said, do you?

Jason: You’ve broken your surgeon’s athlete’s foot?

Nigel: ...yes. Yes I have. I also don’t have to do any PE. [sighs] While you and the other plebs and ordinaries are doing warm-up exercises and completely meaningless games of gender-segregated sport on Wednesday afternoons, I shall be relaxing and enjoying myself. Ah yes. Life is good.

[Music classroom. Nigel sits behind a keyboard, looking miserable.]

Nigel: Life is complete and utter shit! I can’t believe that stupid bitch of a principal wanted me to take music classes instead of PE! The repressed freak’s got it in for me!

[We now see is surrounded by the rest of the band: Lucy, Jadi (both bass), Harry (drums) and Tegan (keyboards). They are not exactly impressed with his attitude.]

Jadi: You DID go on and on about what a musical genius you are.

Nigel: Yes, but I never said I could pass it on to talent-free tone-deaf noise polluters like you!

Harry: But you can help us improve our sound and stuff?

Nigel: “Sound and stuff?” Yes, all right, and then I’ll just go and teach orangutans the secret of fire and how to build pyramids in three easy stages, shall I? You are beyond help, all of you! Especially this ragtag collection of Fisher Price musical instruments...

Lucy: Well, if you don’t think you’re up to it...

Nigel: Oh, pur-lease, is that supposed to be some kind of reverse psychology?

Lucy: [stares at him] No.

Nigel: Good. Because it wouldn’t work.

[A few days later. The band are in the middle of a song with Nigel on lead vocals. The song’s a bitter, anti-war protest song.]

Nigel: In Luang Prebang there is a spot
Where the corpses of your brothers rot!
And every corpse is a patriot
And every corpse is a hero!

All: Mourn your dead, Land of the Free!
If you want to be a hero follow me!
Mourn your dead, Land of the Free!
If you want to be a hero follow me!

[They’re not too bad.]

[Another week later. The band are much improved. Harry does a solo on a xylophone.]

[Another week later. Nigel reclines on a stool with an unlit cigarette, ala William Shatner doing “Rocket Man”. Jadi plays a guitar riff.]

[Nigel’s bedroom. The room now has numerous posters of Nigel and a pile of letters in a crate marked FAN MAIL. Jason is wearily signing a pile of photos of Nigel seductively peering over his sunglasses. Nigel is lying in bed, reading a sheet of music as the song blares from a stereo.]

Nigel: The one-and-twenty canon thunder
Into the bloody wild blue yonder
For a patriotic, ball-less wonder,
Now I’m a fuc—

[Nigel frowns and grabs a remote and cuts out the music. There is a faint thudding noise.]

Nigel: What the hell is that?

[In Kenji’s room, Nigel’s brother is repeatedly bashing his head against the wall, causing the percussion noise spoiling the music.]

Kenji: [groans] Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

[Back in Nigel’s room.]

Nigel: Ah, Jason. You know, I think I’ve underestimated my own musical genius. It’s only a matter of time before I get a better deal with a new record company, win an ARIA award and get married to the lead guitarist of some wild, topless girl band. Preferably a chick called “Booby Galore”...

[Jason is too tired and bored to do anything but keep signing autographed photos.]

Nigel: And for my next album, I think a title like “Nigel Verkoff’s Beauty, Betrayal, and Merciless Bloodshed” works rather well, don’t you? Oh, don’t bother, Jason. I can almost hear your brain ticking over. [mimics Jason] “All memory of this pointless conversation will be erased in three, two one…”

And that's when things started to peter out. Nigel's newly-formed band (Yellow Fever And How To Die From It) would have been a big part of the plot, including some truly demented Beatles parodies amongst other things. The episode would end with Nigel's first big concert and his attempt to reconcile with his beloved Bernice...

[The stage is dark. The light snaps on, illuminating Harry and his drum kit. Before him, Nigel is silhouetted, facing away from the audience. As the music begins two more lights switch on, picking out Tegan, Jadi and Lucy. Nigel turns around, peers over his spectacles and then advances on the microphone.]

Nigel: I am the victor and I love to hear the crowd roar!
The sole survivor of a hundred Jekka Tatvi wars!
I’m the legend that shines, a one of a kind institution!
Don’t I fill you with love? I’m a miracle of EVOLUTION!

[The audience is loving it. They’re an instant hit.]

[Lots of audience members are shouting “I love you Nige!” and variations thereupon. A girl at the front offers up an animal cage containing a pet rabbit. Nigel takes it, eyeing it warily as he continues to sing.]

Nigel: I am the spectacle when love and power collide!
I make you feel the things you only dreamed of inside!

[The girl passes up a couple of framed portraits of Nigel, waving a lot as she does so. He puts down the rabbit cage and snatches up the paintings.]

Nigel: I’m the mystical sage for the Internet Age of Seduction!
I can take any heart because I’ve mastered the art of CORRUPTION!

[A small mini-fridge is moshed onto the stage. The girl waves. It’s from her. Rolling his eyes, Nigel opens the fridge and allows dry ice smoke to swirl out. The music builds to the chorus. Note: with every audience participation, the lights pulsate.]

Nigel: You know I’m the...

Audience: BIG N!

Nigel: When I’m burning with fire now!

Audience: BIG N!

Nigel: I got all you desire now!

Audience: BIG N!

Nigel: And I’ll do what I want to do!

[A lull in the singing. People are shouting and cheering on Nigel.]

All: [to the music] BIG N! ... BIG N! .... BIG N!

[Betty has climbed on stage and dances beside Nigel. She can’t dance. Nigel gets a bit embarrassed.]

Nigel: What am I?!

Audience: BIG N!

Nigel: I’ll be all that life can be!

Audience: BIG N!

Nigel: Oh, I’m a sociological fantasy!

Audience: BIG N!

Nigel: Or am I just a reflection of YOU?!?

[He points at the crowds. They go even wilder than before. Nigel looks at the rest of the band in a very cunning manner. Harry and the others nod. The rock music reaches a peak and cuts out. Nigel takes off his glasses and gives a hurt puppy dog look, like Jake in The Blues Brothers. The audience falls silent. His voice cracks as if in pain.]

Nigel: [broken] I’ve seen the light, now I want you all to hear...

[The music turns sad.]

Nigel: The story of a boy who’s ego has disappeared.

[He stumbles forward and collapses to his knees at the edge of the stage.]

Nigel: If you look at my face, you can see there’s a trace of confusion.

[In the crowd, Benny frowns in concern at this sudden change of mood. Nigel slumps forward, as if on the brink of collapse. The girls in the audience are now all crestfallen and sad. Nigel is weeping openly.]

Nigel: I’m out of control... and I’ve poisoned my soul... with delusion.

[Nigel meets his sister’s eyes. He’s in tears.]

Nigel: [miserably] You know I’m the Big N?
I’m burning with fire now?
Big N, I’m all you desire now?
Big N... and I’ll do...what I want to do.

[He starts to sob uncontrollably. On stage, Jadi and Tegan look a bit teary themselves. Betty and other groupies are all genuinely crying. Benny’s face softens at her brother’s obvious pain. Behind the performers, a big poster showing a photo of Old Nigel, Akiro, Kenji and Bernice has surreptitiously appeared, as if to show what Nigel has lost in some crude but effective emotional blackmail. The audience is now beginning to wail in despair. Nigel lifts his head and meets Benny’s eye.]

Nigel: [bitter] Big N? I’m bigger than life can be...
Big N? I’m NOT a rock and roll fantasy...
Big N... I’m just... a reflection...

[He points right at Benny. Everyone follows his pointed finger. Benny stares back sadly.]

Nigel: ...of you.

[Nigel sags, burnt out. The girls and groupies are weeping openly now. Arms are reaching out as if to embrace him, but they can’t reach. Benny, a tear in her eye, turns and runs off. Nigel heaves himself to his feet, exhausted. The crowds chant “Nigel! Nigel!”. The music gets more upbeat and Nigel shambles off stage, refusing to look back.]

Alas, this would all go somewhat pear-shaped when the epic finale to the concert was unwittingly gatecrashed by Andrew who equally unwittingly knocked Nigel unconscious and very-wittingly-indeed had to temporarily become lead singer for the band and conclude it with an Ozzy Osborne tribute involving a pigeon that would leave him forever known to the student body as "Maddog". In the next episode, Nigel would confront the returning loon...

[Nigel strides into the area, looking for the others. Andrew sits on the steps, swigging from a small bottle of VB, looking bored.]

Nigel: Hey. You. Whatever your name is. You seen Betty and the others?

[Andrew has a “give me strength” expression.]

Nigel: What are you doing anyway, you hobgoblin? Drinking alcohol on school property.

Andrew: Just toasting the departed.

[He offers Nigel the bottle. Nigel eyes it with distaste.]

Nigel: ...it’s empty.

Andrew: Well, there are a LOT of departed to toast, aren’t there?

Nigel: You know, you scruffy troll, you could get suspended for drunk and disorderly behavior.

Andrew: Ah, but the bottle – as you so clearly said – is empty. Where’s the proof I drank it?

Nigel: What? You wander around carrying empty beer bottles?

Andrew: They do turn up with alarming frequency, yes.

Nigel: Oh, an alcoholic. Just what the new intake needs.

Andrew: Nothing wrong with a good drink, friend, it warms the mind, clears the constitution and strengthens the blood. And, between you and me, it is GREAT for forgetting things. [curious] Do you have bad dreams?

Nigel: Only about being stuck outside the music department talking to the dregs of society. Look, you can stay here coming up with new and interesting reasons to justify your drinking.

Andrew: Don’t judge my nightmares till you’ve lived them, mate.

Nigel: Oh god, nightmares aren’t real, you moron. They’re hallucinatory phenomena you experience when asleep. You don’t live through them, no one lives through them. And have we met before? There’s something about your never-ending stream of self-pitying garbage that strikes a chord in memory.

Andrew: It is true, young man. We have met before.

Nigel: Oh?

Andrew: Yeah. You owe me fifty bucks.

Nigel: Bullshit!

[Nigel storms off. Andrew takes another bottle out and starts drinking it.]

Andrew: Not my fault if he can’t remember it, is it?

And on September 11th, Nigel loses his virginity to his principal betrayer in a home ecs storeroom as the rest of the school dissolves into panic:

Simone: You don’t want to die a virgin, do you?

Nigel: I could ask you the same question. Look, I’m flattered but... well, I don’t particularly want to get blood all over my clothes...

Simone: Jeez. What pornos have YOU been watching?

Nigel: [absolutely serious] You don’t want to know. Hang on, you’re saying you’re not a virgin?

Simone: Not technically.

Nigel: “Not technically”? How the hell does that work?

Simone: Well, let’s just say between some extreme horse riding, a few fights and a slightly paranoid gynecologist, you ain’t got anything to worry about. I was deflowered ages ago.

Nigel: Oh. Odd how you never hear about things like that in the media.

Simone: Yeah, that stupid Afghanistan business really pushed the truth about hymens off the front pages. We gonna do this thing or what?

Nigel: Simone! Honestly! Do you think that I am so shallow, so consumed by baser instincts that I have no morals or principles left? Do you really think I’d find a quick squelchy session in a supply cupboard with my closest companion over my invaluable culinary education in home economics?

Simone: ...yes. Yes I do.

Nigel: Well, you’re absolutely damn right!

Simone: You got any condoms on you?

Nigel: Live fast, die young and don’t worry about STDs, that’s my motto.

[They duck into the cupboard. Sounds of lustful bonking emerge.]

Simone: [VO/gasps] I think I’m gonna have a heart attack!

Nigel: [VO] Ow!

Simone: [VO] Sorry!

Nigel: [VO] That’s my hair, Simone! Dammit, move your arm...

Simone: [VO] Oh, come on, how many elbows and knees do you have?

Nigel: [VO] What do you think I am, an Olympic gymnast? It’s pitch dark in here!

Simone: [VO] Fine, gimme your hand.

Nigel: [VO] What? Why? [startled] Ah! Oh... wow... I hope we don’t need any lube...

[A strange farting noise.]

Nigel: [VO] What the?

Simone: [VO] Sorry. It’s all this... twisting... into position...

Nigel: [VO] Oh, phew. I thought it was just me.

[A loud burp.]

Simone: [VO] ...well, someone had scrambled eggs for breakfast.

[Simone cries out. A few moments later Nigel screams very loudly. A long pause.]

Nigel: [VO] THAT’S! MY! FOOT!!!!

Simone: [VO/dazed] Sor-reeeee.

[There are some rather nasty sticky noises.]

Simone: [VO] Oh, that is disgusting!

Nigel: [VO] What are you on about? YOU’RE the one farting out of the wrong place!

Simone: [VO] And who’s fault is that?

Nigel: [VO] “Fault”? “FAULT”? First you fail to cry out “Hump me again, potent sex machine” at ANY point, now you’re bringing fault into it!

[Finally the door barges open and Nigel and Simone stagger out, hitching up their pants and smoothing down their dress respectively. Both are very flushed and sweaty.]

Nigel: Wh... where you off to?

Simone: Cleaning up, dumbo.

Nigel: No nice post-coital shower? Oh well. Uh... yeah... keep in touch.

Simone: Will do. [sotto] If I get a urinary tract infection.

[Nigel clearly heard that.]

Nigel: Who said romance was dead?

[Nigel stumbles into the classroom where Jason is doing the washing up.]

Jason: Why do you smell like... [sniffs] strawberries and [sniffs twice] beansprouts?

Nigel: Jason... your immature mind would not be able to grasp the concept.

Jason: [shrugs] Probably.

Unfortunately, Simone has no interests in any long-term relationships and dumps Nigel in public to the music of Al Johnson. (Yes, I had been watching a lot of Glee at the time...)

Nigel: What are you saying?

[Suddenly music begins to play. Chamber stands behind Nigel while Doctor Spoon stands behind Simone.]

Doctor Spoon: On her way to work one morning, down the path along side the lake...

Chamber: A tender-hearted woman saw a poor half frozen snake!

Simone: [mocking] His pretty colored skin had been all frosted with the dew!

Nigel: "Oh well,"

Chamber: ...she cried...

Nigel: "I’ll take you in and I’ll take care of you"

Doctor Spoon: She wrapped him up, all cozy, in a curvature of silk!

Chamber: And then laid him by the fireside with some honey and some milk!

Doctor Spoon: Now she hurried home from work that night...

Chamber: As soon as she arrived...

Doctor Spoon: She found that pretty snake she’d taken in had been revived!

[Simone walks over to Nigel and wraps her arms around his neck.]

Chamber: Now she clutched him to her bosom!

Nigel: "You’re so beautiful!"

Chamber: ...she cried.

Nigel: "But if I hadn’t brought you in
By now you might have died!"

Doctor Spoon: Now she stroked his pretty skin again...

[Simone strokes Nigel’s cheek, then kisses him passionately.]

Chamber: ...and then she kissed and held him tight!

Doctor Spoon: But instead of saying “thanks”...

Both: ...that snake gave her a vicious b—

[Simone knees Nigel in the bollocks, and he doubles over with a scream. Doctor Spoon and Chamber.]

Simone: [laughs] "Oh please, take me in, oh tender woman
Take me in, for heaven's sake
Take me in oh tender woman!"

Both: ...sssssighed the sssssnake.

Nigel: "I saved you!"

Chamber: ...cried that woman.

Nigel: "And you’ve bit me even, why?
And you KNOW your bite is poisonous!
And now I’m going to die!"

Simone: "Oh shut up, silly woman!"

Doctor Spoon: ...said that reptile with a grin.

Simone: "You knew damn well I was a snake
BEFORE you took me in!"

[The song ends.]

Simone: Got the picture now?

Nigel: [almost cries] Oh, Simone.

Simone: Are you gonna cry?

Nigel: [sniffs] Yes! I am! You actually think... you went around believing... [not crying anymore] I gave a tinker’s cuss about you? Simmy, I was a virgin before I met you and I’m not entirely sure if I’m not any more, given you are SUCH a bad shag it might not actually count! Good grief, woman, you have the sexual allure and prowess of a giant panda! By which I mean something so ugly and unattractive it couldn’t get a decent bonk even when the survival of the entire species depended on it! Simone, I’m tempted to rob a bank and get sent to jail and made the bitch of a giant Maori called “Bubba” into farmyard animals JUST to get some better sexual experiences than your over-lubricated fart-filled rutting! YOU COULD CONVERT GAYS! By which I mean making sure they STAY gay! HAH!

[Simone is speechless, devastated.]

Nigel: See you on the way down, you harlot.

With his sister getting a boyfriend, Nigel's libidio starts to boil his brain in his skull and he begins an epic quest to seduce every girl in Year 12. You can read the first half elsewhere on this blog if you can be arsed to look, and after the incident involving Nigel's crotch, Andrew and the scalpel, events continue...

[Nigel is glumly climbing a flight of steps onto a walkway. The crotch of his pants is clearly ripped open. Tegan is coming down the walkway in the opposite direction.]

Tegan: What the hell happened to you? Or maybe “who”?

[Nigel looks her up and down.]

Nigel: [thoughtful] Fancy being that “who”, girl. I’ve satisfied several chicks at this school and I could do the same for you...

Tegan: What? Nigel. You’re not my type.

Nigel: You’re not being racist, are you?

Tegan: Sexist, really. I’m into people with ovaries.

Nigel: Oh.

Tegan: Didn’t you notice the way my girlfriend picks up after school?

Nigel: Well... yes. But to be honest, I tend to think such thoughts whenever girls get together... it’s rather a surprise to find out it’s not just my imagination. Look...

[He follows her into an empty classroom.]

Nigel: Oh, come on, Jovanka! Look at this way: you’ll be able to reaffirm your sexuality.

Tegan: You mean, you’ll put me off men for life?

Nigel: Maybe. What have you got to lose?

Tegan: I’m not getting pregnant like Phoebe.

[Nigel holds out packets of condoms like a magician with a ‘pick-a-card’ trick.]

Nigel: Of course not. That fetish is for another time. Trust me.

Tegan: No way.

Nigel: All right, forget the trust. Come on, girl. Don’t tell me you don’t get as horny as every other teenager in this school? I mean, insult my seduction skills but never my intelligence... [sotto] You got an itch I am more than willing to scratch.

[Tegan smiles but shakes her head.]

Nigel: Look at it this way. If I’m complete crap, you’ll be able to tell everyone and ruin my reputation forever.

Tegan: Wow. You’re confident aren’t you?

Nigel: I was born confident. I assume.

[Tegan pushes him against the teacher’s desk and straddles him. Nigel grunts in pain.]

Nigel: [pained] You, uh... are one solid lady.

Tegan: Too much for you to handle?

Nigel: [without effort] You tell me. Is this rampant sexual desire I see before me?

[Tegan kisses him. Eventually Nigel comes up for air.]

Nigel: Is that a yes?

[She pushes him back onto the desk. He cracks his head on the chair.]

Nigel: AGH! Tegan, if I’m not conscious this could count as rape...

[Tegan kisses him again. His hands flail around, trying to pull down her pants.]

[Study room in the library. Andrew, still in a bad mood, is flipping through a text book. Maurice, Katy, Dave and Aileen are present.]

Andrew: ...and then I walked out.

Dave: You attacked each other with art scalpels.

Andrew: Yeah, but only when words proved inadequate.

Aileen: You could get expelled if the teachers find out.

Andrew: Yeah, because it’s not like I’ll be leaving school this year anyway, is it?

Dave: Um, yeah, maybe we should get on to physics...

Andrew: Very well. Angle of incident equals angle of reflection.

Katy: Right, and that means?

Maurice: It means laser beams bounce off mirrors, doesn’t it?

Katy: Well, sort of. The point is that...

[A square plate of ceiling suddenly falls loose and slams into the middle of the table, startling everyone. A worried cry and then Harry drops out of the gap in the ceiling and lands on the table as well.]

Harry: [lamely] Surprise!

Katy: Harry! How the hell did you do that?

Harry: Air vents, people, air vents. I was in the next study room, got a bit bored, and it turns out the inspection hatches aren’t even locked or anything.

Maurice: Wow. Like secret passages?

Andrew: I have GOT to try that!

[Andrew climbs onto the table and tries to haul himself up into the ceiling.]

Dave: But what about study?

Andrew: [halfway into the ceiling] I am studying! Six years and I never suspected this was here! This is much more interesting! If only Tegan was here to see this...

Aileen: Yeah, where is she, anyway?

[Tegan emerges from the classroom, straightening her clothes. Nigel follows, looking far more ragged and with a few bruises.]

Nigel: [out of breath] Converting a lesbian... that’s seven year’s good luck, you know?

Tegan: [slightly dazed] Didn’t convert me.

Nigel: You enjoyed it. [groans] I have the compound fractures to prove it.

Tegan: So? I enjoy rides at Wonderland. Doesn’t mean I want to live on a roller coaster, does it?

Nigel: I dunno. [exhausted] Not sure I care. Still, as long as I am greater than or equal to sitting on a washing machine, I’m cool.

Tegan: Yeah, you’re about the same.

Nigel: Oh good. [blinks] You do the sitting-on-a-washing-machine thing?

Tegan: It’s about as humiliating as sitting on you.

Nigel: Oh, please, Julie McCrossin, I only have so many ribs. [groans] Do you have concrete implants in those boobs of yours or what?

[Tegan shifts awkwardly.]

Tegan: I haven’t got any complaints before.

Nigel: Yeah, washing machines aren’t noted for their conversational skill. Still, I suppose a washing machine is good practice for having a girlfriend.

[Tegan cracks her knuckles.]

Tegan: Do go on.

[Nigel looks nervously at her.]

Nigel: Well, you’ve got to treat them with respect. Don’t overload them. And always watch out for the dodgy part of their cycle.

[Tegan stares at him for a long moment. Nigel smirks and breaks up in laughter. So does Tegan. His laughter fades as he sees, for a split-second, Benny beside him.]

[Recess bell rings. Nigel is skipping down some steps as he passes a girls’ toilet and sees three pretty girls emerging. With a grin, he approaches them.]

[Study rooms in the library. Nigel sits with his feet on a desk, hands behind his head, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Betty sits beside him in a more conservative pose.]

Betty: Five girls? Just today?!?

Nigel: All before lunchtime. Including a threesome. It’s like the old Stranglers’ song, Betty.

Betty: Peaches?

Nigel: Wha—no! Not Peaches! The other one.

Betty: Which one?

Nigel: [sings] This is the story of a poor man’s son! He pulled himself up, turned his face the sun! He burned up the world with a heart of fire and tempted the stars when they hid their light! Now everyone wants to touch the golden boy! Now everyone wants to touch the golden boy! Doo-doo, doo-do-doo! Doo-doo, doo-do-doo! Everyone wants to touch, everyone wants to suck, everyone wants to...

[He trails off at stares longingly at Betty.]

Nigel: ...wants to?

Betty: Oh yeah.

[Nigel kisses her. She kisses back. He slides a hand under her shirt and she presses closer to him. Both topple off their chairs and onto the floor.]

[In the next study room, Andrew is reading “The Mysteries of the Unexplained” when the sound of screwing in the next room filters through the thin curtain wall.]

Betty: [vo] Oh Nige... OH!

[Andrew scowls, closes the book and starts to climb onto the table.]

Betty: [gasps] Oh god!

Nigel: [vo] Don’t give him the credit, this is all me!

[Andrew rips open the ceiling inspection hatch and heaves himself up into the ceiling. In the dusty darkness, he shuffles on his elbows as Betty moans for a very long time. He finds another hatch and lifts it up, then leans forward to stick his head through. Betty squeaks in surprise as she sees him glaring at her and Nigel having sex.]

Andrew: [pleasantly] Yes, Elizabeth, we’re all VERY pleased you’ve got into Club d’Amore, but while you’re checking your inhibitions at the door, will you for the love of god just SHUT UP?!

Nigel: [over his shoulder] Piss off, Maddog! We’re busy!

Andrew: So am I – and it’s not on another adolescent embarrassment that will be so bad in years to come you’ll have to repress it just to get out of bed in the morning.

Nigel: Bugger off, you bastard!

Andrew: See, Bets? THIS is who you chose to have a defining moment of your life with. Remember that.

[But nevertheless, he rises back into the ceiling and scrabbles through the shadows.]

Andrew: [to himself] Now, which way is the Common Room?

[He skids to a halt as something seems to block the path ahead. After a moment, a light comes on – Andrew’s flicked on his cigarette lighter. A severed sheep’s head sits in a puddle of dried blood. Andrew stares at it for a long moment.]

Andrew: [friendly] Hello!

[Back in the study room, Nigel and Betty are sitting on the floor, backs to the wall, both sweaty and flushed.]

Betty: [panting] Hold my hand... don’t leave me...

[He gives her a surprised look and shrugs.]

Nigel: If you want. Man. It sure gets hot in these study rooms, doesn’t it?

Betty: [shakes head] It’s like I’ve been electrocuted in all the right places. [awkward] I think you should know... that was my first time.

Nigel: [dryly] I’d never have guessed.

Betty: Really?

[He winks at her and she smiles. Then she sighs.]

Betty: Oh. I was sort of, well, saving myself...

Nigel: I had no idea. I just thought you were playing hard to get.

[She laughs weakly and rests her head on his shoulder.]

[Near a gated side exit to the school, Doctor Spoon and Chamber are present. The former is sipping a milkshake, the latter listening to a discman.]

Doctor Spoon: You hear Verkoff has started sleeping with every girl in Year 12?

Chamber: Yup. Only the ones he thinks are hot, though.

Doctor Spoon: Oh. Guess that cuts the number down a bit.

Chamber: Yeah, not as impressive a claim when you think about.

Doctor Spoon: I know. This school isn’t half as interesting as people make it out to be.

[Suddenly above the stairwell nearby, a ventilation grille pops loose and out tumbles Andrew, somersaulting down the steps to land sprawled at their feet, clutching a severed sheep’s head. Spluttering, Andrew self-consciously gets to his feet, dusts himself down, snatches up the severed head and walks off with much dignity. Doctor Spoon and Chamber exchange troubled looks.]

Chamber: Why do you SAY things like that? Honestly, Rupert, what do you really THINK is going to happen when you say them?

Nigel eventually ends up with a certain girl called Gabrielle who ends up sharing his bed rather than a convenient hiding hole in the school:

[Nigel lies in bed with Gabby, who looks even more dazed and ragged than usual.]

Gabby: [flushed] Oh God... that... that felt great... I can’t... I...

Nigel: [weary] Uh-huh. Electric ecstasy enveloping your whole body, feels like hot wax poured onto your girly-parts. Don’t waste your breath looking for more superlatives.

Gabby: I didn’t understand a single word of that.

Nigel: [sighs] You don’t have to tell me how good I am, babe. I already know.

Gabby: Oh. Cool. [beat] How was I?

Nigel: Fantastic. Incredible. Now stop talking, you’ll ruin the moment.

Gabby: You don’t like talking after?

Nigel: It’s just I like to have intelligent conversations. And I know you don’t.

Gabby: [thoughtfully] That’s true. Do you want me to go now?

Nigel: Well... I dunno... up to you. I guess.

Gabby: I don’t mind.

Nigel: [awkward] I don’t mind either. This is, well, the first time I’ve had a girl round my place.

Gabby: [looks around] It’s nice.

Nigel: [blinks] Yeah. Yeah, it IS nice. I suppose. Never really noticed. You, um, wanna stay for dinner? Best Chinese takeaway this side of the Newtown festival...

Gabby: Only if, you know, it’s no trouble.

Nigel: [firmly] No trouble.

Gabby: I should probably get a shower first though...

Nigel: No hassle. Bathroom just down the hall.

Gabby: You wanna show me where?

Nigel: [frowns] You think you’d get lost?

Gabby: Maybe. [playful] Maybe I want to spend more time with you.

Nigel: Sarcasm ill-becomes you, Gabrielle. [beat] You’re NOT being sarcastic are you?

Gabby: [shrugs] I don’t think so.

[Hallway. Nigel and Gabby, both wearing kimonos – in the latter’s case, rather ill-fitting – sneak over to the bathroom door.]

Gabby: I don’t want anyone to go in while I’m in the shower.

Nigel: No sweat. I’ll keep guard.

Gabby: You sure?

Nigel: [reproving] Promise.

[Nigel opens the door. Gabby kisses him on the cheek and hops through. Nigel touches his cheek, trying to wrap his brain around the concept. There is the sound of water within the bathroom.]

Gabby: [vo] Gumboots, they are wonderful! Gumboots, they are swell!
Coz they keep out the water, and they keep in the smell.
And when you’re sitting round at home, you can always tell
When one of the troops has taken off his gumboots!

[Nigel laughs at her exuberant singing, then notices Benny standing further down the hall, disapproving.]

Bernice: Hey.

Nigel: Hey.

Bernice: Do you even know her name?

Nigel: What do you mean?

Bernice: Everyone’s heard about you sleeping your way through your school.

Nigel: Everyone’s stupid. There’s no “sleeping” involved. All parties are VERY much awake.

Bernice: Oh, don’t be disgusting!

Nigel: I don’t comment on YOUR sex life, Bernice, do I?

Bernice: There’s nothing to comment on!

Nigel: [surprised] Seriously? So you and him haven’t...

Bernice: I’m not discussing this!

Nigel: You’re still...

Bernice: SHUT UP!

[Nigel stares at her for a long moment, awed.]

Nigel: You know, I’ve just realized something. I haven’t thought about you ONCE today.

Bernice: Is that meant to be an insult?

[She storms off before Nigel can reply.]

Nigel: She’s still a virgin. And yet, somehow, I’m not really interested any more...

[A beat.]

Nigel: [shakes his head] I need a drink.

After yet another song, Nigel confesses his love:

Nigel: Gabbs... You see before you a natural orator caught short for once....

Gabby: Um, can you speak English?

Nigel: Yeah. Sure. I guess I DO get a bit pretentious. So. Gabbs. I love you. I mean... no, that’s it. I love you. Honestly. I’ve done it with plenty of girls, and I’ll probably do it with plenty more. But none of them made me happy like you do. Fantastic, supreme, dynamo sex, yeah... but not happy. See, a while ago, there was this girl and... long story short she broke my heart with a Peter Weir film. And I’ve never really been happy since. Until I met you. You make me look forward to things. To tomorrow, even when nothing special’s happening. I would be honored if you would be my girlfriend.

Gabby: Really?

Nigel: Really. You might not be in the top education band and get a headache at the mere thought of soduku, but you’re not an idiot. And I’ll never treat you like an idiot. Promise.

Gabby: And I promise to keep you happy.

Nigel: You know what? No one has EVER even OFFERED that before. You are awesome.

[They embrace.]

And as the final term begins:

[Nigel stands on stage, addressing the assembled student body.]

Nigel: Utopia. A world without borders. Without wars. And contained solely in science fiction, because we live in a world without a central global government. There’s no New World Order around, no matter what those unmarked helicopters are doing to mutilate cattle. Because if there had been, the destruction of the twin towers wouldn’t have happened.

[Some bored yawns from the audience.]

Nigel: Pay attention! The United States of America has been in a state of emergency since 1933 – and that means that legally they can go against their own constitution whenever they need to. Free speech? Ownership of property? Individual rights? They could all be taken away like that [snaps fingers] if the US Senate wanted to. They still can turn USA into the biggest police state with no warning today. Pity they didn’t do that on September 10th, though, isn’t it? Yeah, big mistake, George W.

[Looks of confusion amongst the students.]

Nigel: Now, the political parties of this wide brown land have been against Big Brother world police crushing the people. But the government can get things wrong, you know. Not even teachers are perfect. And we have all been given a little reminder of that fact. There are corners of the global village that have bred the most terrible things, things that act against everything Australia believes in. They’ve turned against the weaknesses of Western Civilization, turned to the strength of terrorism. No pain, no emotion, no humanity, the ultimate enemy. All Kawayder, as I understand it’s called. [deep breath] Thus, in the interests of Home Land Security, the Student Representative Council will, from this day forth, be held accountable to a new body to be lead by none other than myself. I call this new organization... The Happiness Patrol!

[From either side of the stage come Patrol Members – ordinary schoolkids except they have jackets like an American football team, with an NV’s Happiness Patrol logo on the back. Four of them stand at the front of the stage, glaring out at the assembly. More emerge from the doors on either side of the stage and advance down the aisles. The student body exchange worried looks.]

Nigel: Remain in your seats everyone. The Happiness Patrol are here for your safety. We recognize the rights of all Australian citizens, and are more than willing to take them away should it be necessary, in order to protect the rights of the majority. Some might call this a dictatorship, a perversion of everything that has made this country great. I say to them... [grins] “tough”.

[HPMs stalk through the rows of chairs. Another dozen of them take up guarding positions by the exits. All of them have stern expressions on their faces.]

Nigel: The decision has been made. You must hope it was not the wrong decision.

[Nigel lets out a crazy-scary laugh. No one else looks happy.]

[Nigel’s bedroom at Benny’s place. Nigel and Gabby are lying on the bed, fully clothes for once.]

Nigel: [philosophically] Oh well, the whole reign of terror lasted a lot longer than I expected.

Gabby: Yep. Three whole hours.

Nigel: Yeah, kind of amazed they let me get that far. Never mind. I’m still on top of the game. In the perfect position to get Benny away from that half-blind orangutan. And if I don’t, I’ve got one hell of a good second place holder?

Gabby: [confused] Who?

[Nigel stares at her.]

Nigel: You, Gabs. You may be my second choice, but that’s better than anyone else has managed.

[She snuggles up to him.]

Gabby: Cool. You know what they say – zero the hero, first the worst, second the best...

Both: [together] ...third’s the one with the hairy chest.

[They laugh.]

Both: If it weren’t for your gumboots, where would you be?
You’d be in the hospital or infirmary!
Coz you would have a dose of the flu (or even pleurisy)
If you didn’t have your feet in your gumboots!

NEXT TIME

NIGEL: So huge. So helpless. So say all of us!

And then the first episode of The Youth of Australia from Nigel's POV:

ACT NINE – VOODOO CHILD

[It is a peaceful morning over the school. The sun rises above the trees. The birds sing the dawn chorus. Students are slowly but surely turning up. In the distance, Toto’s “Africa” can faintly be heard from inside the gymnasium. Getting louder. Suddenly, the double doors to the gym are smashed apart as Wynona hurtles through them and crash-lands in the middle of the courtyard, DTF-style. School-kids either run for their lives or watch in awe as the doors open and Nigel emerges. He is is wearing a necklace saying WESTSIDE over his normal uniform. Jason stumbles out of the back, as does Betty.]

Nigel: Six LONG years I’ve been waiting to do that!

[The gathered students start to laugh and applaud.]

Nigel: See, you two? It was totally worth the six hours needed to set this up.

[They close the doors and wander off, leaving the car in the middle of the school.]

Nigel: Ah, the last Monday I shall ever see at this school! Tuesday Muck-Up Day, Wednesday the ceremony, Thursday the sign-out and then beyond the outskirts of infinity and into the shadowlands!

Jason: And then the HSC.

Nigel: Don’t bother me with facts when I’m in denial, Betty.

[Simone approaches them.]

Simone: When the principal sees Wynona parked there, she’s going to lose it.

Nigel: All part of my plan to break her down psychologically.

Simone: You really think you can get a snog off her in front of the whole school?

Nigel: Indeed I do. And when I do I expect everyone to pay up.

Simone: [smug] We’ll never have to!

Nigel: Ah, what do YOU know? [yawns and stretches] So, Simone. Fancy one last shag on a routine school day?

Simone: No. I’m remaining faithful to Brian.

Nigel: Brian. Yeah. Sure. You sure that’s not just your pet name for some vibrating sex toy?

Simone: Piss off.

Nigel: I’ve never seen this Brian. Have you, Jason?

Jason: I saw Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Did that count?

Nigel: Not really, Jason. The only bits of the film you understood were about the killer rabbit. So, what’s on the agenda today?

Betty: Well, the Yearbooks are ready, apparently. We get them all in the common room.

Nigel: Then let us go.

[As Spiderbait’s “Sunshine on the Window” plays, the Happiness Patrol stride into the Common Room. There is a table set up covered in books. Everyone is present. Nigel strides over to the table and snaps his fingers. He is meekly handed one. Nigel eyes it and then assumes a sexy pose on the table, turning to address the whole common room.]

Nigel: Well, now... isn’t this nice? Alright, enough pleasantries. [shouts] Step right up, don’t be shy! Any of you ladies interesting in leaving a phone number and a quick comment? The table’s open already! Come one, come all, just come!

[Katy approaches, holding out a book.]

Katy: Why, hello Nigella. I’d be more than happy to sign your yearbook for you.

[She takes a pen, writes something quick, then moves away.]

Nigel: [grins] And what has the lovely lady graced my pages with? A poem? A romantic ballad? [reads what she wrote] WHAT THE FU... [composes himself] Oh, a dirty mind! I like that kind of spunk in m’lady!

[He growls seductively.]

Nigel: It’s always the quiet ones. Maybe I can do HER before Wednesday...

Simone: Have you seen your photo yet?

Nigel: Please, baby, patience is a virtue. [checks the book] There, they’ve... Hey, check it out – you’re blinking! [laughs] They got you blinking!

Simone: [grabs book] No, not possible... [humiliated] Christ on a bike!

Nigel: What did they do for me?

Tegan: A full page special.

Nigel: Ooh! Nice!

[He turns to a page marked NIGEL VERKOFF, S.S.C, H.S.C, S.H.I.T. The picture is of a pit bull terrier vomiting. Nigel’s expression fades into a cold, tense mask.]

Nigel: THIS... IS... AN... OUTRAGE!!!!

Andrew: [loudly] Yes, I don’t think it entirely does you justice. A bucket of anal pig slop, now that’s what I should have put in the yearbook.

[Nigel swivels to stare at Andrew, speechless with rage.]

Nigel: You just have to ruin everything, don’t you? I thought you had your own life to screw up, or do you get some kind of sadistic thrill going after your betters!

Andrew: Nigel, please, there are things that won’t flush down the toilet that I respect more than you.

Nigel: Well, hoo-bloody-hooray! The fact remains that this time next year you will be the completely forgotten nobody with no friends, life, fame or fortune who would most likely have died in the gutters of Ashfield if it weren’t for me – while I am supremely elevated to higher and more powerful positions in this stunted society that we call Australian democracy! Why don’t you take a hint from Dave and jump off the roof, end it all so apart from anything else we’re spared the stench!

[Andrew is silent.]

Nigel: Well? What have you got to say to that?

[Andrew is about to reply when they hear Jadi shout and both turn to see what’s happening.]

Jadi: [excited] WOO-HOO! GIRL-FIGHT!

[Simone is looming over Phoebe and Dave, who are sitting on a couch.]

Simone: When I want the opinion of a bloated, hormonal brood-horse, I’ll ask for it, redhead!

[Andrew wanders over. Jadi turns to Nigel.]

Nigel: [reads the cover] School Motto... “Watch out! The Mad Bastard’s Got A Knife!” I think they’re talking about you there, Jason. [flips pages] What is this filth?! “Two pensioners on a nature ramble found Verkoff during the act and were not deterred by his cries of ‘Look, there’s a cabbage-white butterfly’. The police were called and bail has been refused. ‘They should bring back hanging,’ said an official of the jockey club of Western Australia...”

Jadi: Maddog is in charge of writing all that crap in the yearbook.

Nigel: [arches eyebrow] I didn’t think you’d care.

Jadi: Oh, I care all right! He’s dubbed me as a fundamentalism Islamic suicide bomber – the moment my parents read that I am completely screwed!

Nigel: Well, we can screw HIM completely first. Get the paper towel holder!

Jadi: My pleasure, Verkoff.

[Jadi heads off.]

Jason: What are we doing, my liege?

Nigel: Finally putting that hobo out of MY misery.

[Meanwhile, Andrew has finished chatting to Simone who turns and runs out of the common room, covering her ears with her hands. Jadi grabs Andrew’s arm and holds the vaguely-knife-shaped paper towel holder to Andrew’s throat.]

Nigel: Well, Pitbull, I’m not exactly... thrilled with how you’ve presented me in the yearbook. I demand a reprint!

Andrew: Well, [shrugs] I want world peace, Nige...

Nigel: I want a new yearbook. I am not satisfied with this publication.

Andrew: [smiles] And what would you like me to change?

Jadi: A complete rewrite of my page.

Andrew: Oh, you want more Terrorism stuff? Sure.

Jadi: No, wait...

Andrew: Look, they’ve all been handed out. There’s nothing I can do and even if there was something I can do – which there isn’t – I wouldn’t tell you there was something I can do because if, by some miracle, you found out that there was something I can do I wouldn’t do it!

Nigel: Either you fix every last one of these year-books, dingo, or I start getting... unfriendly.

Andrew: [laughs in his face] So this is you friendly, is it?

Nigel: [snaps] That’s it, Labrador! Let’s take a walk.

[Jadi and Jason drag Andrew to the door. Nigel follows. The students rise and head for the windowed walls as they see the group walk out onto the sloping roof.]

Jason: [conversationally] I’m really terribly impressed, Jadi, I thought you hated heights.

Jadi: [pale] I do, but I hate what my parents will do to me even more!

Andrew: You must surely admire the irony. Last week you were trying to stop a guy jumping off the roof, now you’re going to be the one pushing him off...

[They reach the edge.]

Nigel: Now. Last chance. Change the yearbook or learn to fly.

Andrew: I can’t.

Nigel: Pity. Push him over.

[Effortlessly, Andrew suddenly breaks free, knees Jadi in the groin, so he falls on top of Jason. Furious, Nigel turns and decks Andrew right on the jaw. Andrew simply falls backwards. Nigel squeals like a girl as he drops out of sight and fearfully looks over the edge – Andrew’s crumpled body lies on the ground far below. Nigel whimpers and runs back into the common room, having soiled himself.]

Nigel: [horrified] Oh my god! I killed the nutter! Days before the HSC I’m a murderer with only stunning good looks and incredibly fascinating sexual history to my name... I WANT MY MUM!

[He dives under the table, hugs his knees to his chest and starts rocking back and forth.]

Nigel: [singing to himself] Aint got much but I got time... gonna leave you all behind...

[Fade to black.]

[Fade up. Nigel’s still in the fetal position under the table, singing and hugging himself.]

Nigel: Laughing but the joke’s on you... you think you know me, don’t you? When you see what I can do, you’ll realize the joke’s on you...

[Pull across to see Betty’s kneeling beside him.]

Betty: Nige, please, come on. It’s home time. Maddog’s alive. He had a trampoline, it was all a prank.

Nigel: Yes... yes... that’s what we’ll tell the police... yes. What else do we have to do?

[Nigel, composed again, now stands outside the school, snatching yearbooks from Jadi and Dave, ripping out the “full-page shot” and returning the books to them.]

Nigel: Sorry about the inconvenience, but my signature has made these books all the more rarer and sought-after collector’s items. Know that we meet and rejoice.

[He turns as Gabby approaches. He takes her yearbook, tears out a page and signs the book. They head for the carpark.]

Gabby: I missed you baby.

Nigel: Everyone does, Gabs, everyone does.

Gabby: Can I see what you’ve written?

Nigel: [hands her the book] It’s worth waiting for, sexy thing.

[Gabby tries to read Nigel’s atrocious handwriting.]

"Gabrielle... Have... a... goo... good... Christmas..." and a kind of a question mark. Oh, It’s a smiley face. [annoyed] Oh, Nigel! This is our first and last yearbook together! When I show this yearbook to my grandchildren I want them to see just how close we were!

[Nigel is unlocking Wynona. He freezes.]

Nigel: GRANDCHILDREN?!?! [calm] Oh. I can do that.

[He takes the yearbook, writes, and hands it back to her and as she reads it, he dives into the car, slams the door and starts the engine.]

Gabby: You just replaced the smiley face with some kisses! [dreamy] How romantic.

[She turns as Nigel drives out of the car park.]

Nigel: Sorry, Gabs, got to help Benny pick a dress for her graduation ceremony. You can walk home.

Gabby: Walk?!

Nigel: Yeah. Hopefully that will have got this breeding urge out of your head by the time you get home.

Gabby: [shocked] And then what?

Nigel: No idea. We’ll probably screw like rabbits. Ciao.

[He revs Wynona until he’s doing a burn-out and hurtles out of sight.]

[In a shopping centre, Benny and Nigel are approaching a clothes shop.]

Benny: You don’t really need to go to all this trouble, Nige.

Nigel: No, you’ve been the best sister a guy could ask for. Especially with me gatecrashing your swinging bachelorette pad. You don’t even complain about Gabby making stupid loud noises.

Benny: Your sex life is your own business.

Nigel: [laughs] Sex? I was talking about her normal conversation.

[She laughs.]

[Inside, Nigel is idly pacing as Benny enters a changing booth.]

[He notices a row of underwear, picks up a pair of panties and examines them with a jeweler’s eye glass.]

Nigel: [humming] Will they ever share the answer of legend, tales and time gone by?

[A booth opens and Katy emerges wearing a green dress and looks sadly at her reflection.]

Katy: I couldn’t be more ugly if I tried. This should be burned.

Nigel: Preferably with you in it!

Katy: Nigel? What the hell are you doing here?

Nigel: Benny’s getting a dress.

Katy: Another one?

Nigel: [confidentially] Ah, but his time I’m paying. She’ll have to sleep with me then.

Katy: Dude... she’s your sister!

Nigel: Step-sister. I’ve checked The Plain Man’s Guide to Church Law on wikipedia. They can’t touch me. Sweet, sweet candy!

[Benny emerges from the changing room wearing a very sophisticated black dress.]

Benny: This is great to wear around the house.

Nigel: You betcha. How much?

Benny: A grand and a half.

Nigel: ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS FOR A PIECE OF FABRIC!!! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? HAS YOUR BRAIN BEEN SURGICALLY REMOVED FROM YOUR SKULL, BATHED IN PALMOLIVE DISHWASHING FLUID, LEFT FESTERING IN THE SUN FOR THREE DAYS AND THEN PUT BACK IN YOUR HEAD THE WRONG WAY ROUND? ARE YOU COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY INSANE?!! A GRAND AND A HALF? A FUCKING GRAND AND A FUCKING HALF FUCKING BUCKS?!?!?

[Beat.]

Nigel: Did I say that out loud? Sorry, I mean, “it’s worth it”. After all, like the sign says, ‘What’s hot now?’

Katy: Judging by the pictures, I’d say bulimia.

Nigel: Yes, just what are you doing here, January? Are you here with a suitable adult, or maybe just an invisible friend?

Katy: No, I’m here with the police, looking for you in regards to throwing a student off the roof of the high school.

Nigel: SHIT! RUN FOR IT!

[Nigel sprints out of the shop. A moment later, he returns.]

Nigel: Oh, very witty, January. Tomorrow, you will have your comeuppance.

[Katy snorts and wanders off. Benny turns to Nigel.]

Benny: What happens tomorrow?

Nigel: Muck-Up Day. All the year twelves unleash the hidden powers of the primal teenager with nothing to stop us.

Benny: Well, that sounds nice.

Nigel: Nice? Bernice, it will be a long, drawn-out orgy of violence, destruction, torment and agony.

Benny: You’re just exaggerating again, Nigella.

[Benny’s place. Nigel is soaked to the skin and covered in flour, dirty and mud. He sits with Gabby and Benny. Ari is cooking in the background.]

Nigel: I wasn’t exaggerating.

Benny: So, Jason’s in hospital then?

Nigel: Uh-huh.

Gabby: He nearly drowned. There was a crack in his water pistol he tried to seal up with his mouth...

Nigel: Worst of all was those two troglodytes who mucked about with the PA system to make a sonic boom... We actually spent half of Muck Up Day doing lessons. God, what a horrible day. Bett’s getting damn insufferable, going on about regrets and academic failure...

Benny: Everyone worries about that.

Nigel: It’s effecting her work, though. There’s no way we’re going to get all those Yearbooks back in time. And by “we”, I really should be perfectly accurate and say “her”. Especially now Jason’s out of commission and Simone’s busy with this Brian Damage character.

Gabby: Why don’t you help her then?

Nigel: That’s a fascinating question, Gabby. Do you have a good answer?

[Gabby thinks for a moment.]

Gabby: Nope.

Nigel: Nor do I. [to Ari] When’s dinner ready?

[The next day. The bell rings, and Betty, Gabby and Simone (all wearing very expensive versions of everyday uniform) approach a group of Year 12 (including Dave, Jadi, Phoebe, Katy, etc.) Andrew is wearing a Tarzan outfit. Everyone else is in formal gear.]

Nigel: [VO] So, is Brian coming here today?

Simone: He can’t make it. My parents can though.

Nigel: [VO] Hard luck.

[Nigel follows them into view. He is wearing a lemon-coloured nylon suit with blue polka-dots over a white-and-purple striped shirt, red braces and a bright orange tie. The trousers are too short.]

Gabby: It’s for some kind of TV stunt, Candid Camera thing, right?

Nigel: Eh? Honestly, Gabby, this is the in-thing.

Simone: It is the in-sane.

Nigel: It’s not easy being a trendsetter. Still, with all that yearbook business out of the way, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get this style popular across the whole country... [frowns] This is the bit where you reassure me about the yearbooks, Bets.

Betty: [anxious] Well...

Simone: What are you saying? You haven’t done it??

Nigel: Simone made it quite clear that you were to take the remaining pages ASAP.

Betty: [wails] I want my mummy!!!

[They approach the hall. A banner above the stage reads “CONGRATULATIONS CLASS OF 1987”.]

Nigel: 1987? Wow, I really wasn’t paying attention...

Simone: They’re re-using an old banner. Budget cuts.

Nigel: I knew that. [less certain] Of course I knew that!

[As the students sit in the front row, teachers and officials appear on stage and parents and guests start filing in. The Sinister Woman is one of them. She sits in the back row, placing a handbag on her lap. A secret camera in it focuses immediately on the back of Nigel’s head.]

[This is shown on a plasma wall screen. The distorted voice of the principal can be heard.]

Principal: [vo] And so passes another chapter in the lives of our students! And yet another flock of our students head out into the real world - armed with the knowledge they learned and cherished during their years at this fine institution... If you consider the ‘real world’ to be all-night discos, binge drinking and living off reheated pizza, that is! And ‘knowledge’ to be knowing the latest pop culture fads and the ability to sleep through loud lectures!! But fear not, students, because you are ready. Ready to tackle the challenges and defeats the new, exciting world will throw at you...

[On the screen, Nigel turns around to glance over his shoulder. The image freezes on his face.]

Sinister Unseen Figure: It’s him. It IS him! GODS OF PURGATORY, IT *IS* HIM!!

[We pull out further. The plasma screen is in a boardroom. At the head of the table, someone is watching the image of Nigel and laughing insanely.]

[In the gymn, there is a queue of students going up on stage to get their certificates. At the end is Nigel, tapping his foot impatiently. Beside him is Phoebe, who is leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. Nigel hasn’t noticed she’s clearly gone into labor.]

What idiot wanted this done alphabetically? Why not in terms of charm or good looks? Stupid alphabet making me the last... [impatient] Damn, I just want this to be over already!

Phoebe: [in pain] You and me both...

Nigel: Don’t worry, red. I’ll make this a finish to remember. They’ll be singing my praises from now until the crack of doom itself!

[Phoebe gasps in pain.]

Nigel: That’s it, plebian! Gasp in awe at Nigel – the Living God! High School was just the beginning!

[The boardroom. The plasma screen shows images from the ceremony: Nigel, making eyes to an attractive girl on stage; kissing the principal; watching the fight between Gabby and the principal.]

Sinister Unseen Figure: It’s him. I know it’s him. I can feel it. His very presence sickens the soul.

[Back at the school. Nigel strides on stage like a rock star. His family give some mild applause, but there is otherwise no reaction.]

Principal: [sarcastic] Congratulations, Mr. Verkoff. I must say that you have been one of the most—

[She is cut off as Nigel sweeps her into a passionate kiss. A gasp from the crowd below and Nigel finally comes up for air.]

Nigel: OK, Guys, pay up!

[We see people all over the assembly – including guests and teachers and ALL the students – shaking their heads in disgust and go for their wallets. Suddenly, the lust crazed principal grabs Nigel and kisses him, dragging him out of sight. Nigel’s horrific screams are muffled. The curtain falls.]

Nigel: No, miss, please... please... seriously... Just stop!

Principal: [lustfully] Or what?

Nigel: I know this probably makes me sound like a prick, but it was just for a bet! I don’t want your flabby, blue-veined body with too much hair in all the wrong places!

[The principal continues to kiss him passionately, pressing him to the floor.]

Principal: Offer me money...

Nigel: [desperate] Yes!

Principal: Power, too! Promise me that!

Nigel: All that I have! And more! Please!

[She stops kissing and cradles Nigel’s head in her hands.]

Principal: Give me everything I ask for!

Nigel: [terrified] Anything! You! Want!

Principal: I WANT THE LAST SIX YEARS OF MY LIFE BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!

[She slams his head against the floor and he groans. She gets to her feet.]

Principal: In the meantime, I’ll accept all the cash you just won. Or rather, *I* won. It’s the only reason I let you kiss me in the first place.

[The principal turns and stalks off. Nigel, sickened, tries to rub the lipstick marks from his skin.]

Nigel: [shaken] My god... other people are capable of independent thought... who’d a thunk it? [groans] I’m gonna be sick!

[Shivering with shock, Nigel gets to his feet and snatches a blanket he wraps around himself. He stumbles towards the exit, nauseous.]

Nigel: Where are Betty and Simone, anyway? The Big N needs his support structure, dammit!

[Outside the canteen, there are lots of little crowds of families and photos being taken. Nigel, still shivering in his blanket, looks around.]

Benny? Father? Mother? Ryoshi?

[No sign of them.]

Jerks. I’m better off without them. Oh, god, I need something to get the taste out of my mouth. [frowns] Hang on, there’s a finger buffet in the common room, isn’t there, Jason? Jason? [looks around] Oh, so it’s just little old me now, is it? Fine!

[He storms off through the crowd.]

[Stairwell. Nigel hurries up the steps when he sees the Principal down in the courtyard below, counting a thick bundle of notes. She blows him a kiss. Nigel recoils and runs into the Common Room and slams the door shut behind him.]

Nigel: [revolted] Oh God. So disgusting. The wrinkles. The folds. Oh God I’m going to be sick.

Andrew: [vo] Ah, Nigel!

[Nigel screams and jumps with fright. He spins to look at the room. The food has been piled up beside the buffet table, and Phoebe is lying on the empty table, propped up with cushions, sweating and sore. Andrew sits in a chair beside the table, munching a sandwich and un-fussed.]

Nigel: I KILLED YOU! Now you’re back from the dead!

Andrew: [blinks] You know that already. I saw you yesterday, dumb ass.

Nigel: Oh. Well, I reject your reality and substitute one of my own. One where that horrible, horrible woman didn’t touch me in naughty places. Eep.

[Phoebe screams loudly.]

Nigel: Do you mind, I’m having post-traumatic stress disorder here!

Andrew: Sorry, Nige, but HER having the baby trumps YOUR groping a septuagenarian.

Nigel: Oh, typical, Mrs. Styles! You’ll do anything to steal my limelight!

Phoebe: Nigel, it’s time you learned the truth. No one in this school cares enough about you to pick their nose to steal attention. Giving birth to a ten pound baby is definitely not worth wasting on you! NOW SHUT UP!

Nigel: Charming! That REALLY makes me want to help you, doesn’t it?

[He starts helping himself to the food.]

Nigel: [mouth full] I’ve got half a mind to start quoting childbirth mortality statistics to you.

Phoebe: [horrified] What?!

Andrew: Nigel, you don’t HAVE half a mind to start with.

Nigel: Fine.

[He scoops up some plates and heads for the exit.]

Phoebe: Where you going? You can’t just leave me to do this on my own!

[Dave enters, in a hurry.]

Dave: Don’t mind me, just getting some of the vol-u-vents...

[He hurries to the flood at the foot of the table, then twigs the situation.]

Dave: [meekly] Hi, Phoebe.

Phoebe: [embarrassed] Oh. Hi, Dave.

[An awkward pause.]

Dave: You’ve gone into labor, right?

Phoebe: [trying to make light of it] Pretty much.

Dave: OK... [sudden panic] WHAT THE HELL?! Why haven’t you rung for an ambulance or something?

Nigel: On the last day of school? Get real, Restal! The baby will be on solids by the time the medical services got here!

Andrew: Well, congratulations, Phe. Looks like you’re gonna have a Year 12 Study Room Birth. It like a Home Birth or a Water Birth only not at home. Or with water. And some rather clogged pigeonholes...

Phoebe: I don’t want to have a baby here! It shouldn’t come anywhere near a shitty school like this!

Nigel: Not my problem, though, is it? I’ve got places to see, people to do...

[Nigel starts to leave. Dave grabs him.]

Dave: Hey! You can’t abandon her!

Nigel: Can’t I?

Dave: No, you can’t! [sotto] Not after... you know... what happened between you and her...

Nigel: [loudly] Oh, grow up, Dave! Exchanging bodily fluids isn’t a pinkie-promise! The person who should be here is the father and that’s not me. And, honestly, you expect me to help her after her disgraceful behavior to me?! [to Phoebe] I offered you help and more, ginger, and you threw it back at me. Besides, what do WE know about childbirth?

Phoebe: [groans] It’s extremely painful!

Dave: [nods] Yeah. There is that. And pushing and breathing is important, I gather...

Andrew: [casually] I helped deliver a baby once.

Phoebe: What?!

Andrew: [defensive] Hey, I had a life before I met you lot, you know.

Dave: So, so, you know what to do?

Andrew: Oh yes. I did biology as an elective too, including reproduction. I probably know more about this than the three of you put together.

Dave: So why can’t you take over?

Andrew: Well, I’m not going to learn anything new from this am I?

[Dave starts to freak out, but Andrew hushes him.]

Andrew: No, calm down. Tell you what, Dave, I’ll do you a deal. YOU stay here and deliver the baby for the girl you love, and I’ll go over there [points] and clean up that surprisingly smelly amniotic fluid Phoebe spilt all over the carpet. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?

Nigel: [surprised] Oh, is THAT what that smell is?

[Phoebe buries her face in her hands.]

Phoebe: [sobs] I’m in hell. I’ve died and this is hell.

Nigel: [pats her shoulder] Stiff upper labia, old red.

Dave: But, I mean, how close is she to... er...

Andrew: Well, I’m not sure. How long do you think it will take for her to stretch an opening the size of a lemon wide enough to pass a watermelon through?

Dave: Gross! And kinda unhelpful!

Andrew: Well, it’s the best I can do without knowing how dilated she is, isn’t it?

Nigel: Hey, *I* volunteered to check.

Phoebe: Nigel, you volunteered to check before I was pregnant!

Nigel: At least I’m consistent.

Phoebe: No one is going to touch me there who isn’t a qualified midwife with a zero failure rate, OK!

Nigel: [to himself] You’ve changed your tune...

[Phoebe cries out in agony.]

Phoebe: God, the pains hurt so much!

Nigel: Can’t you say SOMETHING remotely original?

Phoebe: Like what?

Nigel: Oh, I dunno. Quote some Bhuddist scripture or something.

Phoebe: I don’t know any!

Andrew: “Life is suffering”. That should be a bit relevant at the moment.

Nigel: Hah! Smackdown.

Dave: Oh, leave her alone, guys!

Nigel: Heh. If only guys HAD left her alone, huh?

[Andrew rises and throws his empty bottle in the bin.]

Andrew: That was feeble Nigel. Try for something beyond a single entendre.

[Fade to black.]

[Caption: “27 AND A HALF MINUTES LATER”. Fade up. Nigel is eating some finger food, Andrew is sprawled over a pile of seat cushions and pillows in a corner. Dave emerges from the kitchen with a pile of stuff he starts putting down on the table.]

Dave: Right, we’ve got Lucy’s nail scissors, Maurice’s spare shoelaces and the one bottle of booze Maddog HASN’T drunk...

Andrew: Hey, there’s enough to sterilize that stuff. And all the pillows are ready.

Dave: It might be a bit better if YOU weren’t lying over most of them!

[Grumbling Andrew rises.]

Andrew: Yeah, cause having EVERYONE being tired and uncomfortable can only help. I don’t see what the point is in all this sterile business. The baby’s going to have a rubbish immune system if it gets mollycoddled like this from day one! Does no one remember the Children of Auron? Hmmm?!

[Phoebe doubles over, moaning. Andrew peers groggily at the clock he is holding in his hand, turns it around several times until he is looking at the right side.]

Andrew: Uh-huh. That’s... two minutes between the contractions.

Nigel: They’re getting closer. Is that good?

Andrew: [frowns] Honestly? Can’t remember. [loudly] Everything’s going perfect, Pheobe! Like clockwork!

[He notices the clock in his hands again.]

Andrew: Mmmm. Clockwork.

[Phoebe steadies herself on the table and catches her breath.]

Phoebe: This is so unfair. It’s supposed to take hours for first-time mums. [sobs] How come I’VE got a super-speeded-up labor?

Dave: [to himself] Maybe your sex-life loosened you up.

[Phoebe looks at him, hurt.]

Nigel: Don’t upset her, dickhead. I thought you loved her?

[An awkward pause that Nigel doesn’t notice.]

Nigel: You can do this, red. What about all those chicks in America, in the Wild West, delivering babies in covered wagons... They managed it with no trouble.

Andrew: Apart from all the Native Americans slaughtering them to get their lands back.

Nigel: Yeah, but that doesn’t have anything to do with childbirth mortality, does it?

Dave: Oh, will you two just shut up?

Phoebe: [gritted teeth] Dave, just get me some water! I’m so thirsty...

[Dave holds up a glass of water and manages to pour it down her throat. Some of its splashes, and startled, Dave drops the glass, which shatters.]

Nigel: Bloody hell. I didn’t think a guy’s water could break.

Andrew: You know, in some places, they’d say that was proof Dave was the father.

Nigel: Eh?

Andrew: Superstition. If they didn’t know who the father of the baby was, they waited until it was being born and then picked the guy suffering the sympathy pains.

Phoebe: He’s NOT the father, OK!

Andrew: So much for superstition.

Nigel: Oh, I dunno. It proves which man is a drama queen if nothing else...

[Fade to black.]

[Caption: “ANOTHER 27 AND A HALF MINUTES LATER”.]

Nigel: You know, Maddog, this constant obsession with you about my social status shows deep insecurities on your part. You’re envious of the esteem I’m held in, aren’t you?

Andrew: Prove it.

Nigel: Disprove it!

Andrew: Dis-disprove it!

Nigel: Re-dis-dis-prove it!

Phoebe: Shut up and take my knickers off. I can barely move!

Dave: What?

Andrew: Come on, Dave, I know this is your first baby born, but you don’t think they magically materialize on the other side of the other side of her panties, do you?

Dave: Well, no. But, hang on, maybe if we leave them on, it might stop the baby coming out.

[A pause.]

Phoebe: TAKE THEM OFF!

Nigel: [charmingly] Allow me...

Phoebe: NO! You stay AWAY from me!

Nigel: Just trying to help! [to Dave] You do it.

Dave: You’ve seen more of her than I have.

Nigel: This is your chance to catch up then.

Andrew: Well, according to Katy, it turns out that...

Phoebe: GOD! Fine! I’ll do it! [groans] They are SO getting stronger...

Dave: Hang on. That wasn’t two minutes!

[Andrew looks at the wrong side of the clock.]

Andrew: Mein gott, you’re right! She’s racing through this! Always WAS bloody competitive...

Phoebe: Hey, I’m not in charge of this, you know!

Nigel: Oh come on. Woman primal mother nature arrant nonsense like this. If you lot can synchronize your periods with each other, expelling a baby should be simplicity itself!

Phoebe: Nigel? Give me your hand.

[Nigel does so.]

Nigel: That’s it, touch greatness.

[She squeezes it and closes her eyes.]

Nigel: ARGH! LET GO OF MY HAND, YOU BITCH!

[Outside, everyone turns in the direction of the noise. Birds fly from the trees. Followed by a cat. A kayak overturns.]

[Boardroom. The Sinister Woman stands before her unseen employer. Nigel’s screams fade into silence in the background.]

Sinister Unseen Figure: I was like him, back then. Walking tall, so young and so proud. He left me in the dark and the wild and the lonely places. I died a thousand times in that electric blue fire. But quietly, slowly, I came back. And after all the cold and dark and burning heat... Perhaps it was necessary? To inspire me, I mean?

Sinister Woman: The trap is closing, sir. Are you ready?

Sinister Unseen Figure: Ready? I’ve been ready for this for so long, through endless devastation and boiling skies. It is right and fitting that we should meet again. This is destiny. No, better than that. This is victory. As I foretold, pretty little Nigel will face his destiny.

[We cut to Nigel painfully leaves the room. His tie has been used as a sling and he is splattered with fluids and looking depressed.]

Sinister Unseen Figure: [VO] Oh, he shall come and worship me at last. And then he’ll die such a death, the unraveling of life itself! Everlasting death is coming... [sighs] This SO works for me!

[Nigel bumps into a tired looking Betty, knocking her over and sending pages everywhere.]

Nigel: Watch where you’re going!

Betty: Oh, Nige... I got the rest of the pages...

Nigel: DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A RAT’S ARSE, BETTY? Where’s the medicinal alcohol?

[He storms off.]

[Caption: “SEVERAL HOURS LATER”. Outside school. Nigel flexes his damaged arm.]

Nigel: I’ll never be able to steer with this. Stupid cow. Why couldn’t go to Plumpton High like all the other breeders?

[He spots Betty striding away. She is determined.]

Nigel: Oh, hey, Bets. Do me a favor, will you? Drive us home?

[Betty turns to look at him.]

Betty: Get a life, Verkoff.

[She turns away. Nigel watches her go, baffled.]

Nigel: I have a life, you moron! You’re the one that doesn’t! So get back here and start appeasing me damn it! OI! Come back! Simone! Where are you? Jason? Anybody...?

Betty: Oh, Nige!

Nigel: What?

Betty: Don’t look back.

[She gets into a car and drives off. Nigel watches her go.]

Nigel: [shakes head] The bitch’s mad.

[He moves off. Behind him, the entire back wall of the school is plastered with pages from the yearbook, all showing Nigel as a vomiting poodle. Nigel wanders, now alone and spots Andrew’s retreating back and sneers.]

Nigel: Oh, bye-bye, Maddog! Hope you die horribly, you frigging leper! I hope your maggot-fed carcass is chewed on by other, more rabid dogs!

[Andrew calls over his shoulder.]

Andrew: Same to you. See you on the way down, Nigel.

Nigel: Don’t be so sure!

Andrew: [very sinister] Oh, we'll meet again, Nigel. Don’t doubt it. We'll meet again. [cheerful] Especially as I’m you’re next-door neighbor.

Nigel: Damn. Forgot that bit.

[Nigel gets into Wynona. The car jerkily drives off down the road.]

Synthesized Neil Diamond: GOOD LORD!

[A ringtone – Crunchy Granola – sounds. Nigel fumbles in a pocket and tugs it out.]

Nigel: The Big N speaking. Worship me while you wait.

[Simone is driving in an open-top car through the city, talking on a mobile.]

Simone: Sorry about cutting after the ceremony, but places to see, people to do. Brian’s INSATIABLE nowadays. Hey, how’s my favorite untrained midwife?

Nigel: Better for hearing from you, Si. Oh, man, the day I’ve had. Therapy is required. I tell you, that whole thing about keeping the men out of the delivery room makes total sense now.

Simone: Oh?

Nigel: Yeah. How is anyone supposed to like a girl after they see her vagina explode and a whole new person climb out? Defies all logic. Ronald McDonald’s welcome to them, in my opinion.

Simone: It got a bit messy then?

Nigel: Messy? Carrie was messy. The Shining was messy. This was horror porn, babe! My limited edition ‘The Big N’ T-shirt is completely ruined!

Simone: No sweat, Nige. I’ll get you a new T-shirt.

Nigel: You are a sport.

Simone: Don’t I know it. See you later tonight?

Nigel: Yeah. Come round about seven, Gabby’s due at five and I intend to spend the following two hours trying to regain my love of the humanoid female form.

Simone: Does Gabby still want kids?

Nigel: [face palms] You had to remind me, didn’t you?

Simone: It’s why you love me.

Nigel: [sarcastic] Well, it’s certainly not for the sex.

Simone: [laughs] Fuck you!

Nigel: [grins] If only. See ya, babe.

[He hangs up. Simone stops smiling. She drives into an underground car park of a sky scraper.]

[Simone enters a lift and punches 23, the top floor.]

[She emerges onto the top floor. Through the windows, Sydney can be seen below as dusk gathers. The Sinister Woman is waiting for her.]

Sinister Woman: [mildly surprised] For you to come to me I assume this is a matter of the utmost importance.

[A dramatic pause.]

Simone: Actually I was just passing and thought I might as well drop in. See Brian in person.

Sinister Woman: So what do you have?

Simone: A couple of major situation updates. School’s out forever. Time to start on the main phase.

[The Sinister Woman smiles slightly.]

Sinister Woman: Mr. Magnus WILL be pleased.

NEXT TIME

NIGEL: It’s the End. I just wish I’d been better prepared for it.

EXTRA!!

Finally, here the original ending to the Big N when I decided to kill him off, in a homage to part 1 of Who Shot Mr. Burns? (which is doubly impressive considering I've never seen it...)

[This principal smiles and crosses to the window. Through it, she can see across the entrance of the school. Nigel appears, heading for the exit. The principal takes a double-barreled shotgun from the umbrella stand, loads it, locks it and aims it at Nigel.]

[Simone watches him go, taking a small pistol complete with silencer from her bag.]

[Smiling happily, Nigel walks across the road to where Wynona is parked. Nigel doesn’t see Jason skulking behind another parked car, a gun in his hand. High above, to see a tiny figure watching from an upstairs window of a house overlooking the car park. It is Mr. Murphy, holding a pump-action shotgun.]

[Nigel reaches the car, totally oblivious as to the danger around him. Suddenly, shots ring out – and Wynona’s windscreen is shattered. Nigel whirls around in shock. Then, six or seven shots smash into Nigel’s chest and torso. Blood spurts from his chest as he is slammed against Wynona’s bonnet, bounces, then crashes to the ground and lies still. He’s quite dead.]

[Jason looks in disbelief at his handgun. He didn’t fire a shot. Mr. Murphy is shaking his shotgun angrily – he forgot to load it. Simone stares in shock at Nigel’s corpse and shoves her unfired pistol back into her bag. In her office, the Principal is peering out the window, wondering what’s going on. Finally, bored, she throws her own unused shotgun back into the umbrella stand.]

[Nigel lies on the ground surrounded by blood and broken glass, his eyes wide and staring. On the far side of the car park, in the shadowy alleyway, stands a figure with an Uzzi submachine gun, quickly taking off the telephoto lens with military precision. It’s Gabby. She blows some smoke from the rifle and walks off down the alley just as an ambulance siren is heard in the background. We zoom out to an aerial shot of Nigel’s body next to the wrecked Wynona in the carpark as passers-by and a rather shell-shocked Jason hurry over to the body. Zoom out further and further, until it’s just a patch of nondescript suburbia. Silence.]

Booyah Bitches (The Trilogy In Six Parts)

2011-10-28T01:47:00.000-07:00

With the apocalypse on hold till next Christmas so it appears, it's time to get back to marvelling at the audio adaptation of my magnum opus, my greatest triumph... Doctor Who & The Aquamarine Light of DEATH Whose Particular Shade I Cannot Spell For Love Nor Money!

Well, we could call it Beyond the Sun if anyone's fussed...

0:12 - Aw, Murray Gold drowned out my amusing catchphrases. Though, arguably, any sane member of the audience would be sick to death of it by now.

0:34 - "The spectrum is rather gentle." Is that meaningless technobabble? I'm honestly not sure. Oh well. What are script editors for? Only Lawrence Miles and Tat Wood ever slagged Rob Holmes off for his atrocious grasp of astrophysics...

1:44 - Maybe I'm just demented, but it feels like one of those bits in The Young Ones where the cast acknowledge a band has just appeared in their living room and then awkwardly gets on with the plot. "Yes, thank you, lovely theme music, Delia would be proud, but we are a tad busy here..."

1:45 - Actually now I think about it, I didn't have any pre-credit sequences. I just had normal, old-fashioned cliffhanger reprises so there would have been no gap between the blue light and the unfolding wierdness.

1:53 - Amy Pond music. This is not what I was aiming for. Still, maybe the audience need a break from the relentless horror. Full props for Mr. Ault again though, getting the Doctor's racing brain despite his agony.

3:03 - Um. Maurice sounds very angry. Bernard Black angry. Please do not annoy him any further, Doctor...

3:33 - Mmm. I never noticed I have everyone shouting "priority command" at the computer. No wonder it ignores them, they just think everything's an emergency...

3:42 - So he's using Troughton's sonic screwdriver? Um. Ok.

4:02 - Woohoo! "What's a deadlock?" A bit of postmodern RTD-era satire for blogreaders, there...

4:30 - Heh. Not as funny as Closing Time, alas.

4:49 - See how I groom Maurice as a new companion over the wearying hormonal harridan (who has been made 1000 times more bearable by the talented actress playing her, I stress).

5:00 - "Cromer?" I did that gag? Fuck I am so ashamed...

5:36 - Ah. Alexis is back, with his "Chip Jameison IS the Cookie Monster" performance. I'm sure you're a lovely bloke, but was it too much to expect the line "shut up" to be non-cringe-inducing?

5:53 - As for Vlyn, I can't criticize the acting but the choice of delivery is a bit odd. It sounds like she's trying to seduce Emma than grimly assessing the situation and giving orders. Still, considering her crew consist of The Youth of Australia expys, flirting like mad could be the only way to get through to them.

5:56 - AKA Nigel Verkoff is perfect, though. Brilliant comic delivery.

6:15 - His acting may be awful, Emma, but let Alexis finish his lines at least! It's only polite...

6:28 - Wow. Impressive, convincing-sounding hysteria from Miss Emma Actress. YOU SEE? THIS IS WHAT I WANTED FROM THE REST OF YOU IN PART TWO!!! Your friends are dead and you treat like the "we can tell your mum we ate it" bit from American Pie. And I promise not to mention that particular franchise in relation to my work again.

6:48 - "Dead... BOTH OF THEM!!!!" You gotta laugh, huh?

6:59 - OK, Emma, I agree. He's not funny in long doses.

7:14 - "Unlucky you." HAH! Thank you, Nigel.

7:41 - Why did I give this bastard so much dialogue? WHY?!?

7:46 - She means "launch". Not "lunch" as it sounds. No wonder Nigel was confused.

8:10 - Maybe if we say in a later episode Alexis is an Ogron on work experience? That could work.

9:00 - Ooh, self-script-editing becoming a tad obvious, huh?

9:20 - This amazing vista is all done from Captain Goodvibes comics, surreal, beautiful and more cynical than the Chaser at a funeral...

9:34 - "We're not in Kansas any more." "We weren't to start with!" Huh hah!

10:34 - Hmm. OK. I was thinking more of Legion from Red Dwarf, but I can't really complain. The "upper class twit of the year" version adds character. I suppose.

12:03 - That's a Ninja Turtle homage. I bet you all medically needed to know it.

12:28 - Heh. Nice. Oh no, more Alexis...

13:13 - Oh thank god Macdon's here! Talk a lot, man, as much as you want! SAVE US FROM THE BAD MAN!

13:43 - Ah. Actors performing my shining wit. I am so smug now it stings.

14:18 - God damn, why do I make the ladies in my story suffer so? IT'LL ALL BE BETTER, EMS, I PROMISE!! Hmm, maybe it's just the women are all better actors when it comes to expressing emotion...

15:32 - Must not get drawn into the plot... must make notes...

15:46 - I suppose my love of Blake's 7 and its terminology comes across in this script, but now it's getting very obvious... Oh, who cares. I'll take Chris Boucher over Chris Lilley any lifetime. Though calling someone "child" was a wierd bit of slang from The Mark of Mandragora which, despite all my best efforts, never took off back in the late 1990s.

16:09 - "I'm not trying to be insensitive but... GET OVER IT ALREADY!!" I really shouldn't laugh as much at my own jokes. Maybe it's the delivery.

17:00 - Oh crap. After a huge gag that no one knows what a deadlock seal is, the Captain makes a big deal about using them. See what happens when your script editor is an angsty poseur with a superiority complex (or to put it another way: "me")? Oh well, let's just say Maurice was still dazed from the transfer and unable to keep up with the Doctor. Yeah. That'll work. *facepalm*

17:27 - I won't complain about mispronouncing "magellanic" as it's a grand B7 tradition to be totally confused about it. And, you know, it's Nigel. He can't pronounce "vengeance" properly. It's characterization, damn thee!

18:21 - "I know you're scared." Heh. What gave it away? It's like the Paul Darrow reportoire company, everyone's so deadpan...

18:54 - I must have reused that gag in the script. My bad.

19:10 - She said "down and safe!" You never get that in ANY Blake's 7 audios, you notice? NOT ONE! Well, now, justice has ARRIVED!

19:50 - She's back! And sounding cuter than ever!

20:21 - A very fine edit, as requested. I should have pointed out that "Dio" was to be pronounces "Dye-oh", as in "Diogenes". It sounds like the Doctor's talking Mexican all of a sudden. Oh well.

21:37 - Have I not made it absolutely clear how awesome the star of this show is? Because, we're talking very impressive. As audio Doctors go, he is without better than almost everyone I can think of - though JK Flynn is a distinct rival. Briggsy sounds so fannish in comparison to this dude who just screams "proper actor". Mr. Ault would be worthy of the TV show in my unworthy opinion, and I thank the divine stars that the people who made my audio would get such talent.

(Can I have my cash now, please, Dave?)

22:46 - If you can spot the gags from Bottom 3: Hooligan's Island, you're even sadder than I am. But props for effort.

23:09 - Ooooooooooooooooooooookaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

23:56 - That's Magda Szubanski with a phoney American accent, surely? I mean, I can see her right out of The D-Generation as an Oprah-style American host in a blonde wig, a refusal to blink and doing things like "I'm just going to reach out. And touch you. On the leg. In a rather patronizing. Manner." (Which, while not in any way how I saw the character, works PERFECTLY.)

23:58 - I had a good reason for naming a species of closeted snobby degenerates who think the universe owes them a living and have absolutely nothing to do with Doctor Who continuity "the Chatham". But I can't for the life of me remember what it was.

24:17 - The Chatham on why everyone hates them: "They fear our beauty." I giggle in a very immature manner for the rest of the episode.

25:20 - Nice acting from Ault there. Subtly different. Course, the excellent characterization helps as well.

25:32 - That was funny on paper. I swear.

26:59 - That was funny off paper as well.

27:58 - I should get this guy to perform Verkoff: A Terrible Ego. He really inhabits the role of Nigel in a way that makes me fear for his sanity.

28:12 - Mein gott! Palleen is Quinn Morgendorffer from Daria! FREAKING AWESOME!!

28:42 - "Alexis is an albino." "...that's nice." ROFTL.

29:29 - Damn but this girl has good comic timing. I mean, she tells punchlines better than I wrote them! Give her her own sitcom, somebody!

29:54 - Yes, the Corruptors sound very scary. I've said it before. It is still true.

30:08 - A rather good cliffhanger. I didn't actually mean for it to be a cliffhanger, I was trying to do the whole "drammatic W" that Dennis Spooner pioneered, so the tension cranks up on either cliffhanger and halfway through. Pure coincidence.

30:11 - And I never get tired of that bit.

30:25 - Does the announcer always have this godlike echo to his words?

30:50 - My parents will be amused to learn the decietful, spiteful evil bitch in the story is named "Amber". Coz they know someone like that. If you get my drift.

Well, that kept up the quality of the previous installments COUGHbarAlexisCOUGH!! and I must awkwardly warn people there will be an above-average exposition in the next episode (which was not meant to be an episode on its own). Please grin and bear it, and hopefully the cast will make the jokes work enough to keep you going to next and EVEN MORE EPIC cliffhanger.

Next time, people... NEXT TIME!

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (vii)

2011-10-25T02:59:00.000-07:00

Notes on the Apocalypse

2011-10-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

Fifteen minutes until the end of the world.

Oh well. Could be worse.

Seriously, at least we're not in some huge candy-cane fantasty land where all our dreams come true. Imagine if that was the case and the world ended - what a real bummer that would be!

Fourteen minutes.

Sorry, thirteen.

Why do people obsess over predicting the end of the world, anyway? What's the big deal - I mean, either you're going to be proved wrong or no one will be around for you to be smug at. All you're doing is spending what little time may remain you being dubbed a total retard by everyone when you could be out there, right now, eating hamburgers, riding camels, watching women urinate and murdering people!

Twelve minutes.

There are worse ways to spend the last few minutes I suppose. This time I'm not bleeding to death. True, there is so much more I'd like to do - finally get round to seeing the last Sarah Jane Adventures, finish typing up my planned audio scripts, complete that retail course, get the books that a certain book retailer has promised me over the internet.

And not NEARLY enough sex, needless to say.

Ten minutes left.

I might as well finally reveal the shock ending of my Youth of Australia Apocalypse story I've never really got round to writing. Ooh, nine minutes, better hurry up. So, our heroes have discovered that the world is to end. They argue and bicker and sing in an entertaining (and hopefully not-too-obviously-ripped-off-from-the-Goodies) manner. As the last... eight... minutes tick down to zero, farewells are said, truths uttered, and everyone gets everything off their chests as their imminent deaths draw ever more imminent.

The countdown runs out. Bang.

A big flash clears to show our heroes, as one of hundreds of thousands of naked people wandering around a beautiful afternoon garden. Dave, still not a hundred per cent sure of what the fuck just happened, asks Andrew for clarification. He explains that at the appointed hour, the entire world and everything on it was destroyed. The spirits of the entire human race rose up into the afterlife and passed through a kind of "collander" to seive out the pure and impure souls.

Unfortunately the only pure souls were two brain-damaged retards and a pedophile.

God, slightly suspicious about the result, tried to pass through the collander himself and when THAT didn't work, realized the last few million years had been based entirely on a false premise. Apologizing profusely to mankind, he restored them all to the Garden of Eden and promised not to be so judgemental in future.

As our nude heroes sit in Paradise, Nigel is the first to admit how utterly boring it all is.

Well, five minutes left. Is this how I die? At the computer, waffling on about all the things I haven't done? Compared to drowning in my own blood as an ambulance man politely asks me to stop dying and open the door, it's an improvement.

Four minutes.

The Slap was rubbish, though, huh? I mean, if you want a truly dramatic situation to come out of "physically educating" a small child, don't make said educator a drug-snorting wife-beating gangster who repeatedly tries to kill other main characters. I mean, where's the shades of grey? It might as well have been called The Tying The Child To A Railway Tracks As An Oncoming Train Approaches With A Ticking Bomb Tied To Them.

Two minutes!

Oh, what last words can be said?

Well, Kadaffi had some belters this morning as he preempted his own demise. Facing a very undignified final stand, a bit like the last episode of Blake's 7 but not so charismatic, the guy faces his executors with the words:

"What did I ever do to you?"

One minute!

Seconds remain! The world will cease to exist, probably before I finish this sentence and there's nothing to be done to...

...

...

Oh. The world didn't end after all. It was just some mad Yank. Again.

On the plus side, this means I still have readers for my final blogs.

Yay!

More Piss-Farting About With Photoshop

2011-10-12T02:27:00.000-07:00

Blimey, that was disturbing, was it not? Here to lighten to mood a vision of what we could have had if Big Finish weren't gutless losers over the lost stories range...

Ah, DWM # 255. Still tormenting my consciousness after over a decade...

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (vi)

2011-10-10T00:42:00.000-07:00

NOTE: I am very pissed-off with life at the moment, what with possibly-disastrous medical results hanging over me, unable to hear my latest audio episode, betrayed by two what I thought were friends (don't worry, it's not you), plus my work life has gone crazy with me volunteering, training and working simultaneously or not at all the same week I'd rather spend an inexpressibly-rare chance to be with my mum. I'm angry and it possibly comes out in my work. Thus we have the "nice" and "nasty" versions of part six...

[Andrew is stuck inside his burning hut. Suddenly Ace Rimmer, Katie Perry and a wombat arrive and douse all the flames.]

Andrew: What a guy!

Ace Rimmer: No need for thanks, big fella. Nigel needs rescuing. [hands him note] Here's the address he was last seen at. Head there, and best take Gabby and Simone there to be on the safe side.

Andrew: Wow. Cool. Can't you help further?

Ace Rimmer: No point in me staying round here, my old cantaloupe. You're the smart one with all the high-tuned detective skills. If anyone's going to find Nigel, it'll be the slueths like you rather some devilishly-attractive test pilot like me. Good luck, not that you need it, old love!

Katie Perry: Let us away - WITH LUDICROUS SPEED!

[The trio vanish. Andrew shakes his head.]

Andrew: I lead a very interesting life, don't I?

- to be continued...

[Leaving Andrew lying bloody and unconscious on the floor of his bungalow, Simone lights a match and throws it onto a pile of newspapers. They catch alight as Simone leaves the room, closing the door behind her. She heads across the park unhurriedly. As she reaches the pavement, she casts a look over her shoulder - thick black smoke is pouring out of the windows. Satisfied, she turns down the road and heads into a sidestreet towards where she has parked her car beside a large gum tree. She takes out her key beeper thing and unlocks the car.

There is a distant shattering of glass and a squawk from a domestic cat running away. Frowning, Simone crosses the road to see what caused the noise. There is no one around but a broken bottle and a spreading puddle of beer. Shrugging, she rises and returns to her car. She clambers inside, pulls the door shut, buckles up, starts the engine and drives off. Smoke continues to rise into the sky behind her and there are the first sounds of sirens.]

[Simone pulls up in the car park of a block of flats. It is now night. Switching off the engine, she gets out of the car and crosses to the main entrance. She heads up some steps to her flat, unlocks the door, and enters, closing the door.]

[Simone's apartment is rather spartan but tastefully furnished. Simone is pacing up and down, talking on the phone.]

Simone: ...it's not as if there's anything to worry about. No one is surprised he's missing and not one person has connected me to it. Not one person. And they're not going to. [beat] Because I made sure they wouldn't, of course! I'm a professional, aren't I? And if they haven't got any suspicions now, then they never will - at least not until it's too late. Now can we please start the process of getting me out of this rat's nest? It's been three years and I have better lives to live. [beat] Yes, I know I'm being well compensated, but at no point did I sign up to have a creepy neighbor who is clearly perving on me every chance he gets?

[There is a knock on the door.]

Simone: [rolls eyes] That'll probably be him now. I'll be in contact later, Mrs. Gracelands, by which time I expect a one way ticket back to Kiwi civilization and away from this Aussie shit heap.

[She hangs up and opens the door. A large, spectacled guy in a tasteless jumper is there.]

Simone: What is it, Abdul?

Abdul: [shy] Um, sorry about this, Simone, but...

Simone: Get on with it, Abdul, I've had a long day.

Abdul: You left your lights on. In your car, I mean.

Simone: Don't be stupid.

[She goes to close the door. Abdul stops her.]

Abdul: No, I'm serious. Look.

[Sighing, she follows him out onto the verandah overlooking the car park. The headlights on her car are now switched on very brightly.]

Simone: That's impossible. I switched them off, I know I did.

Abdul: [shrugs] Yeah, maybe you hit the switch accidentally...

Simone: I'm not a spastic, Abdul. [to herself] For fuck's skae...

[Leaving the door wide open, she hurries down the steps towards the car park. Abdul follows.]

Simone: I suppose I should be grateful I've got a stalker like you perving on me so you notice things like this.

Abdul: [deeply embarrassed] I wasn't... I mean... See, this passer-by knocked on my door and told me about the lights and...

Simone: [polite] Couldn't care less, Abdul.

[She unlocks the car, switches off the lights, then locks the door manually. Simone and Abdul stand in front of a moment, waiting to see if the lights come back on. They don't.]

Abdul: Maybe you should take it to a mechanic? My cousin, she's really good at...

Simone: [irritated] Oh shut up! You know, Abdul, it would be so nice - SO nice - if you never spoke to me ever again and, in fact, died right now without issue so the chances of me ever meeting anyone or anything like you for the rest of my life.

Abdul: But, Simone, I was just--

Simone: SO! NICE!

[Abdul sags, upset.]

Simone: Go on. Get out of my sight and back to your Happy Rotter books or whatever garbage you use to fill up your life when I'm not around.

[Abdul nods sadly and walks off.]

Simone: Just be glad I've done my quota of homicide for the night.

[Sighing, she turns and climbs back to her flat. The door is now closed. She tries it. Locked. Frowning, Simone goes for her house keys and then realizes that they are inside. Scowling, she reaches under the welcome mat... but there's no key.]

Simone: Give some fucking strength here...

[Abdul is sitting on a couch, glumly eating a homemade falafel with one hand and reading "Tomorrow When The War Began" with the other. There's a knock on the door. Surprised, he hurries over to the door and opens it. Simone is there, grinning a very insincere and embarrassed smile.]

Simone: Abdul! Hi! Don't suppose you can help me with something?

Abdul: [thinks about it] No.

[He slams the door in her face and walks back to the sofa.]

Simone: [VO] I need your help! I've got locked out of my flat! Please, I'm desperate.

[Abdul sighs.]

[A little later. Abdul is holding a key with a big card saying MASTER KEY on it. He tries the door to Simone's flat and it opens. Simone watches on, impatient.]

Simone: [lying through her teeth] Oh thanks so much Abdul, you are a life saver and I am eternall in your debt. I so owe you one, you name it, it's yours.

[He regards her for a moment.]

Abdul: Go fuck an echidna, you slag.

[He turns and wanders off. Simone stays where she is for a moment, blinking.]

Simone: Well. That was unexpected. [shrugs] But where did my spare key go to?

[She enters the flat, closing the door and looking around. On the living room table are both sets of keys and a folded note. She takes the note and opens it up - written on it in block capitals are the words LOOK UP. She blinks, and looks up at the ceiling. Nothing at all. She lowers her gaze and realizes that Andrew is standing right beside and grinning at her.]

Andrew: [very loudly] SUR-PRIIIIZEE!

[He slams his head down on hers, sending her reeling with a cry of pain. As he strides over to her, she tries to punch him but he's too quick and grabs her by the throat and slams her against the wall.]

Andrew: Come on, Simone! Aren't you shocked to see me again? What? No fainting? No screams? No "You're still alive! That's impossible!"?

Simone: [pained] No.

Andrew: Aren't you going to ask how I managed to escape and track you down?

Simone: Pretty obvious, isn't it?

Andrew: Not so obvious that YOU saw it coming, though.

[He punches her again and she flies back into a sofa and crumples to the ground.]

Simone: [groans] True.

[Flashback:]

[Simone leaves the bungalow, the newspapers burning. The second she's gone, Andrew's eyes snap open and scrambles to his feet.]

Simone: [VO] You were faking.

Andrew: [VO] I thought if I let you win, you'd drag me to your boss and I'd find out the truth. But you HAD to be difficult, didn't you?

[Andrew dives for a fridge and opens it - it is full of identical VB cans. He grabs one, shakes it violently and pulls it open. The spray douses the fire, creating a thick cloud of smoke.]

[Outside, Simone glances back and sees the smoke pouring out the windows.]

Andrew: [VO] I knew you must have had a getaway vehicle and I knew wouldn't have parked right outside - not even you would be stupid enough to do that twice. Henlard Lane seemed a good bet for stashing your motor.

[Andrew snatches up a thick bottle of hootch and opens a panel in the back of the bungalow, allowing him out into the park. He cracks the bottle open, knocks back a slug to clear his throat of smoke, then sprints off into the gloom.]

[He runs out between two houses into a side-street. Simone's care is parked nearby. Andrew runs to hide behind the gum tree and is hidden as Simone approaches. As she unlocks the car, Andrew swigs from the bottle and then hurls it across the street. It shatters loudly. Simone goes to investigate as Andrew dives for the unlocked car. He climbs into the back and curls up behind the driver seat, completely hidden. Simone returns to the car, unaware she has an extra passenger, and drives off.]

[Simone pulls up outside her block of flats and leaves. Once she's gone, Andrew climbs into the front, turns on the lights, then leaves the car. He locks and closes the door behind him, then hurries to a door on the ground floor and knocks on it. Abdul answers it and the two chat. Andrew points at the car with the lights on.]

Simone: [VO] You were the "passer-by".

Andrew: [VO] Where were those razor-fast deductions when you needed them, huh?

[Abdul leads Simone down to the car and, while they are distracted, Andrew skips up the steps into Simone's flat, scooping up the spare key and locking the door after him. A few moments later, Simone arrives and finds herself locked out.]

[End flashback.]

Andrew: While you were out getting a locksmith, I went looking for clues. Didn't find much, but then we both know you're not really Simone Lokidor, are you? You're part of Magnus' little conspiracy, an agent provocateur to keep Nigel on his toes! And such dedication - or was sleeping with him on the agenda from the start?

Simone: [grins] There's nothing in this flat you can use as evidence.

Andrew: I know! It's so frustrating, which is why...

[He pushes open a wardrobe - all the clothes and dresses have been torn apart. He then opens the door to the bathroom - the cabinet has been smashed to pieces, the shower curtain torn down, the sink cracked.]

Andrew: ...I did this. And this. And... this!

[He opens the bedroom. The room has been professionally trashed - perfumes emptied on the bed, broken glass everywhere, a smashed TV lying next a cracked window, possesions tossed around the place.]

Andrew: I thought about setting fire to everything, but it's a national fire ban.

[Despite herself, Simone is shocked at the destruction.]

Simone: So? You think I care about this rat-hole? That I don't have better elsewhere?

Andrew: What good is money and material possession now? It's all about choices, Simmy. The ones we make, and the ones we don't. Oh, and the consequences. Those are always fun. For example, you made the choice to try to kill me and burn my home to the ground and now there's the consequence of me being really, fundamentally, dare-I-say-even-biblicall?, pissed off.

[She charges him and he backhands her without effort.]

Andrew: Eye for an eye and a tooth for tooth, as Old Nick Cave would say..

Simone: You're not a murderer.

Andrew: [laughs] Whatever the hell gave you that impression? You think they call me "Maddog" because of my devotion to peaceful origami and tai chi? Besides, if you can beat someone up and leave them to die in a housefire, it can't be THAT difficult - not like you were going to get cold feet like you did with Nigel, is it? I mean, I got an impression you had some moral compassion for your friend, but you must have just been worried about being caught. Oh well. That's the least of your problems now.

[He crosses over to her and kicks her in the ribs. She collapses.]

Andrew: Come on, Simmy! You're not even trying!

Simone: [coughs] Guess I'm not used... to people fighting back...

Andrew: That's a shame.

[He body-slams her, pinning her to the floor.]

Andrew: You bruise very easily, I notice. I wonder what colour you'll be when I'm done?

Simone: [weak] Please... stop this...

Andrew: This? This is just the warm-up act. Something tells me you're gonna be a screamer.

[Andrew crosses to the kitchen area, pulls open drawers until he finds the knives and starts scooping them out. Simone manages to roll over, too battered and bruised to keep fighting.]

Andrew: You know, there's nothing quite as powerful as the sense of smell. Ketones, esters, pheremones triggering olfactory nerve memories with amazing intensity... And the last thing YOU are going to smell is the coppery scent of your own blood.

Simone: [whimpers in pain] I'm not afraid of you.

[Andrew smiles serenely as he crouches over her.]

Andrew: I don't care.

Simone: [shaken] You're just trying to scare me!

Andrew: [curious] Is it working?

Simone: No!

Andrew: [nods] And how about NOW?

[Suddenly he starts slamming down the knives over Simone's body.]

[Outside the apartment. The "shunks!" of the knives are heard, then silence.]

[Flat. Andrew is flipping through a CD collection.]

Andrew: It's the landlord downstairs I feel sorry for. Abdul? Yeah. Abdul. He's going to come up here and find you - strictly speaking, what's LEFT of you - and there'll be blood and vomiting and hysterical fits. And I'm sorry about that, but I'm very, VERY angry and don't have time to slaughter you somewhere else, but what really hurts is that Abdul will probably blame himself for not being here to save you.

[He stops and checks a particular CD.]

Andrew: Still, after what you said to him, he'd probably help me out if he but knew. [calls] How does it feel, knowing you're going to die before he can forgive you? Hmm? Simmy? [tutts] Honestly, I expected better from you. What kind of professional goes into shock during a knife attack? Answer me that!

[We now see Simone is still on the floor - very much alive and even more terrified. The knives have pinned her down through her clothes, her shirt and trousers cut into the floor, trapping her, legs and arms spread. There is a knife close to her neck, cutting through the collar of her shirt and forcing her to keep her head very still.]

Andrew: Don't get the wrong impression, though. I've always been a bit of romantic. Both upper case and lower case "r" romantic. If that doesn't make sense, well, tough. You'll have to die ignorant, but then I have to live with my case unsolved. That's life. Still, it was pro bono work. No loss.

Simone: [swallows] I... I don't know where he is... where Nigel is...

Andrew: Didn't think you did. Where was I? Oh yes. Romantic. Dim the lights.

[He does so.]

Andrew: Some suitable music to help the mood. And cover up the screams.

[He puts a CD into the player.]

Andrew: And now it's just you and me, Simmy. [picks up scissors] It's the perfect start to an evening, but forgive me if my technique's rusty. I haven't done this in a very long time...

[Hard rock music begins to blare from the speakers. Andrew bangs his head along with the tune, air-guitaring with the scissors. Simone cannot move even to watch.]

Song: Spread your love like a fever,
And don't you ever come down!
I spread my love like a fever,
I ain't ever coming down!

[He suddenly drops to his knees, his thighs on either side of Simone's head.]

Song: She gave me love like a big fire!
I only saw it once!
She spread her love like a fever!

[He crudely cuts open Simone's shirt, laughing.]

Song: She's bad, but not enough...

[As a harmonica solo plays, he slices a Y-shape through her trousers to the tune, exposing everything below the waist. Still pinned down, but just in her undies.]

Song: I'm so low! I'm so low!
I'm so low! I'm so low!

[He cuts one of her bra straps, still headbanging. Simone is shaking with fear.]

Andrew: Beg me to stop.

Simone: Please.

Andrew: Sorry, it must be the loud music. Can't hear a thing.

[He pauses the music.]

Simone: PLEASE! STOP!

Andrew: [smacks forehead] Oh, you want me to stop!

Simone: YES!

Andrew: [gently] Pity I'm not going to, now, am I? I'm sure you're thinking, based on the pathetic scraps of information about me you know and rather foolishly believe to in any way accurate and not drunken bullshit I was saying to impress my fellow students, that I'm deep down a really nice guy full of morality and light and wonder who would never hurt absolutely anyone because I'm just a dinky-di Aussie hero.

[He cuts the other strap.]

Andrew: On the other hand, we have reality...

[He turns on the music again.]

Simone: [screams] I know where they took Nigel!

[He cuts between her bra cups.]

Simone: I'll take you there!

[Andrew is about to cut the sides of her panties.]

Simone: I'll do anything! Anything you want! Tell you anything you want! DON'T DO THIS!

[The music crashes into silence. Andrew studies her, staying perfectly still.]

Andrew: So scared. So helpless. So utterly alone... I bet that was how Nigel felt.

[Simone stares at him, weakened and broken.]

Simone: [mouths] I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Andrew: You deserve this and worse.

[Simone weeps silently.]

Andrew: That'll be the guilt. Do you want me to take your mind off it?

[He taps her thigh with the scissors.]

Andrew: Put those womanly-wiles of your to good use?

Simone: [sobbing] You're... a monster...

Andrew: Yes. I am. And what does that make you?

[She just cries. Emotionlessly Andrew rises and walks off, putting the scissors back on their hook.]

[Outside flat. The door opens and Simone emerges in a dressing gown. She has a black eye and several bruises and is very cowed. Andrew follows, holding her arm as though to stop her from collapsing. They do not speak as they reach the ground level.]

Gabby: [VO] Well, well, well.

[They look up, surprised as Gabby emerges from the shadows.]

Gabby: Didn't see that one coming?

Andrew: Evening, Gabby. I don't remember you be invited to this.

[Flashback:]

[Gabby is walking back to her place when she sees Simone hurrying away from the park. Gabby looks around and sees smoke pouring from the bungalow and races inside to snatch up a mobile and dial 000.]

[End flashback.]

Andrew: But how did you know she'd be here?

Gabby: Duh. This is where she lives, I've been here before.

Andrew: Oh. Good point.

Gabby: [darkly] Did you beat her up?

Andrew: [nods, grinning] And worse! Isn't that right, darling Simone?

[He puts an arm around her. She flinches.]

Gabby: I didn't think you were the type to hit a girl.

Andrew: I didn't think you were the type to hit a boy. Remember Jason? And YOU weren't the one left for dead as someone tried to burn down the only home you've ever had. If you wanted a perfect human being for detective, Gabs, you came to the wrong guy.

Gabby: What did you do to her?

Andrew: An empathy game. I don't think Miss High and Mighty here will be treating other human beings so lightly now she's been on the recieving end.

[Simone shudders.]

Simone: I tried to warn him.

Gabby: You could have tried harder. You could have tried not to sell him out in the first place.

Simone: They'd always have found someone.

Andrew: And I'd always have done this to them. [shakes head] Not a brilliant justification when you think about it, really, is it?

Gabby: So where's Nigel?

Simone: I only know where they took him.

Gabby: Magnus, you mean?

Simone: Yeah.

Gabby: Where?

Simone: Ultimo. Where they used to hold the Jekkatatve.

Gabby: Is he still there, you think?

Andrew: More to the point, is he still alive?

[Simone looks at them coldly.]

Simone: Only one way to find out, huh?

- to be continued...

The Hospice of Hope

2011-10-03T05:20:00.000-07:00

Just being awake is so exhausting it's easy to miss the slide in and out of consciousness. The room is familiar enough to stop it being frightening, but the old man hasn't been frightened for a long time. It's late afternoon and the old man, skin craggy and dark and tanned, is slipping into a doze.

"Hope you don't mind," a voice says, all delicate and rushed at the same time, "passed Doris on the way out, thought I might pop by, just for a bit, see how you were, do the whole social thing like mates do..."

The old man opens his eyes.

"Probably best," the other says, waggling a long finger, "you don't mention this to anyone. In fact, specifically tell them I wasn't here. Leave things nice and tidy so when I hear I wasn't here, I'll make it my number one priority to come back here and see you, tell you I wasn't here and actually I'll stop here because it all gets wibbly-wobbly complicated and questions the existence of free will..."

A tired smile. "One of those?"

"One of those." A big, happy grin. "Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart and I bet you've already guessed who I am. No one else can do that, you know, believe me, I've looked. Unless I hand out polaroids in advance, they never twig."

"There's some sherry over there. I made sure the nurses leave some out for you, but I wasn't sure if you still like it. Sometimes you'd drink a lake of the stuff and others wouldn't touch a drop."

"Nonsense!" the other reproves. "If you like it, it's got to be good."

He takes a shot glass, swigs it, convulses and silently empties the mouthful back into the glass, retching.

"Thought that counts," he rasps.

A faint frown. "You're wearing a bowtie."

The toothy grin, recognizable no matter what the face. "Yes I am. Isn't it cool?"

"Not particularly, no. It reminds me. How you were when we first met."

"Yes! Subways and platforms and fungus! Fungus from Yeti. Yeti fungus! Tastes horrible, kill you in three seconds flat, smells like damn popcorn! You and me, running through the tunnels, we bumped straight into each other - thwack! And your little tartan hat you wore back then, it went flying! You made me pick it up... at gunpoint, I remember."

"You'd hit your head. You kept calling me Brett Vyon. Never did find out why."

"Brett Vyon. Haven't thought about him in ages. Well, a couple of weeks anyway. He was a bit like you. Same jaw. Same hair colour. Plus he held me at gunpoint when we first met. But that was way way away. Three streets on past two millennia."

"And what happened to him?"

"Nothing. Hasn't been born yet."

An arched eyebrow. "I'm not in the mood, Doctor. Answer the question."

"What question?" Worry. Then, without changing his voice. "Oh that question, the question you just asked, a very good question. Bretty Vyony question. Him? He... well. It was Daleks."

"Ah." Understanding. "Exterminated, poor chap?"

"Not quite." Uncomfortable. "More a sort of... family issue. Never mind! Look at you, eh? The Brigadier! Or is it General now? They keep promoting you but you never call yourself anything but Brigadier."

Weak chuckle. "I wonder where I got that from."

"I heard about Peru."

"I should hope so. You bored me rigid on several lunchtimes going on about how you met the aliens that influenced the architecutre."

"Which was why UNIT asked you to go there and deal with the rift." A statement. Not a question. Regret.

"I am still technically their chief scientific advisor." A wink. "And I negotiated a far better fee than you ever did."

"Not fair. I wasn't sure what year I was in. Still not, if I'm honest. Besides, what's the point in worrying about decimalization when Black Monday could be around the corner?" The tangent fades. "You closed the rift."

Relaxed, philosophical. "I closed the rift."

Quiet. "That was quite possibly the most stupid and dangerous thing anyone on this entire planet has done or ever will do."

A smile. "As I said: I closed the rift."

"It didn't have to be you!" Hurt. Anger. "I could have done it."

"You were busy." Frown. "Don't look like that. I've only known this face five minutes and I don't like that look. I know all about the Sontarans and the Daleks, planets in the sky and satnav going bonkers. And that Christmas with the Master. I've never been one to begrudge prioritizing emergencies."

Upset. Beginning to pace. Mad gesticulations. "How did you even KNOW what to do?" Frustration now. "Closing a five-dimensional space-time rift caused by Exxilion power relays... that's not something they cover in the UNIT training video! I know, I directed it and I don't care what anyone says, by the way, that camera work will really catch on now the iPod's been invented..." Drifting on topic, cheering up again. Then sad. "How did you know?"

A sigh. Eyes closed. "Well, I assumed it would work the same way as that other rift. The Medusa Cascade, wasn't it? You managed to close it single-handed..."

"And it cost me. It cost me a lot. It's STILL costing me. And... how do YOU know about the Medusa Cascade?"

"Oh, spare me some respect, Doctor. You think I didn't recognize you in Peru? You may have had a face full of clavicles and ears like doors on a mini, but it was definitely you. I didn't know at the time, you see, why you were so upset. Why you wanted to pretend you were just some passing navvy. But you couldn't help yourself, could you? Giving us hints, grinning that smile of yours you could bluff the Grim Reaper with a pair of fours... could have used a thesaurus, though. There are other superlatives apart from 'fantastic'."

A nod. "I didn't want you to know... well. About the war."

"Well, I do now." Opens eyes. "Do you want me to tell you for the upteenth time you did the right thing?"

A weak laugh. "It's always nice. Things got put in perspective a while back, a... close friend... convinced me. I did what I had to."

"And so did I."

"You could have called for help!" Sudden, snarling anger. "I would have come if you asked! I always do! Every time!"

"You disconnected that telegram. You even left an insulting answer machine message."

"So I did." Emotionless. "Bit of a bad night. But YOU could still call me. You had the number. And I would have come."

"Of course you would." Kind. "Doctor, what do you suppose it was like down there? The sky splitting in two? Me surrounded by the dead, cursing your name and charging into the fray, blood on my lips?" A laugh or maybe a cough. "No. It wasn't a picnic, Doctor, but I went in with my eyes open. I could have called for help, and if it hadn't worked, I would have. I've sent a lot of men to their deaths, Doctor."

"I know the feeling."

"I'm a soldier, Doctor, and so were they. I had to sacrifice troops, but I never did it lightly. And if I could have saved the day, from Autons to Zygons, by putting myself at ground zero, I would have. And in Peru, that situation arose." Softer. "Look at me, Doctor. I was never going to live forever. You and I both know it's something to be avoided. And isn't it better to go out this way, by your own choice, with some dignity and knowing you did good?"

A silent nod. "Yes. But it's not fair."

A mild look of surprise. "You mean things are supposed to be fair? Fine time to tell me now, I must say." Another painful cough.

"I don't..." Clears throat. "You... I wish... you could stay."

A nod. "You managed to cope for 450 years before we met, Doctor. I dare say you'll manage once I'm gone."

"Manage? Who wants to manage? Manage isn't good! Manage is dull it's bad it's making do because everything's awful when it should be better! Manage is third place, the one no one ever chooses because it's, it's rubbish! Third-place rubbish!"

"Articulate as ever." Smiling affectionately. "But what's the matter?"

Eyes widen. Voice a whisper. "The matter, Alistair, is you're DYING. And I can't fix it, I can't stop it, I can't do anything! The rift energies are dispersing and they're taking you with it! Not even the TARDIS..."

"That's why you're angry and that's why you're upset. But not why you're afraid."

"What makes you think I'm afraid?"

"Because it's so unusual it's easy to spot. To the trained eye."

A long pause.

"I'm going to die."

"Who isn't?"

"I found out about my future. I know how I die. On a beach in America somewhere, very soon. I don't save the universe. I just... die. Shot dead by an assassin who doesn't even want me gone."

A real frown. Genuine concern. "You said the future is never set in stone."

"Not always. But this time... it is. I can't change it. It's going to happen, it's always happened. It's happening right now. All the things we've done, they depend on me dying beside that lake. There are witnesses and stuff. Whole lives unfold from that day. And, I... I tried to be all mature and grown up and reasonable about it. I really did. I promised, I wouldn't be a hypocrite, I'd know my time is up and wouldn't complain or feel cheated... I wanted to do it with dignity, like... like..."

"Like I am?"

"Yeah."

"I'm flattered. I really am."

"But I keep putting it off. I've got a time machine, I can do that."

"And you can't change it?"

A wary glance left and right, checking each way. "In strictest confidence..."

A chuckle. "I thought as much. Well. Go on."

"Go on?"

"You know some way out of this. Take it."

"I thought..."

"What? That I'd demand you suffer the same fate as the rest of us? Come, Doctor. You saved me in those tunnels all those years ago. I'd be just another body in the cobwebs if it weren't for you. All these years I've had, are thanks to you. And I'm grateful, Doctor. You've done wonderful things, you have made this world a better place. And this is just one planet - I dread to think what the rest of the universe would by like without you helping."

"Not everyone thinks that."

"Since when did you care what other people think? I mean, the bowtie..."

"Bowties are cool."

"Name me one place where they are."

"No point. You never heard of it. And it's got a really complicated post code."

"Doctor. I've seen you old and young, tall and short, taciturn to the point you might as well have been mute and as chatty as you are now. I've seen you face down Cabinet ministers, alien warlords and even Miss Grant when she was pouting. So why on Earth are you so... so... shaken? Just who's put the wind up you?"

A long pause.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Seriously. Me. You. Afraid of. You ever look at me and feel scared? Did I ever make you feel like... I dunno. That I could hurt you?"

"It seems a rather odd time to ask me that, Doctor."

"It's important. It might be the most important thing in the world."

"No, Doctor. I never felt that way. Even after that two week sulk when you refused to come out of the TARDIS."

"The Silurians."

"Yes. You really were childish then."

"You shouldn't have done what you did."

"Perhaps not. But I wasn't the only one who made mistakes that day."

"Good point. Well made."

"Why are you worried you scared me?"

"Because I'm very scary, apprently. Even when I'm not trying to be. I roll into town, save the day, fight the monsters and... people get scared. They see what they can do. There's a world out there where they think the word 'doctor' means 'great warrior'. They've seen me fight, Brigadier. They think of me as a goblin and a trickster that can tear down a world."

A yawn. "Yes."

Frightened. "You agree?"

"Agree? That was the reason I hired you, Doctor! The reason I put up with you using a canary yellow roadster in public, picking fights with everyone that could possibly help UNIT in the government, and spending the gross domestic product on gizmos to repair that wretched TARDIS of yours. The first day I met you, Doctor, I met a creature from beyond the stars. Something without a body. Something that Lovecraft character would have wet himself if they'd met. The Great Intelligence - and he was frightened of you, Doctor. And back then you looked even more ridiculous and less impressive than you do now!"

"You thought I was a weapon?"

A sideways look. "Nothing wrong with a weapon, Doctor. Civilization wouldn't get far without the concept of sharp blades. The question is whether it's used to stab someone in an alleyway for their wallet - or perform surgery to save a life. That day, Doctor, I saw a man who terrified a monster from space. And that man was willing to die for me, for that girl Victoria, for London. The whole world. That's like me being willing to die for a ladybird. You can do terrible things, Doctor. I don't doubt it. But I doubt you will. Because I've seen you, time and time again, given the choice. And you never take it."

"Not everyone sees it like that."

"What? Like the Daleks?"

"And the Cybermen. And the Silence."

"Don't remember them."

"They're very forgettable."

"You scare them rigid, do you, Doctor? All those monsters and warriors and the like?"

"I terrify them. I drive them to huge lengths. They think I'm fighting a war against them. They think... I'm a monster."

The old man laughs. "Pathetic!"

"What?"

"They are! Good grief, man, they're just using you as a scapegoat! The Daleks are scared of you, so they blame you for everything? Did they ever try talking to you, Doctor? Did they ever try NOT gliding around exterminating people? If they did, would you really turn up on their doorsteps and murder them in their beds? These Silence chappies, I suppose, are sweet and loveable whenever you're not stopping them from conquering the universe and if you just went away and left them to it we'd all be in a utopia?"

"I don't think so. They kidnapped a child, the child of friends of mine."

"Then I can safely say they don't have the moral high ground." Firm, with a strength belying the age and frailty. "They're making you doubt yourself because you're your own worst critic. You know Benton nearly put you on suicide watch after Miss Grant left? Week after week you blaming yourself for every single thing, as though you couldn't remember how HAPPY you made her! The fun you had!"

A long coughing fit, enough to make the other consider calling a nurse.

"These new enemies of yours..." Croaking, rough. "They're smarter than the usual standard. They're making you doubt yourself. It's more effective than a bullet. Believe me. You don't kidnap children to win a war. That means you are the better man. And if you don't believe me, and you don't believe that ragtag army of friends of yours, then who DO you believe in?"

A pause.

"I believe in you."

"Good. Nice to know you've finally got some respect for your employer."

"You never did give me a reference."

"Fiction writing was never my strong point." A sigh. "You're not a monster, Doctor. I've fought monsters, I know monsters and you... as the saying goes... are no monster. But you've obviously been doing something wrong if you're feeling this guilty about things. And no, don't tell me. I'll just pretend it was something nice and simple like trampling a butterfly or something like that. But whatever it is, Doctor, put a stop to it. Do that, and you will be able to see how much of their... their smear campaign is just... blather. Waffle."

A faint smile. "Guess so."

"If you're not going to trust yourself, Doctor, then don't trust the opinions of people trying to conquer the world. They might just, in the remotest possibility, be lying for their own ends."

"Especially if they're wearing eyepatches."

A groan. "Not the eyepatch story again."

A sad smile. "No. Not this time. I've got things to do, places to go, people to see."

"I suppose it's not possible for me to come with you?"

"You wouldn't like it. Utah. Summer. Hot and dry and not a bit like drizzly old England." Blows out cheeks. "I really wish you could."

"Then I'll stay here. And when you've sorted it out, you can come back and tell me in detail how brilliant you are."

Nod. "I'll try. But, if we don't see each other..."

"...then that wretched TARDIS of yours has missed again and dumped you on Metabelis Three." A smile. "That's what usually happens, isn't it?"

He lifts a hand that seems to weigh so much and so little simulteanously.

The other shakes it.

"I tell lots of people they're my best friend. But I think, at the end of the day, it might just be you, Brigadier."

"'Pompous self-opinionated military idiot'."

"I know. You should hear what I call people I REALLY don't like."

"How many faces of yours have I seen so far?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven. Dare I ask if it was in the right order?"

"Mostly." A cautious blink. "Did you ever have a favorite?"

A twinkle in the eye. "How could I? You were a splendid chap. All of you."

The hands are shaken.

The other heads to the door and snaps off a smart salute of a British officer.

The old man waggles his fingers in a bizarrely informal manner.

The other leaves. Moments later a strange grinding of ancient engines is heard and, still smiling, the old man slides into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Oh, for crying out loud...

2011-10-02T21:15:00.000-07:00

Well, seen The Wedding of River Song.

...

THIS is Moffat's attempt to resolve story arcs and make things less complicated for the innocent newbie audiences? Bhudda in blender, I'd hate to see him go overboard on the continuity refs... I mean, seriously, didn't he get all of this out his system last year in The Big Bang? Or A Good Man Goes To War? Has he completely forgotten how to do a linear, self-contained episode? Has he some brain injury that NEEDS to write Pulp-Fiction-style sketch shows?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I was entertained... and amused... and punched the air when Madam Kavorian got her just desserts... but I am no longer impressed by this whole "trying to cram 12 episodes of plot into the pre-credit sequence". Is there no halfway point between this and Mark Gatiss' "drag every second out" approach?

(I did like Mark Gatiss getting a suitable reward for his crimes with Night Terrors though. I hope it hurt! A LOT!)

Please. No more alternate timelines based around catastrophic doomsday events that are hastily undone in a blizzard of cross-cuts and special effects (though I did like the fact the beach scene was how things SHOULD have unfolded rather than something to be retconned) and the last scene really was a head banger.

The Doctor says, basically, from now on it'll be like the old days when he was an unknown intruder rather than God In A Bowtie With The Universe On Speed Dial. And then he gets told of ANOTHER fucking story arc of doom he must inevitably face. Worse, absolutely nothing about the silence is explained - what the hell happened at the end of Vampires in Venice? Why did they try and blow up the TARDIS? HOW did River turn up at the wedding? And the idea she had a vortex manipulator during the Byzantium story is a bit dumb - why didn't she USE it, for example? And, seriously, the Question might not have been SO COMPLETELY obvious that the audience needed to be told what it was, but having Orac Mark 2 scream it over and over again in the final scene really achieve much? It sounds stupid and always has done if you ask me. And why was there that photo of Amy in the orphanage? Where were the Nazis from the series six trailer?

And just how many departure scenes have Rory and Amy had now? What, five or six? Even Rose only needed the two!

It's not QUITE reached the point where Doctor Who is just a string of Little Britian style skits playing the SAME SODDING PUNCHLINES OVER AND OVER AGAIN. But it is getting close and I am not in the slightest reassured that Moff has "big plans" about 2013's even-less-episodes-than-2009 budget-strapped saga.

ENOUGH OF THE FREAKING BIG IDEAS! GO FOR SOMETHING SMALLER FROM NOW ON!

I'd just like to say that I successfully predicted

- what the eyepatches were for
- how the Doctor survives being killed
- what the Question was
- what the Silents would say to Rory
- why Winston was confused
- what the Doctor was whispering in River's ear... well, at the time...
- whether Amy's gun was loaded
- who River killed
- the Daleks would get even more humiliated than the Cybermen in AGMGTW, and also have their colour schemes very quietly forgotten... I think. Could have been that colour from dust, I agree.
- that there was no way the ongoing story arc would be concluded.

So, in summary, much more enjoyable as a DVD box set than thirteen weeks of overlabored continuity (ironic, as the ratio of story arc to story was about the same as last years, just way less subtle and enjoyable).

Frankly, I think the Eleventh Doctor's getting a better deal here.

What does the Emperor have to say?

3/10. Mediocre, rambling and boring to watch.

(NOTE: he then reposted his Season 4 pitch about the horse-rustling Cyber-goons, the meddling monk, BOSS and yet another alien in Silbury Hill as a perfect example of what SHOULD have been in the episode.)

Anything from Mad Lary?

...

Just more homophobic abuse to everyone involved in Torchwood: Miracle Day and insistance that Chris Chibnall is nicking Mad Larry's ideas... despite the fact Chibnall hasn't been involved in Torchwood for three years now...

Nala Snevets?

What? "Silence will fall" is stolen from Terry Nation's "it's too quiet" cliches (AKA the Golden Age of British telefantasy)? And the subtext is that it's all based on your childhood when you spent many hours alone arguing with non-existent people about your deeper interpretation of events? I concede, your "yeah, well, I may not be a policeman but next door might be" argument follows the exact pattern as your "Olag Gan is a cat strangling rapist as long as you don't listen to absolutely everyone involved with the character" diatribe, so you might be onto something.

(blows out cheeks)

Same time next year lads?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last year the not-entirely-inaccurately-named Brilliant Book of Doctor Who was released onto the bookshelves with the psychic seed of the Dream Lord giving out a truly amazing list of unreliable spoilers for the oncoming series and so, out of mild boredom as I return to the discon parody guides, here they are...

The Doctor will be on trial - twice!
Well... he wasn't. Unless River and Dorium's lectures to him count.

Who controls the Light Sculptors?
No idea. Sounds like a better plot than Night Terrors. Which is probably why they're in The Sarah-Jane Adventures - too good for Gatiss!

You won't believe what's buried under Wembley Stadium
Because there's nothing there? Or is this another Quatermass homage?

Scared of the Eye in Space? You should be
Because unmade Troughton stories are classics, damn it! Be afraid - remember the Atraxi!

Take up thy sins and walk - slowly
Gibberish misquote from the bible. Unless it's the Headless Monk's motto or something.

"There won't be a pub quiz on Tuesday because there won't be a pub!"
Absolute bollocks. Possibly quoted from Men Behaving Badly.

Beau Geste is cool
A book by PC Wren and clearly a gag.

Bow Street Runners are cool
London's first professional police box and clearly a running gag.

Bromley-by-Bow is cool
A district of London and an over-milked gag.

4 August 1982 - Happy Birthday, Ma'am
The Queen's birthday. Maybe the Dream Lord's being a royal suck up? Be fair though, she is a true fan - the only BBC Controller she refuses to knight is Michael Grade - though that could equally be for what he did to the Goodies...

Some lies are too much for the psychic paper
In A Christmas Carol, the Doctor cannot get it to say he is a responsible adult.

"I won't take calls from THAT prime minister!"
Some kind of Margaret Thatcher gag, probably best edited out, like that speech in The Pandorica Opens when the Doctor shouts that Sontarans are all fags and he's not scared of nancy-boy poofs like them.

"Marc, where are you?"
Not in this series. He's a bit busy stuffing up Ace's farewell for Big Finish.

The only water in the forest is the river.
A quote from The Doctor's Wife and A Good Man Goes to War, explaining why Pond = River in other languages.

What awaits the TARDIS at the Zero Point?
Not a lot.

"12 years on and Rory's still terrified of Granny Grainer."
Not a clue. Cut dialogue probably best cut?

"I was lost in France"
Aren't we all? Another song - Bonny Tyler, this time.

"How could a fellow Gallifreyan stoop so low?"
An infamous false DWM quote from The Time Meddler, and just as genuine now. You could say it applies to Melody in LKH when she is a) technically a fellow Gallifreyan and b) stooping low.

Horror of Bangkok
Very amusing. Well, funnier than The Horror of Glam Rock, anyway.

"Give it up, Sueet Korn!"
...unless this has something to do with the Leadworth crop circle, I think Monsieur Dream Lord is extracting the wee wee by now.

Argonite? Here?
Thankfully, not even the current production team was demented to do a sequel to The Space Pirates. Though I think Dylan Moran would be a good Milo Clancey.

An ordinary block of flats
The setting of Night Terrors.

"If I saw them walking down the High Street what would I think?"
"I don't think you'd think anything at all, Amy."
A cut scene from Day of the Moon, maybe?

Find the Lady - before she finds you!
Madam Kavorian, AKA Eyepatch Lady. (And a gag on the find-the-lady card trick, if anyone cares).

"Margaret! Come back!"
Meh. No idea.

The Doctor defeats the Sahara Desert
Again, something far more interesting than Night Terrors.

Susannah's still alive!
A song by the Kinks, clearly meant to bewilder us into thinking the Doctor's granddaughter isn't a heap of dust in Kasterboros.

Mill Green on fire
Presumably some kind of insurance fraud by BBC Wales by setting fire to their own special effects department. Or a golf course. Or a restraurant the Green Mill which mysterious caught fire in 2008.

The Doctor will get married - twice
In A Christmas Carol and The Wedding of River Song, obviously. And technically The Doctor's Wife.

What are the dangers of Port Olveron?
No idea. Was that the name of the acid factory in Gangers?

502 but never 503
The time being frozen in TWORS.

Beware of the Kites
Alas, no sequel to Greatest Show in the Galaxy unfolded. This is a sign quite common at kite festivals, BTW.

"A pillar of salt, yes - but not because she looked back, looking back is good!"
Obviously Lot's Wife. What's this got to do with anything, I dunno, but it does sound like a bit of cut dilaogue about the Silents.

They'll have to get a new name for thanksgiving
Unless BBC America has a special Thanksgiving episode, I doubt it.

Pay attention - it's not really her
Amy is actually being a ganger for the first half-dozen eps.

Treading through the sand - on the one night they come back
No idea.

The Shuddering Brethren, they'll stick in your mind
Only if you listen to Round the Horne.

"I'm my own Doctor"
The Ganger Doc?

Octavian wasn't lying
Well, River killed the Doctor, a hero to many, so... yeah.

Mysterious Semblance at the Strand of Nightmares
A Tangerine Dream song with a pretentious title. Is Joshua Wynne behind this?

The bones of the TARDIS
A reference to the TARDIS graveyard in The Doctor's Wife, natch.

Resuming Work

2011-09-27T00:51:00.000-07:00

...in so many ways. Well, I'm volunteering my grunt services at the noble Hepatitis C Awareness organization (I still know little more than Martha Jones pretending to be Sam Jones pretending to have it, before getting Wirrn larvae injected into her intestines). Yet, curiously, I have also turned back to my guide page.

You know. This one.

Yes, if you want to see my psuedo-satirical ramblings (TM patent applied for by M. Goacher of Colchester) turned onto the Big Finish abomination they dared pass off as Season 27... well. Go there. It's not often I totally lost any kind of objectivity and started ranting without comic intent - the only other time was in Full Fist Five where I got sick of Steve Foxx telling me how to live my life - but amazingly enough, Crime of the Century finally made me snap. Maybe because it was awfully-written toss, but maybe because of the overarching philosophy...

Sam: I know all about losing things. Why do you think I’m here, wasting my time doing crosswords and aggravating my piles for thirty grand scores? Because I lost the lot! I used to have it all and I lost it all on Black Monday!

Doctor: Oh, one of THOSE. They happen every few decades, inevitable, brief and periodic cycles.

Sam: It’s all every well having that point of view when you’re a bloody time traveler – try to being a small-to-medium-sized business enterprise and THEN see how brief they seem. And how inevitable? I don’t think it HAD to happen! I’d like to get my hands on the blokes responsible, the lad who caused. Mark my words, someone’s made a nice little profit out of ruining us all. They did it all deliberately to make a killing!

Doctor: Shut up, Sam! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Sam: But, Doctor...

Doctor: I have had it UP TO HERE with all this self-pitying social relevancy... you’re a fucking gangland boss! Stop whinging about how unfair life is because YOUR bank balance is no longer in six figures! BOO-FUCKING-HOO! I was all ready to try and get into this gritty social realism, get rid of all the science fiction aspects and become as hardcore as "The Bill" or "London’s Burning" but MOTHER OF FUCKING CHRIST – a posh sword-fighting cat burglar and her Cockney gangster dad! VERY FUCKING REALISTIC I DON’T THINK! And, I could even have coped, even with the new Earthbound format with authentic-based contemporary characters IF YOU WEREN’T ALL SUCH TOTAL ASSHOLES! Hmmm, planet Zog in the 82nd Century or Thatcher’s Britain – I wonder which one will be more fun and interesting? That’s it, I quit!

Sam: Sylv, you’re going way off script...

Doctor: FUCK THE SCRIPT! I QUIT THIS WHOLE FUCKING SHOW!

...yeah. Probably some bias there.

In other news, The Lodger 2: Closing Time is awesome. It's quite clear only Gareth Roberts could be considered for replacement showrunner, since apart from anything else he's done more DW stories per year since 2005 since even RTD. Plus, you know, he can work out plots and is actually funny. Just say "no" to Mark Gatiss, boys and girls. Just say "no".

And I might get back Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff once I've had my blood bleached yet again...

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (v)

2011-09-19T02:52:00.000-07:00

[Tears for Fear's version of "Mad World" plays.]

[Looking depressed and lonely, Dave leaves his house and heads up the road.]

Song: All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces

[Andrew is sprinting out of FOX Studios out across the park towards the bus stop.]

Song: Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere

[Dave reaches a chemist and enters.]

Song: And their tears are filling up their glasses

[Andrew reaches the bus stop. He realizes he is alone and turns around. Gabby is still struggling to catch up with him.]

Song: No expression, no expression

[Blank-faced, Dave crosses to the shelf of sleeping pills and shoves a row of boxes off the shelf to fall into a canvas shopping bag.]

Song: Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

[Andrew is pacing at the bus stop, fidgeting, impatient. Gabby is still running and nowhere close.]

Song: And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad

[Decisively, Andrew strides out into the traffic and holds out his arms, waving them frantically. None of the cars hurtling towards him are slowing down.]

Song: The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had

[Dave emerges from the chemist with bag full of sleeping pills and heads down the street once more, looking no more cheerful.]

Song: I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take

[Andrew dives for the pavement, narrowly avoiding being run over a dozen times.]

Song: When people run in circles
It's a very, very mad World!

[Gabby reaches the bus stop, bewildered and shakes her head. She effortlessly waves down a waiting taxi. Incredulous, Andrew joins her in boarding said transport.]

Song: Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday

[Dave returns to his home. His mum and dad are watching TV, apparently oblivious to his presence as he heads upstairs to his room.]

Song: Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen

[He enters his bedroom and throws the bag on his bed. Boxes spill out.]

Song: Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me

[Dave starts to open the boxes and pops out the pills in a pile on a dresser with a mirror mainly covered in photos of Jadi and Pheobe.]

Song: Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

[The taxi is meandering through the suburbs. Andrew is leaning out of the passenger window, clearly trying to navigate. Gabby looks embarrased.]

Song: And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad

[Dave has piled up all the sleeping pills in a disused egg box.]

Song: The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had

[The taxi pulls up outside Dave's place. Andrew dives up and runs to the front door. It's locked. He bangs on it to no avail.]

Song: I find it hard to tell you

[Dave picks up the first pill.]

Song: 'Cos I find it hard to take

[Andrew runs around the house, looking for an entry point.]

Song: When people run in circles

[Dave pops the pill and picks up a bottle of gin.]

Song: It's a very, very mad world...

Andrew: STOP!!!

[Dave freezes. The music continues from his stereo. Andrew is halfway through the window, frantic.]

Andrew: I know you must be feeling terrible right now but believe me - seriously I know where of I speak - that is NOT the answer. That's not even the question! That's a totally different conversation! Just stop. Please.

Dave: [pill in mouth] Waddargyoo tarkin abut Muddug?

[He swigs from the bottle.]

Andrew: NO!

Dave: [swallows] Chill, dude. It's just water.

[He offers the bottle to Andrew who sniffs it suspiciously.]

Andrew: It's a gin bottle.

Dave: Yeah, once. I hate using Franklin Water bottles. I wanna be distinctive.

Andrew: [shrugs] Fair enough. But you still don't have to do this!

Dave: Do what?

Andrew: Do this!

Dave: Do what?

Andrew: YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!

Dave: [as if to an idiot] Do... what...?

[Andew takes a deep breath.]

Andrew: Dave, you are sitting in your bedroom listening to the Donnie Darko soundtrack with a massive stockpile of sleeping pills and a gin bottle!

Dave: ...so?

Andrew: SO?! You think I don't know a suicide attempt when I see it?

Dave: [bewildered] Suicide? I'm not committing suicide.

Andrew: I refer you to the bedroom, music and massive stockpile of drugs, buster.

Dave: Hey, it's my bedroom!

Andrew: And the music?!

Dave: It's just coincidence!

[The music suddenly changes to the Dandy Warhol's Boys Better.]

Dave: Would anyone kill themselves to that?

[Suspiciously, Andrew crosses to the stereo and presses another button. 2Unlimited's "Get Ready For This" plays. Andrew presses the button again. "Crunchy Granola Suite" plays. Andrew tries again. "Werewolves of London". He switches it back to "Crunchy Granola".]

Andrew: Point taken. But this doesn't change the fact you have enough tablets in this room to slaughter an entire school and then, when they inevitably are revived as zombies by a mixture of cosmic radiation, toxic pesticide and voodoo, put them to sleep AGAIN and still have pills left over.

Dave: Maddog, Andrew, whatever. I haven't been sleeping well for... since forever. Even after the HSC, so my doctor proscribed me some sleeping pills.

Andrew: And you - what? - got every single proscription at the same time?

Dave: Saves trips to the chemist.

Andrew: And then you opened them all?

Andrew: Just the first week's supply. I put them into egg boxes so I'll know how many I've taken, so I don't take too many by accident. Is that all right with you?

Andrew: [cautious] So you're NOT gripped by suicidal despair after your best friends in the whole wide world abandoned you?

Dave: [sighs] Not till you turned up, no. I got a call from Phe on the weekend. She and what's his name and the triplets are all safe and sound in Prague. Her place overlooks Petrin Hill, which is just like the Eiffel Tower only not French. Plus, it's snowing! Snow at Christmas, that's what she's got right there...

Andrew: Uhuh. Any word from Jadi?

Dave: Nope. His parents just hang up on me. Um, this may sound like stupid question...

Andrew: [nods] ...most questions do in my experience...

Dave: ...but why did you break in through the window just now?

[Andrew goes blank for a long moment.]

Andrew: Well...

[The door burst open and Gabby staggers in.]

Gabby: That does it! No more travel expenses! I am SPENT - and not in a good way! [sees Dave] Cool, we got to him in time. What does he know about the conspiracy?

Andrew: [grins awkwardly] Haven't QUITE got to that bit yet, Gabbs.

[A long pause as Dave stares at them.]

Dave: I haven't taken a drug overdose today. But I'm not sure about you two.

[Back in the present. Andrew, Dave and Nigel are walking down a hill.]

Dave: [thoughtful] You know, in context, that afternoon isn't HALF as derranged as it was at the time.

Andrew: A common lament.

Nigel: I find all of this very difficult to believe.

Andrew: Why?

Nigel: [snorts] As if you two could lead interesting lives without me around!

Andrew: [rolls eyes] Anyway...

[Flashback once more. Andrew, Gabby and Dave are leaving a Mexican takeaway shop as Andrew messily devours a burrito.]

Dave: But what has all this got to do with me? I haven't seen Nigel since that English exam, and I couldn't care enough about him to betray him to any conspiracy.

[Andrew tries to reply around a mouthful then gives up and elbows Gabby.]

Gabby: [sighs] Andrew is totally sold on the idea that whoever's got Nigel has also got Jadi and tried to get Pheobe too. And apparently it's physically impossible for either of them to have got involved without you tagging along.

Dave: [sighs] Guess that's fair.

Andrew: [swallows] Quite. I thought, maybe, they were trying to drive you to suicide.

Dave: I don't buy this X-Files crap. What conspiracy? Nigel's into some kinky shit, everyone knows that. He drools after his own sister. Are we saying it's unreasonable he'd get some sugar from a nun? And if this lot were behind Phoebe having triplets, well, that means about nine months where they left the rest of us alone!

Andrew: And so they strike just after the HSC where none of you will be missed.

Dave: This is paranoia, man.

Andrew: [annoyed] It is only paranoid, David, if we are proved to be wrong! Now, someone is definitely after Nigel. And I'm certain someone is after you, Pheobe and Jadi. Either there are two separate conspiracies or one big one - so what have you three, Nigel and Jason been up to, to warrant this kind of attention?

Dave: How the hell should I know? I mean, hell, delivering the triplets was the longest I've spent with Nigel socially for years!

Gabby: When was the last time then?

Dave: I dunno. Ages back, at primary school. And back then, Nigel... he was a geek. No, worse. Geeks picked on him. He had no friends, nothing. Then, well, you know, Jason stabbed him, whole near-death experience and suddenly he was cool. Two weeks later, the whole school burns to the ground and we never really got back together...

Andrew: And anything happen in those two weeks?

Dave: [rolls eyes] Apart from the school burning down?

Andrew: [unsmiling] Yes. Apart from that.

Dave: Just the... [pales] the... Russian Kid "incident".

[Andrew grins a feral grin.]

Andrew: Yeah. THAT sounds more like it!

Gabby: You mean Magnus? What happened to Magnus?

Dave: Yeah. [double takes] YOU know about that?

Gabby: Nigel told me about it. [hurt] Hey, I have an attention span, you know!

Andrew: I'm impressed. [to Dave] So, this incident - you, Phe, Jadi, Nigel and Jason, were all involved in it, right?

Dave: Yeah. And this girl, Danielle, but she vanished years ago.

Andrew: How convenient. Well?

Dave & Gabby: Well what?

Andrew: Are you going to tell me about this Russian Kid Incident or what?

[Flashback in a flashback, with tasteful art deco sepi-tinted flashbacks to that well-known epic, Verkoff: A Terrible Ego.]

Dave: [vo] It started after Nigel got stabbed and did his total makeover thing. While he was off sick, this new kid, Brian Magnus, joined the school. He was, well...

Gabby: [vo] A fuckwit.

Dave: [vo] Yeah. Pretty much. A well-connected fuckwit with diplomatic immunity, coz of his parents. He wasn't just an asshole, man, he was violent. He beat the crap out of everyone and anyone, and not for any kind of street cred. He got a totally sick thrill out of it. If there's true evil in this world, he's on the mailing list.

Gabby: [vo] And Nigel was the only one to stand up to him.

Dave: [vo] Yeah, not that it did anyone any good. It got into a whole cold-war type escalation thing. Magnus insulted Nigel, Nigel insulted Magnus in public and kicked in the balls, Magnus broke Nigel's sister's arm... well, Nigel went off.

Andrew: [vo] So what happened?

Gabby: [vo] Nigel came up with a plan. He locked Magnus in a shed at the school all night with a blue lightbulb. He told Magnus it was deadly and radioactive and stuff.

Andrew: [vo] And he believed him?!

Gabby: [vo] Yep. The guy was convinced he had cancer and radiation sickness, he immediately went to Switzerland or something to get the best medical care.

Dave: [vo] After the school burned down and we all got split up, none of us expected he'd be able to find us and get any revenge. From what I heard, the guy was totally nuts by that point.

[End flashback.]

Andrew: [sickened] And you helped Nigel do that?

Dave: Yeah. I did.

Andrew: Mmm. Ever heard of Karma?

Gabby: A chameleon?

Dave: [righteously pissed off] Look, Andrew, I'm not saying what we did was right. We're not perfect saints. But Nigel was right - there was nothing else we could do. Ever wonder why Phoebe lisps sometimes? Its because that bastard broke her jaw. And that was when she was trying to help him, and even though he knew that, he beat her up anyway. Maybe I deserve this crap, but I don't regret it a bit. Not a bit.

Andrew: [flatly] A man of conviction.

Dave: You taking the piss?

Andrew: Thanks for the info, Dave. Good luck with the insomnia.

[Andrew turns and walks off, finishing his meal. Gabby follows.]

Gabby: Now what?

Andrew: Go home.

Gabby: That's it?

Andrew: It's been a long day and, in case it wasn't obvious, we've run out of leads.

Gabby: What do you mean? We know it's Magnus. It must be him!

[Andrew stops and turns to face her.]

Andrew: Whoop-de-friggen-doo Gabrielle. And where is Magnus, huh? This rich Russian psychopath with the money and resources to stage-manage this whole operation on a sordid whim? Where do you think he'd be? Where would he have taken Nigel - assuming of course he didn't just kill him and bury him in concrete last week? What do we have left to go on?

[Silence.]

Andrew: Go home. We'll talk tomorrow.

Gabby: Nigel...

Andrew: Nigel what? We don't even know if he's alive. So we can afford to wait till tomorrow.

Gabby: And if we can't? He could be dying right now!

Andrew: And we wouldn't be able to help him anyway! Now go catch some zeds!

[Andrew storms off, leaving Gabby alone.]

[Back in the present.]

Nigel: Ahem. What about the postcard?

Andrew: [confused] The postcard?

Dave: The one oh-so-mysteriously left with the warning for Nigel?

[Andrew stares at them for a long time.]

Andrew: Oh, THAT! Yes, well, I had good reasons for not mentioning it at the time...

[Flashback. Andrew heads to his bungalow.]

Andrew: Paeje? I'm home! No need for dinner, I'm as full as a goog. Whatever that means. Anyway, I saved you some nachos. Eh? Paeje? Hey-la-hey-lala-hey? Enchiladas and white sombreros? Stomach dissorder south of the border? Paeje?

[Andrew turns on some lights. No sign of his dog.]

Andrew: How odd. Must be down the pub. Again. So, since we're alone...

[He spins around impressively. An attractive girl in dark clothes stands by the door, in the shadows.]

Andrew: ...shall we sit down, have a nice chat, watch some Backberner?

Simone: I knew you'd get involved.

Andrew: Did you?

Simone: I saw you watching me.

Andrew: I know you did. I was there! Honestly, I'm not blind, girl.

Simone: Not yet.

Andrew: [unimpressed] Oooh. Scary.

Simone: So. You haven't told her about me yet.

Andrew: I'm a sucker for the dramatic flair. Where is he?

Simone: Who?

Andrew: Nigel Verkoff. The poor schmuck from Palookaville you sold down the river.

Simone: Dunno. Don't care.

Andrew: Is that a family motto round these parts or something?

Simone: My motto's always been "No Witnesses, No Mercy".

Andrew: I didn't know you were related to Ivan Milat.

Simone: Who?

Andrew: [blows out cheeks] Man, I need to get threatened by people with a better grasp on Australian history. This is just embarrasing.

Simone: [mock sympathy] Life is cruel, isn't it?

[She turns on a battered radio. "Why Aye Man" plays very loudly.]

Andrew: I can scream louder than Mark Knopfler, you know.

Simone: [grins] Bonus.

[Suddenly, she grabs Andrew by the singlet and hurls him forcefully into a pile of junk by the wall.]

Simone: Tch. You look a lot tougher than you are.

[Simone strides over to the prone Andrew. His eyes suddenly snap open and he swings out a punch. Simone catches his fist before the blow connects and uses her other hand to punch him in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.]

Andrew: [in pain] There's no need for this... seriously, I've got a brilliant idea...

[Andrew struggles to his feet, but Simone casually punches him in the head, then the stomach. As he doubles over in pain, she cracks him over the back and he topples to the ground at her feet.]

Simone: You know, I was worried you'd be smart enough to work out the truth and do something about it before I could stop you. What a colossal waste of time that turned out to be, huh?

[She takes out a cigarette and lights it.]

Simone: I got hired for a reason, you know. I really don't like other people. I guess I got a bit too close to Nigel. But not close enough to you, huh, Bad Dog or whatever your name is. [mocking] See you on the way down!

[She throws the cigarette onto a pile of newspapers and magazines. By the time she's left, they are burning. Andrew lies unconscious and bloody on the ground as smoke fills the air and the fire starts to spread...]

- to be continued...

FFS Spara!

2011-09-12T02:47:00.000-07:00

Yes, despite hopes he was killed in the chav riots earlier the year, the emperor is back showing his clear empathy once again...

Is Rory too emotional in the episode?

Towards the end of the story, Rory was crying and emotional. This was rather odd behaviour. Surely Rory would not be in too minds about it. Also Rory, as an heterosexual male, would not even consider saving the old haggard Amy when he has the nubile younger version at hand.

(The inevitable-bordering-on-ceremonial accusation of trolling.)

No. I come here to engage in discussion and analysis of Doctor Who episodes not to engage in trolling. The fact that some of my observations produce a mixed reaction is due to the wide variety of different kinds of people that post on this site.

(...bullshit.)

I am not trying to be deliberately controversial, just to tell it as it is. You'd have to scrape the whole world to find a straight man who would swap his young, attractive girlfriend for a middle aged past-its-best-before-date version.

(It is pointed out that this still counts as murder.)

It isn't nasty at all. This old Amy was a rather bitter woman. Why would the younger version of Amy want her older self hanging about? Rory would surely not want the hassle either.

(It is suggested the emperor is a bit touched in the head.)

This is news to me. I don't remember anything in previous episodes to suggest that Rory has aspergers.

(The suggestion is clarified until even spara understands it.)

Bizarre comment.

(It is pointed out that Rory is capable of more than blind lust.)

Rory clearly loves Amy yes. Because he finds her attractive as she is young and hot.

(Yet Rory has loved her when she wasn't young and hot.)

True, however he was also attracted to her. Would Rory have fallen for her had she looked like Olive in 'On the Buses'?

(What about their life-long love affair AS SHOWN ON SCREEN LESS THAN A MONTH AGO?!?)

True, however at that point in their lives they were just friends. This only turned to love later.

My original point is simply that it is hard to believe that Rory would have considered saving the old Amy above the young one as its not how lads behave. Look at Rod Stewart for example. He regularly trades in blonde wives/girlfriends for nubile younger versions.

(Rory isn't Rod Stewart.)

This may be the case however my point is that he fell in love with Amy as she is now ie young not some fifty-something verson of her.

(Excuse me, he's NOT Rod Stewart!)

My point about Rod Stewart is a valid one. I'm not suggesting that Rod represents all heterosexual males or even the average one. However there are a considerable number of blokes who admire men like him who have the wealth and success to upgrade their wives/partners to younger ones.

(What is it with you and Rod Stewart?!)

The point I am trying to make is not about Rod Stewart's appearance or music. Whatever you think about him the fact is that he represents what most straight blokes aspire to; success, money, cars and attractive young women. If you asked Rod to choose between a date with an ageing woman in her 60s or a blonde 25 year old he'd choose the latter.

(Who cares about Rod? We're talking about Rory!)

My point is that psychological studies have shown that blokes are much more motivated by a woman's looks. The average lad on a building site does not spend his time contemplating the true meaning of love. He likes football, watching 'Top Gear' and basically wants to bed as many women as possible.

(Rory is not Rod Stewart, not is he a lad on a building site.)

Rory is a straight guy. He does love Amy however the emotional way that he dealt with having to choose between her and an older version just seemed rather odd.

(What is wrong with you?!?!)

Rory's behaviour is not easy to understand in that he would obviously want to save his Amy ie the young one and would not agonise over the matter. His agonising is simply a symptom of over-emotionalism in Nuwho. The Brigadier would have told him to pull himself together in the classic series.

(The Brigadier is a soldier from the 1970s. Rory is a 21st century nurse.)

OK I accept that you make a valid point here ie that Rory working in a caring profession may have made him more sensitive and emotional or may just reflect these qualities that he already had. He's still a lad though.

(He's a 2000+ year old Roman soldier who has lost his daughter.)

OK, I'll give you another example: Ronnie Wood from the Rolling Stones.

(Do you stereotype homosexuals to this degree?)

I do not think in stereotypes. I've pointed out earlier in this thread that I'm not saying all blokes are the same, just that Rory should behave like a typical example. I accept that this may seem, on the surface, to be contradictory, but any psychologist will tell you the same.

(What? All men are dickheads so Rory should be too?)

I am not claiming that all men are "dickheads" as you term it. I am simply pointing out that straight men, on average, tend to be less open about their emotions than women. Rory clearly loves the young Amy and because he ended up saving her in the end he would be unlikely to be upset about the old Amy.

(Is this going to be another "DW Character Must Be Gay Because Heteroes Have No Self Control" thread like his one about every Doctor, Master, UNIT grunt and male companion?)

Rory isn't gay. Also I do not think he would want a three in a bed romp with both versions of Amy as I think he would find the experience disturbing and overwhelming.

(The Emperor's ignoring the clear evidence otherwise proves he's a "Freudian Test Case".)

Odd comment. I've never studied psychology so have no idea why I should be linked to Freud and his theories. I understand that his great- grandson runs a PR company and is friends with David Cameron and Jeremy Clarkson.

(You disgust me, you troll.)

I am not a troll. As I understand it an internet troll is a nasty person who sets out to provoke others into anger in order to derive some kind of pleasure. Wheras I promote lively intellectual analysis of Doctor Who episodes. On the same note, I noticed today that some chap has been jailed for trolling on the internet, which seems rather harsh although he was apparently posting some sick stuff.

(Thread locked.)

Yes, bitches, he's back.

Me? I liked it a lot more than Night Terrors, which my parents dubbed the worse thing since Mel began a screaming competition for Season 24...

Miracle: Torchwood Day (1)

2011-09-09T17:09:00.000-07:00

[An alien YMCA on the planet Zog. Jack stumbles out, pulling his pants.]

Jack: Sorry, Lonzo! My facebook status says mysterious people are googling "Torchwood" and I must return to the Earth and delete every last bit of information I conveniently forgot to delete when I ran away from my last surviving friend in pathetic shame. Yes, I know it's been two years and Gwen might have finally lost the battle with her natural instinct to take a pop-up toaster into the bath with her, yes, I know I abandoned her when she was heavily-pregnant with every secret agent on the planet wanting to use her as target practice, yes, I know that Internet broadband causes unspeakable damage to my brain and makes me a completely useless arsehole any time I'm on Earth without the protection of a Time Machine, and, yes, I know it's kind of pathetic to cross the galaxy to red-flag some websites and come back again BUT I HAVE AN UNSTATED LOVE THAT ONLY GWEN COOPER, A BRAIN-DAMAGED WELSH TART, CAN...

[Alonzo sticks his head out the window.]

Alonzo: Get fuck out of here, then! Christ you angsty bastard, I don't want you round anyway! For the love of Clom, I've tried to dump you ever since you told me you got every single one of your exes killed and then murdered your grandchild! YOU THINK THAT'S A TURN-ON?! Get out of here you sick fuck! Oh, if you ever see the Doctor, tell him I hope he dies horribly for using me to get you laid!

[Alonzo slams the window.]

Jack: Hmmph. Yeah, well, fine! I didn't want to live with a Jewish werewolf anyway...

[Jack lifts his trouser leg and flags down a passing flying saucer.]

PART ONE: THE NUDE WORLD

[Oswald Danes is given a lethal injection.]

Danes: I regret nothing! Except, you know, not taking those elocution lessons...

Guard 1: Hmm. The lethal injection isn't working.

Guard 2: Oh well. Put a bullet through his brain.

Guard 1: Why would I want to do that?

Guard 2: He's a self-confessed pedophile murderer with a speech impediment who for his dying request asked for "some underage bitches to rape in front of their parents" and a bottle of olive oil.

Guard 1: You never used to be so judgemental.

Danes: Let me go free! I've done my time! It's not my fault I didn't die!

Guard 2: We really shouldn't let him go.

Danes: If you don't let me go, I'll SUE you! Coz I'm an AMERICAN!

Guard 1: Well, maybe we can compromise?

Danes: How so?

Guard 2: How about we release you AFTER we've cut your genitals off, ripped out your tongue, broken both your legs and carved the word "PEDOPHILE" into your forehead?

Danes: That sounds like hard work.

Guard 1: Good point. Let him go.

Danes: Yay!

[Meanwhile, Rex Matheson is driving the wrong way down a highway in the rain. Blindfolded, smoking and talking on a mobile phone.]

Rex: Hah! My boss's wife got cancer! I get a promotion! What a magnificent bastard I am! Karma, do your worst!

[A stray javelin skewers him through the chest.]

Rex: ...did NOT see that one coming. Um, ow?

[Esther Whatshername is at her desk.]

Esther: I warned you about the stray javelins, but no one listens to me! No one listens to Esther...

Rex: [over phone] Need... ambulance... hot female surgeon...

Esther: Fine. Because I in no way fancy you. I am too busy being cute and virginal...

Rex: [over phone] ...you bet... oh god... the salty pain...

[Rex is rushed into hospital and meets Dr. Julia "Hotlips" Juvarez.]

Juarez: I am the doctor!

Rex: Hot damn! Doctor who?

Juarez: No, not Doctor Who, Doctor Who-var-rez.

[In the corner of ER, a drummer goes "ba-tum-dish!"]

Juarez: Seriously, do you HAVE to be here?

Drummer: Fuck you!

Juarez: I'll just staple-gun your chest closed, Rex. Everyone on the world is now immortal. Isn't this lovely?

Rex: Not really.

Juarez: No, actually you're right. It sucks. Rather like your chest wound.

Rex: Hey, babe, wanna suck something else?

Juarez: Not this early in the story arc.

Rex: Darn. Oh well, back to work. [into phone] Hey, Esther, anything interesting?

Esther: [over phone] Meh. You know how we were googling "Torchwood"? All the wesbites have disappeared. The consesus of the CIA is we don't give a shit.

Rex: Hmmm. I'll take the case.

Esther: What about mankind becoming immortal?

Rex: Bah, I am not a trend-setter for nothing. Get me everything you have on Torchwood.

Esther: We don't HAVE anything.

Rex: Then make something up! This is the CIA for fuck's sake!

Esther: OK. OK.

[Esther breaks into the Mutant Enemy Script Archive.]

Esther: I'll just steal some Joss Whedon scripts, change a few names and hey presto, a unique sci-fi-horror franchise everyone will take very seriously. What can possibly go wrong?

[Captain Jack drops from the ceiling and beats her up, violates her with a coke bottle and uploads the whole thing to youtube. Esther runs away.]

Jack: Wierd. After centuries living on Earth, I was SURE that was the best way to come across as trustworthy and likeable to total strangers.

[A random terrorist arrives and tries to shoot Jack.]

Terrorist: Bwahahaha! You can't stop me, I'm invincible!

Jack: So am I!

Terrorist: Are not!

Jack: Are too!

Terrorist: Are not!

Jack: Are too! Look!

[The terrorist blows himself up leaving a twitching scorched skeleton.]

Jack: Well, bugger me with a Slitheen, wasn't expecting that. [horrified] OH GOD, A HANGNAIL! I AM MORTAL! DAMN YOU, ROSE TYLER, DAMN YOU ALL THE WAY TO CARDIFF!

Esther: Why is someone trying to kill you?

Jack: Apart from all the obvious reasons? No idea. Drink this suspiciously-unmarked bottle of water.

Esther: Why?

Jack: It'll make you forget I ever existed.

Esther: So how will it explain the exploded terrorist and the bruises?

Jack: Look, if you drink it, I'll tell you the entire plot of Children of Earth.

Esther: But I'll just forget it.

Jack: It's better this way. I repeatedly try and blank out the ep where Gwen got married. Wonder how that turned out?

[Cut to a self-sufficient hovel on a distant island. Gwen and Rhys are singing The Good Life theme tune and playing with a very bored looking baby.]

Gwen: ...so then Uncle Owen slammed me against a tree and demanded to know the last time I came so hard I forgot where I was, and would have raped me there and then except for this pile of maggot-ridden corpses nearby. And then Uncle Jack decided he hadn't been enough of a prick today and used me, the non-immortal one, as a human shield. And despite all the medical problems due to gunshot wounds, I immediately bonked Owen senseless and kept lying to your daddy, Old Mastadon Buttocks himself...

Rhys: [calls] Ey! Gwen! Couple of ramblers wanting directions...

Gwen: KILL THEM ALLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!

[Gwen snatches up a bazooka and kills the ramblers.]

Rhys: You know, you were a lot cuter before you became a serial killer.

[The phone rings.]

Gwen: Hullo?

Andy: Hey, it's me, PC Andy! I didn't get killed in the last series.

Gwen: And we care because...?

Andy: Your dad's had a heart attack. And since he's one of only 867 individuals to appear both in New Who, Classic Who AND Torchwood, um, it's best you see him. Even though he gets no dialogue and you'll be stuck with your mother who even Sylvia Noble calls an unhelpful closed-minded bitch.

Gwen: Oh well, let's head to the mainland and hope the secret services don't try to kill us.

Rhys: Why exactly ARE they trying to kill us again? Since we overthrew the government out to get us and no one knows we exist anyway?

Gwen: DON'T MAKE ME ANGRY, RHYS!!!

[Cut to a hospital room. Gwen's dad isn't dead.]

Gwen: ...OK, this is getting boring.

Andy: What about everyone not dying! The world's going to run out of resources!

Rhys: And why do we need resources?

Andy: Um... so we don't die?

Gwen: Yeah. This isn't worth my time, is it?

Andy: Not really no.

[At CIA headquarters.]

Esther: Meh. A picture of Gwen Cooper on the Torchwood Facebook Page.

Rex: Fuck yeah! Get me on a plane, you cunt! I'm going to Wales!

Esther: This is a monumentally dumb idea.

Rex: I'M AN AMERICAN.

Esther: Oh yeah. Forget everything I just said.

[Rex gets on a plane. Jack sits next to him.]

Jack: So... wanna join the mile-high club?

Rex: Eww, no way! You look like Tom Cruise - I could never sleep with a scientologist!

Jack: Fair enough.

[Rex gets off the plane. Jack follows him.]

[Rex crosses Wales in an SUV. Jack follows him.]

[Rex arrives at the Cooper hovel. Jack follows him.]

Rex: Stop following me!

Jack: Stop BEING where I'm GOING!

[A helicopter with a machine gun attacks the hovel. Gwen runs towards the machine gun fire with a pistol and a baby in one hand.]

Assassin: Holy fuck she is insane! RUN AWAY!

Jack: Hey, Gwen. Here's a rocket launcher I pulled out of my ass.

Gwen: Ta. [fires] DIE YOU MYSTERIOUS FUCKS!

[The helicopter blows up.]

Gwen: Why the hell are people trying to kill us? Who the hell are they? Why are people not dying anymore?

Jack: Dunno. Morphic fields?

Rex: ...what a lame idea. Nevertheless, the best on offer. You two retards may be important to the ongoing story arc so, you're coming with me.

Gwen: I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! WHAT'S THE BLOODY POINT OF YOU?!

Rhys: Don't worry, that's her default reaction to anything remotely unexpected.

PART TWO: RETARDATION

[Rex, Jack, Gwen and the chick from Dollhouse get on a plane.]

Gwen: So... anything interesting happen to you?

Jack: Got a bit-part in David Tennant's finale. You?

Gwen: Killed a lot of random hikers.

Rex: You people are retards, you know that?

Chick from Dollhouse: Would you like some cyanide with your arsenic?

Jack: Sure! Why not? I'm immortal, aren't I?

Gwen: Um. No.

Jack: Oh. Fuck.

Rex: [into phone] Hey, Dr. Who-var-rez, I need to save the life of someone dumber than Peri Brown in a Nev Fountain script. Any ideas?

Dr Juarez: Kinda busy remodeling the entire health service, Rex.

Rex: Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaasssse?

Juarez: OK. Just give him two panadol and call me in the morning.

Gwen: NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

[Gwen, gripped by insane rage, starts to tear the entire plane apart and forces random engine parts down Jack's throat.]

Jack: Do you know what you're doing?

Gwen: Jack. It's me. I have yet to comprehend the concept of dying my hair and wearing glasses to escape pattern recognition software.

Jack: Ooooooooooh shit.

[Meanwhile, Steven Colbert is talking to Oswald Danes.]

Colbert: So, why should we not simply bury you in a volcano, you child-murdering rapist?

Danes: Because I am very sorry and promise not to do it again.

Colbert: Pinky-promise?

Danes: Pinky-promise.

Colbert: [sobs] I have something in my eye. I have something in my other eye. I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY HEART!

[He bursts into tears.]

All America: Awwwwwwwwwww.

[A redhead in a WPC outfit runs up to Oswald.]

Jilly: Hi, my name is NOT Amelia Jessica Pond. I did not audition for the role, nor am I bitter that freckled slut Karen Gillan stole the part that was rightfully mine. Neither am I upset I couldn't get the part of Emma in Glee. I am very well balanced.

Danes: ...it shows.

Jilly: You are so cool. Wanna be on Oprah?

Danes: Will she piss in the food?

Jilly: Well... no more than she normally does.

Danes: Sold!

[Rex rings Esther.]

Rex: Well, I got good news and bad news. The good news is we managed to cure Jack, the bad news is we crashed the plane coz some crazy Welsh bitch smashed up the engines. Oh, and the Chick from Dollhouse is evil.

Esther: Oh, btw, our twitter accounts say we've betrayed the entire CIA to the Chinese.

Rex: Ooh. Awkward. This makes me angry.

[Rex snaps the neck of the Chick from Dollhouse.]

Rex: I feel better. Get me a taxi, girl, and let's run for our lives!

Esther: [swoons] I definitely have not dreamed of this day ever since I met you.

Rex: Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

PART THREE: DUD OF NIGHT

[The fat guy from Jurassic Park wanders around his home.]

Rex: I am going to fucking kill you for betraying us! Harry from Spooks is a way better boss!

Fat Guy: I'm sorry! I'm typecast! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!

Rex: Give me one good reason.

Fat Guy: Um... there's a suspicious bigger-on-the-inside warehouse full of pain killers ready for the sudden immortality of the human race?

Rex: Aww. I can't stay mad at you!

[Rex shoots him in the arse and wanders off whistling.]

Jack: It's obvious. Somehow the mysterious and hithertoounmentioned PhiCorp has caused the miracle to happen so they can sell more drugs.

Esther: That's not obvious.

Jack: Sod this, I'm off to have sex with strange men.

Gwen: I thought you were bissexual.

Jack: I am. I sleep with straight men. Ooh, I better wear a condomn. In the 51st century herpes can turn you into a giant severed head in a tank!

Rex: Hmmm. It makes sense. Only someone immortal could survive being so fucking stupid.

Esther: Hey. Wanna have some inappropriate and unhelpful sex since we're part of Torchwood?

Rex: Guess it would be sensible. I'm off to screw Dr. Juarez.

Esther: [cuts herself] I'm getting married in the morning...

[Pull out to see RTD in the studio dub.]

RTD: [beyond anger] WHAT - IS - THIS?!? Heterosexual sex?!? In Torchwood?!?! By the holy madrojassic maxarodenfoe, A SEMI-NAKED WOMAN?!? Don't you know only NAKED MEN are allowed in this show? Especially big, fat, blobby condoms-full-of-custard! HOW DARE YOU! I WANT SOME HARDCORE GAY BUMP-AND-GRIND IMMEDIATELY?

Exec: Course, Rusty. Course. [to PA] Put it in then delete it for UK broadcasts.

PA: Won't we get accused of censorship?

Exec: Meh. All publicity is good publicity.

[Back to the show. Armies of people in hoods and masks are wandering around.]

Gwen: What could this possibly portend?

Esther: [shrugs] It's just the annual V for Vendetta convention.

[Cut to hotel room where Jack is... well.]

Fingermen: By tomorrow morning, if your arse isn't the sorriest in LA... it'll sure be the sorest!

Jack: Oooh, bring it on! [rings up Gwen] Ohhh, yeah! Hey, Gwen, how's this for phone sex? Gwen? Gwen? The bitch hung up! Guess we'll have to upload this to youtube on our own...

[The next morning, Jack waddles in very stiffly.]

Jack: Go on, Rex. Come up with homophobic abuse.

Rex: I'd rather specify the abuse onto what a total fucking idiot you are.

Jack: You love it!

Rex: No. I don't. And since you're mortal and I'm not, don't piss me off.

Jack: OH, NONE OF YOU UNDERSTAND ME! I NEED TO BE WITH MY OWN KIND!

[Jack prances off and spots a door marked CHILD-KILLING SEX OFFENDERS ANONYMOUS. He peers inside. Danes is sitting around looking bored.]

Danes: Meh. It was always a vain hope.

Jack: Hey, I'm Captain Jack Harkness, I have sex with anything that isn't fast enough to escape and I am quite happy to murder, torture and abuse children as long as everyone is under the influence of drugs.

Danes: Pah. Rank amateur! If you'll excuse me, I have a TV show to make about the need for non-perscription medication. I would have thought birth control, mandatory sterilization and other such ideas might work, but I'm not the shadow triumvirate running human civilization, am I?

Jack: Hmm. That sounds important. Better remember that.

[Jack leaves the room and finds a cue of autograph hunters.]

Git 1: Aw, it's just Tom Cruise. We wanted the autograph of Oswald Danes!

Git 2: Yeah, he's so cool.

Git 3: We're Americans. We're morons.

[Everyone laughs.]

Jack: [to camera] Times like this make me glad I'm actually Scottish.

PART FOUR: ESCAPE FROM C.O.C.A.C.O.L.A (THE SYMBOL OF THE FREE WEST!)

Gwen: Well, Esther, now you're a member of Torchwood, you need to be suicidally insane.

Esther: Um. OK. I'll visit my psychotic paranoid sister in public where absolutely everyone can see me, plus I'll ring ahead to double the chances of being caught.

[Ester visits her sister Sarah, who doesn't open the door.]

Esther: Oh, Sarah, why won't you let me in?

Sarah: [vo] YOU'RE A TOTAL MORON! YOU'RE ON THE RUN FROM THE CIA AND YOU HANG AROUND YOUR CLOSEST RELATIVES! I CAN'T LET SOMEONE AS STUPID AS YOU NEAR MY KIDS!

Esther: Hmmph. Fine. I'll call social services to take your children away. Nothing can go wrong.

Gwen: Wow. You are a natural.

[Snake Plisson watches them with his evil eyepatch. Of evil.]

Sarah Palin: Dead is dead! Everyone who has magically not died should perish! I am better than all of you! I'm a Soccer Mom of the Walking Living!

Michael Palin: Oh, the for the last time, we are NOT related!

Marco Polo: No, I'm not Michael Palin, I've just got the same initials.

Mikey Robbins: You're just taking the piss now.

[This is on TV in a grubby council estate. Rex enters.]

Rex: Hey, dad.

Rex's Dad: Piss off.

Rex: It's me. Your only son who loves you, adores you and ensures the CIA have never noticed your drug racketeering, prostitution or clown molestation school for underprivaleged wierdoes.

Rex's Dad: What part of "piss off" don't you get?

Rex: But dad, I nearly died and now Sarah Palin wants a jihad against me!

Rex's Dad: Piss-ay-off-ay.

Rex: Fine! I hate you! You're just a fictional construct anyway!! I'm going to have it off with a Thatcherite wanker! THAT'LL SHOW YOU!

[Rex storms out.]

Rex's Dad: Whatever.

[Back at Torchwood HQ which for various product placement reasons is in Subway Sandwiches bar.]

Right. Now we've all proved what unproffessional retards we all are, it's time for a completely stupid and ill-thought out scam that would be laughed out of the script editing offices of Hustle, let alone The Paradise Club.

[Meanwhile, Snake Plisson sneaks into the secret Phicorp sever room by using a fire escape. When Gwen and Jack arrives, he beats them up.]

Snake: I have you now, Jack Harkness! With you I shall guarantee a place in the New World Order, forged by the ancient powers that rule mankind beyond name, beyond memories. Yes! SILENCE WILL FALL!

[Steven Moffat enters and shoots Snake through the throat.]

Pretty much. Ah, murder. Fantastique! It's like sex with a winner.

[Moffat breaks the fourth wall entirely.]

Did I nae make it clear to you, Rusty? I am not having any of my work being perverted by you daft sassenachs ever again! [points to Jack] LOOK WHAT YOU BASTARD DID TO MY CHARACTER! He was likeable swinger till you sods got yer filthy digits and turned him into... this sub-Angel wannabe! Well, no more! Get yer own ancient conspiracy! NONE OF THIS IS CANON ANYWAY!

[Jack and Gwen begin to speak.]

I - HAVE - SPOKEN! And if any of you try to steal from my franchise, I shall kill you all AND I SHALL TAKE MY TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMEEE!

[He skips away, whistling "Boys and Girls Come Out To Play".]

Jack: Guess we better find a new story arc then.

Gwen: Oh, you think?!?

[Meanwhile, Dr. Juarez watches on.]

Juarez: So, let me get this straight. You turned abandoned hospitals into plague pits, dumped innocent people there, and then sealed them in with a convincted pedophile child murder and let him play with a defenceless little girl.

Jilly: I know! It's awesome!

Juarez: Man, today is sure turning out shit.

[Sarah Palin is taken to a car-crusher and compacted into a cube while still conscious, reduced to an eyeball in a square of metal.]

Juarez: I stand corrected.

PART FIVE: THE DEEPER CATEGORIES OF LIFF

Rhys: Gwen! I got great news!

Gwen: What is it, sweetheart?

Rhys: I got your dad sent to the Outer Splot Insitutionalized Death Camp for the Terminally Welsh.

Gwen: That's lovely, but... [blinks] the what now?

Rhys: You know? There are these deeper categories of Liff - category 3 is normal, category 2 is alive when should be dead and category 0 are people to be killed for being complete assholes.

Gwen: What's category 1?

Rhys: I dunno. Keith Richards?

Gwen: Hardcore. We better check it out.

Rex: Yeah. We should. We really should. Just, you know, not Wales.

Juarez: Yep. This place sucks. Let's go to California!

[Everyone runs out, leaving Gwen and Rhys alone.]

Gwen: OK. Let's rescue me da!

[Five minutes later, Gwen and Rhys watch as her dad is wheeled into an ambulace.]

Gwen: Selfish fucker! How insensitive to have ANOTHER heart attack in the middle of an escape attempt!

Rhys: ...hang on, where's the baby?

[On the kitchen table, Baby Anwen has a vibrator in one hand and a loaded gun in the other.]

Baby Anwen: Goo-goo. Mutha-fukka.

[The Southern California Insitutionalized Death Camp for the Terminally Texan. Juarez, Rex and Esther turn up, looking badass.]

Juarez: Right, now to find out what they're doing with all the braindead bodies in those big metal boxes with smoke coming out of the tops!

Esther: And the suspiciously-high carboon footprint!

Rex: ...yeah, thanks for that Esther.

[Juarez wanders up to a flinching, twitchy bald guy with Nazi spectacles.]

Juarez: This is a disgrace! This place is less hygenic than a student flat and all these perfectly-healthy people are being classed as officially dead because you're all such total fuckwits you can't even take a pulse! I am going to destroy each and every one of you, contact the government, make your lives a misery, I want children to come to your front door and laugh because they've found the house of "Colin Malony the DumbShit"! THIS, I SWEAR!

[Bald guy shrugs and shoots her.]

Juarez: [in pain] ...didn't see that one coming... hang on, I can't die!

Private Dexter: OYYEAHIHADDENFORTOFDAT!!!

[Juarez is thrown into a mysterious smoky metal box and reduced to ashes as Rex films it all on his mobile.]

Esther: Hahah! Now I am the sole love interest in the show! I find this good!

Rex: Damn. Not only have I lost ma woman, but I've lost the only likable character in the whole damn franchise who is even halfway competent. It can ONLY be downhill from hereon in...

[In a toilet meanwhile, Jack is reading a newspaper with "RIVER SONG IS AMY'S DAUGHTER" on the headlines.]

Jack: [to camera] I'll be back when something actually happens in the plot. Promise.

[In the next cubicles along, Danes, Jilly and RTD all nod in agreement.]

-to be continued...

Doctor Who - Mark Gatiss' Dollhouse

2011-09-05T04:39:00.000-07:00

DOCTOR WHO: NIGHT TERRORS

Try to see it my way,
Do I have to keep on
Talking till I can't go on?
While you see it your way,
Run the risk of knowing
That our love may soon be gone?

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell
If I am right or I am wrong!
While you see it your way
There's a chance that we
Might fall apart before too long!

We can work it out!
We can work it out!

(N/B: Due to this being the first arc-light episode since Amy's Freaking Choice last year, I've decided to risk lifting the review embargo. The usual gang of idiots will aid me in this monumental task.)

In an apartment block, a little kid called George is having the titular night terrors.
Nigel: What an irritating kid. I feel no sympathy for the shivering little git.
Dave: Yeah. There's nothing scary here. Nothing sinister at all.
Andrew: You know, call me cynical, but if the kid is so scared at night... why don't the parents let him share the bed? Or give him a nightlight, radio and TIDY UP ALL THE DAMN TOYS SO THEY DON'T LOOK SO CREEPY?! These parents are idiot.
Nigel: Oooh! Check out the mum! It's the Master's girlfriend from The Lakes! In a NURSE'S UNIFORM!
Dave: She's probably a kissogram.
Nigel: Who cares? She can take my temperature any time!
Andrew: Preferably with a rectal thermometer.
Dave: The dad is Jim Keats? No wonder the kid's scared.

George's mum tries to calm George down and fails miserably.
D: OK, I get how turning the light on could kill all the monsters... but turning it on and off repeatedly? How's that going to help? Give them epileptic fits?
N: That'll cause the bulbs to go and leave George in the dark. Idiot.
A: So... he puts everything that scares him in the wardrobe directly opposite his bed? Right where it can hurt him? Morons!

George repeatedly prays for help. This reaches the Doctor's psychic paper.
N: Wow. What a surprise. This little twerp has the powers of the Face of Boe. Or River Song.
A: What's this about the Doctor not doing house calls? What else does he do? In this season alone he's answered his own summons, the Siren's distress call, the Corsair, Amy's request...
D: Smith looks genuinely bewildered, like he can't grasp why that line should be worth starting the titles on. Who can blame him?

The TARDIS arrives.
D: Rory's a real prick, isn't he? Stop bitching about the decor! Someone needs help!
A: Why isn't Amy saying anything? It's like Gatiss can't cope with two companions. She's only there to feed him straight lines.
N: Obviously Gatiss is keeping his promise to not let her get any extraneous screentime.

The TARDIS crew split up and searching for George.
N: So the Doctor can trace the psychic signal to a single night, but not a room number?
D: How come everyone has lost their people skills? Rory's supposed to be the awkward one, but they all act like they've never deal with human beings before.
A: Oh, some little girl twins. Whoop-de-do. What imagination.
D: Why does Amy think they're creepy? All they do is ask who she is when a strange woman bangs on their door in the middle of the night and starts asking if there's been "bother"?
N: My, Bunting from the Indefatigable has let himself go, hasn't he?
A: That WAS in 1999.
N: No excuses!
D: Oh, look, an annoying old woman bitching. I bet Gatiss wanted to drag up to play her.

The Doctor finds George but doesn't tell Amy or Rory.
A: Why? Why is he doing that? If he didn't want them involved, he could have left them in the TARDIS!
D: Jeez, I can't believe Moff thought this could work in this point in the series. Amy and Rory are parents but they go on and on about how they hate kids and think they're creepy. Rory even suggests letting George get eaten by the monsters!
N: Fine with me. The little git bores me.
A: I'm more worried that Rory is skeptical monsters exist. Um, hello?!
D: I'm confused. Is the Doctor supposed to be a deductive genius working out the bleeding obvious. He works out where George is by seeing him through a window, and guesses his name by seeing "GEORGE'S ROOM" on a door. And acts like "HAH! I AM THE TIME LORD VICTORIOUS! BE IMPRESSED!" each time.

Rory and Amy get into a lift and go to hell.
N: That's supposed to be scary, isn't it?
A: Um. I guess.
N: It isn't, though, is it?
D: No. Wierd. I mean, there's nothing wrong on paper. It's just not at all scary.

Meanwhile, a little old lady gets eaten by a pile of garbage.
N: Whatever. Were we supposed to like that whinging old cow who only talks about rubbish?
D: Why does she assume George is hiding in garbage in the middle of the night? Is he the only kid on the estate?
A: Maybe she's the "witch" George is scared of and he regularly hides when she's around.
N: Meh.

Rory and Amy wake up in a giant dolls house.
N: Christ Rory! STOP WHINGING!
D: Is Rory a flesh avatar picking up Amy's PMT or something? He sounds utterly sick of everything. He's bored at the idea he and Amy have died! What is his problem?
A: I dunno. He's definitely stupid, though. Eastenders is not set in a council estate, is it?

They freak out finding a giant eye. A glass eye.
N: You think that would be the one thing that DIDN'T scare them, coz of the Atraxi.
A: Maybe that's why?
D: This really isn't scary. The music, the lighting, the fact Amy and Rory are bored shitless rather being scared.

They wander around, followed by dolls in the shadows.
N: Yawn.
A: I'm sorry, who thought this story would be a good one to come right after the OTHER story about a terrified child in a haunted house chased by shadowy monsters who calls on the Doctor to help?

The Doctor chats to George.
N: Matt really has no bond with this kid at all, does he?
D: He's normally so good with kids. Even that one on the holo-phone.

The Doctor lists his favorite bedtime stories - The Three Little Sontarans, The Emperor Dalek's New Clothes, Snow White and the Seven Keys to Doomsday.
N: MEIN GOTT! Is that supposed to be funny?
A: A whole bunch of six year olds hear a thirty-year-old stage play ref. What is the reaction they're going for?
D: It's not like it's going to impress George anyway!
A: This just annoys me. The scary Gallifreyan bedtime stories cut from Vincent and the Doctor were awesome. This pisses over them.

The Doctor decides to open the closet where all George's horrors are kept.
N: ...this is just Fear Her!
A: On the bright side, it's not The Idiot's Lantern.
D: Mmmm.

Bunting turns up. He's the landlord with a vicious attack dog and he wants his rent.
N: In the middle of the night? What's his beef?
D: So George is terrified of absolutely everything except the huge thug who turns up every week and threatens to beat up his dad? What a prick!
N: And the Doctor just sits around, letting dad get bullied. What a prick!
A: In fairness, you'd think Jim "Satan Is My Master" Keats could look after himself.
D: Is the landlord supposed to be evil? He's a bit creepy but he turns up at an agreed time, listens to dad's sob story, accepts being paid later and doesn't lay a finger on the bloke who owes him cash. He's pretty damn reasonable all things considered.
N: Maybe Gatiss has issues with the rent tribunal after dealing with the gas board and TV detector vans in previous eps?

The Doctor scans the closet with the sonic and shits himself.
N: Well. That ramps up the tension.
D: Finally, a suggestion that this problem ISN'T just an excuse to pad out an episode but might actually be something serious.
N: Wow. Reffing "Empire of Glass". Did someone bet Gattis he couldn't make as many pointless injokes as he could this week or what?
A: "You're not from social services". That was clearly meant to be funny.
N: It failed.
A: Yes, but it makes sense as humor. More than underage assault, anyway.

Amy and Rory are still in a dollhouse. Which is creepy. Apparently.
D: You know, I always thought Rory was quicker on the uptake than this.
N: Darvill's playing him as freaking out, clearly trying to salvage some characterization.
A: Why are they scared again? Is it some fear ray? After your own daughter has MELTED in your hands, how could you be scared of anything ever again?!
N: Oh look. Little old whinging bitch is also in the dollhouse, having been sucked out of reality. This is Fear Her all over again!
A: Could be worse. It's not Quatermass.
N: Mmm. Gatiss is really stretching himself.
D: He needs to realize that having your monster walk in front of camera giggling and doing fuck all isn't enough to rival the Weeping Angels. Little girls on their own aren't automatically creepy. He needs to get round this concept. The Dalton twins were scary because THEY KILLED PEOPLE, not because they were identical little girls.
A: Yeah. These "scary noises" make me think of some little girls having more fun in the next room rather than anything evil.
N: Amy intends to beat up a little girl with a frying pan?! DUDE NOT COOL!

The giggling girls are giant china dolls.
N: OK, that was reasonably scary.
A: So... are they going to do anything else? Or have we just got some girlfriends for the Smilers to grin at?
D: They'd be scarier if they didn't giggle at everything.
N: Amy seems to have returned to the story, pointing out A) things aren't scary and B) Rory is completely out of character. Did Moffat script-edit this bit?

The Doctor and dad wonder whether or not they should open the cupboard.
D: They might let out the Gay Agenda. Again.
N: It's sort of like a Troughton story compressed into a single scene.
A: Dad has lost any and all personality and become someone feeding the Doctor straight lines. I'm sorry if there are monsters in the cupboard, opening said cupboard puts his child at risk. Doesn't he have any paternal instinct?
D: He did a couple of scenes ago.
A: Obviously that got too complicated for the writer to keep.
N: Please God never let him become Executive Producer.

The landlord is swallowed by his own carpet.
A: Hmmm. It seems people George has reason to dislike are being sucked to hell.
N: Wow. Not a bit like Fear Her.
D: That CGI is shithouse. No wonder the guy doesn't look scared.
A: Or why it isn't scary.
D: I like the dog arching his eyebrow as his master is swallowed up.
N: Except the dog is supposed to be incredibly overprotective. Can't Gatiss characterize a DOG properly any more?
A: He's clearly very out of touch with pop culture. He thinks Eastenders is set on an estate and Steed and Peel were in Bergerac...

The Doctor opens the cupboard. At length. Eventually.
N: Twenty five minutes and the cupboard isn't open. GET ON WITH IT!!!
D: Oh look. There's nothing in the cupboard apart from a dollhouse. Colour me amazed.
A: Maybe this was scarier on paper.

The Doctor twigs that George doesn't actually exist.
N: This bit's actually quite good.
D: The Doctor only just noticed a photo of his clearly-not-pregnant mother knocking back booze at a Christmas party the day before he was "born". Again, it seems the author has a very low estimation of the Doctor's intelligence.
A: Good point. He was fooled by the Gelth and the Daleks and unable to talk someone out of punching his lights out...
N: Mmm. Stupid Doctors and fuckwit companions. This is what we have to look forward to if this guy takes over. And Quatermass refs. Just saying.

Having twigged George isn't real, something tries to suck Dad and the Doctor to hell while George whines about how unhappy he is.
N: Christ, that's pathetic. I mean, he's not even TRYING to help! And he's not paralyzed with fear, he's just curled up in self-pity. I cannot find any sympathy for him.
D: Wouldn't it have been a better twist if George was real and everything else wasn't?
A: Didn't they do that in Silence of Library?
N: Meh. What good is originality here?

Meanwhile the dolls turn the landlord into another doll. With a dress.
D: Mmm. Could be worse. Bet he gets turned back.
N: And neither Amy nor Rory even TRY to help. Assholes.
D: Did anyone give Gatiss the Last Centurian memo? This is Rory, not Much the Miller's son! Stop babbling in terror and protect your wife, dammit! YOU BEAT UP HITLER LAST WEEK!
A: In fairness, these are all problems someone else should have noticed.

The Doctor tells dad, "Obvious, isn't it? We're inside the doll's house?"
N: Yeah. Pity no one else twigged so far.
A: Again, it seems like the only way to make the Doctor look clever is to make everyone non-functionally retarded. And pointlessly scared. It's amazing Rory and Amy have been able to survive this long with so little intelligence.

Amy comes up with the cunning plan of letting the evil dolls attack them. She gets turned into a doll herself.
N: ...for fuck's sake. I'm retconning this that some evil alien is telepathically making them all morons this week. Nothing else can make sense.
A: Sadly, I can only agree. The author couldn't think of anything else than Amy and Rory being suicidally insane? This is dreadful!
D: It would be better if Amy Doll had the same clothes. She just gets turned into a doll that in no way resembles Amy at all. Couldn't they afford another flanelette shirt?
N: Said shirt being main clue Amy was a Ganger, remember? Tch. Tch. Tch.
A: That's three tchs.

The dolls attack the Doctor, who tries and fails to beat the shit out of them.
N: Again with the violence! He picks up a giant pair of scissors and tries to STAB something to death that hasn't even tried to hurt him! He doesn't even talk to him? Why does Gatiss think the Eleventh Doctor is a hairtrigger psycho who needs uselessly big props to beat up monsters?!
A: ...I don't know. Shouldn't we be worried about impressionable children stabbing their dolls with scissors now? No way would that have got in under RTD.
D: I miss him.

The Doctor works out that George is an alien cuckoo type thing.
A: Wow. A random alien race the Doctor knows absolutely everything about. That really ramps up the tension.
D: And it's just like Fear Her! Except we actually got more info about the Isolus than "HE'S AN ALIEN! THAT'S EVERYTHING EXPLAINED!"
N: An alien child being raised by humans. Did NO ONE think this was a bit similar to the main freaking story arc?!
A: Am I the only one thinking the "giant termites" theory was better than the actual explanation?

The Doctor shouts to George to stop being a crybaby.
N: Took him freaking long enough.
D: So George isn't evil or wierd... he's just incredibly pathetic?
N: I won't say the obvious Gatiss-related gag insult.
A: Thank you.
N: Yet.

Eventually George does so.
A: The script must have been REALLY underrunning this week.
N: Why didn't we see the little old lady turn into a doll?
D: There are three main female characters in this story and they're all sidelined. Amy gets no lines, Mum Claire gets no screentime and whinging old cow is self-explanatory. Even the cameo twins get slagged off. I don't like this.

Turns out Dad once considered getting rid of George, hence George's emotional breakdown and spooky freakout.
N: Rory, of course, has no reaction to the idea of a child being taken from its father.
D: Does Moffat think we're all taking retcon?
A: I'm sorry, after years of desperate IVF treatment that couple decide to get rid of their kid? What for? And if his anxiety only started AFTER this conversation, what did they originally have a problem with?
N: ...LOOK AT HIM! THE KID'S AN UGLY IRRITATING GIT!
D: Gatiss has parental issues, doesn't he? Mr. Connelly, Gwyneth's evil ghost mum and dead, Bracewell's pointless dead parents...

For some reason the dolls try to kill George.
All: YAY!

Dad saves him.
A: Meh. What a shock.
N: Just because Dad wants him alive doesn't mean he wants him in his house. Just saying.
D: The dolls can be defeated by being knocked over? And Amy couldn't manage that?!

Everything is sorted out with some unfunny one-liners.
A: Um, so mum's opinion of George isn't worth a damn then?
D: If I came home and found my son had had a complete change of personality thanks to a complete stranger's mysterious actions, I'd want an explanation. But no, Claire is fobbed off with excuses. Doesn't she deserve the truth her son's an alien?
N: Was that line about "the flesh" supposed to be foreshadowing?

Jump-cut to the Doctor's death notice and a garbled nursery rhyme about time running out.
N: WTF?!?
D: Did someone sneeze on the editing machine? What crap.
A: They've clearly digitally swapped Amy's pregnancy test for the death notice.
D: Jeez. Seriously, did ANY thought go into that bit?

Any last thoughts?
D: Well... even given Gatiss' pathological rejection of interconnectedness, Night Terrors keeps up Season 6's focus on the themes of self-awareness, acceptance and family.
N: Pity it's a rip off of Fear Her with a child actor who makes Womulus and Wemus look like Fry and bloody Laurie.
A: All in all, not that bad. I hearby claim this story is a flashback to between Day of the Moon and Curse of the Black Spot as the Doctor sees his death notice and remembers telling George to man up and stop snivelling.
N: Yeah, there wasn't actually a POINT to this story, was there? LKH was about how vigilante justice is wrong. COTBS is about putting greed before family. Hell, even Impossible Astronaut has a vague narrative about the inevitability of death. What has this got?
A: "Face your fears"?
D: That doesn't work. Amy faces her fears and gets turned into a wooden doll - not that her place in the script suffers, of course. And George doesn't face his fear about abandonment, he just gets mollycoddled. By Gatiss' logic, arachnophobics should simply be told "no spider will ever ever hurt you!"
N: So? Gatiss is a moron - we all know that!
D: Yeah. This is way below his effort for Sherlock, which was damn near indistinguishable from Moffat. Fair's fair though, this is the least offensive thing he's done for Who.
N: Yeah. Big props.
D: In a way, it is. But please god never let this guy be put in charge.
A: He wouldn't want the job. Anyone who rips off someone else's script and then needs PADDING could not be a head writer.
N: Especially when he doesn't want to write for Daleks, historical characters, ongoing story arcs or for an audience of normal people.
A: Let's just hope Neil Gaiman takes over.
D: Or Gareth Roberts.
A: Hell, I'd give it a go.
N: Just not Gatiss. It'd be dead in a week.

3.5/5

D: ...hang on, why were the dolls turning people into other dolls again?
A: Oh, that's simple. Since the entire dollhouse realm was controlled by George's subconscious as the place he put the things he feared, everyone he put there would simultaneously be nullified while retaining their terrifying elements. So they'd be harmless dolls, but CREEPY harmless dolls.
D: Oh.
A: Yup.
N: What a dumb idea.

Booyah Bitches (Slight Return)

2011-09-01T03:40:00.000-07:00

NOTE: This was written in early August. So if I'm dead when this is finally published, well, I hope you all feel really guilty. This is a review from BEYOND THE GRAVE! Unless I'm not dead at all. In which case this is rather pointless and self-indulgent. So at least it's in character if nought else.

Listening to Carribbean Blue (Hah! STILL can't spell my own titles!) PART TWO! As opposed to the rest of PART ONE which is what I wrote it as. Actually. Begorrah.

0:08 - Oh, well, would you Adam and Eve it! Music from the beginning of The Eleventh Hour! Typical, I bet someone thinks the whole "TARDIS falling out of the sky" thing was ripped off Moffat and not actually a homage to The Evil Dead (impressive given I've never seen it). Must say it does change the mood slightly. I want "OMG! WE'RE GONNA DIE!" not "YEEEEHAHHH! CRASH-LANDINGS ARE COOL!"

0:30 - "I do so hate uncorrected falacies!" HAH! Oh, man, that is clever because I'd totally forgotten that line and was siding with Emma on the whole "shut up you windbag and save our lives" issue. Needless to say, performances of the leads are excellent but I'm arrogant enough to think they've got good material to work with. Full fist.

0:54 - Um, hoping for a bit more hysteria. But I guess Emma has deadpan wired into her DNA. Or maybe it's hypnotic residue from the Master dulling her reactions! God damn it, I am brilliant at retcons...

1:05 - Yep. Much better theme music than the one on TV. Shame, Moffat, shame, you shouldn't have touched that song!

2:16 - That bit was inspired in 1993 on a Thursday when I saw State of Decay part four and assumed the Doctor's reluctance to use a sharpened tree trunk as a giant stake was down to ecological reason. (I misheard "It would take too long to place" as "too long to replace" and found it sweet the Doctor was worried about a tree over a giant freaking vampire omnicidal maniac...)

2:56 - Take a breath, god damn it! Who do you think you are, Paul Darrow?!

3:35 - Very good. Seriously. Trying-not-to-laugh-hysterically is hard to do from an acting point of view. I am genuinely impressed how natural they sound. I fear how the Chip Jamiesons of this world would cope with such a task.

4:02 - Who's brilliant idea was it to put cheerful background muzak throughout a scene where the characters stand around saying how creepy and silent it is?! Did the dialogue about creepy silence not suggest, you know, creepy silence was in order? Agh! Someone remove my glasses so I can headbutt the desk more drammatically!!

4:27 - This is a solemn moment! A mysterious dead bird! NOT POLKA TIME!!!

5:43 - GAHHHH! Jeez, I forgot how freaking terrifying the Corruptors sound... hooboy. Jeez. Maybe that lighthearted music was for the best. For the love of Christ. Seriously, do not listen to these bits in the dark. Scariest SFX since that chirping of the Psirens in Red Dwarf...

5:45 - "What the hell was that?" Emma becomes a literal author's mouthpiece, as I actually shouted those exact same words as listening. Pitch-perfect performance from the Doctor being offhand about this howl of damnation. Very Tom Baker and Matt Smith-ish simultaneously.

6:00 - I think I must have nicked that idea from Lord Iffy Boatrace; imagine The Young Ones doing Agetha Christie and well... anyway, his get rich scheme was for robotic pheasants that would play dead when shot at. There was a good reason for it, but I lost the book and can't for the life of me remember what that reason was. Something about not having to buy real pheasants to shoot or something.

7:04 - The Dover Demon is real, BTW. Well, I didn't make it up. The Big Book of the Unexplained is a real book too, a graphic anthology well worth your money. Ironically, it doesn't actually cover the Dover Demon at all. What am I like?

7:14 - "Where there's water, there's life." By staggering coincidence, this very day scientists found actual water on Mars. But they mustn't touch it. Not. One. Drop.

7:24 - um, that is supposed to be a monster rising out of the bushes and following them. I thought it would be done by fading out the Doctor and Emma, the sound of their footsteps getting softer and softer, then the monster, then the monster get softer and softer. Instead it's like they've gone "here's a soundbite of the monster for future reference" - hell, watch Tomb of the Cybermen and they do the exact same thing for Cybermats in part three. It's supposed to sneak into the room behind Kleig and Kaftan, but no, they cut to a Cybermat for five seconds for no apparent reason, then cut to something else. Tut-tut.

7:24 - Nigel Verkoff back in da house! Nice exposition, buster!

7:57 - And so is Macdon. Hmm. I must have jinxed things by mentioning Chip Jamieson.

8:12 - Um. It's pronounced "waist-relz"...

8:33 - This all sounded better in my head. Honestly. It was supposed to be a bitter, vicious argument with long-time colleagues expressing their grief through anger and abuse. Rather than a surprisingly smug debating society. Note to self, get LJ to stick to just wisecracks from now on. He does them better than long, passionate speeches. And Alexis hasn't grasped the idea of nervous breaking beyond speaking slowly and clearly. The guy's traumatized, not talking to a Danish tourist! I wonder if Maurice is better?

8:48 - Oh. He is. Well, that shut me up. Points for that very-painful-sounding punch.

9:41 - See? Ominous silence. Much better.

9:50 - Oh yeah, smackdown, RTD! SMACKDOWN! You'll rue the day you ever thought of the planet Zog analogy!

10:30 - The Doctor and Companion discuss the best suicide methods. Can you tell that I was depressed when I wrote this?

11:28 - "Things are easy!" Did I mention how much Mr. Ault rocks?

11:58 - "Innit"?! I don't remember writing that! Or Emma going "Oi!" randomly, either. *checks* No, I bloody well didn't! It was the word "right". When did Emma become a Cockney chav? If I'd known that I would have given her some well better dialogue, person, respect back atcha, apples and cockles and winkles, old bean...

12:11 - This joke would make more sense if the birds had been singing. Oh, well, take it as the Doctor being very sarcastic today, I guess.

13:00 - This is all perfect. That is all.

13:35 - Jeez... they really kicked ass on the horrible monster noises. I can't believe that I'm getting scared of a) a sound effect but b) the sound effect of monsters I created who c) aren't actually hostile! Ooh, spoiler!

15:01 - LJ, he can act all of a sudden! Must be delayed shock...

15:30 - This is better than the DWADs. Sorry, but after 30 years the business, they still can't do something as complicated as someone whispering as they overhear a conversation. Darker Projects, you recieve Fan Audio of Fist.

16:30 - Maurice is very good. Not as Paul Darrowish as I intended, he's a lot more self-aware rather than borderline autistic. That last line was supposed to be genuinely confused rather than a knowing wink to the audience. Not bad, just different.

16:45 - You know, looking back on it, making Alexis a major character was a mistake. He worked so well on paper... In fairness to the actor, the dialogue is precisely as written. Except he's supposed to be a nervous wreck rather than having seemingly forgotten his lines. Oh well. I can enjoy Paradise Towers despite Kroagnon, so this shouldn't be too bad.

18:50 - I did this gag before Partners in Crime. Honest.

19:25 - That's a reference to Ghostwatch, BTW. Or maybe Fury from the Deep. Whatever sounds cooler.

21:31 - Heh. Very good, Emma.

22:40 - What? They cut out the first contact joke! Philistines! For the record, after LJ hits the monster with a chair, Nigel would say "Oh, very friendly for a first contact situation, I must say!" I might have forgiven this, except the jokes they kept in were mainly delivered by Alexis. Which is not good.

23:44 - Ooh. Nice save from the actors there. The script I gave them, upon checking, was actually gibberish at that point. So... yeah.

25:00 - "Then talk quickly and be concise." Um, again fourth walling, as Vlyn slags off Alexis for his poor acting ability. Freaky.

26:27 - I'm too busy enjoying this to take detailed notes.

27:36 - Only I would have an audio play about silent monsters and flashing lights.

28:00 - Fuck yeah. THAT is a cliffhanger. That was supposed to be the first one.

28:10 - They said my name right! YAY!

29:05 - I want the next one...

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (iv)

2011-08-29T01:08:00.000-07:00

[Andrew and Gabby are leaving a Mexican restaurant.]

Gabby: So what do we do now?

Andrew: [shouts over his shoulder] Find a BETTER Mexican place! [to Gabby] I can't believe they threw us out!

Gabby: They threw YOU out.

Andrew: [shouts back] I'VE BEEN CHUCKED OUT OF BETTER RESTAURANTS THAN **THIS**, YOU KNOW!

[A pause.]

Andrew: NOT THAT I MAKE A HABIT OF IT, UNDERSTAND, BUT IT'S TRUE!

[They head down the street.]

Gabby: So, Answerman, what the hell do we do next?

Andrew: Well, Gabrielle, what do YOU think we should do?

Gabby: If I knew that, I wouldn't have hired you!

Andrew: You've got a mind of your own. Apparently. You tell me.

Gabby: OK, well, I think...

[A middle-aged man emerged from a chemist and nearly bumps into them. He sees Andrew and freezes. Andrew waves. The man lets out a scream and runs into the traffic, causing much honking of horns and squealing of brakes.]

Andrew: [sighs] Ah.

Gabby: Who was that?!

Andrew: One of my satisfied customers, would you believe?

Gabby: Do all your satisfied customers run off screaming?

Andrew: Not ALL of them. But don't worry, he wasn't a case I investigated.

Gabby: Who was he then?

Andrew: A customer from my day job. [blinks] Speaking of which...

[Cut to outside Toys R Us. Andrew and Gabby approach the entrance.]

Gabby: If you have a day job, why are you trying to be a private eye?

Andrew: Because it's a day job! That's what the day job is for!

Gabby: But it's still daytime!

Andrew: [blinks] Yeah, well, I work on a casual basis. [beat] Very casual. [beat] Borderline comatose if I'm honest about it...

[They enter the store and head wander through the aisles.]

Gabby: How exactly did you get a job here anyway?

Andrew: Oh, excellent qualifications, winning personality, a well-turned trouser...

Gabby: You're wearing shorts. Well, some jeans that have been ripped up.

Andrew: Meh. Details.

Gabby: So how did you do it?

[Andrew suddenly gets interested in some boardgames.]

Andrew: Oh, er, the boss was a bit careless one Melbourne Cup. "Transvestite Orgy"-careless. Meathook convinced him to let me get a casual position without all that tedious mucking about with work experience and motivation... How many versions of Monopoly are there now? Fifty-three? It's the same game, you fools!

Gabby: Who's Meathook? A gangster?

Andrew: Huh? Uh, no. He's my dad. Sort of.

Gabby: Sort of?

Andrew: I got adopted by him a few years back. Lovely guy. He's the Warden at a prison down Campbeltown way. You'd like him.

Gabby: Really?

Andrew: You're Nigel's girlfriend, you'd like anyone.

Gabby: [frowns] What happened to your real mum and dad?

Andrew: Oh, this and that. Mostly that. [eyes widen] Get back!

[The two of them duck into the shade of some overhanging Lego sets. A store worker trudges down the aisle and passes them without looking. Andrew nudges Gabby and they emerge from hiding and creep down the aisle after the worker.]

Andrew: [conversational] Hey, Harry. Long time, no see.

[Harry doesn't turn around, but chats as if this is perfectly normal.]

Harry: Hey, Andrew Formally Known As Maddog. What can I do you for?

Andrew: You're a witness and I need your testimony.

Harry: Oh, doing the whole private eye thing again?

Andrew: Not "again". "Still". Heartbroken dame has put me on the case to find her missing beau, and you happen to have the info the boys downtown can use to put the truth in a game of musical chairs at Sing-Sing with 400 watts of direct current.

Gabby: [to Harry] Do you understand what he's saying?

Harry: Nope. But verbal communication's overrated in my estimation. Hey, Gabs.

Gabby: Oh. Um. Hey.

[They turn left into another aisle and Harry starts searching for a particular toy. Andrew helps him without asking.]

Andrew: So, you're the drummer for Yellow Fever And How To Die From It?

Harry: Used to be, Drew. We broke up.

Andrew: Harry! I told you dating Yoko was bound to have this effect! Look what she did to the Wiggles!

Harry: Meh, like I was happy doing Gangajang cover versions with that egomaniac.

Gabby: That egomaniac is my boyfriend.

[Harry stares at her.]

Harry: I know. [to Drew] What's the prob?

Andrew: Said egomaniac has disappeared and there's strong evidence he isn't just taking a couple of weeks before Denton gets an exclusive interview. Foul play is suspected.

Harry: There's nothing foul about my drumming.

Andrew: Whatever you say, Ringo. Thing is, the Big N has not been seen since your final gig at K-Mart or wherever it was. Wanna tell us what happened?

Harry: Not really, but it passes the time.

Andrew: I ever told you I admire your brutal honesty?

Harry: No. You haven't.

Andrew: [to Gabby] See? Brutal! [to Harry] What happened?

[They have the toy and head off.]

Harry: Not much. We turned up, we told Nigel the party was over, he got slightly emotional, called us all fat-faced sniveling traitors, then the jailbait nun turned up with the bucket of fish and the TNT shop dummy. We legged it. Ain't seen Nigel since.

Gabby: Didn't the police call you in for questioning?

Harry: Course they did. Whole anti-terrorism stuff. But we never saw Nigel and got released that night. Just assumed he was lying low.

Gabby: He wasn't blown up, was he?

Harry: Nope. We all got out of the main floor way before the bomb went off.

Andrew: You saw Nigel escape then?

Harry: We all took the one door through those service tunnels and stuff. But when we got out, Nigel was nowhere. Didn't leave him behind, he didn't go ahead of us. Just assumed he took a wrong turn.

Andrew: You think he could still be hiding in K-Mart?

Harry: David Jones.

Andrew: Enough of the Bowie trivia, Harry, answer the question!

Harry: I don't know. But I think all those swat teams and stuff would have found him. I reckon he found some other fire escape, slipped away into the night and is probably lying low at some science fiction convention. Probably trying to bum a role in Farscape or something.

[Andrew stares at him VERY suspiciously, then grins.]

Andrew: Thanks, man. I'd be lost without you.

Gabby: What? That's it?

Andrew: I'd trust Harry with my soul.

Harry: If you still had one.

Andrew: [shrugs] Admittedly, there is that disclaimer.

Gabby: How do we know he's not in on the conspiracy?

Harry: Well, if I were trying to lure Nigel into a trap, I don't think using someone with a very public hatred for him that he barely liked let alone trusted and then leave that someone behind working minimum wage at a toystore as a reward for services rendered, do you?

Andrew: He's got you there. We'll just have to ask the others in the band. Who are they again?

Gabby: Um, Nigel, Harry, Jadi, Tegan and Lucy.

Andrew: Damn. Tegan went to schoolies week with her girlfriend.

Harry: Lucy's in Tokyo for the next two weeks.

Andrew: [sympathetic] Still obsessed, huh?

Harry: [defensive] Just keeping an eye on her.

Gabby: And Jadi's been missing since school ended.

[Andrew stops, frowning.]

Andrew: [lost in thought] He has, hasn't he?

Gabby: Andrew?

Andrew: [snaps out of it] So Yellow Fever's last performance didn't have a bass player?

Gabby: Oh, no, Jason took over at the last minute.

Andrew: How convenient.

Harry: [to Gabby] You gotta love him when he gets like this.

Andrew: Gets like what?

Harry: All Dirk Wolf. Or was it Nero Gently? You know, the whole Sherlock Holmes thing.

Andrew: Harry, I am many things, but I am not a heroine-addicted homosexual violinist.

Harry: [to Gabby] I remember the last case we sorted out...

Gabby: Oh?

Andrew: [warning] Harry.

[Harry continues to chat to Gabby, totally oblivious to Andrew's discomfort.]

Harry: See, one recess, we were sitting on the stairs to the library, right next to the girls' toilets when there was this horrible screaming noise...

Andrew: We don't need to dicuss this, Harry.

Harry: ...so it turns out that this year ten girl has just fainted from terror inside one of the stalls, so what we do is...

Andrew: Harry, seriously!

Harry: ...break down the door and there she is, unconscious, pants down by her ankles...

[Andrew hangs his head in his hands.]

[Much later, Harry is concluding the story. Gabby is rapt. Andrew bored shitless.]

Harry: ...and when her mum came in and saw her... well, you know, she assumed the worst and totally smacked her in the face! Told her it was very bad and dirty and all that stuff! She totally repressed the memory and became so, like, inhibited about her body the faintest glimpse of her own pubic hair caused a total anxiety attack!

Gabby: Wowwwww. [blinks] How did you find out any of this in the first place?

Andrew: [bored] You DON'T want to know.

Gabby: You don't seem happy you cracked the case.

Andrew: Why should I be? Just because I worked out what was wrong with her doesn't mean I fixed it. No happy endings, because nothing ever ends. [blinks] What the hell am I talking about?

Harry: [to Gabby] We should have that on a T-shirt.

Andrew: Where's Jason? We need to talk to him.

Harry: [shrugs] Probably filming.

Gabby: Filming? Filming what?

[Cut to a bus heading through the city. Andrew and Gabby are sitting at the back.]

Gabby: [righteous indignation] A porno?! He's filming a PORN movie!

[Some other communters glare. Andrew squirms.]

Andrew: I guess this is what it feels like when I'M the one having a rant...

Gabby: Nigel's gone missing, possibly dead, and what's he been doing? MAKING PORN!

Andrew: Well, look on the bright side.

Gabby: WHAT BRIGHT SIDE?

Andrew: Maybe that's where Nigel is? Maybe he's a stunt-double...

Gabby: This isn't "Orgazmo", Drew, this is real life?

Andrew: [sighs] Rub it in. Anyway, you got enough money for a return fare?

Gabby: [checks wallet] Guess so. You know, for someone who works for free, your expenses are piling up pretty quick!

Andrew: Pah! I've been on the case for three hours and already uncovered a huge conspiracy against your beloved! At this rate, you'll be back with the Coconut Bastard by sundown - pretty good, huh?

Gabby: [worried] Wouldn't that count a happy ending?

Andrew: [grins] Not for everyone else. Come on. Our stop.

[They emerge out before a huge park next to a stadium.]

Andrew: FOX Studios! The home of the stars! The place where movies are made!

Gabby: What a dump.

[Andrew looks like he's going to argue for a moment.]

Andrew: Yeah, good point. I'm not even going to try to defend it. Let's go.

[They hurry across the park.]

Gabby: What's this film called, anyway?

Andrew: [embarrassed] Um, well, the title's SORT OF like "The first cut is the deepest". Only not.

Gabby: [rolls eyes] Classy movie.

[Dressing room. Andrew sits before a vanity mirror, squinting at his reflection.]

Andrew: All these lights, I can't see a damn thing!

[He looks for a switch, shrugs, takes off his sandal and smashes all the bulbs. He's still doing it when Jason enters, wearing a fluffy dressing gown and looking sweaty and exhausted.]

Jason: What the hell are you doing?

[Andrew continues to smash bulbs.]

Andrew: Don't mind me!

Jason: YOU! [frowns] Aren't you dead?

[Andrew grins at him.]

Andrew: Three guesses. And the first two don't count. You've gone up in the world. Or gone down on the world. Are those pick-up shots part of the plot or DVD extras?

Jason: Why are you here? You want a job or something?

Andrew: I have got a job!

Jason: [smug] Not as good as mine!

Andrew: Well, sychronized swimming in bodily fluids doesn't appeal to everyone.

Jason: Hey, there are downsides to this job! It's not all multiple orgasms, you know!

[Andrew idly steals random stuff from the dressing room.]

Andrew: It must be very hard for you. So to speak.

Jason: [groans theatrically] Don't I know it? I tell you, it feels like all my muscles have been burned by acid! I feel so weak and raw and it's only the second week of filming!

Andrew: It must be awful!

Jason: Girl after girl after girl! Retake after retake! I swear, I'm running out of precious bodily fluids at this rate!

[Andrew turns around. He's aiming a gun at Jason's face.]

Andrew: And you're about to lose a whole lot more!

Jason: [confused] Wha? Is there a reason for this?

Andrew: [icily] Where's Nigel?

Jason: [just as icy] Dunno. Don't care. And THAT is not even a real gun!

Andrew: I never said it was.

[Andrew fires. It's a water pistol. Jason screams and writhes on the chair.]

Jason: Argh! My eyes! MY eyes!

[Andrew laughs, takes some cable-ties and binds Jason to the chair. The porn star is in too much agony to resist.]

Jason: The salty pain! WHAT IS THAT STUFF?

Andrew: Lighten up, Jase! It's just lemon juice, always good to take your own to Mexican restaurants.

[He squirts some up into the air and catches it on his tongue. Then retches.]

Andrew: Oh, so THAT'S where I put the last chili shot...

Jason: Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!

[Andrew sucks the water pistol until it's empty.]

Andrew: Taste-teeee. Right, Jase.

[He throws a glassful of water at Jason's eyes and he sobs in relief.]

Jason: Thank you!

Andrew: No need for thanks. I'm here today, Jase, to give you a choice of career change.

Jason: Huh?

Andrew: It's simple. I'm going to ask you questions. Knowing your IQ is slightly lower than that velour dressing gown you wear, I'll keep the questions as simple as possible. But if you lie, or even if I think you might be holding back anything at all, there are going to be consequences and repercussions.

Jason: Like?

Andrew: Like you'll never work in the porn industry again. But I dare say you'll do wonders as a male soprano...

[Andrew holds out a mousetrap.]

Andrew: ...perhaps even a CASTRATO!

[Jason swallows.]

Jason: You wouldn't.

Andrew: I don't have to.

[Andrew crosses to the door to the dressing room and opens it. Gabby is waiting outside. She enters.]

Andrew: Jason, meet the very angry and passionate girlfriend of Nigel who will do pretty much anything she has to in order to get him back. Gabby, meet the treacherous scum-sucking bottom-feeding bastard who sold your beloved down the river.

[He hands her the mousetrap.]

Andrew: If you have a preferred testicle, Jase, I suggest you mention it now.

Jason: NO! PLEASE!

[Gabby casually primes the mousetrap.]

Jason: You can't do this to me! I'll be all... lop-sided.

Gabby: Good point. I'll do both. Balance it out!

[She puts the mousetrap on the chair, between Jason's legs.]

Jason: I'LL TALK! JUST ASK THE QUESTION!

Gail: Where's Nigel!

Jason: I don't know! I swear I don't know!

Andrew: [angrilly] I believe you! It's been two weeks, I dare say he could be anywhere now! Where did you last see him!

Jason: At David Jones! The concert!

Gabby: Be more precise!

Jason: After the nun turned up! We ran for it!

Andrew: To the fire escapes?

Jason: Yes!

Andrew: And where did Nigel disappear to?

Jason: He... he... he went ahead of us, went down a corridor! We lost sight of him!

Gabby: [chuckles] Nigel coming first. As per usual.

[Andrew nods, then freezes and turns to look at her.]

Andrew: Wha... no! No, I didn't want to know that! No one wants to hear that! What are you doing? I'm trying to make a perp sweat here and you're trying to make me lose my not-fully-digested Mexican lunch? A bit of decorum, please!

Gabby: So-ree.

Andrew: Ugh! I feel DIRTY!

[Andrew brushes invisible filth off his shoulders, disgusted.]

Andrew: Right. Jase. You know which corridor he took, don't you? Because YOU made sure he went that way. You wanted him to end up in the right exit where someone else was waiting for him while YOU and the others got an alibi!

Jason: [whimpers] Kind of!

Gabby: [eyes widen] You really did it? You betrayed Nigel? He was your friend!

Jason: [furious] He was an asshole! He's treated me like shit since the mid-nineties! Guilt-tripped me for years about a stupid accident!

Andrew: Is that it, Jase? You've been the noble slave enduring everything for the past seven years? Never once bothering to fight back? Taking it all with stoic stoicism?

Jason: [shrugs] Yeah. Possibly.

Andrew: And you never once got any kind of reward from Nigel? Apart from the money and fame and appearing with him on Good News Week all those time? It was all just cruelty without any reward!

Jason: He treated me like a slave!

Gabby: He liked you! When you nearly drowned at Muck-Up Day, he was worried sick! He thought you were his best friend!

Jason: [bitter] Best friend! He has a funny way of treating his best friend.

Andrew: HE never betrayed you, set you up for a trap that might have been fatal. Did he?

[A beat. Jason can't look them in the eye.]

Jason: [in a small voice] No.

Gabby: Is that why you posted that postcard, warning Nigel?

Jason: Wha? What postcard?

Gabby: [shocked] You saying you DIDN'T feel guilty? You DIDN'T try to save him?

Jason: [upset] No I didn't.

Andrew: No, he didn't.

Gabby: How do YOU know?

Andrew: Because I saw who did and it wasn't Jason!

Jason: Look, Gabs, I think you might be interrogating the wrong guy here...

Gabby: SHUT UP!

[The mousetrap snaps shut. Mercifully it wasn't in position. Gabby resets it.]

Gabby: Who put you up to this?

Jason: I don't know. Honest to God. This Aboriginal lady just turned up at my door one day. Said she'd rig it so I didn't have to do the HSC, none of the exams, nothing, but I'd still pass.

Andrew: And you believed her?

Gabby: He's Jason.

Andrew: Good point. But you weren't suspicious at her generosity?

Jason: She said she wanted something for it. She told me that she wanted to know everything about Nigel, what he was doing, where he was going, everything. She already knew most of it, but I'd know all the inside last-minute stuff. Then she says she can get me this job in the porn industry, instant start!

Andrew: And in return?

Jason: She wanted me to make sure Nigel went to David Jones. She said there'd be something wierd happening and everyone would run, but I was to make sure Nigel went down one corridor. The next morning, in the mail, I got all these contracts and a script and everything. I mean, she can't be that bad, can she? If she actually coughed up her part of the deal? Only good people do that!

Andrew: Or very intelligent bad people.

Gabby: Huh?

Andrew: You haven't read Machievelli, have you?

Jason: We've done one of their songs, I think...

Andrew: The point is, you two, that if you want to succeed in this world it's easier to make friends than enemies. Stabbing you in the back, Jason, would only leave you a loose end, someone who might want to betray the deal or just an unidentified body somewhere to gain unwanted attention. This way you stay loyal - at least until the next person comes along and bribes you to betray HER as well.

[Jason looks guiltier.]

Gabby: Why is this happening?

Jason: She never said. Only clue was that, like, she said if I didn't help them, then whatever happened to Nigel would happen to me. Like I was in trouble as well.

Gabby: If they've got a grudge against you, you must have some idea!

Jason: I don't! Even if I did, I've spent two weeks revelling in sin, banging complete strangers in a variety of tasteless methods! I barely remember my own name! You've got to believe me! DON'T MAKE ME A EUNUCH, I BEG THEE!

[A long pause.]

Gabby: [to Andrew] What do you think?

Andrew: [darkly] He betrayed his only friend. The worst level of Hell is reserved for people who do that. Do what you like.

[Jason turns white. Gabby grins and begins to slide the mousetrap towards him as Andrew starts to pace, brooding.]

Andrew: They came after Nigel. [points at Jason] And you.

[He stops.]

Andrew: Just at the same time Jadi disappears. And Phoebe... what kind of gynecologist just forgets to tell her she's having triplets? Come to think of it, what are the odds of triplets anyway? This is the ABC murders, only backwards! THAT is what I call postmodern!

Jason: [stares at him] The ABC?

[Andrew is pacing around the room, frantic.]

Andrew: Agatha Christie. The ABC Murders. You hate someone, you want them to die, so if you kill them, the police are bound to come after you because YOU have a motive. But if they die at the hands of a serial killer, you just get lucky. You hide the death you have a motive for by the deaths you DON'T have a motive for! The most basic smokescreen! The only place you can hide a tree is in a forest!

Gabby: What? You're saying there's a serial killer?

Andrew: It's the opposite, Gabs! The opposite! This isn't one attack hidden by a smokescreen by a smokescreen, it's a smokescreen hidden by one attack! Nigel isn't the only victim, Jason was on the hit list as well! Whoever behind this has a grudge against several people, and we only noticed Nigel!

Gabby: So whatever pissed these people off, it wasn't just Nigel?

Andrew: No. Jason was involved too. And Jadi too. What about Phoebe?

Gabby: She's fine, she's in Prague! Nothing happened to her!

Andrew: She didn't know she was having triplets, Gabs! She could have died in childbirth - it was only a fluke we were all around to help her out. And if her boyfriend hadn't hit the big time, she'd have had to raise three kids when she was barely able to afford one... they were trying to destroy her life! And a week later Jadi's vanished, Jason's blackmailed and Nigel's humiliated and disappeared.

Gabby: [trying to keep up] So what do Nigel, Jason, Jadi and Phoebe have in common?

Andrew: I don't know. But if those two are in the firing lines then it means...

[Andrew freezes. Oh crap. He turns and sprints out of the room.]

Andrew: [over his shoulder] We have to find Dave!

Gabby: [confused] Dave who?!

[Nevertheless, she turns and runs after him. Jason is left alone, still tied to the chair, with the mousetrap poised to neuter him.]

Jason: ...help?

- to be continued...

Intermission

2011-08-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

Yeah, you can follow toyline_assembly's suggestion, but unfortunately the answer will be "fuck the lot of you". You don't do a thing to help when I ask, well, you get the exact same treatment. In particular I dearly hope you suffer eight pints of bloodloss from a severed artery to his wrist, which will allow you to share my current suffering and maybe get you all to SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE.

There's a reason why none of you hypocritical assholes can get into the Archive. And never will - bar one of you, who is pretending they can't for some unaccountable reason.

Meantime, some more positive gags of a chathamological bent.

About the Contributors

ARCO CHAMBER is 19 years of age, and fled to Australia as an exchange student when planes started crashing into buildings. Since then he spends a lot of time on the internet, being surprisingly clever but unsurprisingly unconstructive. He penned the horror tale Children Shouldn’t Play With Cybermen, but the attempted sequels of All Tomorrow’s Parties and Forbidden Territories never really worked out for some unaccountable reason. A total control freak and chronically lazy, he is that most dangerous combination of a man who could conquer the world if he just got out of bed in the morning. In the meantime, short stories will have to do.

BENJAMIN S. CHATHAM is unwilling to disclose how old he is, and uncertain as to what his middle name is – it could be Sebastian, it could be James, we just don’t know. Although he professes to be a popular, multitalented homosexual amateur archaeologist, the fact is he’s a lazy drunken layabout with no friends and a string of ex-girlfriends who thought he was crap in and out of bed. A lifetime of absinthe abuse has lead to him to start to believe he’s not merely a fan of Doctor Who but actually a main character who has his own XXX-rated spin-off series The Ben Chatham Adventures that basically consist of remakes of The Green Death only with lots more schoolgirls with their throats ripped out.

MAURICE DE LACEY is only writing for this collection to make up the numbers. He has no real interest in Doctor Who, science fiction or the phallocentric pagan sun gods worshipped by the shape-shifting reptiloids that run the local council under direct orders from the Illuminati. He also doesn’t take his medication.

CAITLYN JANUARY is a successful university student working towards a law degree, having achieved excellent academic achievements despite her being a natural blonde, hideously insecure about the size of her breasts, still a virgin, and being helplessly and completely in love with another of the writers for this book. She prefers Red Dwarf, Blake’s 7 and Stargate: Universe, but nevertheless has a lot of time for Doctor Who and her favorite Doctor is Sylvester McCoy.

THEODORE KLYNGIROPHEL, or “Andrew Beeblebabble” as his friends call to him, is clinically insane and has been since he received permanent brain damage from having his dead Siamese twin surgically removed from him just after he was born. Since then he’s been a primary school drop-out, beggar, live-in cook at a King’s Cross brothel, a part-time shop assistant and full time renaissance man who dabbles in home duties, advanced cyber-surgery, amateur crime-fighting, cryptozoology, water-painting and writing very, very bad science fiction. His only completed audio play, Doctor Who and the Hidden Bonus, was actually rather crap – but only because it was more fun than doing something good.

EVELYN MARKSON is the only legitimate daughter of Samuel Markson, head of EuroGlobe Industries and the 33rd richest man in the Solar System. She admits she only got into Doctor Who because David Tennant gave her “the screaming thigh-sweats”, but has since admitted City of Death was damn good. She knows an incredible amount about the show, since she only has three friends and they don’t do much else beyond sitting around all day watching it. She is currently back-packing across Greece with her long-time girlfriend and thinks the New Paradigm Daleks look completely shithouse.

DAVID RESTAL lives in the same apartment with three of the other writers, has a dead-end job working in a video store, is estranged from his rather odd family and suffering severe bouts of crippling anxiety and depression. Having lost his best friend and the only girl he’ll ever love, Doctor Who is probably the only thing keeping him from ending it all with an overdose of whatever pills he can find in the medicine cabinet. He’s also prone to whining a lot about how miserable he is.

ALEXANDER SORNE was an academic failure and completely unemployable, and even turning his squalid bungalow into an exclusive art gallery didn’t help. He nevertheless has been a life long fan of Doctor Who, he just doesn’t care that much about it. His favorite story is the one with the Kandyman.

NIGEL VERKOFF is many things – a pop star, playwright, sexual athlete, white-collar criminal, pathological liar and more. He has written and appeared in countless Big Finish stories including (deep breath) Fan & Phantasmagoria, The Actual History of Beer, The Cyb-Fest, Faith Dealer, The Dreaming, Caption: 1872, Dustbin Umpire 0: Terri’s Firmer, Orange, The Rip-Off, The Sequel, Interesting Times, Id, 300, The Girl Who Never Was A Virgin, Sympathy for the Devil, Fly Charley to the Moon! and, come to think of it, countless more we can’t be arsed to write down here and now. Verkoff has appeared as Adam Mitchell in five episodes of the Welsh revival of the series (and a corresponding Touchwood episode) and thus directly responsible for Christopher Eccleston quitting in 2005. Bastard.

RUPERT WOOSING-GARD is Arco Chamber’s flatmate and when he wants to grow up he wants to be a mad scientist. In the meantime, he has got the completely inexplicable nickname of “Dr. Spoon” even though he is not a doctor in any way, shape or form despite people constantly coming to him for help with twisted ankles, heatstroke, chronic fatigue syndrome or virgin births. He prefers Patrick Troughton to Matt Smith and is convinced Nicholas Briggs’ Audio Visual plays are a canonical depiction of the Time War. He is also an albino who likes dressing up as Tom Baker, but no one ever really mentions it nowadays.

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (iii)

2011-08-13T17:24:00.000-07:00

[A rather cheap-looking Mexican restaurant at lunchtime. By the window, Andrew is messily devouring a taco. Gabby munches at some corn chips.]

Gabby: Should you really be eating all that?

Andrew: [mouth full] Mmm? Gabrielle, I am actually being monumentally considerate. If you'd hired Sherlock Holmes, you'd be in a crack den by now. Hercule Poroit? Choking on the fumes of his moustache wax. Miss Marple? Enduring a lecture on why you should still be a virgin before marriage and give up a career. Brother Cadfael? Speaking medieval latin...

Gabby: OK. OK. I get it. So, what now?

Andrew: Not sure. Do they do dessert here?

Gabby: No, about Nigel.

Andrew: Oh. THAT old thing. Right. [sips drinks] Ah! Chili shots! Woo!

[Gabby gives him a look.]

Andrew: Do you girls take classes in expressions like that? All right. We know that someone out there set up the exploding nun saga to humiliate and perhaps even kill Nigel. To this end they have employed someone to infiltrate his life and lure him into the trap somehow, but this person got cold feet at the last moment. The plan at K-Mart went ahead, as far as we can tell, as it was... well... planned.

[An awkward pause. Andrew goes back to eating.]

Gabby: [sighs] I don't get it.

Andrew: Nonsense. You're one of the most sexually-active girls I know.

Gabby: What? No! I meant I don't get the plan!

Andrew: Don't you?

Gabby: Yeah, why get a nun to try and blow up a department store? No one was hurt! Only a few windows got broken, a few displays burnt. Why go to all that trouble?

Andrew: Because it was meant to destroy Nigel's reputation, not the store. Nigel Verkoff, the bestiality-loving nun-corrupting pedophile who inspires suicide bombings...

Gabby: It's not true.

Andrew: I know it's not true! YOU know it's not true! And I know that you know that it's not true! And now I've told you, you know that I know that you know that I... I'll stop. I'd assume it was entirely to humiliate the Big N, EXCEPT that postcard shows that Nigel was in danger of losing his life. Which suggests...

Gabby: ...what?

Andrew: Good question. The explosion wasn't just meant to destroy Nigel's public image, but to act as a massive distraction to allow another part of the plan to unfold. That makes perfect sense to me. That's not the problem.

Gabby: What is the problem?

Andrew: Why? Why go to all this trouble? You've seen Blue Murder, haven't you? If someone wanted Nigel dead, they could just shoot him when he answered the door, or poison his drinking water... why go to all this trouble?

Gabby: I dunno. Maybe they're really wierd.

Andrew: Wierd but rich. This must be a massively expensive operation, meticulously planned. Whoever infiltrated Nigel's life didn't do so in a minute, they've worked at this for years. Which means, whoever behind all this has wanted revenge for years. So why wait?

Gabby: Nigel said revenge tastes better out of the fridge.

[Andrew shakes his head.]

Andrew: He probably did. But there's fridge-chilled revenge. This revenge was dipped in liquid nitrogen and dropped into the bottom of the arctic sea... Unless...

Gabby: Unless what?

Andrew: Unless this megalomaniac only recently got the power and money to put things into action.

Gabby: You said it had been going on for years.

Andrew: Relatively recently.

Gabby: Relatively? You think it was a relative.

Andrew: [sighs] No. I don't. You're a sweet girl, Gabby, but you should be the punchline to an Irish convict joke. [frowns] Yes, you ARE sweet, aren't you?

[Gabby is slightly creeped out.]

Gabby: Your point being...?

[Andrew stares at her, no longer friendly.]

Andrew: How long have you and Nigel been an item now? A few years? You've moved in with him, shared his bed. Put up with his unspeakable behavior, including having sex with 143 separate schoolgirls, all without a complaint. Very dedicated, aren't you?

Gabby: [swallows] What are you saying?

Andrew: You are a perfect match for Nigel. He couldn't get a better live-in combined doormat and sex doll if he tried. If someone were going to try and infiltrate Nigel's life, who would be better placed than you?

Gabby: You think it was me?

Andrew: You didn't turn up at the concert that night.

Gabby: It was the last day of school, I was tired!

Andrew: So you had the perfect alibi.

Gabby: It's not an alibi, it's the truth!

Andrew: You don't seem very shocked at my theory of a massive conspiracy against Nigel.

Gabby: ...I've MET him.

[Andrew shrugs. She has a point.]

Andrew: And then the coo-de-grass, you just HAPPEN to find this postcard from an anonymous source and you're SO concerned about Nigel's wellfare. No one could suspect you were behind it, because you'd created a false trail and a false motive! Et tu Gabbay! How much did they pay you for all of this? 30 pieces of silver, or do double-figures genuinely confuse you? You should be well-rewarded for living undercover for so long, putting up with that empty-headed bleached-blonde animal pawing at your body at night - why, the costs for the STD tests alone would bankrupt anyone!

[Gabby is horrified.]

Gabby: That's not true!

Andrew: And then you cunningly hire an incompetent private investigator, presumably to ensure the plan was perfect. Almost worked, too. But your stupid-brunette act was laid on slightly too thick, and you gave the game away. What was the plan now, Gabby - if that IS your real name, Mrs. Judas?! [eyes widen] You poisoned the chili shots! You cunning bitch! I'll take your secret to my grave! No one will ever know the truth! [chokes] Ahhh! The bitter taste of almonds! You poisoned my arsnic with cyanide! The liberty of death approaches!

[Andrew, face red, claws to his feet and points to Gabby.]

Andrew: You may have killed me, but YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE JUSTICE, EVIL ONNNNNEEEEEEEEE!!!

[He gives a gargling scream and falls over. Everyone in the restaurant stares at Gabby for a long time. She smiles shyly. Andrew bursts out laughing and returns to his seat.]

Andrew: Woo! Sorry about that. Mexican food always makes me a bit hyper.

[He ruffles her hair condescendingly.]

Andrew: Course you're not the traitor, Gabs.

Gabby: You just said I was.

Andrew: I said you fit the profile, but you're not. You didn't buy that postcard, or write on it or anything else.

Gabby: How do you know?

Andrew: [smiles secretively] Because I know who did.

Gabby: Who?

Andrew: Sorry. You know client confidentiality? This is me keeping things confidential from my client.

Gabby: Tell me!

Andrew: Why?

Gabby: So I can find them and break every bone in their body until I get Nigel back!

Andrew: You really do love him, don't you? [finishes drink] At least we know you aren't PRETENDING to be stupid.

Gabby: Tell me who it was!

Andrew: The information is useless at present, dearheart. You want to know what happened to Nigel? To get him back? [icily] We are playing for the very highest of stakes, Gabrielle. And we are not going to show our hand until we KNOW it is the strongest! Agreed?

Gabby: [wary] Agreed.

Andrew: [sits back] Good. Now...... dessert!

- to be continued...

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (ii)

2011-08-10T05:06:00.000-07:00

[Cut to a crude animated title sequence. A silhouette of Andrew strolls past a background pattern of Las Vegas casino lights. Then an animated Andrew lights a cigarette with a broody expression. A wierd mixture of whistles and bass accompany this ghastly Hazell parody.]

[Caption: ANDREW & THE VANISHING VERKOFF.]

[Caption: OR ANDREW & THE NEGATED NIGEL.]

[Caption: OR, ANDREW & THE DISAPPEARING DICKHEAD.]

[Caption: OR, ANDREW & THE RELOCATED RETARD.]

[Caption: OR...]

Nigel: [VO] Get on with it, you hairy bastard!

Andrew: [VO] OK. OK.

[Caption: ANDREW & THE MISSING MASTURBATOR.]

Nigel: [VO] I'm storing all of this up, you know, Andrew! ALL OF IT!

Dave & Andrew: [VO] Shut up!

[Pull out to show this all on the screen of a second-hand TV in Andrew's run-down bungalow. Andrew sits with his feet up on a desk made of milk crates while his dog watches the TV.]

Andrew: Oi! Jones! Turn it down!

[The dog growls at him, then chews the remote until the volume drops. Andrew picks up a very cheap picture book called "HOW TO RHYME YOUR SLANG I SHOULD COCO". Andrew's inner monologue is in a thick Cockney accent.]

Andrew: [VO] Cor. It's been twelve days since school ended. I can go where I want, do what I want, and absolutely nothing comes to mind. Thirteen years trying to escape from the country's schools and now I'm at a loose end. Thirteen years trying to get out and the rest of your life trying to get back in. Rather like the womb, really. Especially when you're born on the last day of school. Those triplets will spend a fortune in therapy bills to work that out. So, here I am. It's been a week and my private detective business is circling the drain. Obviously advertising in the Inner West classified was a bad move. I can't believe the editor thought I was a prostitute. And especially so cheap.

[There's a knock at the door.]

Andrew: [VO] Maybe I should join the police. Then I can quit. Everyone respects detectives better when they're ex-policemen.

[Another knock at the door.]

Andrew: [VO] Well, more respect than active policemen anyway.

[Another frantic knocking.]

Andrew: [VO] Do we call them "cops" or "pigs" in Australia? Where's my copy of "Stone"?

[A very loud banging.]

Andrew: Is that inside my head? No? [calls] Come in!

Gabby: [VO] UNLOCK THE DAMN DOOR!

Andrew: ...it isn't locked!

[He crosses to the door and slides it down to reveal a flustered Gabby.]

Andrew: That door is my protection against insolence!

Gabby: I'm not insolent! [less sure] Am I?

Andrew: Depends. You a customer?

Gabby: Customer?

Andrew: I'm not exactly choosing male escort as a career path, but I look good on business woman's arms if I do say so myself. What can I do for you, Gabby? The washing up? I must say, my rates are much more competitive than they used to be...

Gabby: Are you going to let me answer or just keep talking?

Andrew: [shrugs] I haven't decided yet. So, pull up a pew. What's your problem?

Gabby: It's Nigel.

Andrew: Took you long enough to realize it. You can do so much better...

Gabby: He's missing! He's disappeared!

Andrew broods.

Andrew: [VO] This is not unexpected. Twelve days ago, Mister Nigel Verkoff had been outed as a nun-molesting pervert moments after his sub-Indie band Yellow Fever and How To Cure It split up at the opening of K-Mart...

Nigel: [VO] It was David Jones!

Andrew: [VO] Whatever. One of his Brides of Christ conquests turned suicide bomber and blew up the store. No one was injured, but Nigel himself hadn't been seen since. He was a total laughing stock and also wanted by the police to "help with their inquiries" if you get my not-so-subtle drift.

Gabby pokes Andrew in the shoulder, unsure if he's dozed off.

Gabby: Hey? Are you stoned or something, pay attention!

Andrew: Tch. Cody McBride never gets this aggravation of the earhole. Or was it GBH? Anyway, Gabs, Nigel's probably hiding out somewhere at an inexpensive brothel until everything dies down. He's public enemy number two, just after Steve Irwin's babysitting fiasco. What did you expect?

Gabby: He hasn't called me, or anything!

Andrew: Like I said, sweetheart. He's in hiding.

Gabby: He hasn't contacted his family, either. Benny's not heard from him. Or his mum.

Andrew: If the family aren't worried...

Gabby: ...screw the family! They don't give a crap about him when he IS there!

Andrew: [shrugs] It's a tempting attitude to take.

Gabby: Not from me! Maddog...

Andrew: Andrew.

Gabby: Whatever. Look, I really think something bad's happened to him.

Andrew: Worse than a 16-year-old nun and a bucket of fish?

Gabby: Uh-huh.

[She hands him a postcard.]

Gabby: I got this the afternoon before the explosion and everything.

[Andrew studies it.]

Andrew: "IF YOU ATTEND THE CONCERT TONIGHT YOU WILL DIE." You told Nigel, I suppose?

Gabby: Of course I did. He didn't care.

Andrew: Sounds like him. [frowns] Wait a minute, why are you telling me all this?

Gabby: The police aren't going to help, are they?

Andrew: Generally speaking? No.

Gabby: Plus, you kept banging on about being a private eye all week.

Andrew: So I did. [looks up] You want to hire me to find your boyfriend? Gabby, I'm honored! [less pleased] Couldn't you ask me to find a missing cat or something? I like cats. Or stolen jewelry. I mean, this case could only depress me - even if I found him, I'd lose...

Gabby: Please. I'll pay anything.

Andrew: [disgusted] I don't want your money. It'd make me feel dirty. [sighs] But I suppose I have to get used to compromising my morals in this big, wide world we live in. Okay, Gabrielle. I agree to do everything in my power to track down the pampered, self-absorbed ungrateful son of a bitch who has somehow done a number on you to the point you think he actually cares about you more than an inflatable doll.

Gabby: He's not like that!

Andrew: [laughs] Oh, he SO is!

Gabby: [sighs] Maybe. But I love him. I want him safe. Please help.

Andrew: Mmm. I should be a psychiatrist. At least I'd get plenty of customers. [looks at postcard again] OK, this tells us a lot.

Gabby: Does it? [eyes widen] I've got it! You recognize the handwriting?

[Andrew stares at her, slightly unnerved.]

Andrew: No. It's written in block capitals.

Gabby: Oh. [perks up] But you can tell it was done by man or a woman?

[Beat.]

Andrew: No.

Gabby: Oh... but you can tell if they were right-handed?

Andrew: No.

Gabby: If they speak English as a first language?

[Andrew shakes his head.]

Gabby: What can you tell me then?

Andrew: Well...

[He leaps to his feet and starts to pace.]

Andrew: Judging by the language used, the spelling, etc. I'd say whoever wrote this has above-average English literacy. The handwriting is rather rough and hasty, suggesting this was quickly scribbled down, so they were in a hurry. However, they remembered to write in block capitals and frame the warning to give nothing away. Ergo, this message was clearly planned beforehand, right?

Gabby: OK. But if whoever wrote it was thinking it up ages ago... why are they in such the hurry?

Andrew: Good question.

Gabby: You got a good answer?

Andrew: Of course I do.

[He leans forward over the desk and grins and Gabby.]

Andrew: Let's discuss this over lunch. Your treat. I fancy Mexican.

Gabby: ...you want to go to lunch? Just so you can tell me something you could say here?

Andrew: [blows out cheeks] It always looks good on TV. All right, Gabby, my theory is this. [deep breath] Whoever wanted to warn Nigel rehearsed warning him, but they waited until the very last minute. Why? They wanted Nigel safe. It's not some kind of double bluff, or else they'd say something like "You're too much of a coward to attend the concert." No, they wanted Nigel out of danger. But they decided not to warn him, then hastily sent this postcard. Yes?

Gabby: Yes.

Andrew: What does that suggest to you?

Gabby: That there are better private eyes I can contact?

Andrew: It suggests they decided not to warn Nigel at all. Only at the last second did they relent, quickly sending out the message. Now, this can mean one of two things. Either the author of this was somehow intimidated into not warning Nigel, or else they simply stopped themselves.

Gabby: Why do that?

Andrew: Because Nigel is a total arsehole. Admittedly, this doesn't limit the range of suspects. But logic tells us that the writer knew about what was going to happen at the concert. They knew a nun packing TNT was going to turn up and make a scene.

Gabby: So that wasn't random?

Andrew: No. It planned in advance.

Gabby: Could it have been the nun?

Andrew: Mmmm. Why go to all that trouble with the bomb? She could have just stayed at home. No, if it WAS the nun, it meant she was not pulling that stunt of their own free will. So, what does THAT tell us?

Gabby: Um. Ok. Someone wants to ruin Nigel's concert. They arrange everything, but someone involved doesn't want Nigel hurt.

Andrew: Yes. But not someone who liked Nigel. Otherwise they would have contacted him sooner. Why not ring the police? One bomb threat, the concert would be canceled. Nigel safe and sound. Why not make a more detailed message? "IF YOU ATTEND THE CONCERT, MAD NUN WITH TNT WILL TRY AND KILL YOU!" No, this person didn't like Nigel. They were happy to have him shamed and humiliated, but clearly uncomfortable with having him killed. Whatsmore, they were clearly in the minority of this entire operation. They dared not warn Nigel directly...

Gabby: You think they were being spied on?

Andrew: Maybe. Maybe their boss wouldn't take kindly to ruining the plan.

Gabby: It doesn't tell us who it could be, though, does it?

Andrew: Doesn't it? You got a postcard in the mail, yes?

Gabby: Yes.

Andrew: No. You didn't. Look. [He shows her postcard] No postage stamp. The only way that could get into your letter box is if posted by hand. Whoever it was came right up to your house and left right away. Why do that? It can't be they were worried about being spied upon, because if they were seen posting this, they'd be seen talking to you. They could have explained the whole thing to you, given you a false name, so why didn't they?

Gabby: You tell me.

Andrew: Because YOU would have recognized them. And if YOU recognized them, so would Nigel.

Gabby: So, it's someone I'd know? On sight?

Andrew: Yes. Someone close to Nigel. Close enough to hate his guts and take part in this bizarre Chaser-style stunt. But moral enough to get cold feet. And intelligent enough to make sure they weren't caught by any clues from the postcard.

[A long pause.]

Andrew: NOW can you buy me some lunch?

- to be continued

Andrew & The Vanishing Verkoff (i)

2011-08-08T23:20:00.000-07:00

["I Need A Dollar" plays on a pub jukebox. Nearby the pokies area, a listless-looking Dave fiddles with an ATM. He sets it to give him $450.]

Chamber: [vo] Please, don't do this! I beg you! It's not worth it! It will never work! There is no such thing as a winning streak, no dead cert - the only certainty is that you'll lose everything in the end!

[Dave gets annoyed and finally looks at Chamber, who is kneeling next to the ATM in a ridiculous Victorian sailing outfit, like Donald Duck. He holds a huge plastic lollypop and sobbing unconvincingly.]

Chamber: How much of our lives have you destroyed already with this addiction? Do some dice and an illuminated poker display mean more than your family? How can you live like this, ruining everything on blind chance?

[Chamber bursts into tears and hugs Dave's legs tightly.]

Dave: For love of Lady Gaga, I'm not playing the pokies!

Chamber: You just took out the best bit of five hundred bucks next to the pokies!

Dave: It's not MY fault they leave the ATM here, is it?

Chamber: So what are you going to spend it on? [sobs] Booze?

Dave: No! Damnit, Chamber, I'm doing my tax return next door! This is to pay the agents so I can forget about this tax crap for the next 360 days, OK?

[Chamber immediately drops out of character and gets to his feet.]

Chamber: Oh, sorry. Thought you were an alcoholic compulsive gambler.

Dave: What ARE you doing, dude? Why are you dressed like that?

Chamber: Work for the Dole scheme, innit? [crosses to the bar and knocks back a schooner] See, they pay us to try and break all the really bad gamblers from the pokies, snap them out of it with guilt and stuff. Stop them emptying their bank accounts on a losing streak, thing like that.

Dave: Oh. Business going well?

Chamber: Nope. Pretty crap. Course, it doesn't help that this pub is right next to the tax people.

[We see a sign outside the pub doors. "THE ATO ARE GONNA SCREW YOU OVER, YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE A STIFF DRINK FIRST, RIGHT?"]

Chamber: Everyone's either too poor to gamble or too busy sucking up Dutch courage.

Dave: It's not maybe you're completely crap at this job?

Chamber: Hey, I'm the most talented psycholigical divergence operative in this pub!

[He nods towards the pokies. Dr. Spoon is there, dressed as Sailor Moon and pestering a fat biker playing.]

Dr. Spoon: [in horrible accent] Ah-farther-sarn, this is so disonerabble, you bling shrame to our framiry! [burst into tears] Godzirra, where are you when we need you?!

[Dr. Spoon falls to his knees sobbing. Dave shakes his head in despair and leaves the pub, cash in hand.]

[Dave emerges from the pub and walks along to the very next building, a shop with TAX OFFICE in flashing neon letters and a rotting skeleton in a gibbet outside the doors. Dave pushes open the door and enters.]

[A rather cramped office. Most of the space is filled up with cardboard boxes of files which even act as furniture in place of chairs and tables. Nigel is forced to sit up six metres above the ground, next to a tasteful landscape painting. Andrew sits cross-legged on the boxes used as a desk by one agent. Dave enters.]

Dave: Got it.

[He hands the cash to the agent who hastily taps at a computer and scribbles out a very dodgy-looking receipt.]

Dave: So, my return was $450 and the fee for your services is $465. I didn't even break even this year. I don't know why I bother.

Agent: Because no matter how depressed you are, Mr. Restal, the vengeance of the ATO is always worse. Cheer up, your next return will be better now you claim Mr. Verkoff as a dependent.

Dave: The word I used was "parasite", but point taken.

Nigel: Oi! I can hear you all down there, you know! By the way, you SURE I can't have this painting?

Agent: No, Mr. Verkoff.

Nigel: I'll look after it, I promise! Take it out of my next return!

Andrew: [irritated] Excuse me, can we get back to my problems, please?

Agent: Mr. Kliengirophel, I have said many times before. You cannot list yourself as a private detective for tax reasons.

Andrew: Why not? It won't change any claims I make!

Agent: It is not true, sir! You are not a private detective!

Andrew: I bloody well am, Yatsumoto!

Nigel: Oh yes. Jack of all trades, master of none. Jack Shit, to summarize.

[Andrew jumps up and clings to the side of the box-cliff where Nigel sits.]

Andrew: That's gratitude for you, isn't it? My very first case was saving your miserable over-pampered hide from the Russian Kid, remember?

[A very long pause.]

Nigel: Oddly enough? Nope.

[Andrew drops down to the floor.]

Andrew: That's not my fault. You were all full of horse tranquilizers and neural inhibitors so you wouldn't... [smacks forehead] Forget I said that. [to agent] Anyway, I had a proper investigation case, I was paid for it, and it all worked out. I request that you put that down in your records!

Agent: "Request"?

Andrew: [placating] Well, demand, then?

[Outside tax office. The doors slam shut, and the troika pick themselves up off the ground and dust themselves down.]

Andrew: That's the trouble with accountants.

Dave: Their narrow minds and limited imaginations?

Andrew: More that they're a bunch of unhelpful arseholes.

Nigel: Nonsense. They didn't fall for that crap about you being a PI? Big deal. Just proves they have IQs worthy of dealing with our finances. Would YOU want YOUR tax return handled by a gullible moron?

[Andrew and Dave stare at him.]

Andrew: Yep.

Dave: Yes.

Nigel: [shrugs] OK. Bad example.

Andrew: The point is, it's true. I was a professonal private investigator.

Nigel: True? When have you EVER investigated anything privately, let alone professionally?

Dave: He's got a point, Drew.

[Andrew flings an arm around Dave's shoulders.]

Andrew: Our story begins long ago, Dave, before we all moved in together. It was just after the HSC, back in those dark days of dubious canonicity when my career first began...

- to be continued...

YOA Alert

2011-08-03T01:16:00.000-07:00

Under strict psychiatric instructions I am now uploading my YOA comic strips up onto the net to be mocked and ridiculed across the web. I've scanned in over a month's worth of the bastards and if you can't read my BLOCK CAPITAL writings, tough. And if you think the artwork is shitty, well, you're right, but I was drawing these randomly on clipboards while using public transport, and some of the shitty ones actually got published, SO WHO IS LAUGHING NOW, YOU FREAK?!?

But the artwork will improve. Honest.

Go here.

Marvel at my genius.

Spot the pop culture references.

And then tell me how awesome they are, because it's medically required, dammit.

Torchwood: For Those Late Who Came...

2011-07-31T03:04:00.000-07:00

Well my lips are from kissing
Your arid, barren wasteland
Embracing the furnace like a child
Who, in the face of adversity,
I should have showered with kisses!

I extinguished all hope
When I turned on the gas
In my best suit and Callifornian Poppy
In a bizarre ceremony of lust...

I worked! Me! At a factory! With a mute supervisor! Folding packets of danish butter into baking tins at low-low prices and listening to an entire season of AVs on my headphones (mein gott, and Mad Larry thinks RTD stole stuff from him?!?) and thus have not been able to keep up my high-octane TW reviews. Plus, after that last audio I'm one step away from ripping out my harddrive, throwing it into a pentagram of salt, grabbing a crucifix and screaming "DOWN YOU MONGEL, DOWN!!"

So. The New World. Partes Two and Three.

Ummmm....

Well, they weren't bad. Not bad at all. Rendition was, as a certain loony unwittingly dubbed it "Welsh on a Plane" and Dead in the Night was an itemized attempt to answer my problems about this Immortal World (yet, again, I have to stress - WHO CARES ABOUT FOOD IF NO ONE CAN STARVE?!?), along with some bizarre guest stars like the Nerdy Guy from Jurassic Park in charge of the CIA (which was as strange as getting Julian Clarey to be the lead in Spooks) and Eurasian Aussie Chick from Dollhouse to try her "Ganger Owl Impression Glare" in an airport carpark.

In both episodes, however, I'm a bit put out by the characterization of our heroes Gwen and Jack. Because, well, I expected it to be a bit more sympathetic (hell, I honestly cried when Jack forgave Owen for shooting him and intellectually I think the Captain should have knee-capped the rapist twat there and then) and this is not what we get. Gwen and Jack are... useless. They are completely useless. They make really obvious, stupid mistakes; they have all the cultural know-how of John Safran in drag in a Mosque; and there isn't a single thing they do bar make things worse.

The only difference is we have a bunch of American characters to point it out clearly and distinctly and emphatically how crap they are. What's more, Rex, Esther and pals are clearly MUCH BETTER AT EVERYTHING. I dunno if this is some American cooproduction thing to make the Yanks look a bit more positive than when RTD normally writes for them, but bar using the expression "Morphic Fields" (thus giving us a bizarre sense this entire story was inspired by the Eighth Doctor and C'Rizz shouting "BLUE TITS!" at each other in Scaredy Cat), all Jack and Gwen have done is sit there and attract British audiences.

I mean, seriously, Rendition has Jack poisoned. As he is now mortal, this is bad. However, he has absolutely no clue how to fix this. And neither does Gwen. And the Americans save the day. Apart from acting like whining useless bitches, Torchwood's survivors offer nothing but amazing bandwidth laptops. Probably the biggest demonstration is in Dead of Night when Rex rightly points out that Jack is an overconfident fuckwit with all the planning skills of Tim Brooke-Tayler having a tea-pot-panic-attack who has managed to get EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HIS TEAM KILLED. Jack's rejoinder? "They were my friends!" As Rex notes, this doesn't really change that, does he?

So, Rex ignores Jack's advice. Ooh, think I, this is where the Yanks realize that our unorthodox and unprofessional loyalty character actually have the edge - like in COE where they very nearly topple the British government with two laptops and some credible bullshit. But... no. True, Rex's plan fails but he automatically set it up so he couldn't possibly be captured or betrayed. All Jack achieves is to say "Yeah, I'm right to be paranoid."

And then he decides to skull-fuck the first good-looking guy at a bar.

(An aside... remember when Jack was supposed to be omnisexual? When his creator noted he automatically assumes anything with a pulse is up for sex? It seems he just stopped being anything other than gay after Chantho died. I mean, I'm all for a gay companion, no offense, but Jack was supposed to be MORE than that. The only concession to his panssexuality is his rather disturbing obsession with Gwen, who also seems to be swigging retcon. You wonder why Jack left, Gwen? You mean, that lengthy speech he gave about having murdered his grandson and having a nervous breakdown didn't happen? WHAT?!?)

Where was I? Oh yes. So, Jack decides to get it on with a random stranger because he's not immortal and can act like he does in Doctor Who for a change. (NOTE: he also gives a huge speech about responsible condom use because he doesn't want to catch AIDs now he's mortal... um, shouldn't his 51st century antibodies sort that out? Hell, LEELA'S antibodies can defeat alien invasions, so surely some VD should be easy to sort out).

Yes, I know I'm dwelling on Jack's graphic sex scenes but it's more than the English version of the episode will.

The point is, Rex also quits the gang to get some sugar - but what's this? He goes to someone IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT! His carnal relations have a point as he finds a certain lady doctor who can help him on both emotional and narratorial levels. Jack is just an excuse for hardcore gay sex on TV, absolutely nothing else. Rex actually seems to have something to do with the ongoing story arc. Jack then responds to this by deciding to randomly threaten a pedophile with a gun because, um, he wants to set up ChildKillers Anonymous, apparently. Meanwhile, Rex and his girl fight the conspiracy.

Jack and Gwen are thus a huge fricken milstone around the neck of this albatross and I'm not surprised at RTD's latest (public) announcement that he is completely and utterly sick of Torchwood and never wants to go near it ever again. No doubt his love and respect for Eve Myles and Barrowman is as strong as ever, but I think he's ready to snap the necks of their characters he clearly hates them so much.

Meanwhile, uh... um... well, that pedophile I mentioned. Why can't he talk properly, I wonder? Is it the failed execution? A stroke? A shorthand for evil? Either way, I refuse to believe a guy so boring and stupid could possibly have been a successful teacher. Is a rapist and murderer the ultimate monster, this story asks? Or is it the PR consultant who doesn't even care about his crimes? Rendition is reasonably sympathetic, showing Oswald Danes as a cursed, pathetic individual with brains but no future. Dead of Night changes its mind halfway through - it was only one step away from Bill Pullman morphing into Anthony Ainley and laughing, "Oh my dear Captain, you HAVE been naive!" on the black and white villainy scale. Mind you, that would have been a bit better as a cliffhanger. OK, I might buy Danes becoming a cult leader but... in less than three days?

HOW STUPID ARE YOU PEOPLE??!

I don't have much to add. The Souless are creepy and more effective than the Silence. Do the chemical companies have a TARDIS or was Jack just taking the piss? Why do I get the feeling PR Lady would be the first choice for an American recasting of Amy Pond? Why hasn't anyone called for the Doctor? Why is Gwen so utterly stupid she can't understand the subtleties of transatlantic translation of "chips" and "pants" AREN'T A FUCKING PRIORITY AT THE MOMENT?!? And why wasn't Rendition given an onscreen title?

So. Yeah. Ideally, I hope that next year Rex and his pals get their own show and we never have to see Gwen again and Jack is only in that epic party episode Steven Moffat has promised us, chatting up River Song and Jenny simultaneously. Oh yeah, that would be awesome...

I'll try to listen to the other two audio dramas, but my ears still bleed...

Torchwood: Rose-Tinted Spunk

2011-07-22T02:49:00.000-07:00

Ah-ah-aaaah-ah-aaaaaah-uh-aahhh!
Rock Lobster!
Down, down, DOOOWWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNNNNN!

Just in case anyone was slightly wary of this new slick, dynamic, American and basically too-good-for-BBC-Wales Torchwood: Miracle Day stuff, the BBC has kindly given us a trilogy of audio dramas which achieve two specific aims that the TW fanbase clearly need.

1) It brings back Ianto "Kamelion Got A Better Deal" Jones
2) It reminds us, basically, how ungodly shite the show was before RTD went "RUSTY SMASSHHH!!" in Children of Earth

Yes, if you find yourself yearning for the non-functionally retarded camp fest that lead to the unspeakable horrors of Something Borrowed and End of Days, then these things are the best thing to a reality check not involving me and a sawn-off-shotgun.

Submission begins so badly, with such stilted performances that had Darker Projects come up with shite of this order with Carribean Blue, both Miles and I would have been forced into a suicide pact from shame. Mein Gott, this is bad.

Gwen, Jack and Ianto are chasing a van across a bridge. The van has an alien in it and Captain Jack is so dedicated to protecting the Earth from its evil horror that he... um... mugged it. To steal its cash. Because, hell, cash is clearly more important than safeguarding the future of the human race (and, to drive this home, they use the old intro, the one that made RTD mutter "URGE TO KILL RISING!" under his breath every time he heard it). But being hard, gritty and mature sci-fi, Gwen gives Jack a plasma canon to blow up the bridge - the very important bridge connecting Wales to the UK and manifestly not blown up in The New World - so they can fling this pissed off, homicidal alien into England. Specifically because once it's over the border, Torchwood don't have to do a thing and they can let it ravage the English in a blood-drenched orgy of the damned.

Now, maybe this could have worked as a cruel parody, but it's not even acted well. If I may have slagged off the cast in previous audio outings, well, I did not know what depths they could sink. Unless the director was telling each and every one of them "no, no, no, think Chip Jamieson!" then, well, I don't want to know.

So, having blown up a bridge and put untold millions into mortal danger, our so-called heroes stupidly forget to hit the brakes and the SUV plunges into the river... but then there's some wolf howl and Jack announces that "THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE WATER!" Oh, if only...

(Note: I haven't actually read it but it would have to be written by Joshua Wynne-Cunt in Hannah Murray's blood to possibly be worse than this).

Still being unable to get any single emotion or inflection in any of their performance, it turns out that this thing is global! Yes, a few SECONDS on Facebook and we've discovered that anyone with their heads in the water across the entire Earth somehow heard the howling, which is apparently a fatal siren song. Well, if you're in Thailand anyway. Droning exposition to each other, the plot unfolds while I find my thoughts drifting to the title sequence. Isn't "TORCHWOOD IS READY!!!" the sickest joke ever? They might as well have had Hitler going on about the Third Reich lasting forever...

The gang listen to a recording of the howl and dub it "creepy". They fiddle with a laptop and talk about speeds of sound in time variation and all sorts of bollocks that make you pine for K9 who was at least funny with technobbabble, and find out the noise comes from the Marianah Trench at the bottom of the sea. "You don't have to a 51st century time traveling immortal to know this is ALIEN!!" deadpans Jack and Ianto off the top of his head decides to slow the howl down and finds out the howl says "Help us!" over and over again. Jack, still regularly screaming things are "ALIEN!" more than Arnold Rimmer at a UFO convention, decides to try to do another globe-trotting adventure that they only ever do in radio episodes for some reason. Jack decides that, despite the fact they know for a fact that UNIT is all over the case, it has "Torchwood" written all over it (note: same Torchwood that want to destroy England). Luckily, Ianto has "the sexiest marine biologist" and ex-Torchwood girl who is easily dialed and convinced to join this ill-thought out expedition in less times than it took me to write this sentence.

The next scene is in Tokyo harbor where the gang plus one have taken over USS Calvin - but what about UNIT? "I mentioned the Doctor 57 times!" Jack says in bored monotone, and apparently UNIT thought they had better things to do than stay involved in this awful shitheap of a plot. Only eight minutes in. Goddamn it. Another forty to go.

Conveniently meeting the captain of the ship five seconds before they meet the trench and also another roaring howl. The crew get aboard the Octopus Rock, a bigger-on-the-inside UNIT experimental submarine named after the Sex Pistols ("Jack, if you make a joke about your sex pistol, this ends here!"), the Torchwood crew climb aboard and descend into the depths with 24 hours before they all choke to death. Oh, if only. Therein follows some boring cliched bollocks about how mankind knows more about Mars than the bottom of the ocean and how very historical this all is and squid and whales use echo-location... very educational.

I'll skip to something worthy of note.

...

...

...

...

Christ, Gwen's surprised that the bottom of the ocean is a bit dark?

...

Jack considers an undersea trench the most alien place ever? Goddamn it, Lakertya was freakier than this...

Ooh, wait! Plot. They bump into a mad old bastard sitting at the bottom of the sea (sans diving suit) who finds their exposition so annoying that he screams at them and starts to smash in the hull with his bare fists. In typical suicidal insanity, Gwen suggests they try to talk to this indestructable psychotic demon, then changes her mind because it's funny! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Witty Welsh person! So our heroes run away, even though this super-powerful UNIT sub is shittier than the bastard inbred offspring of Starbug and Scorpio. And they crash. Unfortunately, it turns out that THIS was the only sub in the world capable of going this deep, so rescue is not an option. The gang immediately become hysterical and sound even MORE emotionless and lobotomized than they did before. Jesus... this isn't even ENTERTAININGLY bad. This awful shite. I'm strongly tempted to give up.

...

...WTF?! The sub is built out of dwarf star alloy? FUCK OFF!

...

Anyway, it turns out that the mad old bastard who can breathe underwater is an ALIEN!!! And he's a long-lost mutant mariner whose old bathyscope is still in perfect working order after six decades next to an underwater volcano. Very likely. And the ALIEN actually can act. Sounds a bit like the Thaarn from Blake's 7. STOP REMINDING ME OF BETTER SCIENCE FICTION DAMN YOU! After five seconds of chatting with Thaarn, Gwen is on the verge of sacrificing herself for a complete stranger's ALIEN bodysnatching boyfriend (YES! A GAY ALIEN!!!) But don't worry, she would never risky her own life to save Rhys's - the stupid fucking bitch... Meanwhile, Carly the newbie ex-Torchwood ex-girlfriend of Ianto is basically spending her entire episode shrieking "KILL ME NOW! I AM EXPENDABLE FOR THE GREATER GOOD!" while Ianto whines that Jack doesn't love him. Whatever. I want you all to die horribly and end this godawful thing.

...

Oh, the Thaarn's a manic-depressive self-pitying alien exile. But even so considers himself superior to Captain Jack. Well, you WOULD, wouldn't you? Ianto decides that they should kill the Thaarn in cold blood because he's dared shown greater acting ability than the rest of the cast put together. So the Thaarn smashes their salvaged bathyscope. Good. I hope they all drown. Hmm, oxygen's running out, everyone TALK AS MUCH AS THEY CAN!

...

Oh wait, Carly's possessed by the Thaarn. Didn't see THAT one coming. Not. And she tries to steal Gwen's excuse for a brain, while being a ridiculous pro-Jack/Gwen shipper in order to piss off Ianto. Whatever. So Jack kills Carly and the Thaarn possessing her. "That's the price of immortality; no final act, no absolution! YOU GET TO DIE!" shouts Jack, gleefully telling Carly that she will be expelled into the blackness of oblivion and he really gets off being the last person people see before they die. Um. Ok.

Ianto gives her mouth to mouth and brings her back to life in this strange existential version of cockblocking.

Carly decides to join UNIT and get them to explore the Trench and, for SOME UNACCOUNTABLE REASON, never wants to see the Welsh retards ever again. Jack laughs evilly that he's never going to have to regret his actions because he's not mortal.

...

...

Can someone show the working there, please?

In a token gesture, we discover that the voiceover man for the credits is even WORSE at speaking on radio than everyone else we've met.

Sweet Zarathustra, that was UNHOLY!!!!

Torchwood: DIE, FRANCHISE, DIE!!!

2011-07-12T21:01:00.000-07:00

I'll bet you're lonesome tonight in your hole in the ground,
Old Shep's so shook up that he pissed on your crown!
No one's crying in the chapel! Get wise! Get hip!
There's some pretty heavy shit going down - YOU'RE IT!

It was a terrible day when you had your cardiac arrest!
They tried to find your heart - but couldn't cut through the flesh!
You can't Viva Las Vegas when there's no viva left!
C'mon and do - do - DO THE DEAD ELVISSSSS!

How appropriate the plot for the fourth series of Torchwood should be about a mysterious all-powerful force preventing those whose life is up from achieving blessed oblivion and dragging them back to the here and now.

My parents were shocked at the news Doctor Who's shameful, rarely-mentioned inbred spin-off had been renewed. "But there's nothing left!" they protested. "Torchwood's gone!"

Yep, there isn't exactly any obvious mileage in the show at the end of Children of Earth: Day Five, is there? The once mighty organization consists of two emotional cripples (one of which is having a total nervous breakdown and the other going on maternity leave) and a laptop. Whereupon Jack shouts "FUCK THIS!" at the top of his voice, hitchhikes on a passing spaceship and refuses to ever come back to this stupid planet ever again. We next see him on an alien planet, restored to his Intergalactic Manwhore Status ((c) Adolf Hitler) by the dying Tenth Doctor who clearly thinks that Jack is better off roggering strangers in pub toilets than trying to defend the Earth.

As Torchwood Magazine (possibly the only magazine I know to have died even though the series it revolved around was ongoing) revealed, RTD detested how Torchwood was jammed awkwardly in his Excalibur format. One might think COE was designed to get the show back the way Big Russell wanted it except... well, the first draft ended with Jack suicide-bombing the 456 in such a way only a single cell of Jack's body survived, drifted through space for millions of years and finally ended up on an alien planet where he started to regenerate. Not EXACTLY the place to leave a show for another series, is it? He even edited the ending of the televised COE so, instead of promising he's just on vacation until Gwen calls, Jack instead sulks that he is never coming back, never ever ever ever never!

Anyone getting the slight vibe that Rusty had had enough of the show?

If not, the opening episode of Miracle Day will dispel that. Hardly anyone knows about the Torchwood Institute, no one cares and everyone that DOES know is doing their utmost to forget it happened. Yes, Torchwood is officially Old Shame to rank with The Star Wars 1977 Holiday Christmas Special and Dimensions in Time. Captain Jack has returned to Earth solely to delete every possible reference to the show and drug everyone involved with retcon (yeah, Rusty, it was irritating and pointless the FIRST time you had Jack explain the entire series to someone who wouldn't remember...) while Gwen is outright banned from mentioning any Season 1 episode plots to her daughter.

Jack, Gwen (who, with the imagination the Welsh always display, names her daughter ANwen Cooper because changing more than a few letters is too much to ask, like Owen HARper), her family and PC Andy (whose now a sergeant, not that anyone cares) barely get 20 minutes of screentime and its clearly no one behind the camera is that interested in their badly-explained midlife crisis. Why are Gwen and Rhys in witness protection? They were happy enough at the end of COE when Britney Spears took the prices off their heads. How did Jack get back to Earth within seven seconds of the emergency attracting his attention in the first place? Why is he obsessed with Gwen's safety when he has been happy to leave her growing mungbeans in Wales for two years? And why is RTD STILL writing horrible dialogue for the SOLE purpose of looking cool in trailers?!

For example in this exchange between Rex and Gwen:

Rex: Who are you people?
Gwen: (using bazooka on a pursuing helicopter) Torchwood.

Well, that was probably looked fucking awesome in the ads. But in context, it's ridiculous. Rex has traveled halfway around the world to see Gwen specifically because she works with Torchwood, an organization he knows all about. He has seen Gwen trying to shoot the helicopter out of the sky with a handgun. He has HIMSELF tried to shoot it out of the sky with an assault rifle. But then, all of a sudden, completely forgets the entire situation and acts shocked that Gwen is a homicidal psycho using ridiculously destructive weaponry.

The regulars aren't well served. Every scene with Gwen boils down to one exchange - "You're a fugitive!" "Oh yeah. Keep forgetting that." - while Jack continues to show he has been quaffing retcon himself as he has a complete inability to relate with human beings from the 21st century and even his pheremones don't work. When Rhys dubs him "Captain Jack Bollocks" can anyone argue with him? It's clear the sheer insane hatred writers have for these characters continue to this day, as Gwen and Jack have not only been gripped with horrified paranoia ever since we last saw them, they're as useless as ever. They can use laptops, dive out of exploding buildings and chuck each other horrifically dangerous weapons but they are STILL the worst possible people to defend the planet, as evidenced in the cliffhanger as their badly-injured ally is able to completely double-cross them and then reveal he's actually not a bad guy after all.

For Christ's sake, being hunted across the world by insane assassins, our heroes head to Rhold Dahl Plass in the middle of the night, the most exposed and viewed-by-security-camera-ed area in Cardiff and then talk very noisily about their plans.

DEAR GOD! Compare to RTD's last work of Death to the Doctor where even a clearly-irrational and grief-stricken Sarah Jane wasn't this stupid! It is a depressing thought that the demise of TSJAs means that this is, once again, the only spin-off Doctor Who has. Despite the fact TSJA has more potential spin-offery left in it, and Steven Moffat idly came up with a few like Victorian-Era Lesbian Silurian Crime-Fighting Cannibal and Tough Love: Sontaran Field Nurse for a laugh in a cutaway sequence. Hell, Dorian Malvedorium in How Much For Just The Planet would offer more appeal than this!

Yeah, and we were deprived of Captain Jack in A Good Man Goes To War because of this!

However, the other 40 minutes or so are much less irritating and exasperating - even though it only offers up two memorable characters. The first is Rex Matheson who is a much better central character than Captain Jack has been over the last six years. Whether he's cackling evilly because his superior's sick wife means he gets promotion, or pausing to knock back every drug he passes in a hospital corridor, this guy manages to be endearing, likeable and intelligent. Even with a sucking chest wound and NO preparation he runs rings around Gwen and Jack. All in all, he's the sort of person the Doctor would associate with rather than these wisecracking emos of the previous series.

Rex is also immortal against his will, which is ironic because Jack has lost his cosmic get-out clause and can't even heal scratches on his arms. Something epic has made every human on the planet unkillable, though not invulernable as a beheaded and barbacued suicide bomber discovers. This is the main plot of the show, trying to find out a) why this is happening and b) stop it.

I have to say... I don't quite get it. Even today, the entire human population could be fit into Australia with room to spare. So the ever-expanding human race can't overfill the planet THAT quickly. And, true, food supplies would run out rapidly but - get this - IT DOESN'T MATTER! NO ONE CAN DIE OF STARVATION, SO NO ONE NEEDS TO EAT! And, yes, medical services are going to be overwhelmed but on the plus side there are plenty of people to help out! But apparently in four months time all civilization will collapse. But, again, SINCE NO ONE CAN DIE, what is the problem?

This leads to another bewildering plot hole played by Bill Pullman as Oliver EvilBastard. I dunno if it's an acting tic or the result of his failed execution, he is unable to do anything but mumble through a static and sleepy expression that makes him seem completely harmless. And as a pedophile murderer, that can't be the intention. He justified raping and murdering a twelve-year-old girl on the grounds "she shoulda run faster" and, looking at him, I'm amazed he was capable of doing either. Frodo could kick this guy's butt!

In what is clearly meant to be satire, a self-confessed child murder is allowed on parole because his lawyers say he had fulfilled his death sentence (not his fault he survived). And apparently he can't be tried again for double jeopardy.

So.... they let him go. Despite thousands of people on every street corner baying for his blood. How exactly is this guy going to stop the mob tearing him to pieces? And, forgive me if I'm overstating this, BUT NO ONE CAN DIE! Murderers, ergo, don't exist any more! All the authorities had to do was castrate the fucker and he will be physically incapable of repeating his crime. But, apparently, Americans are all sweet and reasonable people who only ever work inside the law and would never take matters into their own hands and are happy to leave a child murderer on the streets because he might have grounds to sue the governor. They would never, say, transport the asshole to Guantanamo Bay, cut off his legs and bury him in concreate like the awful BRITISH people might.

RTD, YOU MAKE ME SICK!! EVEN BUFFY WAS MORE CYNICAL THAN THAT ABOUT AMERICA!!!

So, in summary, this isn't too bad but (in a typically Jack Harkness mixture of sadism, beastiality and necrophilia) it's flogging a dead horse. Let's just pray to hell that there is no Torchwood Five, and any future explorations of the institute reflect its varied and interesting history, say Torchwood Victorian Era with Jago and Lightfoot and a certain homosexual homo reptilia by the name of Vashta...

A Critical Analysis of... The Eleventh Doctor

2011-05-11T22:44:00.000-07:00

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!!