Dear Dead Ringers...

...seriously. Try harder.

I know that humour is a subjective concept, but originality isn't. Doctor Who has been around for over fifty years, that's five decades, and I think by now it's agreed that however funny they were at the time, some jokes are now stale and unfunny. Are you really expecting your listeners to burst into hysterical laughter when you mention Cardiff? That they will nod in approval at such biting satire that Dalek gunsticks look like egg whisks? After 52 years you really haven't been able to come up with any new jokes? Apart from those one liners from Nev Fountain that Doctor Who is shite and anyone who likes it are filthy scum-sucking oxygen-thieves even when it's a worldwide phenomenon and BBC-flagship television, but all you can think of are jokes is that it's cheap and for nerds?

Have the budget cuts affected the opportunity for new material?

If that is the case, feel free to use the following which has the most contemporary material to mock Doctor Who with since 2006 when you said the music was a little too loud.


(SFX - TARDIS lands. Door opens.)

DOCTOR: Och, Clara! Question! Why did you dump your boyfriend to travel through time and space with me?

CLARA: As if I could quit being your companion, Doctor. I've done this longer than some of your past selves - there's no chance I still have a career after this.

DOCTOR: I meant more specifically. Normally you wait until Danny is at work, or at the petrol station or something. You snuck out during sex.

CLARA: Well, the TARDIS is the only way to stretch him out for a while.

DOCTOR: Clara, this is a children's show!

CLARA: Yeah, you said that when we faced those giant slimy facehuggers that ripped our skulls open and sucked our brains out as milkshakes. And when everyone who ever died burned in silicon hell, were revived as zombies and then killed themselves all over again.

DOCTOR: Yeah, but there's no sex! Jon Pertwee would be spinning in his grave!

CLARA: He got turned into a Cyberman and exploded, remember?

DOCTOR: Oh yeah. Burned down an orphanage, didn't he?

CLARA: Full of special needs kids.

DOCTOR: Good times. But still, this show isn't suddenly dark and gritty, is it?

CLARA: Doctor, I think we're standing in entrails.

DOCTOR: Are we? It's so dark.

CLARA: Ahah!

DOCTOR: I meant the lighting. This is still a fun romp through time and space.

CLARA: Yes. And according to that sign over there we're at a gas chamber in a concentration camp for underprivileged children who have lost their puppies.

DOCTOR: That's an oddly convenient sign.

CLARA: Yeah, probably a story arc.

DOCTOR: Nevermind that, Clara! Look! Behold a monster worse than the Daleks or or... um, what are the others? The evil others, I mean, not the ones I turned into wacky sidekicks? Have we still got any of them?

CLARA: Um... the Slitheen?

DOCTOR: Och, no one remembers the Slitheen!

CLARA: Well, all the others are one-off wierd stuff like grafiti or cracks in the wall or invisible mummy vampire things on the Orient Express. In Space.

DOCTOR: Yeah, that one really needed to pick a genre and stick to it. But, anyway, look Clara and what do you see?

CLARA: An evil clown with fangs, mouth red with the blood of the innocent, moaning incoherently in pure evil and eyes wide from seeing things that should not be seen.

DOCTOR: Exactly! This is clearly that evil clown type thing from that episode of The Sarah Jane Adventures. Remember?

CLARA: Nope.

DOCTOR: It was a good one, it had an evil clown and balloons...

CLARA: No, I mean that's not it.

DOCTOR: Yes it is!

CLARA: It's not. It's Jerry Lewis.

DOCTOR: Don't be ridiculous, it's clearly an alien clown-shaped monster!

CLARA: Jesus Christ, it's Jerry Lewis!

DOCTOR: When am I ever wrong?

CLARA: How about when you were convinced Robin Hood was a robot? Or that the world was going to be destroyed by forests? Or that invisible, inaudible aliens were chasing you across the universe?

DOCTOR: You would bring those up, you malignant whore.

CLARA: It is Jerry Lewis. We are clearly on the set of The Day The Clown Cried.

DOCTOR: Of course! And you know why it cried, don't you? It wept!

CLARA: Oh, not the statues again. That is so old.

DOCTOR: Weeping Angels, Clara! Nazi Weeping Angels! Disguised as clowns! On a movie set! I'm just going to keep spitballing concepts till I get a winner. And they have no mouths, and four arses! And they used to be vegans!

(SFX - gunshot)

DOCTOR: Um, Clara. Did you shoot Jerry Lewis?

CLARA: It was for the greater good.

DOCTOR: Aren't we supposed to be role-models for impressionable viewers?

CLARA: You were really about that when you were in The Thick of It, huh?

DOCTOR: Ooh. Good point. I guess we just have to accept this dubious phyrric victory, have a few bitter and awkward silences, and do it all again next week.

CLARA: Yep. You better drop me off with Danny again.

DOCTOR: Clara. Wait. This is a vitally important question. Tell me honestly... am I as good as Jon Pertwee?

CLARA: You realize I'm a compulsive liar, don't you?

DOCTOR: Yes. That way I can interpret your answer anyway I like.

CLARA: This is setting a good example for the next generation.

DOCTOR: You bet. Och, you know, we should totally bring back the giant maggots...

(Theme music)

YOA and Hardcore Pornography!

Dave Restal opened his eyes.

A pair of bright green XXXX gazed through a messy orange-red XXXXX right back at him. The XXXXX surrounding those XXXXX was freckled, innocent, a girl XXXX door, a farmer's XXXXXXXXX. She XXXXX like flowers.

"Wakey, wakey, XXXXXX," she XXXXXX in an Ocker XXXXXX, brushing XXX fringe out of her XXXX. Her long red XXXX hung down her XXXX white XXXX.

Dave tried to XXXX where they were, but he couldn't focus his XXXX away from his XXXXX. Looming in his vision were two swollen, XXXX-white XXXXXX atop a XXXXXXXX XXXXXX twice as XXXX in all directions, overshadowing her short and slightly chubby XXXXX. A XXXXXXXXXXXXX in its XXXXX, its XXXXX, its XXXX hours, perhaps only XXXXXXX left...

She XXXXXXXX up, forced her XXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX towards his face. It made her XXXXXXXXX XXXXX seem to grow in XXXXXX of him. "XXXXX XXXXXXX XX them," she XXXXX breathlessly, running her XXXXXXXXX over the XXXXXXXXX XXXXX of her XXXXX. "Happy XXXXX XX them, XXXXX XXXXXX my XXXXXX big healthy XXXXXX, XXXXXX birthday XX XXXXX..."

XXXXXXX, soft XXXX with untidily-manicured XXXXX slid down his XXXX and cupped his XXXXX. XXXX let out a XXXX of appreciation XX she XXXXXX in close. Her XXXX, XXXXXX nipples XXXXXXX against his XXXXXXX XXXXX. Long denied XXXXX began to XXXX in as he thought of her XXXXXX XXXXXXXXX body and the XXXXX stirring within. She XXX so XXXXX and XXXXXX, stuffed with XXXXX that was eager to XXXXXX. A thin film of hot sweat glistened off her naked body in the afternoon sunshine, turning her a shiny, golden colour.

XXXXXX XXXXX XXXX XXXXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXX XX X XXXXX XXXX, XXXXX XXXXXXX.

"Phe... you're XXXXX," he XXXX, at a XXXX to understand how she had XXXX XXXX to him.

Pheobe Richards-nee-Styles smiled a shy, delighted smile that was almost as beautiful as her XXXX, tight XXXX XX XXXXXX ready to XX XXXXXX. XXXXXX and XXXX were rising out of the shining XXXXX, movement getting XXXXX with every XXXXXXX moment. She XXXXX Dave's hands to XXXX her XXX, XXX skin XXXX was XXXXXX almost XXXXX thin.

Dave's entire XXXX throbbed with XXXXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXX, XXXXXX pulsing through XXX like a XXXXXXXXXX. It was odd and wrong but XX felt so good, so much he XXXXXXXX despite the warm air.

"I XXXXX to do this," she XXXXX, hefting her XXXXXX XXXX and shuffling XXX XXXXX wider. XXX was XXXXXX astride XXX and he could XXX the soft XXXXXX of ginger XXXXXX XXXX sparkling with XXXXXX of a XXXXXXXX XXXXX plug. "Before I XXXXXX a XXXX. While I'm XXXX just a XXXXX. With XXXX."

"XXXXXXX in XXXXX," XXXXX said dully, the concept too XXXXX for him XX fully comprehend.

"XXX XX heat," XXXXXXXX retorted. She XXXXX her XXXXXX, her XXXXXXX of gravity XXXXXXXX her XXXXX downwards XXXXXXXXX her spread XXXX. Carefully, she XXXXXX XXXX onto her knees before XXXXX, allowing XXXX XXX XXXXXXXXX her XXX, XXXXXXXXXX XXXX. Her molten XXXXX swallowed up XXXX XXXX, XXXXX XXXX of her lover. Dave sighed XX she settled her full weight on his XXXXXX; XXX, tender XXXX spreading his XXXX XX XXX satin, velvety XXXXX utterly consumed XXX.

Using her thin but strong XXXX for leverage, he began XXXXXXXX into XXXXX, her juicy XXXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXXXX him. Soon, XXXXX were panting and XXXXXX in pleasure, making XXXX desperately as XXXX slowly began to XXXX XXXXXX.

Pheobe suddenly XXXXXXXX her XXX shut and XXXX out a barely audible XXXXXXXX. It was not quite XXXX, not quite XXXXXXXXXXXX. Sweat XXX dripping off her XXXXX body now as the XXXXXXX inside XXXX intensified.

"The XXXXXXX," she grunted, panting XXX a few XXXXXX. "XXXXX of XX!"

Dave mimicked her XXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXX as her tortured XXX pulsed and throbbed between XXXX. He held her XXXX as her XXXX hardened with XXXXXXXXX XXXXXX. The over-burdened redhead was dangerously close to XXXXXXXX XXXXXX, willing to XXXXXX further XXXX overdue XXXXXXXX of her XXXXXX just to XX with him.

David Mitchell XXXXXXXX.

Now officially the XXXXXX man XXXXX.

"I've felt XXXXX XXXXX XXXXX and XXXXX inside XX," she whispered dizzily. "XXXX them XXXX and XXXX XXX XX XXX space... XXXX now XXX really XXX-XXXXXXXXXX... holy XXXXXXXX shit... ngggghh... XX hurts, but XXXXXXXXX, XX... XX feels... XXXXXXXXX... like XXXXXXXXX in XX is XXXXXXXXXXX..."

The XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX above him, cooing XXX wincing as she XXXXXX his face XXX shoulders. Together XXXXX stroked XXXX distended XXXXXX, their hands XXXX against the immense XXXXX. Her XXXXXX XXXXX XXXX XXXXX down her too-full orbs XXX XXXXXX and XXXXXX from within XXXX XXXXXXXX became louder XXX more XXXXXXX, drowning out the XXXXXXXX of XXXXXX on XXXXX.

"I'm so XXX... so XXXXXX... I XXXX you so XXXXX," she XXXXXX huskily.

Despite himself, Dave XXXXXXX.

One hand XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX around her XXXXXXXXXX XXXXX, she XXXXXXXXXX and needed (SP?) XXXX. He XXXXXX XXXX eyes as she gave him a long, hungry XXXX. XX simply XXXXXX in the thought of what her XXXX was XXXXXXX, entirely independant of both of them.

As his XXXXX XXX XXXXX XXXX massive mammaries, Dave felt XXXXXX XXXXXXXXX but fought off the building XXXXXXX. XXX juicy lover XXXXXXXX with delight as as waved over (??) pleasure swept XXXXXXX her sensitive skin XXX soft, tender flesh.

XXXXX clawed beneath her XXXXX, XXXXXXXXX dangerous XXXXX where the brown line down the XXXXXXX of Pheobe's XXXXX reached her XXX XXXXXX of pubic XXXX, taunting her XXXXX as they XXXXXX towards XXXXXXX, following XXX teasing XXXXXXX of her plump XXXXXX.

A thick XXXXX painfully stretched her over-tight XXXXX, pulling XX almost XXXXXXXXXX over the XXXXXX shape of an XXXXXX XXXXXXX, feeling XXXXXXXX just centimeters away. The XXXXXXX receded back XXXXX XXX shifting mass as XXXXX XXXXX inside her XXXXXX XX XXXXX and XXXX tightened XXXXXXXX XX. Rippling XXXXX of XXXX rolled over her shining, dripping XXX XX grand splendor until XXX XXXXXXXXX her quivering XXXX regions. She moaned XXX gasped XXX growled XXX grunted as Dave watched her beautiful XXXXX shift and XXXXXX dangerously.

"So XXXXXX now!" he XXXXXXXX. "X can XXXX XX! So XXXXX close!"

She couldn't hear him, lost XX the XXXXXXXXXXX assaulting her. "This is XXXXXXXXXXX!" she panted XXXX whimpered in XXXXXXXX. "It XXXXXXX so XXXXX and yet... so XXXXXXXXXX..."

Then her XXX-like XXXXXX began to XXXXX XXXXX. XXX XXXX bulged hard against his XXXX, pushing her XXXXXX further apart. Bright XXXXXX XXXX burst from her puffy XXXXXX lips, dousing him in her hot XXXXXXXXXXXXX fluid. Her XXXXXX had XXXXXXX under the onslaught of their XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.

"XXXXX them out, Davey," XXXXX moaned, grabbing XXX hands and pressing XXXX hard against her turgid XXXXXX. XXX pressure-filled XXXXXX pushed his XXXXX back. "XXXX XXXX out! XXXX need out! XX XXXXXXXX! Nnnnnggghhh! XX fucking XXXX!"

She XXXXX against his XXXXXXX, her XXXXXX gripping the sides of her massive XXXXX, XXXXXX in pleasure as her XXXXXXXXXX XXXX tightened XXXXXXX like a giant soapy XXXX. Both of them were XXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXX in XXXXX, crying XX delight, whimpering in XXX as the XXXXX struggled to XXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX from XXXXX XXXX.

XXXXX caressed XXXX fondled her buttocks, pulling her XXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXX deeper XXXX her. XXX XXXXXXXXX bulged and churned maddeningly as Dave XXXXXXX the already-too-XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX against each other. Phoebe XXXX XXXX X gasping moan XXXX kissed him XXXXXXX passionately, XXXXXXX and XXXXXXXX him XXX XXX XXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX angrilly over her. XXX ginger XXXXX were a wet and tangled web that nearly hid her XXXX and perspiration was dripping off XXX and XXXXXXX onto Dave's XXXX. Each XX XXX thrusts XXXXXX jolts and XXXXXX through his XXXXXXXXXXX lover, her massive XXXXXXX bouncing wildly atop her gleaming, undulating XXXXXXX.

"Mmmmmmmmmggghhhhhhhuuuuuhhhhhaaaa....!"

Phoebe grimaced XXXXXX XXXXXX, somewhere between XXXXXXXXXX bliss and XXXXXX anguish. Her XXXXX-XX-XXXXX XXXXX XXXXXXX quaked as the XXXXXXXX pounded XXXX XXXXX within. Dave could almost XXXX XXX XXXX XX XXX XX XXXX XXXXXX through thinned, weakened XXXX of her XXXXXXX. Her XXXXX XXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXX her body beyond her limits. XXXX, similarly, could barely XXXXXXX himself. The effort to XXXX back his XXXXXXX was excruciating as Phoebe's XXXXX to XXXXX her XXXXXXXXX into the world. They were both XXXXX to the XXXX.

Phoebe body ached to XXXXX her XXXXX, as she XXXXX against XXX faster and faster. The entrance to her XXXXX beginning to give way. "XXX XXXXX, XXXXX! XXX going to XXXXX!" she XXXXXXX through gritted XXXXXX. "XXXX XXXXXXXX! Ohhhh, XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!"

"XXXX!" XXXXX XXXXXX, yearning for her to erupt XXXX XXXX XXXX.

"They're... they're XXXXXX XXXXXXX.. oh my XXXXXXXXX... X can XXXX XXXXX... ouch..."

XXXX XXXXXX harder XXX XXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXXX with XXXXXXXXXXXX as a seemingly endless series of XXXXXXXXXXXXX raced XXXXXXXXXXXXXX her. XXX hair clung to her wet face, her XXXXXXXXXXX wobbled violently as XXXXX approached. In a few moments XXX XXXXX XXXXX within XXXX would be XXXX. She would finally XXXX XXXXX. XXXX XXXXXX lustfully at XXX thought.

"XXXXX!" he XXXXXXXX at XXX.

XXXXXXX leaned backwards, the excruciating XXXXXXXX from her XXXXX growing XXXXXX. "Ggggaaaaaaahhhh!" XXX XXXXXX, the XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XX XXX XXXXX jutting out XXX then receding as XXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXX way to XXXXXXX. "XXXX... XXXX... so XXXXXXXX!"

"XXXXXX faster!"

Her XXXXXXXX XXXX pulsated XXX XXXXXXXX as she obeyed XXXX. Her slippery XXXXXX held onto XXXXX with a death XXXX. "XXXX! XXXX XXX XXXXXXXX it XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX...." she babbled, XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX.

"XXXX!" he XXXXXXXX. XX XXXX these were her XXXX XXXXXXX.

"Just a XXXX XXXXX," XXXX pleaded XXXXXXXXXXX. "XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX! XX XXXX XXXXX them!"

"It's XXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXX!" XXXXX XXXXXXX. "XXXX!"

He XXXXXXX her meat-skin XXXXXX, XXXXXXXX his XXXXXXX into the thin membrane of her XXXXX-XXXXXXX until she XXXXXXXXX in XXXX. "XXXXXX," she XXXXX over the XXXXXXXX XXXXX. "Nnnnngggghhh.... XXXXX XXXXX... XXXXX want... XXXXX out... XXXXX XXXXXXXX.."

"Oooh.... oooh.... mmmmggghhhh..." XXXXX replied.

He XXXXXXXXX to XXXXXX his XXXXXXXX, filled with XXXXXX of the frenzied XXXXXX inside her XXXXXXX XXX pushing against XXX fleshy barriers between XXXX and XXX outside world. The XXXX could not be XXXX back for XXXXX longer - there could only be a XXXX seconds XXXXXX. XXX ran his XXXXXXXX over her XXXX, XXXXXXX XXXXX of XXXXX-hot XXXXX, XXXXXXXX his XXXX between her XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX. XXX tasted of XXXX, XXXX and XXXX.

"XXXXX... XXXXXXXXXX.... XXXXX... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX...."

XXXXXXXXXXX with XXXX and XXXXX, XXXXXXX was XXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXX uncontrollably. XXXXXXXXXX inside ber began to XXXXXX XXXXXX against XXX, XXX controlled chaos XXX XXXXXXXXXXX drawing XXXXXX and closer. They could both XXXX the hot XXXXXXXXXX XXX XXXXXX as the XXXXXX forced XXX open from the XXXXXX out. XXX XXXX was now XXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX between XXXXX, literally on the edge of XXXXXXXXXX its XXXXXXXXX.

"XXX XXXXXX XXX!" XXXXX XXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXX XXXX heartbeats.

Then her XXXX XXXXXXX XXXXX, wider and brighter than ever before and Dave XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXX. A heavy XXXXX of XXXX XXXXXXXX XXXX XXXXX XXXXXXXX inside her engorged XXXXXXXX XXXXXX and XX XXXXXX with XXXXX, penetrating XXXXX.

The XXXXXXX had finally arrived.

XXXXXXX.

"XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!"

XXXXXX XX XXXXX XXXXXXX exploded XXXX XXXXXXXX her XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXX they both grunted XXX XXXXXXXX. XXXX suddenly XXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXX XXXXX XXXX, XXXX XXXXXX XXXXX stretching out frightfully between her XXXXXXXXXX thighs. XX XXX XXXXXXXX XXX XXXX, a spasming XXXXXX of XXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXXXX XXXX XXXXX XXXXXX of her soon-to-be-XXXXXX XXXXX. Her XXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XX XXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX XXXX further and further against the XXXX of XXXX XXXXXXX.

XXX XXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXX, veins in her XXXX XXX tormented XXXXX bulging through XXX XXXXXXX XXX sweat. XXX XXXX XXXXXX once, twice, and then XXXXX both XXXX XXXX exquisite sensuality of XXXXX; X sudden jouous rush of pleasure more powerful than any other XXXXXXX. XXXXXXXXX face XXXXXXXXX XXX XXXXXXXX, then XXXX, then XXXXXXX, then XXXXXXXXXXXX as her XXXXXX snapped back and her XXXXX arched.

XXXX XXXXXXX XXXX inevitable.

XXX moment XXX XXXXXXXX.

XXX XXX-XXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXX XXXXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXXX X XXXXXXX XXX. X chubby XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXX XXX X volcanic XXXXX XXX sweet-smelling, bright orange XXXXXX XXXXXX. XXX warm, wriggling XXXXXX XXXXXXXX XX the soft grass XXXXXXXXX Dave's XXXXX XXXXX, XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX his thighs.

XX XXX XXXXXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXX XXXXXX XX XXXXX XXXX XXXXX hissed XXX XXXXXXX. XXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX, XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX XXXXX an overripe fruit. XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXX XXX a XXXXXXXX XXX XXXXXXX XXXXXXX goo. XXXXX a final roar of ecstasy, XXX XXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXX XXX XXX XXXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXX its way XXXXX XXX X XXXX, XXXX XXXXX out of her hot, XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX with a XXXXX XXXXX.

XXX XXXXX XXX XXX XXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXXX XXXXX XXX XXXXX. XXX XXXXX XXXX XXXXX XX XXXX XXXXX XX XXXXX XXXXXXX XXX XXXXXX. XXXX XXXXXXXXXXX XX XXXXX, XXX XXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX, XXX XXXX XXX XXXXXX...

XXXXX XXXX XXXXXX, XXXXXXXX XX XXX XXXXXXXX XXXXX. Where moments ago had been XX XXXXXXXX XXXX of excited XXXX was nothing but XXXXX, XXXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXX XXX XXXXXX. XXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX was gone, flattened XXX XXXX XXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX. XXXX groin XXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX XXXXX XXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXXX she had held in for so long XXX steaming-hot XXXXXXX XXXXXXX out onto the XXXXX.

XX XXXXXXX XX XXXXXXXXXX, XXXXXXX XXXXX XXX slimy XXXXXXXX XXXX XXXXXXX XXXXX XXX the cooling corpse XX XXX XXXXX. XX sniffed XXXX torn XXXXXX and gored XXX, XXXXXXXXXXX XXX XXXX XXXX allowed him release before she XXXXXXXXXX. Was there anything more XXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXX?

"XXX deserved XXXX."

* * *

Andrew looked suspiciously at the tiny orange capsule held between his thumb and forefinger like a rather undignified butter menthol throat lozenge. "What is this stuff called again?" he asked.

Nigel was flipping through a pamplet entitled JUST SAY "HOW MUCH?" TO DRUGS.

"Ummm. Shadow. Yeah. Shadow. Derived from the Zondorian moon-disc cactii, the resulting serum stimulates the brain so that the latent desires of the subject are isolated, amplied and fed back as vivid sensory dreams."

"So this is guaranteed pleasure?" Andrew sounded doubtfuly.

"Uh-huh." Nigel sounded ridiculously optimistic. "Pleasure however we subconsciously define it. And THIS batch isn't half as radioactive as the last one..."

Andrew put the tablet down and brushed his hands with a disconcertingly-pristine handkercheif. "I might just pass anyway."

"Dave tried with no side effects."

In his arm chair, Dave looked up furiously. "No XXXX effects? XX fucking side XXXXXXXXX? You have XX XXXX XXXXXXXXX kidding XXXXX XXXXXX you pair of XXXXXXXXXXX!"

"Just some mild asphasia, it'll wear you."

"You said that about XXXXXX XXX XXXXXXX XXXXXXX redbull!"

"Did I?"

"XXXX!"

"Yes. Yes I did."

"But the Shadow DID work as promised?" asked Nigel eagerly.

"Hell no, it was all full of XXXs!"

"Exes, huh?" Nigel nodded. "That works for me."

He popped his capsule, smiled happily and then toppled backwards onto the carpet.

"It kicking in, yet, Nigel?"

"Awwww yeah..." Nigel drawled. "I see a beautiful light... and in that light... no, no it can't be... it can't be... India Fisher? Yes, yes it XX! Oh, bring it on Mrs Pollard! I'm ready XXX waiting! OH YEAH! OH XXXXX! XXXXXX! XXXXX! What? No. No!"

"What's XXXXXXX with XXXX?" as Dave idly.

"In Nigel's subconscious? We're better off not knowing."

"No! Andy! Help me! I can see Conrad XXXXXXXX Westmass in a Eutermisan posing pouch! And he's got XXXXXXX XXXXXX with him! XXXXXX! And a ring modulator! XXXXXX! XXX! XXXXX just put the nun's wimple down! XXXXXX! XX don't care WHAT L'da thought of the size of your XXXXXX XXXXXX just not that sort of XXXX! XXXX! XXXXX! XXXX! Oh, wait! There's XXXX David Tennant, I'm XXXXXX he'll save me... no... wait... XXXXX... he's just there to point and laugh at me... XXXXX YOU XXXXXX TENNANT! Just because you bang your hero's daughter who also played YOUR daughter on TV and child services haven't become involved, you don't have the right to judge me!!"

"XXXXX up already, XXXXX!"

"XXXX! XXXX XXX at XXXXXX you despicable XXXXXXX! Mein gott! Here comes Paul XXXXXX Margrs XXXXXX with XXXX an Iris Wildthume glove puppet!"

"Right, that does it!" Andrew snapped, gulping down his own pill. "I've been wanting to do this ever since Horror of Glam Rock!" His pupils dilated then vanished and he swayed on his feet. "Oi! Margrsy! I've got an arsekicking for you! This is for everyone who ever cared about Adric! This is for everyone who ever suffered at Nest Cottage! THIS ONE IS FOR THE XXXXXXX KIPPER!"

"XXXXXX! Yeah! XXXXXX him up, AndXXXXXX!"

"XXXXXX!"

"XXXX!"

"XXXXXXXX!"

"XXXXX? You know what I XXXXXX love about satire?" asked Dave as his companions skipped hand in hand on a voyage to Trip Out City. "WHEN IT'S XXXXX SUBTLE XXXXXX!"



XXX End.

Motivational Posters

It's been a hard time for this blogger and his homies, a dark long weekend of the soul you might say (then again, you probably won't), and I think we all need reminding of who we are, what we stand for, and that we take crap from no one.

And if there is doubt in your heart and fear in your minds, let us all remember:

SPACK OFF!

From BEYOND THE GRAVE (iii)

So, Kyron Ronald Matty Mallett Knopfler Bitchapocalypse III is on the blog slagging off some guy called David.

Who is David? I wrack my brains for an answer.


And then I realize.

David - as in Dave Restal.

Yes. He leapt to the conclusion that Dave Restal is out to get him.

For anyone who knows anything about Dave Restal this will be most amusing.



Especially as Dave IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER!
He is NOT a human being!
HE IS A BOILED EGG ON STILTS!


And then, just to make sure we all know how intelligent, coherent and reasonable Monsieur Mallet is he CREATES A BLOG SOLELY SO HE CAN POST A HATE LETTER!


A hate letter which is a mere FOUR THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-ONE WORDS LONG!

That's more than most of his so-called fiction!
As you can imagine, my ego is crushed to powder at such efficiency and attention to detail from someone who creates a blog solely to slag off someone and they don't even get their name right! I am amazed!

Ronny, baby, what more is there to say?

I have to say that this is the funniest thing I've witnessed since Dylan Moran's "monster" and Jared "No Nickname" Hansen's pre-emptive obituary for me. I have laughed more than in ages, and I laugh a lot.

As Ronny is going to destroy his painstakingly-created blog, I promise to repost his essay against poor Mr. Restal up on this blog IN ITS ENTIRETY!

I trust others will share my mirth.

Oh, Mallet, you joyful little parasite! How can I ever thank you?

Oh, for crying out loud...

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.

FFS Spara!

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...

We Can Be The Angry Hero Summer Heights Boys!

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

Nigel: So, Jamie...

Ja'mie: Ja'mie.

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

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

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

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

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

Ja'mie: Ja'mie!

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

Ja'mie: [flicks hair] Thanks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nigel: About twenty years newer than you, Methusalah.

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

[Nigel stops and stares at her.]

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

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

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

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

[They start walking again.]

Nigel: You're not a native then?

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

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

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

Nigel: Says the Seth Efrikan snob.

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

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

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

Nigel: Ah, racial supremacy.

Ja'mie: I am not a racist!

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

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

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

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

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

Ja'mie: Good.

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

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

Nigel: Sadly, the rest of us do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[They both stop.]

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

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

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

[Nigel holds up his mobile phone.]

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

Ja'mie: What? You filmed me?

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

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

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

[Nigel wanders off.]

Ja'mie: THIS IS LIKE SO TOTALLY UNFAIR! I AM GOING TO SELF-HARM, I REALLY AM!

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

Ja'mie: STOP BEING SARCASTIC!

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

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

Ja'mie: FUCK!!!

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

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

Dave: So I am.

Mr. G: And what are you doing here?

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

Mr. G: Do you know who I am?

Dave: Does it matter?

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

Dave: Oh yeah. Knew THAT.

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

Dave: Dave.

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

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

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

Dave: No, it isn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave: And he could do card tricks.

Mr. G: YES, BUT 19TH CENTURY PRUSSIANS KNEW NOTHING ABOUT MUSIC!!

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

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

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

Dave: What, like your one about the tsunami?

Mr. G: Exactly!

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

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

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

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

Dave: How do you know?

Mr. G: What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Dave grins at him and finishes his lunch.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dave: "Helen"?

Mr. G: HELLEN! Too Ls!

[sudden understanding] Oh. Right. Sorry.

Mr. G: What?

Dave: I get it, sorry for the fuss.

Mr. G: Get what?

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

Mr. G: What are you implying?

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

Mr. G: I am not a girl.

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

Mr. G: THAT DOES IT! You're EXPELLED!

[Dave gets to his feet.]

Dave: You can't expell me, sir.

Mr. G: And why not?

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

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

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

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

[Sitting before him is Jonah Takalua, bored.]

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

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

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

[He finishes the kebab.]

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

Jonah: Puck you, man.

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

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

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

Jonah: That's it.

Andrew: Seriously?

Jonah: Yeah.

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

Jonah: Yeah.

Andrew: And you did it anyway?

Jonah: Yep.

Andrew: Do you feel ashamed?

Jonah: No.

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

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

Jonah: Watcha mean, bro?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Jonah starts to scream.]

Andrew: Sad but true.

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

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

[Andrew turns and breaks the fourth wall completely.]

Andrew: Message recieved and understood, Mr. Lilley?

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

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

Go Mad From the Revelation

Ah, Short Circuit 2 was on Sunday - a film I adored from the first time I saw it as a wee, impressionable bairn. Indeed, its portrayal of the Church (coupled with Nuns on the Run) probably was what turned me off organized religion for life, showing the bigotry, hypocrisy and sheer lack of imagination held by those who believe the world started with talking animals, naked girls being cloned from a guy's rib, and God being too no-fist to build a fence around a tree.

Short Circuit 2 had further effects on my mind. In a way, the central character and I are kindred spirits - wisecracking juveniles who, while being kind a friendly, are not the best when it comes to social situations (though unlike Johnny 5, I have never tried to woo a chick by telling her that "your mother fucks dogs" in Spanish and hoping she'll never translate it...). And like Johnny 5, I've lost my cool, become angry and violent, though my eyes stayed the same colour. I've also ended up lonely, in a corner, sans friends or cheer, trying to distract myself from depression by reading science fiction.

But the most painful part of this film isn't the titular android getting turfed out of art galleries, churches, bookstores and the like for the crime of being different, it's when the villains of the piece try to kill him by smashing him to pieces with fire axes and lead pipes. Seeing this cross between Wall-E and The Young Ones screaming in agony as sparks explode out his bleeding wounds probably made me the dysfunctional neurotic that I am today.

The crucial bit is what happens next. In silence (since his "throat" was slit and his voicebox broken) the now one-armed Johnny painfully hauls himself up, slowly grabs his other arm and rolls away, his "guts" spilling out. Johnny has no friends, no help, no way to even call for assistance and no one would assist him anyway. It would be very, VERY easy to give in to complete despair because, hell, I did when I saw the film, weeping at this unfair turn of fate that's up there with the end of Blake's 7.

But the important thing is what Johnny does.

He drags his dying ass to the nearest Radio Shack and rebuilds him until he's fit enough to defeat the bad guys, cause "A Life Form's gotta go what a Life Form's gotta do!"

And, as I sit before this computer I reflect that this attitude rubbed off on me. Nearby is the USB modem, still an ugly black colour from the fact it was soaked in my hot arterial blood which dried instantly over it. How did I bleed all over the modem? When I was turning it off, of course, so there wouldn't be a stupid hissing beeping noise on the phone line - and I HAD to use a land line since I couldn't handle my mobile. I was thinking THAT clearly, even as the memory makes me shake and nauseous right here and now.

As my parents noted, had I not held it together so well, I'd be dead - no ifs or buts. And maybe, just maybe, it was the memory of Johnny 5 in my dying mind that was what got me out of it alive.

THIS DUDE SAVED MY LIFE.
POSSIBLY.

Of course there are some that might say I'm talking crap and it's not Johnny 5 who saved me but God. In that case, I am willing to compromise:

POPE JONATHON V - NO CHILD MOLESTING GUARANTEED AS HE HAS NO GENITALIA.

Booyah, Bitches!

January of the new year isn't even over and the good news just keeps on coming. I have 85% use of my hand and wrist, the set top box now works on ABC and my apotheosis has arrived.

Hah! In your face, M. Goacher from Colchester - I ain't seen anyone without a degenerative brain dissorder making YOUR scripts into audio drama, let alone complimenting it! Yes, Carribbean (sp?) Blue is finally unleashed on the public!

Well. The first episode.

Well. Half the first episode.

And it's not really the public. Yet. At all.

After deeply frustrating attempts to finally download the bloody mp3, I find myself too terrified to actually listen to it. I tried, but freaked out after the opening credits were the usual late Tennant music rather than the Los Banditos Mexican hardcore rock version I wanted. I mean, the story's not too bad on paper, but what if the actors are rubbish? Or maybe good actors that don't do the material justice (by which exactly what I have inside my own head)? Is the Twelfth Doctor written too much like the Fourth? Are the Corrupters scary? Why the hell did I want mute monsters on audio anyway? Are the colonists annoying? What does Nigel Verkoff/Gelver Koffni sound like? Are the jokes funny? Is the music scary? Am I endorsing self harm and suicide? Is the whole thing too similar to The Waters of Mars? Why did I name it after an Enya song I saw before State of Decay Part Three? Why did I choose a title I can barely spell?

And that bit with the Master (which had to be added for storyarcing purposes), how am I going to be able to bear letting my parents hear that bit? Especially as it's the old, posh "You're a very unimaginative fellow, my dear" Master rather than the cool apeshit version of later years? And corrupting the companion with hypnosis and trying to turn her against the Doctor? Talk about lame! Every part of me wanted Emma to just say "Fuck you, Mr. Beardy, I make up my own mind!" but no, she just goes with it, forgets the whole scene and wanders off never to mention it again. Then again, maybe they didn't do that scene. In which case, what am I worried about?

Well... time to bite the bullock... that's how the saying goes insn't it?

0:48 - No voiceover? Dammit, I'll never prove that this is actually by me...

0:51 - WTF?! Porno muzak?!

1:13 - Dr. Spoon portrayed by Adam Klaus. Chamber, however, sounds exactly like I thought he would. Most perfect casting since Matt Smith

1:23 - A clear difference in American and English attitudes to "drunk acting". He sound schizophrenic rather than pissed!

2:18 - "Is that noise scaring you?" "More like irritates." See, you can tell I wrote this, because my past self taking the piss before my future self can blog about it.

3:32 - "You wouldn't lie to an old man, would you?" sounded WAY more desperate and pitiful in my head rather than Frank Gallagher not giving a shit.

3:41 - My own fault. Americans just don't shout "Oi!" the way English and Australians do. He sounds like she just kicked him in the balls...

4:23 - "Actually..." Is it bad of me to be ridiculously amused at my own material?

4:30 - At last, the Glittergun movies are canon! For years I had this idea that the Cyberwars got romanticized and turned into a blockbuster thriller series, kind of like Lethal Weapon or Harry Potter. I mean, look at how many movies we make about World War 2, and that was pissy little conflict between members of the same species on one planet. It only makes sense. Plus, I like to think it explains the retarded "The Cybermen are dead!" attitude of people, since they're basing their knowledge on history that's been through android focus groups and executive meddling...

4:39 - So they have to wade through empty bottles to get to the door? Kind of like when Family Guy went to Ireland and had to land the plane on a runway of dead marines...

5:36 - Not a bad choice for the Master. Sounds like a VERY stoned Sir Derek Jacobi.

5:45 - Heh. Totally forgotten I'd nicked that bit from The Ultimate Foe novelization by Pip'n'Jane Baker. I bet you no one on the entire planet would have noticed if I hadn't told you all. Still, if Gareth Roberts can pinch Oxyverguramosa from the same source...

5:47 - Guwhatnow? What the hell did he say? Better check the script. Oh. "But it makes no difference". Right. OK. And the lady playing Emma adlibs a bit...

8:21 - Fountain of Waynes ref. Bet no one got that either. They were too busy adding to my rubbish dialogue of this scene - gah, how many mistakes did I make writing this bit? Well, that's presumably where the "last-minute addition" comes into it.

8:57 - WTF?! They kept the Emma Bunting joke in?! The gag that the Doc's companion in Curse of Fatal Death was actually Baby Spice?!? No one spotted that? Man, am I behind the zeitgiest or what? Man, I'm glad I self-censored the bit where the Master asks Emma "Tell me what you want! What you really, really want!" Oh, the SHAME!

9:09 - Yeah, that needed YET ANOTHER "my dear". Couldn't have left it alone, could you...

11:46 - The point is, the Master knew Emma's name without being told. That was meant to merit a spooky musical note or something. Oh well.

12:13 - Wow, a new alternative to the lame "bah-dum-tisch!". The Master makes a witty commet and then suddenly Murray Gold goes apeshit with the neverending drums (coz a bearded sinister ex-friend of the Doctor, frequent user of chameleon arches and corrupter of youths could easily have been Yartek Leader of the Alien Voord without the musical refrain as identification). It was subtle on paper, dudes, I can prove it. Still, the scene is better than I expected, all told. Actors were brilliant. Just what they had to do...

12:20 - SHUT UP, YOU BASTARDS! SWITCH THE BLOODY DRUMS OFF! We're half way through the episode and not even at the third scene! Who wrote this badly-paced drivel? Oh. Wait. Oooh, awkward.

13:21 - Yeah, so I dropped out of 2 Unit Physics after only two weeks. What gave it away?

14:33 - Don't look at me, I never had them finding out the plot from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Plus, music's a bit loud, innit?

15:05 - Oh. The computer's a woman... Cool. (I of course cannot comprehend an AI not voiced by Peter Tuddenham.)

15:13 - Man, Palleen sounds so freaking cute! She is truly the Woobie! If this was on TV, she'd have her own acolytes in GB sigs. by now! You just want to hug her! Imagine if Alyson Hannigan and Nicola Bryant had a baby... Ahem. You can stop imagining them now. Hello? Fine, I'll come back later. And she's not as emo as I feared she might come across as.

16:35 - Yes, only I would be stupid enough to have the Doctor announce "just this once it’s easier to show rather than tell you" in my first audio drama. To the Exposition Room, boy wonder!

17:30 - Nigel's very nasal, but apart from that pretty cool. Except he's supposed to be a bit more cutting. "Not that you have far to go" should be a sneer, not something that sounds like a defensive "Yeah, well, you... you smell!" Does no one watch The Young Ones for how to deliver insults?!

18:19 - Fair enough, that wacky Partners in Crime music might ruin the tense mood I wanted to establish, but it's a judgement call. Definitely would work better if A LITTLE LESS LOUD PERHAPS?!?!

18:34 - Oh. It's "Moore-reece". OK.

19:40 - Man, Palleen needs a hug. I'm an asshole for making her suffer so. Hey, they skipped the "did we skip two pages at once" gag! How... appropriate.

20:40 - I bet no one even hears that joke.

21:54 - Most irritating edit so far. Alexis says he doesn't want to use the teleport because it makes him throw up; Nigel says "tough. But they've cut Alexis' complaint, so Nigel seems to be talking random bollocks. Worse, they kept the punchline to the "defeatist" joke but not the lead-in... Damn it...

22:08 - While I applaud the new teleport sfx, the choice of Vlyn as a sultry Asian hooker... well, it took me by surprise. Nice lisp, babe.

23:27 - Whoa. Very menacing earthquake atmos there. Full props to whoever sampled Krakatoa.

23:53 - Ah. Right. I wanted the CB to sound like the low, long-lasting crackling void in Scherzo. Apparently "Traditional Zues Thunderbolt No. 3" was deemed more fitting. Sigh.

24:57 - Gratuitious title drop! I'm a proper Who writer now! (beat) My therapist would be so ashamed...

26:20 - Hmm. Where I want "spooky" they go for "Matt Smith flying a shark". And my personal pedant complains that there must be better 'TARDIS in distress' noises than the regeneration bits from The Tenth Planet.

27:10 - OK, I started the basic plot in 2005, before RTD did a different story about demonic forces attacking an Earth colony on a distant moon orbiting a spatial anomaly. And then DP use as background music the violins from The Impossible Planet. That's it. RUB IT IN, YOU BASTARDS!!!

27:50 - He's very good, this Doctor. I hope I did him justice.

28:17 - Oh, Palleen, why do you make us cry so?

28:54 - See, when it was a low, menacing buzz in the background, Alexis' "There's that noise again" had spooky gravitas. When it follows a thunderclap and is delivered deadpan... well, let's just say any listeners would assume this an outright comedy rather than the mild horror I was going for.

29:29 - More cuts, but these are good cuts. The plot still makes sense.

30:34 - Shit! If that's the noise the Corrupters make, do NOT listen to this with the lights out...

30:35 - Oh dear. We've run out of episode. And I was certain the scripts were underunning... So, if you think this is a lame cliffhanger I can only say firstly it wasn't my idea and secondly haven't you seen Death to the Daleks? Dude, THAT has some lame cliffhangers! "Bellal! The carpets don't match!" Zeeeooowww!

30:45 - HOLY GRILLED CHEESUS! THEY PRONOUNCED MY NAME CORRECTLY!!!!

31:13 - Why is Maurice getting a credit? He's not in the episode!!

31:22 - I tell you, if by some chance any of my old classmates ever heard this cast list, they'd cack themselves at the "and Eljay Loobens". Guaranteed. It's kind of wierd hearing professional actors reading out private jokes from my life. If you're interested, "LJ" was Mr. Lewis-Jones who ran my high school until one Mr. Lubens took over. See? You had to be there, man. Seriously.

31:36 - I like the voiceover man clearly getting pissed off at the theme music trying to drown him out. But where's the vaguest hint that this is to be continued?!

31:42 - OK, Dr Who, I'll visit your website. Only coz you asked me nicely though.

Well, in reflection... pretty damn good adaption, it had to be said. The music is way too loud, though, and the editing in one scene is atrocious, but the only real complaint I could have is the guy playing Alexis as a one-note gruff prospector. It's not exactly Chip Jamison levels, but he's not as good as the rest of the cast. As for the plot, well, I've never seen my work dramatized before. All I know this is being played as a comedy rather than the horror I intended (albeit a zany Shaun of the Dead style wisecracking horror). Would it have come across as pretentious had everyone played it as scared? Maybe they do, since this episode is generally BEFORE the bad shit starts.

Needless to say, I'd rip this story a new one if someone else was responsible. I mean, the scenes are way too long, the Doctor and pals never get out of the TARDIS in the first episode and we're stuck with a bunch of losers who are clearly xeroxed from a certain unmade sitcom. But even at my harshest, the jokes are good, the acting is of a high standard and the choice of music (if not its volume) is very good. Got some Season 5 tunes in there, bro. Good on ya.

...how long to the next one? I want it now!


WHAT THOSE OTHER LOSERS THOUGHT...

Eric Busby: Wonderful stuff... As good as anything Big Finish ever put out.

Aww.

Gareth Preston (of the mighty fine Fineline Audios): Intriguing first episode. Good performances from everyone in the cast. Excellent build-up to the cliffhanger. Ewen Campion Clarke's writing was enjoyable. Perhaps the music was laid on a bit thickly for my taste but that's a small matter. Looking forward to finding out what happens next.

"Enjoyable"? Oh well...

Eric Busby... again...: Wonderful job by everyone and everything. The acting by everyone was beyond the pale... Whatever that mean... I guess the point I am trying to make its... IT WAS GREAT> I for one LOVED the music used. Gave it a great Murry Gold feel for this series. And I loved the Master from Scream of the Shalka being park of this.

Obviously the whole bit where the Master talks about Utopia went over his head. And using Murray Gold music gives it a Murray Gold feel. No way!

Just Gavin: I read his blog and I do keep intending to listen to the audio, I just never find the time.

Least he's honest.

Jonathon This Rifftrax: Listening to this now. OH SH**. Is that the Master? I am wondering if I am naive in thinking that this new character is the Master. I consider the possibility that it is Dracula instead. And then, at the end of his first scene, he's just getting wet over jailbait, (because he's a villain,) when the Sound of Drums hammers in through the music. Not even generic drums in a new original drumbeat, literally, the drum sample from John Simm's Master theme.
Would it really have been too hard to just get the actor (or anyone with at least one set of knuckles perhaps,) to rap on a table, tapping the wood four times? Obviously, being a guy who just hypothesised and enjoyed the idea of Count Dracula being a permanent crewmember in bondage aboard the Tardis, I don't care in the least for how hazardously unsubtle things can get, and am enjoying this. I'm just looking out for people who have more serious stomachs. Seriouser, weaker stomachs.

The what? The Astral what? THE ASTRAL SEXTANT! YES!! Haha! I'm not even gonna rewind. Go on, say it again. Say that word again. Unfortunately the Astral Sextant is not mentioned again.

OH LORD. THOSE STOCK CLAXON SOUNDS. I was prepared for music from the official TV soundtrack, but I was not prepared for stock effects that are older than I am. For present reference, in case it seems like I'm doing some kind of riff commentary here, I am not. At the claxon I may come down on it like a ton of fat guys, but I love the hilarious cheap sound effect. And I only make a big deal out of its being cheap because it is cheap, and that is hilarious. What this is, is an ordinary commenting on a story. So... I guess for present refence, I am doing a commentary? I just not making fun of it.

I HAVE BEEN LISTENING, TO DOCTOR WHO.

I enjoyed Caribbean Blue. I eagerly await the next episodes. I will definitely gabber about those as well.

...quite.