Thursday, September 27, 2007

NOT NEWS: I am a complete Dick

Okay, posting under a title suggesting that Lawrence Miles was dead was not a good idea, even when I meant to refer to his internet presence vanishing into the ether. That was careless. Doing so when the only person who regularly reads this blog has gone through an utterly shite time by all accounts was blog-suicide.

What's the matter, Jared, is staying funny too hard for you?

I think it's also time to stop being slack to Larry, not least because it's clear he can slap me down with maximum aptitude and eruditeness should someone link him to my abode..

I was quite surprised, I have to say, to have a look at Larry's wiki page, though, and to see that he is only 35 - because, of course, he carries the sort of pent-up anger at everything that I only expect in 50+ year old. Being somebody who writes, rants, and suffers depression, all I can say is that I hope it isn't an image of myself in 15 years...

I would also like to say that Miles has said some very smart, clever things and his brutal honesty is something that is easy to appreciate due to its rarity and purity, and his imagination and ability in his field is beyond question. However, publishing any of this isn't funny, so I'll post one of the occassions where he was completely off his rock:

Look, think of it like this. Eventually, there will be another TV series of Doctor Who. And it will fail horribly, because inevitably it'll be aimed at the kind of fan-targeted SF market that didn't even exist until Star Trek: The Next Generation came along and spoiled everything. Doctor Who only works as a family adventure series, but when it finally comes back you can bet any money you want it'll be like Babylon 5 or something. It'll only last one series, maybe two. So then the TV programme will be dead forever, the license will be in limbo, and nobody will ever want to pump more money into it as a TV concept. Not a live-action TV concept, anyway. But animation's just getting to the point where it's breaking through properly, especially now there's so many computer-generated effects around and people are starting to forget the difference between "real" film and CGI. Pretty soon, British animation companies... the Cosgrove-Halls of the twenty-first century... are going to realize that there's a massive amount of potential in a British Manga-style movement. We're the perfect country to do that kind of thing, to do the European equivalent of Akira or Ghost in the Shell or whatever. And I want to be there when it happens, and I can't think of a better spearhead for the whole thing than an anime version of Doctor Who. I'm thinking ten years into the future here, obviously. - May 2000

Inexcusably Childish Behaviour

After taking my dog for a much needed walk, he returned to the house in a continued state of restless, so ran to the hiding place where it had stowed our faithful and utterly harmless green plastic bucket after ripping the handle from it and making it fairly useless. I seized this off him in a heartbeat, however, deciding that we humans had far more use for it.

I'm very glad at this point that Tom Baker once said "What's the use of being grown-up if you can't be childish sometimes" for it gives me the half-a-modicum of justification that I need for what happened next.

I put the bucket on my head and proceeded to do stupid voices for circa 10 minutes.

The usual suspects, really:

"I find your lack of faith... DISTURBING!"

"This is excellent news, Doctor!"

"Yo mama's goin' on a date, yo got that? A date! We're gonna have fine wine, nice music, we're gonna have a GOOD TIME, dig?"

"Hmm, to have the power to press a button, and then destroy an entire species... I would. AND THROUGH THE DALEKS I WOULD HAVE THAT POWER!!!"


"Helloo, and welcome to... Global Village!"

It scared the shit out of my dog.

What does this say about me? I guess I'll leave it to the Conan-Doyle fans and the psych-students.

NOT In Memoriam of Mad Larry

No he isn't dead - I changed the headline because it was probably the most retarded thing I'd ever written.

Lawrence Miles is closing his blog, of which I only became aware the other day by chance. For one thing, it gives me comfort that there are blogs worse looking and less navigible than mine, but on the other hand it makes me a little sad, because it deprives of Larry's wonderfully endearing raging against various machines. Of course, as he says, it's all there at the moment (in one holy text-sized lump of writing) so feel free to copy the best bits.

Yesterday, though, I just didn't have time to actually look for 'the best bits' - it quickly became apparent that his best bits really are hilarious. A list of positive things to say about Torchwood "if you have to talk to someone who works on the show" is actually bound to be of use when talking to my mate who's a fan. (Though judging from the ratings figures it won't be needed by most people in this country - Hey-OHH!) The problem is that within the page (singular) of The Beasthouse, the resultant madcap souffle is about 50/50 comedic brilliance, and the trademark Larry rant.

I gather from the huge responses that it has gotten in various forms (the most recognisable of which being his response to The Ancestor Cell and his now-permanently-deleted review of The Unquiet Dead) that Larry's Rant can actually be quite popular, though, and if he is to give up posting online some folk may well want the Rant to live on. The great news is, that it's very very easy. Just follow this formula:

[*Non-Sequitur/Pithy Pun/Direct Insult to Reader and-or Rival Author*]

You know what I can't stand? [*Topic selected at random*]. Not to say [*One definition of topic*] but rather [*The most obscure alternative definition*]. It's just that [*Putdown half-heartedly disguised as criticism*]. The problem with it, of course, is [*opinion formed while shaving this morning presented as irrefutable fact*]. And it's been this way since [*Something the reader has never heard of*]. [*Derogatory put-down*]

The thing that really irritates me, though, is that the answer is so bleeding obvious. Rather than taking [*Author with whom you have established rivalry*]'s lead, which would be to [*Verb your lawyers would advise you not to put here*] before [*Something insignificant yet slightly galling said author did once*] - this isn't [*Big Finish/ BBC Worldwide/ BBC Wales*]. No. The answer is to [*Completely incomprehensible series of verbs and impreatives and abstract concepts / Something utterly impossible, described in great depth / Pedantic and lengthy deconstruction of topic which amounts to 'do it my way'*].

I know doubtless [*ANOTHER author with whom you have an established rivalry*] would say [*Something s/he would never say*] at this point, but [*Curt put-down*]. It's that same type of attitude that lead to [*The Holocaust / 911 / Dimensions in Time / Comparable disaster*].

And before you jump up and down shouting [*Thing nobody would ever say*] I want to make it clear that [*Reeeally uncomfortably long and over-zealous dissertation on the fact that you really DON'T want to write for the New Series and it would be a massive strain to be even less jealous of those people who ARE right now - ideally a thousand words or so*]

Now, remember that you can't post this online unless there is no way for people to respond to it on the actual thread, so that there will have to be a mini-furor on OG if you offend anybody somehow. If there is any kind of negative reaction, delete it immediately and never look back.

Though, for what it's worth I totally agree with him that the whole thing about The Enemy being single-celled organisms inside the Klein Bottle made absolutely no sense.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Completely Unnecessary Piece of 7th Doctor deathfic

In response to this post by Ewen, which I saw and instantly thought "Hey! I've done an 8th Doctor deathfic as well!"

However, it turns out I haven't done the logical fic for all fans to write... I actually did the fic that all fans have avoided writing - a 7th Doc deathfic. Which, of course, is pointless because everyone knows how 7 dies.... so I then decided to try and tie up EDA, New Series, and TVM continuity with regard to Daleks/Time Lords (though undoubtedly clashes with dozens of BF stories)... and then shove that in the backdrop while I focus two well-known villains talking for hours and have the Doctor meet a certain character that would give John Peel an aneurysm.

I still like it, especially as it's my only complete piece of fic, but I'm happy to admit that it's more than a little odd...


Prisoners. Hundreds of them. As is standard procedure they were far out of sight... several yards underground in a narrow, reeking metal tunnel that had been crudely bored out of the earth, with no room to move. Nor anywhere they'd want to go if they could.

Creatures from across the multiverse, a veritable menagerie of intelligent lifeforms that had sold their souls to the most diabolic of devils... few could speak any others' languages, resigned to but gape and stare in mute appeal and horror at their fate... but there was one who was of massive intellect, an omni-lingual temporal engineer with a history of violence. He could have talked to all present. He just hadn't opened his mouth yet.

The Master was a grey, tired-looking figure, in tired-grey clothes. They had most likely been black once but any sense of menace they once held had long worn away with the passing of time. The same could be said of his hair, which was now grey, matted and shoulder-length, framing a withered, pale, skull-like face that was hidden underneath his haggard beard and eyebrows. Idly, he cast a glance aside at the next person in line - a stunted and miserable creature in the least functional wheelchair ever seen.

"What are you looking at?" demanded the grey-skinned cripple irritably.

"You," said the Master simply "Is there a problem?"

“Yes! I should not be here I am their creator I made them I do not-”

"Yes, well you are here!" spat the Master "And you've only yourself to blame. Creating the most effective race of killers in the Universe? What were you thinking?" the Master shook his head in disbelief "You not once considered the possibility that a sad old, blind, cripple like yourself wouldn't be a target?"

“You will not speak to me like that!”

"Why not? You're defenseless, now. Ooh, I wouldn't like to think of what they'll do to you in there..."


The Master sighed, and glanced to his left side to see if there was anyone more interesting to have his last proper conversation with. Unfortunately, it was just an Ogron commander. Ogrons were terrible bores and he'd crossed them far too many times to trust them an inch... reluctantly he turned back to Davros, who was continuing his ranting.

"This CANNOT be a unified mission! There will be those who will oppose it. AND I SHALL BE THEIR LEADER!"

"Do be quiet!" the Master said angrily "I do think your biggest oversight in design was not including a 'Volume' dial. I can tell you I'm not looking forward to this trial..."

"What is your identity?!" demanded Davros suddenly "I do not recognise you"

With a smirk the Master stared into Davros' empty sockets "I am the Master, and you will obey me..."

"I do not understand."

"Sorry," the Master mumbled "Old habits die hard. But I am a Time Lord. The greatest Time Lord, in fact. I have effectively conquered the Universe at least half-a-dozen times."

"Bah! If you were ruler of the Universe I would know it!"

"Well, of course you would!" snapped the Master, before speaking slowly and clearly as if to a very young child "You see, I conquered the Universe but couldn't quite maintain control. If not for one rogue factor I would have had success each time..."

"And what factor is that?"

"The Doctor. You may have heard of him. A morally upright moron, who is in other regards unfortunately quite exceptionally intelligent. Sometimes I think his only purpose in life is to frustrate me."

"I can assure you I know the feeling..." growled Davros through gritted teeth.

"So I gathered," said the Master, smiling again, splitting his cadaverous face in half "The Doctor has crossed paths with the Daleks many times... I am surprised he is not a guest under this tribunal, in fact..."

"I believe there are reasons for his exemption..."

The Master finally sat up, an eyebrow raised - for the first time in years he had heard something of interest "Really?"

Davros' face was like a grotesque carnival mask, through a combination of both horrific injuries and the weathering of time. But even in the dim, insubstantial lighting of the Dalek Halls of Justice, there was something... maybe in the way he held himself, the Master didn't know... but he saw that Davros was uneasy.

"The Doctor's interference helped lead to my capture, as you may well be aware..."

"Taking sides in a civil Dalek conflict? That's stupid... even for him!"

"The circumstances were...unusual."

"They always are with him," the Master made a long sigh, his mind drifting off... imagining crushing that smug face, any of them for that matter, with his bare hands. It was one of his favourite images, the curls and teeth collapsing into a blossoming collage of blood and tissue... after a few moments he remebered that Davros was talking to him.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

The agitated Davros banged a quivering fist onto his casing. "GRRR! Even in my last moments of life I am surrounded by incompetents!"

"Oh, just get on with the story, you melodramatic sock puppet!"

Having lost his dignity long ago, Davros had little difficulty in swallowing his pride and soldiering on. "The Doctor's inadvertent help to my enemy's cause has began a political move towards allying with the Time Lords..."

"But that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"Yes. But it is happening. Even now as we speak. Why else do you think this court has been formed?"

The Master furrowed his brow "I thought it was a side-effect of your interference with the mindset of the Daleks... an imbalanced Neuron shift creating a sense of moral obligation..."

"That is the story circulating, yes," hissed Davors "Did you seriously believe it?"

The Master shrugged defensively "It was hardly far-fetched..."

Davros began beating against his casing "I-DO-NOT-MAKE-THOSE-KIND-OF-MIS-TAKES! I-DO-NOT! I-DO-NOT!"

"Very well!" hissed the Master. Much to his relief Davros regained his composure instantly. The long row of prisoners trailing away behind them had started to take an interest in the shrieking cripple, and he wanted nothing to do with any of them... let alone the Dalek guards.

The Master decided a slight change of tack might be in order. "So... the Time Lords are favouring the Daleks? It was not that long ago they tried to erase you from Time itself.."

"Yes," Davros smiled slightly "My creations, however, could not be undone so easily..."

"Hmmph. They could have... if they came to the right man for the job. But I digress," he added quickly, before Davros had the oppurtunity to rant again "What could the Daleks possibly have to offer the Time Lords? The Time Lords have the greatest technology in the universe."

"In general, this is true, yesss...but there are some fields in which we Daleks have felt need to experiment more..."

The Maser raised an eyebrow "Oh, really? Weaponry?"

"Of course,"

"They want your guns... so they're expecting a war?"

"It would seem so."

The Master raised an eyebrow "I really should have been taking a greater interest in the affairs of the High Council. Politics have become far more interesting since my last visit. But... trading with the Daleks..." he bit down on his thumb in thought "Not an easy step to take. These waters would have to be tread carefully... has there been any formal communication?"

"From what I understand, a Gallifreyan emissary is arriving today."

"What?!" The Master was dumbstruck "They must be expecting quite a war to act so rashly... a Time War? Never in our history... never in anybody's history..." A smile crept across his face "But even so... into the depths of Dalek power. They could only send someone... expendable. But dependable at the same time. A reliable agent. And there's only one person who matches that description..."

The Doctor sat, silent and alone in the cavernous interior of his TARDIS, a sad and tired figure. His gaze locked onto the small, clear, domed device perched incongruously on the edge of the console. What was he thinking? How could he have agreed to it? Well, he was pressured into it, it was true, but how could he have allowed himself to be pressured into it? Would they really have put him on trial? Again? Probably. Doubtlessly, really. But he'd been through the nonsense so many times already they would have to acquit him to save some time... he heaved a long sigh. What was done was done. The teleport control could not be dismantled. Rassilon knew he had tried his hardest...

But still... he was uncertain. This mission? What did it mean... not what it was for, he knew that, understood it all very clearly and was trying not to think about it at all, thank you very much...but on a grander scale just what did it mean? In agreeing to work for the Time Lords again... was it the end? Did that mean that he was no longer a Champion?

Something told him the answer was yes. And that same something told him he should probably watch his back.

He glanced around, at the library, the statues, the columns... it was a thing of beauty, that much was true...

"I should have held out for more than a renovation, though..." the Doctor muttered glumly. He wasn't at all satisfied to hear the echo his voice made. No companions. Oh, no. The Time Lords could only be responsible for one piece of cannon fodder on a mission like this...

The room shuddered. He'd arrived. The Doctor somberly adjusted his brown coat, and slapped his trusty straw hat onto his head. Then he pulled his most sincere, diplomatic smile and walked out the door.

The instant he'd stepped out he nearly had a heart attack at what welcomed him.





The Doctor smiled feebly "Yes, it was lovely, thank you. I'm the Doctor by the way."


"Oh... we have?"


"You don't say?"


"Well obviously!" the Doctor realised he hadn't altered his expression since the conversation began - he lowered his eyebrows and stretched into a stiff, fake, smile; hoping it would look sincere. If the Daleks could even tell..


After an uncertain pause the Doctor nervously asked "Did you want me to laugh?"




*AT-EASE! AT-EASE!* chanted the Dalek's small but zealous retinue.


"Well, I've always said you can achieve anything if you put your mind to it." The Doctor tried to ignore the unblinking eye of the Diplomat's eyestalk... it felt like it was boring into his brain... "So," he began, aware that the silence was not going to be abated "You want me to see your Justice system at work, then?"


*FOL-LOW! FOL-LOW!* chanted the surrounding Daleks. After the Doctor appeared hesitant they haltingly added *IF-YOU-PLEASE*

The Doctor started to follow. Briefly he wondered if he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

"So... this is all an elaborate act?" asked the Master "The Daleks are simply seizing the opportunity provided by your defeat to revise their image? They really think they can appear civilized? After all that they have done?"

"It is very cunning. Indeed... I wish I had thought of it myself. The Time Lords are the only true rivals to Dalek Supremacy."

The Master snorted. "I think your pride in your own creations is a little...overzealous. But at any rate, it will certainly be interesting to see the outcome."

"That is assuming you live to see it," Davros whispered coldly.

"Don't worry about me," the Master said with a chuckle "I've never let a small thing like death stop me. But you, well..."

He broke off and looked over Davros' shoulder. Hesitantly, Davros rotated his chair around slowly, and was not surprised at all to see a Dalek staring him in the face.


The Doctor noted that the Trial Chambers had a glass ceiling, and many Daleks had gathered to look down into it. They seemed to be under the impression that justice was a spectator sport.

There was a long, loud groaning as the grand doors slid open, revealing a shrivelled, ancient grey-skinned creature. Half-man, half-dalek.

"Davros," said the Doctor flatly. Not for any particular reason. He watched as the figure was escorted into the centre of the room without a flicker of emotion. No observer could have guessed the thousands of feelings and thoughts running through his mind.


It was the Supreme Dalek himself, a fifteen-foot tall monstrosity in the centre of the room that had spoken in booming tones. It was surrounded by tiered rows of Daleks in individual capsules that formed the 'jury'- the Doctor idly thought they looked a little like stacks of egg cartons.

"Not guilty!" Davros tried to shout his words to echo through the chamber, but his body was old and decaying, so he managed a fairly feeble rasp.


"In that I am no common criminal. I demand the immunity of the court!"

*ON-WHAT-GROUNDS?!* roared the Supreme Dalek furiously. The Doctor found himself covering his ears, but quickly removed his hands to hear Davros' next words.

"I am your creator! I made you! Without me you would not exist!"


"I am your God!"


"Wrongs? I showed you force! Power. The Daleks are so superior to all other beings in the cosmos that it is only against yourselves that you can truly face any adversity - and without adversity you cannot grow."


"The one fault - I made your minds too precise, too logical. Adept at science, yes... but the science of war is altogether different. Logic does not enter the equation so much as any general would like. And if nothing else, you have proven that you have short memories. Not to remember the Movellans..."

The Doctor, watching high above could sense the change in the room, could feel the rising static of Dalek minds firing with passion. Davros had struck a nerve - they would never forget the Movellans.

"A primitive, simplistic race of rogue robots designed with pure functionality in mind by the once-mighty Cetenes. Faulty programming and poor fail-safes had a high cost, though - their planet was wiped out overnight, and the Movellans armed themselves with weapons and knowledge. The knowledge to manufacture themselves in great numbers. The knowledge to breed, to survive. In stolen crafts and ramshackle operations they terrorised their native system, and soon conquered it. But they were desperate to survive. Desperate... and weak."

There was a loud bang as Davros slammed a fist against his console.

"And they brought your *empire* to it's knees!"

At these words the Gallery broke out into frenzied screams: EX-TER-MIN-ATE, EX-TER-MIN-ATE, EX-TER-MIN-ATE!

The Doctor went cold. Things had not changed that much...

"Eh, you tha Masta!"

The Master gritted his teeth. So it was an Ogron he knew after all. Commander... Shu'gak? Novf'dok? Or one of their fifteen matter.

"I'm sure have me confused with somebody else."

The Ogron grinned, revealing black gums and yellow teeth. "No m'stake. You change d'face, b't know 'o you is."

"Really? Very clever of you."

"Nat really. 'Eard you talkin' to d'cripple mom' ago," the commander grinned again.

"So know we've re-acquainted ourselves what's next? I suppose you want to beat me, break some of my limbs, something vulgar like that?"

"Nah, nah, nah!" the Ogron shook his face furiously "Had a good chance t' shoot ya in d'back fiddy years 'go. Me own fault for not takin' it, eh? 'Sides, ya get yo'selve kill'd in couple'a'min 'nyway."

The Master sneered "Well I can't imagine you'll fare much better."

"Oh, nah. I gettin'out. I only 'ere cos I was wid Davros' lot, but 'twas only d'money."

"This is a purge, you idiot monkey," he spat with contempt "I doubt anyone will get out alive."

The Ogron gave a harsh, barking laugh. "Dey need c'mmanders. D'daleks don' like to tell it but Davros got 'em bad - lickin' dey woun's now. Dey need c'mmanders."

The Master frowned. "Why? The Daleks are going to war, too?"

The Ogron gave his grin again "Y'could say that. Y'could."






The lights of the hundreds of Daleks flashed, on and off, at varying speeds. The Doctor noted with irritation that the glass in front of his face was beginning to fog up. This was affecting him a lot - but should it? Just one sentient, just one... he'd seen so many die. He had caused so many to die... and yet this one being... this one evil little being that he had tried to kill himself not so long ago... It wasn't right. He hadn't felt this way for a long time... so very long...

There was a long electronic tone that thundered around the large chamber. A verdict had been reached.



The Dalek sentinels moved forward, and herded Davros into the large Extermination Cell set up on a dais opposite that of the Dalek Supreme.

The Doctor, however, had seen enough. He turned his back on the frenzied cries of the Daleks, and walked away...

"Dey 'lmos' done," said the Ogron, grinning again "Be yo'turn soon!"


"Last request?" breathed Davros "A last request?"

His shaking hands balled into tiny, impotent fists. With his last ounce of strength he bellowed as loud as his faltering throat would allow "YOU ARE NO CREATIONS OF MINE!!!"


The Diplomat General of the Daleks had found itself caught up within its sterilised emotions, watching The Creator being torn apart cell by cell in the Extermination Cell as his electronic vocal chords screeched in agony - indisputably a piece of history in the making - that he had forgotten to focus on The Doctor. Every Dalek knew about the Doctor - some even doubted that he could be a true mortal being - so it was nearly worried. Nearly because of the various emotive suppressants flowing into its brain, but even so it knew it had reason to be concerned. It moved at Maximum Speed, seeking the Doctor, to see if he had somehow pulled out a undetected Bendalypse charge and was planning to destroy the entire building, or some other anarchic acts...

So was very surprised to find the Doctor, head in his hands, rocking on his heels in a corner.

As he was trained in his new and unusual posting, the dalek diplomat vigorously scanned. There was no evidence of irregular fluid leakage - which he had been told was the most certain sign of distress from hominids, though breathing was irregular and neural activity seemed turbulent. All this data told the dalek to attempt to be 'discreet', as the term was.. however the concept was never thoroughly explained. At any rate it self-consciously lowered the wavelength of its vocal units to what was supposedly a more 'soothing' voice.

"It's over..." the Doctor muttered, head still cradled.

The Diplomat General wobbled uncertaintly. *YOUR-VI-SIT-HAS-BEEN-SA-TIS-FAC-TORY?*

A minute raising of the head, a small acknowledgement of the new presence "As much as it ever could be," he said darkly "I... felt his pain"


"Yes... but it's like blood from a wound... once the skin's broken... I can feel death. Do your legends mention that about your old friend?"


"Well, maybe they should. I... feel death. But... it hasn't been like that. For years. Until now. Do you know what that means?"

*NO* It was an utterly honest response.

"It means that this really is the end."

*YOU...* The Diplomat's mind was working overdrive to think of an appropriate and polite response to what was essentially gibberish *YOU-WISH-TO-END-YOUR-VI-SIT-HERE?*

The Doctor nodded, his eyes pools of misery. "You have no idea."

The harsh laughing of the Ogron commander - whatever the idiot's name was - was the only sound as the Master waltzed boldly into the judication chamber, graceful in spite of looking like he'd been pulled out of a gutter.

Records of that day presented to the Time Lord council stated that he listened calmly and quietly as his list of evil crimes had been read out. This was a complete lie.

As the crimes were rung out - first the usual suspects: mobilization, dishonour of treaties - he chuckled. Then when the charges began to mount in extravagance - planetary irradiation, abduction of alien races, alleged genocide, theft of astral bodies, paradox incursion - he began to laugh out loud.

*SI-LENCE* called the Bailiff

It became apparent that he would not stop, so the list continued, with the Court disregarding The Accused's hysterics. They had amassed a catalogue of all of the Master's recorded crimes, and it was very extensive. Some accounts say it took half an hour simply to speak them. And by the end the Master had fallen to his knees and was wheezing like a steam engine.

"Oh, dear me!" he said, wiping away tears "I forgot about that last one... but still, even you can't say the Foamasi didn't have it coming!" But the Master, like a magician somehow casting a sleight-of-face, had soon wiped the grin entirely, his cat-like eyes glimmering with passion. "Sadly, your petty list of my atrocities was missing one major infringement... well, actually I lie, because there are HUNDREDS of wrongs I remember but no others now live who could possibly accuse me. You see, apart from the Genocide of the lonely, peaceful Trakenites, Political Disruption of the Traken Union and Assassination of the Keeper of Traken - trivial misdemeanors by my standards, I'm sure you will agree - I also committed joint charges of Murder and Theft against Tremas, Consul of Traken!"


"Oh, it will be clear enough... once you know what I stole from him. Do you wish to hear it?"


A small chuckle "I have always enjoyed a captive audience..."


"Very well." The Master took this opportunity to pause, and relish the tension building in the air. Idly, he glanced skywards through the glass, and was disappointed see empty space where the Doctor should have been. Ah, well, a reunion could wait...

"I stole his body. It was not a particularly good model, though it served me well and came with especial sentimental value to a certain young lady. And you see it even now! All you will achieve with this farce here today is the long-delayed cremation of a dead man's body which I'm sure even you witless drones can see is far past its prime!"


"This is pointless, don't you see that?" the Master spat at them, his eyes growing wide "You threaten a dead man with execution!"


"No," he paused again, stroking his chin "My defense is that I have powers greater than you realise. And that if you kill me now - I will return. I will return stronger than ever before. And I will ensure that every last one of you is wiped from existence, confined to the realm of legends and fairy tales." He grinned like a shark "It shall only be small, bed-wetting whelks of children that shall ever fear you again!"

The Dalek Supreme raised one of it's large appendages in a signal, and instantly in response the Bailiff fired at the Master's left leg. It burst into a white fire but in seconds fizzled out again, leaving nothing but a carbon stump which soon crumpled into dust, sending the Master sprawling onto the floor. The pain would have been unbearable - the Master lay with firmly clenched teeth, his breath in strong hisses, sweat running down his weathered face - but soon he was laughing again. Not with hysteria, but with joy.

"That's the spirit!" he cried "Yes! Cast aside the ludicrous facade and acknowledge yourselves! Your cruelty, your malice, your hatred... become what you were made to be!"


"This trial, this court.. your entire "Supremacy"... just a means to an end. Very clever... for Daleks, that is."


The grin vanished from the Master's face. "Not quite."

He raised himself up onto his elbows, and firmly grasped the stump of his leg with both hands. Then he began muttering in strange words that no Daleks could remember, and that did not appear in the court records. He then breathed in deeply and... there was a noise. A very strange noise that you'd know if you heard it (but you probably never will) that was the sound of muscles incubating, gestating, and maturing in seconds, mingled with the noise of bone growing and skin spreading, at thousands of time of the speed it would ever normally happen. Within a minute he had a leg - a red, raw leg with veins that looked like hoses and only half a foot, but it was still a leg. A leg where there'd been nothing but thin air just moments ago.

Shakily, the Master stood on his latest abomination.

"More than just a Time Lord, my friends," he said proudly, surveying the whole court in one gaze, noting the sense of uncertainty in the air, the electronic residue of thousands of minds struggling to make sense of what they had just seen... "That is the conclusion of my defense."


"Yes. And that may well prove to be your greatest failing."


The psionic network between the Dalek Supreme and his court was activated once again - the data was transmitted to each member, their assessment passed, that data was passed on, relevant arguments were passed back... it was an incredibly complicated procedure in even simple cases.

But the Supreme Dalek spoke again in precisely 2.1 seconds.



The Master nodded knowingly, and strode into the Extermination Cell. "This is where you want me, isn't it?" he asked innocently.


The Master hadn't expected this. For a moment he didn't know what to say... but it was a very short moment.


The Doctor winced "It was callous, brutal, immoral, and a parody of true justice. So I'm sure the High Council will approve."


The Doctor shrugged glumly. "Well, that's life, isn't it? Or existence, rather. Did you know every planet wants to be flat? Every planet. That's why mountains sink. But when the mountains sink they push the plates, and when the plates his other plates they make new mountains. It goes on forever, like ironing a shirt and getting it wrong. Isn't that depressing?"

There was only silence in response. He was hardly surprised - the poor ruthless, killing machine had only been given a crash course in how to have a real conversation. With another sigh he reached into a pocket and pulled out the TARDIS key. Back to Gallifrey it was. Like a lapdog. That was beyond depressing.

But before he reached the TARDIS a voice rang out behind him: *HALT! HALT!!*

He froze dead in his steps, the key fell from his hand, jangling as it hit the metal floor below. So this was it? The end...?


After a few moments the Doctor realised he wasn't going to die after all. He didn't know what to think of that.

It wasn't at all long before the Master's ashes were swept up and given to the Doctor, and he was informed it was his duty to the deceased to deliver him safely to Gallifrey.

And then he did understand. This was the end. He was in a world that had no need for champions. A world that would soon be torn apart, with him in the middle.

Politely he farewelled those who had always been his enemies, and he knew would soon be his enemies again, and left Skaro.

It came as no surprise, that within 12 hours of relative time he had been killed. Time had surrendered her champion.

End Note: Oh, and reading it again the suggestion that the Master somehow manipulated the events of the Time War to deliberately ensure the Daleks' destruction is now nonsensical bollocks of the highest order thanks to The Sound of Drums - unless, somehow, he could manipulate events from within the Eye of Harmony, and lost his memory when the Time Lords revived him. But that's the sort of continuity back-flipping that should only be used when discussing broadcast episodes rather than fanwank extravaganzas. Remember, I wrote this back when the Master was definitely never, ever coming back.

Attack of the Cybermen: Deleted Scene?

In all likelihood, yes, very deleted. This is a scene ostensibly from Episode 3, that I like but probably fits the rest of a story like Bryan Mannix's pants fit Alan Brough. As always, I will inform you why the following is crap, just in case you can't see it for yourself...

I wanted to do a tribute scene to just how frigging retarded UNIT could be, and were, during the Pertwee era of the show. Specifically, the late Pertwee era when they spend a bewildering amount of time in plain clothes, gasping in shock at stuff, being made fun of by basically every irritating guest star and generally being prats.

This is problematic, as a harking-back to how utterly, incredibly pathetic they were circa 1973 is a bit odd, when the rest of my story tries to re-invent them a little bit, as people who actually understand and know how to fight aliens. And Episode 3 is an odd point for this particular piece of tomfoolery. Of course, it's small-scale compared to the indignities of The Green Death and, in their defense, they have just lost their base to the most terrifying of alien menaces.

Anyway, here it is:


(The same street-side cafe that the Doctor and Peri were at earlier - now their seats are occupied by Larkhill and Russell. They are both sans-caps but in their slightly grubby fatigues, staring into the distance. However, they attract no attention - this is a place that has had the Doctor and his technicolour dream coat earlier in the day, after all...)

LARKHILL: It's strange, isn't it?

RUSSELL: What is?

LARKHILL: All these people here. To them this is just another day. Another day of... bills. Working hours. Commuting. Petrol prices. Normal things. We live in different worlds, Lieutenant. Right now I almost wish I could live in theirs..

RUSSELL: You won't in about half-an-hour's time.

(Larkhill nods sombrely)


(Carver emerges from inside the cafe, awkwardly balancing a cup of tea that is filled to the very brim of the cup. She manages to navigate to the table, though, and looks suitably serious when she addresses Larkhill)

CARVER: Ma'am. Command appreciate the level of emergency..


CARVER: But... there's no way they can spin an airborne payload being dropped onto Deltech.

(Carver sits herself down.)

RUSSELL: I can't say I'm particularly surprised...

LARKHILL: What else did they say?

CARVER: Colonel Crawford will be here tomorrow to assume command of operations in the city.

LARKHILL: Tomorrow? We've got to deal with this now. We can't just sit around..

(She trails off as Carver sips her drink.)

LARKHILL: Is that tea?

CARVER (deadpan) The phone was paying customers only, ma'am. Did you want me to get you one?

LARKHILL: Damn it all to hell, we're a professional organisation!

CARVER: Well, so are they, ma'am. Command expected you to make the call, ma'am.

RUSSELL: Rank has it's priviledges, Corporal. Like not looking a complete fool in public. (Looking to Larkhill) Fall out?

(Larkhill nods. They all get up to leave and gradually begin walking down the street.)

CARVER: So what now, ma'am?

LARKHILL: I've got command of all forces in the city for the rest of the day and I intend to use it. We're going to call in the Battersea barracks - that's at least two dozen good men. First things first, though, I need to get ahold of whichever Regular Army stooge shows up at Deltech first and take command from them. It shouldn't be hard - only an idiot would want it.

And then there was meant to be a bit where Carver asked about leaving a tip, but that was WAAAY too goofy so that's gone.


Saturday, September 15, 2007

Mr Saxon Cannot Be The Master

Not too long ago in OG, someone started what I thought was a fairly reasonable and endearing little thread, encouraging the possibility of a (decently-written) multi-Doctor story. The fellow cited as evidence for the possibility of this, the fact that the production team and people on OG had firmly denied the possibility of so many things in the past that had since happened: companions from the old series would never appear, the Cybermen would never be brought back, we'd never get flashback scenes to Gallifrey and, the big one, the Master would never ever ever, never ever ever be brought back. And, of course, all of this has happened.

However, this thread was swamped in the miserable po-faced killjoys that OG breeds like oh-so-many rats. Yes, the vegetarian Englishman demographic of argumentative arseholes who like nothing better than to tear down someone who's high on life. They barged in and labelled the original poster a complete moron, because NOBODY AT ALL (in their words) had argued these points. To someone with an actual memory (such as myself) this raises an eyebrow or two, because the OPer was right. Not only had all of those things been dismissed as impossible, many had official statements from the production office claiming that they wouldn't happen. In fact, I would wager the same arseholes bringing the multi-Doctor dreamer down, were some of those that screamed the loudest that the Master wouldn't come back. (They're certainly screaming loudly against the Rani now - poor Rani, what did she do?)

I think the retarded things that fans say, with an undue amount of forcefulness and imagined authority, should be kept for posterity, and to remind people that, fuck yes, there can be a multi-Doctor story someday.


Has anyone else noticed that the splitting of the atom has been referenced three times so far in series 3?

Okay, a minor one, but from people speculating about story arcs. Another one cited was the INCREDIBLE repetition of the phrase "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.."

Bad Wolf has fucked fandom over terribly...

The BBCi trailer apparently (I managed to miss it :( ) features a scene of a giant crab (what the Macra look like in Gridlock) next to what looks like the deaging device from The Lazerus Experiment. If it is the Macra, and the deaging device, the scene could feasibly be from this episode, as this episode is set in the same time as The Lazerus Experiment.

Yep. Some people were rumouring that the Macra will be the surprise menace in Utopia. After appearing in Gridlock. Though the guy was also confused enough to think the episode was on 21st Century Earth...

I wonder if it's worth mentioning in the article that, logically, the professor can't regenerate into Mr Saxon, since Mr Saxon's campaign to be PM is already underway?

Some people are astonishingly unable to realise, even after forty years, that the show is about time travel...

The piece d'resistance, however, is Levinesque in its authority. My favourite quote of the year:

Mr Saxon cannot be the master. He died, like all time lords the master can only regenerate 13 times. That is why the master was fighting with him all the time because the master wanted to take his regeneration energy. And for all of those people who go "there's only been six masters" the first official master viewed on our television was the penelutimate incartion. The only point of the master in the doctor who movie possessed a human body not another time lord so only had one, let alone he was thrown into the eye and obliterated. So this debate isn't just about whether its him or not it's what shows should be used in conpleting a full doctor who enclopidia/wiki. And the anagram thing, the only reason torchwood was an anagram link is when russell t (blessed is his name) when doing audio stuff was playing around with anagrams he came up with torchwood. Is Bad Wolf an anagram i think not so ha

WARNING: Article becomes ludicrously nerdy from this point onwards...

Incidentally, on the subject of wikipedia madness, I had been unaware before seeing the page that "Mister Saxon" is an anagram of "Master No. Six" Fair enough... but that means there were five previous Masters in the classic series... who could they be?

If you answered Roger Delgado, Peter Pratt, Geoffrey Beevers, Anthony Ainley and Eric Roberts (shudder) then you were correct. BUT not to Wikipedia - they insist that since Beevers was playing the same incarnation as Pratt, he is thus as canon as Richard Hurdnall. *Gasp* But that leaves one incarnation short.. whom do they state fills that space?

Anyone with an embarassingly extensive knowledge of the show will now be cringing or weeping at the patheticness of these souls and crying out "NOT FUCKING GORDON TIPPLE?!?"

Yes. Fucking Gordon Tipple. Or "the guy who you can see silhouetted for literally two seconds at the beginning of the TVM". That guy who could just be a cheap CGI effect for all that it matters. He is, without a doubt, the single-most obscure person involved in Doctor Who - the guy who changed the water in Nabil Shaban's tank probably gets more recognition.

So in short, Wikipedian Whovians are unbelievably desperate to show off their knowledge of obscurities in the show, at the expense of Geoffrey Beevers, who actually had dialogue and delivered it well.

(Incidentally, I think if anything neither Beevers or Tipple count to make the six Masters, and that the missing one is the Derek Jacobi incarnation. That only makes sense, surely)

Friday, September 14, 2007


They said it couldn't be done
But that don't mean it ain't the type o battle that just couldn't be won

-Some song I can't remember the title of

The Next Life = done. Finished. Caput. Bye bye! Though I can't say it's been pleasant.

In fact, looking back, I don't even know why I have it. I just remember this:

ME: Hey, Paul Darrow's in a BF. Is it any good?

EWEN: Oh, god no it's fucking terrible. It's like they let in a heap of brain-dead six year olds to write the scripts for a week. It made me want to knock my brains out with a claw hammer. Unbelievably bad. Next time I see you I'll give you a copy.

Mysterious. But not as baffling as the cliffhangers...

1 - Rassilon shows up and talks to Charley's mother, in spite of the fact that she's nothing but a hallucination. He assures that " Contrary to all appearance, [Charley's] mind is entirely under my control". Why exactly this is meant to impress us when Rassilon has already appeared in the story is truly mysterious.

2 - A bloke with a supposedly French accent yells out that the Doctor has murdered a young girl he just passed over on his elephant. The fact that the surrounding crowd is stupid enough to believe this suggests that their intelligence is insufficient to actually endanger the Doctor in any shape or form.

3 - Paul Darrow is pleased to see C'rizz. I actually realised in the next episode that the shock reveal was the fact that Darrow's character is C'rizz's father - this is surprising that the bloke with the coolest voice in Britain could begat the bloke with the most irritating, but isn't that big a shock reveal. Besides, the fact Paul's playing a religious nutter means that when he says "my son" doesn't immediately connect the phrase to its literal meaning.

4 - Daphne Ashbrook says she wants to have hot, sweaty sex with Paul McGann. Hmm.

5 - C'rizz reveals that he HAS SOLD OUT THE DOCTOR TO RASSILON! For those who weren't listening in Episode 2, when he basically said "You know what, Rassilon, I feel like selling the Doctor out. You interested?" Most listeners will actually be more distressed at the fact that Darrow's character has just been killed off in a very unceremonious and shoddily-directed way, due to him being the only endearing character in the piece.

6 - The Doctor walks into a room filled with Davros and an army of Daleks. HOLY SHIT, that's an actual cliffhanger! Oh, wait, that's the very end... *sigh*

The story really beggars my belief with so many odd decisions.

You have a 'hunt' for the Doctor arranged by angry locals... but the 'hunt' lacks any sense of speed and danger, as the Doctor walks along sharing exposition with Daphne Ashbrook, pausing only to loudly discuss things he sees with her for the benefit of the audience. The hunt is later revealed to have been nothing but an insane ploy by a badguy that makes no sense, and thus a complete waste of an episode.

Also, who thought it would be mature storytelling to get Daphne Ashbrook to play Perfection, and then have a run-in with Charley. Because I swear, there is at least a whole episode's worth of Charley and Perfection yelling their brains out at each other with shallow insults, while everyone else presumably stands about quietly. most bewildering of all is the scene where Guidance's monologue about his plans for the Church are actually interrupted by the two girls arguing for a couple of minutes, before then continuing as if the interruption never took place! And, am I really the only one who thinks it a teeny-weeny bit sexist for the two woman to immaturely hurl insults at one another due to liking the same guy?

And what's with bringing back Zagreus? Somehow I don't think BF fans desperately wanted to hear that poem again... "Zagreus sits inside your head, Zagreus sleeps among the dead, Zagreus sees you in your bed, and eats you when you're sleeping." The revelation brings about incredibly camp dialogue as well - in Zagreus, the titular story, he seemed restricted to yelling out "SHIP!" and "I AM ZAGREUS!". Now he gets gold like this exchange:

"I didn't really buy into your story of re-populating the Universe..."
(in mockney accent) "Ya di'n Adam 'n Eve it?!"


Keep really is the biggest problem. Apparently he is the creature created by Charley and the Doctor in Scherzo. That makes no sense. On many levels. His 'French' accent (though it varies from English to Russian to Breakfast Radio Indian, with only a couple of stops at French on the way) is apparently derived from Charley, who can speak fluent French thanks to her uncle. Yet she doesn't have a French accent, and neither does the Doctor. Also noticeable is the fact that neither the Doctor or Charley are gestaltic entities capable of shape-shifting, expanding, and controlling other lifeforms, but these are abilities that Keep has in abundance, in addition to being unable to die. Yes, he can't die. Impressive given that he seemed to be dead at the end of Scherzo. Hmm.

Keep's plan makes even less sense than he does - he takes over a young girl to track the Doctor. Then kills the young girl and blames the Doctor for the death against all evidence so a hunt will start for the Doctor. This is to lead Keep to the Foundry - how does he know the Doctor will go there, though? He has a whole island to run through! It's also later revealed that he actually WAS the villagers following him... so why did he need a pretense to hunt the Doctor?

This leads to even more inconsistencies in Keep's existence... how can his entire plan be based around the idea of hunting the Doctor when asking Guidance for his advice reveals that he doesn't understand the justice system - this suggests Guidance was in on the plan but we later learn that he wanted to find the Foundry before Keep. Why is he worried about the Doctor killing him when it's later established that he can't die? Why is he so easily humiliated by the Doctor when he serves up a meal of worms and still-living beetles, aiming purely to disgust the Doctor, but has to eat some himself and is nearly sick - if he's a gestalt that absorbs life, logically it should be second nature to him! His behaviour suggests that Keep spent nearly the entire story playing dumb extremely well - but I truly have no idea what he had to gain from any of this crap.

This leads to undoubtedly the most pressing question of THE NEXT LIFE: how a story can have so many villains, and yet lack any credible ones.

Guidance is the easiest to take seriously, but is fundamentally unambitious and not very bright. He wants to find the Church of the Foundation and then... do something? He only seems to want the universe to end, which it will do anyway.

Keep, as I've said, is a terribly acted and seemingly moronic French shape-shifter. Despite having an evil plan to conquer all of existence, there are no moments to convince you of any true power because he spends most of the story 'pretending' to be an effeminate retard.

Zagreus..well, it's fucking Zagreus, people...

Rassilon is astonishingly ineffectual in every possible way, with Russell steadfastly refusing to give him any vaguely readable dialogue. The Kro'ka is a nerdy sounding bloke (though he DOES start sounding like Zagreus in episode six for some reason) who giggles a lot and generally gets all the dialogue that was deemed to crap for Rassilon to say - apparently he was the villain for most of the arc as well!

C'rizz goes without saying. But I'll say it anyway: he sucks.

Something Ewen pointed out in his piss-take of The Next Life, but which I seriously couldn't believe could be true, is that all these villains kill each other, with no interference from the Doctor. Yes, all of them. Guidance gets his eyes torn out by Keep, Zagreus throws Rassilon and Kro'ka into the dawn of the divergent universe, and Keep strangles Zagreus while the Doctor pisses off. The Doctor only wins because he took so long to get to his own TARDIS. Un-sodding-believable.

In fact, throughout the story the Doctor does incredibly little, except at some unspecified points work out Keep and Perfections' secrets and telepathically begging the Kro'ka save him from lava. Sigh.

If The Next Life had simply been a freakishly-poor story in the BF schedule it still would be remarkable for its sheer terribleness. But presented as a major 'event' story for the range? Well... all you can do is laugh.

I did. Quite a bit actually. Certainly not at the bits they intended, but I did laugh.

In fact, this audio may well have me re-considering Doomsday's current title of "worst piece of Doctor Who ever conceived"...

EDIT: Oh, I forgot to go into detail about how ridiculous the end of this frigging thing was. After all of the badguys kill each other off in excessively stupid ways, the Doctor is left with a clear escape route seconds before the divergent universe collapses. It's at this stage C'Rizz decides to be a complete dick and correct Charley's grammar. The Doctor gets really, really pissed off at this point and just rants ad nauseum at C'Rizz and Charley for not getting along, and decides that unless they go all emo in the next minute he'll just let them all die along with the universe.

C'Rizz and Charley thus come out with the most forced character-building crap ever in any show, before the Doctor is satisfied and leaves. Next time we hear them, though, they're still insulting one another over nothing. Grr!

Most perplexing, though, is Russell obviously thought that Keep wasn't enough of a two-fingered salute to the brilliance of Scherzo, and thus plagiarises a massive chunk of the story at the end, as Kro'ka and Rassilon now take on the roles of The Doctor and Charley respectively, trapped in the experiment. Yes, just in case Rassilon hadn't lost enough credibility. And when I say 'massive chunk' I mean it. At least three minutes of somebody else's work to pad out the ending. I had to scrape my jaw off the floor.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

I knew I should have gone on Nerds FC...

That was my first thought when I read this article on NineMSN:

In what appeared to be a Australian remake of ‘Revenge of the Nerds’, a throng of busty bikini babes descended upon a group of geeks at Bondi beach yesterday.

Must... not.. make... Chris Hale in-joke...

Big Brother model Krystal Forscutt — perhaps the bustiest of them all — led the charge of 30 models hunting the chuffed young men from SBS reality series Nerds FC.

They were hunting the deadliest game of all...

Okay, so now you should see the obvious joke in this entry's title. But wait... that's when I looked closely at this picture...

Yeah, just lower the angle of your eyes on that picture about two degrees.

I'm serious, just lower them. YOU CAN DO IT!

Right, you seeing it? RIBS! More ribs that I had at my last dinner out! Jesus Christ, it looks like Krystal's smuggling a xylophone under her skin! Of course, Krystal is famous for no other reason than her ginormous and utterly, utterly fake breasts, so she doesn't really need to maintain her weight for the sake of her image as it's seen these days... but Jesus Christ! What sort of warped people like the "bottom half - ethiopian child, top half - taped-on rockmelons" look? I have to say, unequivocably, that you are sick. And yes, that includes you, David Beckham!

Most disappointingly, though, this has revealed the amount of photoshopping undertaken by the photo artistes at Zoo magazine. Ironic - isn't the whole concept of a 'zoo' seeing nature at its most natural?

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

I have set myself a mighty challenge...

Yes, the gauntlet has been thrown at myself... by myself. I guess I just threw it up into the air. And it landed on me. But the important thing is that it has been thrown, and I am not going to back down. Maybe it's insane hubris, but I swear I will do it...

I am going to listen to all of The Next Life. Well, the entirety save the couple of minutes in episode one I possibly skipped over, but I'm not sure. See, I forgot where I was so just clicked on a random thing on the bar in Windows Media Player for Episode One. I could have missed about ten minutes, but so little happens in that episode I have no way of knowing...

Why am I doing this? Because, well, this can only give me a deeper understanding of just how bad DW can be. It redefines crap. So if I can understand this, I should be able to follow a perfectly parallel but opposite equation to create awesome Doctor Who... I dunno. I just hate giving up on stuff.

But I have to honestly say, I never thought a story could ever sound so much like it was deliberately trying to sound bad. It opens with the single-worst TARDIS console scene ever. The Doctor's an idiot, his companions make tons of crap jokes, and then it blows up. The rest of the episode is spent with C'rizz, talking to his amazingly monotonous bride-to-be in what's obviously a dream sequence thing, where the discussion consists mostly of "C'rizz, you're crazy!" and "No I'm not, woman!", and Charlie going back to that fucking air base from Zagreus again and meeting a pilot, advancing forward 10 years, and meeting him again. WHY?! He doesn't even say anything vaguely interesting! And it sounds so lame! "Hang on, I know that voice..." Erm, yes, it's the exact same guy you were talking to less than a minute ago.

The episode finally draws to a close with Nick Briggs pissing himself laughing while Don Warrington walks in and announces that in case there was any doubt that Zagreus was the most pointless three hours ever, the writers have decided to bring him back from apparent death. Again. He also demonstrates that his previous story has by no means a monopoly on shithouse dialogue - "In this space and... space." Hang on, this guy's meant to be the wisest Time Lord who ever lived, and he can't string a sentence together. I am officially not impressed.

"Contrary to all appearances, your daughter's mind is completely under my control!" Yeah, good for you.

Episode two starts with everyone's most favourite thing... exposition repeated painfully, because the characters are split up. C'rizz's tart spills the beans "You could say that I am... your subconscious" YES! Charlie's mum just said that! C'rizz peevishly points out that he figured that out at the start of the last episode and has repeatedly theorised on that point, and works out that Nick Briggs is behind all of this crap. Nick Briggs then materialises, again pissing himself laughing, apparently over-joyed at the fact that his ploy is so fucking transparent that C'rizz can work it out with minimal effort. After a casual mention in the dialogue, C'rizz actually remembers that the Doctor exists, and we get the first scene with the Doctor for nearly forty minutes.

And it's complete crap. The Doctor is one a beach, making terrible jokes at Hermit crabs. "I can't see my Man Friday... or Saturday or Sunday for that matter. Not even a Wet Wednesday...", "You're on a sea-food diet, aren't you? You see food and you eat it...", "Argh! Don't be shellfish!" If they dared do this scene in the New Series the BBC would get fire-bombed.

Aaaand that's enough of the Doctor. Maybe I'll hear from him again in another hour or so. More of Nick Briggs gloating over absolutely nothing to C'rizz. I stopped listening at the very appropriate line "Oh, go away Kro'ka, leave me alone!" which were very much my own sentiments.

As I said, this story redefines crap. And I've got over 2 hours to go...

Sunday, September 9, 2007


Okay, everyone who's anyone would have already downloaded the episode through highly illegal methods and already watched it, but don't lie to me, because we also watch every episode when it goes out on TV because we're so deliriously happy that Doctor Who is back on the friggin' air!... except that one time they showed Boom Town! because that sucked royally. But...

Damn it, my fannish elation has stopped that being any sort of sense-making thing.

Okay, here's the gist I was looking for: how awesome is the end of Utopia? See, now it's been shown on Aussie TV I feel like I have the right to talk about it. Not only is it cool, but great to watch on TV in its context because...

Yes! A lack of dirty, dirty SPOILAZ! A problem that has plagued DW recently, due to a certain overweight reviewer who thinks Pyramids of Mars is the greatest story ever and seems to write for everything published in the country. I won't name the miscreant, but his first name is the same as Captain Yates, and the fellows surname rhymes with 'gellato'. And he thrives on spoiling things for others. In 2005 when reviewing The Parting of the Ways he basically wrote a synopsis of the first 30 minutes of the episode and hinted with Sawardian subtlety that the Doctor would regenerate. And then, last year, he made sure we knew about the Daleks in the final frame of Army of Ghosts - I wouldn't have minded so much if that weren't the only good bit in the entire two-parter...

But this time? He didn't get the review. I don't know how, but Keith Austin reviewed it instead, and simply mentioned "a past villain returning". Given this season's track record in that department most people would have thought, "Ohh, is it the Yeti? Or Ice Warriors? Or is that just a curve ball and we're getting more Macra?" Nice and subtle, so I thank all that is holy (aka Paul Darrow and Jan Chappel) that Mike Gellato didn't get the tape. Maybe it conflicted with his schedule - a guy who loves spoilers as much as he does is probably busy at the Kazakhstani release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, shouting out "The rumours are bullshit! Harry and the others live! AND RON AND HERMIONE GET MARRIED!!!" The dastard.

So... it went to air spoiler-free. Well... no. Because the ABC, in their infinite wisdom, figured that casual viewers of ABC News would be more interested in watching Dr Who if they showed the ending directly before the episode went to air. Yep, an unbelievable "UP NEXT" ad which said "Who's stolen the Doctor's TARDIS?" and then a shot of someone very obviously not the Doctor regenerating in the console room.

If you had asked someone who'd just seen that whether the Master could be coming back, their response would no doubt be Pvt. Dexter's best-known quote from Spaced. That is, of course..


In our household, at least, I managed to dive in front of the TV set like I was taking a bullet for the President (not the President we actually have, obviously, a fictitious one who can talk properly and stuff. And not the PM because, you know, he's an arsehole and nobody takes bullets for PMs anyway) and the viewing resumed in relative normality.

When re-watching the story, though, it occurred to me just how clear it was that it was the Master. I mean, once you saw the watch it was all obvious - okay, part of it is thinking "Ohmigoditcantbe, ohmigoditcantbe, ohmigod-IT IS! YESSS!" but the part where Derek Jacobi hisses "I... AM... THE MASSTER!" well... you know what he's going to say. It's fan-pleasing stuff at his best.

But it got me thinking... how else could that sentence have possibly ended?


"I...AM... BORUSA!"

Don't quite have the same ring, do they?

"I...AM...A COMPLETE BASTARD!" - true enough, and can finally show the respect needed to Charles Daniels' work.

*drops the wire*
"Haha, I really gave you a scare with those silly death threats, didn't I?"

"I...AM...THE WAR CHIEF! But not the Master. We're different. The books say so."

"I...AM...THE DALEK FROM 'DALEK'! Yeah, didn't see that coming, did you, bitches?"

"I... AM... THE RANI!... it's a really good disguise, I know. I'm quite happy with it."

"I...AM...DAVROS! Now, if you'll excuse me I have to get back to Paul and see how things are going in Glasgow"

"Ever seen Trial of a Timelord?"
"Erm... Maybe. I might have blocked it out of my mind..."
"Ep 13. I'm the badguy. The evil flip-side version of the Doctor."
"Isn't that role a little bit redundant? I mean, there's already the Master."
"The Master can fuck right off! I froze him in his TARDIS! Yeah! And unlike him *I* didn't get killed off! I CONTROLLED THE ENTIRE MATRIX!!! After the Doctor left me I had control over all of the Panopticon!"
"And did what?"
"Oh... you know. Stuff. Anyway... I'm going to kill you now."

"Wasn't Rassilon trapped in a divergent universe filled with nothing but creatures that wanted to kill him? Wait... that was just in that one audio story that...wait a minute..."
*Derek Jacobi's mask is torn off to reveal... GARY RUSSELL*
"Good god, they let the wrong Russell write this one!"
"No, no, let me keep it going - I've got a plot involving the Bandrils going here. The RE-INVENTED Bandrils - now they're the only bastards around who are harder than the Nimon. And we'll get the New Mel on TV in a couple of weeks' time, isn't that something to look forward to..."
*Russell is shot repeatedly*
"ACK! C'mon! It wasn't that bad an idea!"
"Oh, no that was just for The Next Life"
"...fuck it, you've got me there.."

Of course, since writing this last night I have read that Russell is apparently working on the New Series as a script editor. So good on you.

I also read something about Russell obsessively reading through blogs in case of discovering anything that references his off-moments at Big Finish, and then hunts down and kills the offenders with his bare hands, using the sheer muscle-power he built up over many years of playing Dick in The Fantastic Five. Hopefully that bit's just libel.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

An Open Letter to 'Comedian' Chris Lilley

Okay, this letter can be summed up in the two following phrases, "You are not funny" and "Please fuck right off" However, being a longwinded fellow I'll go into it a little further.

Congratulations are clearly in order Chris Lilley. As one of the great mass of people with absolutely no skills in any fields who dream so, you have achieved your dream of making money from precisely zero effort. I can't begrudge you that. However, I want you to place a complete media-gag on yourself in all ways possible from now. I don't want to see any interviews with you, any photos of you anywhere, and sure as fuck none of those ads for your terrible, terrible show.

What's that? How do you keep your profile high? You won't need to. The warped and twisted people who find you dressing up as women and abusing disabled people know who you are. It won't matter if the ABC stores never put you up on the shelves. The raincoat-wearing weirdoes who want to buy your gear can just sidle up to the counter and murmur "I'm looking for some CL" with a wink, while the guy behind the counter slides across the DVD inside a brown paper bag. You know, the same way they sell Kath & Kim.

If you think you're going to reach a bigger crowd, Lilley, forget it. Well, no, I won't say that because if I set that in stone you'll become bigger than Thank God You're Here, in which case I'll have to find some way of leaving this country forever. But I wager you won't. Because, face it, you've got nothing. K&K, as utterly execrable as they are in every way, are at least lampooning something. Well, trying to. Whilst just being enjoyed as frothy entertainment by the very same losers they take the piss out of, their heart's in the right place. Well it was. Once upon a time...

Never mind that, the point is, Lilley-liver, you really don't have any ideas behind your work. Yes, I know how it happened - you watched The Office and realised that awkward, stop-pause low-budget mockumentary comedy was coming in in a big way. You then figured, somehow, that removing everything vaguely clever about The Office and replacing it with yourself in drag and making fun of minorities, would make it hilarious. At some point you pulled the number 'six' out of your arse and decided to have that number of characters, and then that you would play them all yourself, in spite of having a hugely distinctive face with a bent nose and "punch my head in please" written all over it. In spite of this, nearly every critic's review of We Can Be Heroes agreed that only ONE of those six characters was actually funny - and here's a hint, it wasn't you squinting your eyes covered in fake tan pretending to be an Asian genius.

So now the inevitable has happened and you've got another season. And you're being interviewed in The Guide and, lo and behold, it unveils you as an even bigger tool than I thought possible! You talk about 'spending ages on the script'? Holy shit, I wouldn't admit to that in your shoes. Look at the line-up of your new show - it's you as three characters, of course... a) Ja'amie, the one character anyone liked from your last series, b) A stereotypical ethnic kid and c) Mr G, the gay Drama teacher. Wow. You must have spent hours working on breaking that fresh ground. What's more you then admit that Mr G is a character YOU'VE PLAYED FOR YEARS! So the one new innovation is you in a curly-wig and more fake tan pretending to breakdance. Lord, give me strength.

This is why I'm appealing to you, Chris, for my sake but also for yours. The more publicity gets out, the more people will realise what a complete and utter tool you are, and also that you don't look anything at all like a teenaged schoolgirl/asian scientist/Tongan breakdancer/middle aged housewife/ anyone who isn't a time-wasting prick whose face you impulsively want to bash in.

Now, where the fuck is the next season of DOUBLE THE FIST?

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Chatham: Will the Bastard Ever Die?

Well, I very much doubt he will. Well... he's only alive to about a three hundred people and no more, but of course that's the same number of Spartans who were able to destroy Xerxes' army of a million.

Well, except of course the army was nowhere near a million strong.

And the Spartans didn't actually destroy them.

And the Spartan army actually had a couple of thousand blokes to begin with, but most of them had to run like fuck when the Persians out-maneouvred them, so the 300 were just prevented it from being a complete slaughter.

Yep, reality can be pretty disappointing.

So, anyway, I did something I felt I'd never have the need to do again: typed a full Chatham story up on the spot into my browser to comment on certain activites on OG involving the smoothe-chested one. Results are duplicated here, as I certain fellow assured me that it was 'blog material'. I can't say I agree but for the sake of postherity (is that the word? Lazy) I place it here, where it can be found alongside my much earlier efforts of capturing the Chatham mis-en-scene...

Nothing Too Serious

(A past-Chatham Adventure, set between the classic stories Rogered by the Borg and The Cronulla Excursion)

Ben Chatham is alone in his Cambridge apartment, sewing name-tags on his David Bowie Fan Club issue condoms, listening to Phillip Glass CDs on loop. Although his addled, vacant eyes give nothing away, his mind can't stop racing - he has become fixated on a Martin Kemp look-a-like on the tube who 'nearly touched him', to the point that he believes the lyrics to James Blunt's You're Beautiful are 'really meaningful'. He then hatches his cunning plan...

"Okay, dirtbag, where are the alien sex slaves?" demands Owen Harper furiously 20 minutes later, his pistol shoved in Ben's face.

Ben laughs, the entertainment value of the moment allowing him to ignore the crippling pain of his arm having been dislocated by the over-dentally endowed inbred chav sitting on his back.

"You fool, you have fallen for my cunning scheme!" crows Ben, like a rooster in a kinda-convincing wig "There are no alien sex slaves at this property at all!"

Owen curses as he realises:

a) His libido caused him to ignore standard Torchwood protocol for the eighteenth time that day.

b) He should have stopped taking text messages seriously a long time ago.

c) It's Ben Chatham

d) The fact that he drove from Cardiff to Cambridge in less than 20 minutes clearly signals this as part of a vague and inconsistent fictional universe that he is trapped in for the foreseeable future.

e) It is FREAKING BEN CHATHAM. And, yes, that is worth two points.

"Orright, pretty boy," Owen slurred, using the term of address he saved for every other male on the planet "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you right now!"

"Because I need your help!"

"And that's what I'm going to give you - 9mm worth."

"Sorry, did you just admit that your penis is astonishingly small?"

"You what?" Owen's brow furrowed, and then he remembered the existence of the double entendre and Chatham's intellectual vacuum, before giving a world-weary sigh "No, no, no. It's nothing sexual - this time. You see, the gun I have is a Glock, and it has a 9mm calibre. I think. I couldn't be arsed to look it up on wikipedia when I'm trying to be a wise-cracker but it's something like that. So, anyway... sod it. I just realised that we have to account for every bullet we fire since Jack is such a tight-arse (how's that for ironic?) and I'd have to explain what I was doing at your flat."

Owen stood up off of Ben's back, and stretched with the sudden dispirited wallowing of a man whose weariness soaked down into his very bones. Being with Ben did that to a lot of people. Ben, however, clapped his hands gaily and jumped up and down in a refined way.

"Yay! Now you can help me! I need to have sex with a stranger who looks like Joe Absolom."


"Wait, no, sorry, I meant Martin Kemp."

Owen rolled his eyes. "And... you called for me?"

"Well, actually I was hoping to get Captain Jack. We travelled together in the TARDIS. We were great pals. But not in a lower class way. A very refined, chummy, upper-class way."

Owen raised the gun again, not caring about the bullets now.

"You ignorant little pinhead! THAT-NEVER-HAPPENED!"

"But I was THERE!" moaned Ben

"NO YOU WEREN'T!" screamed Owen, a mysterious fire burning in his eyes "YOU NEVER WERE! That was all in an overlong dream sequence!"

"No, it can't have been! Adam Mitchell was there, too. Y'know, the eco terrorist?"

Owen began pulling his hair out in great tufts "YOU PRAT!" he roared "Adam Mitchell is an ex-One agent who double-crossed the Institute and ran off to America. He thinks getting back to nature is putting his iPod down for ten seconds!"

"We had sex!" says Ben, before giggling like a schoolgirl.

At this point, Owen loses it and pulls the trigger. With a mighty discharge (ooh er!) the bullet erupts from the barrel in a way that I'm unable to describe in non-phallic terms, but is fairly laborious. Well, not really but this moment should last a while for reasons of dramatic tension given the hero protagonist main character is about to be shot...

But no! The bullet is zapped in mid-air, with an effect that looks like it was nabbed from Half-Life, and suddenly, in the corner of the room appears MOLOCH, everybody's favourite muppet-like alien from Blake's 7.

With the fury of a thousand irate suns he yells "DON'T TAKE BEN CHATHAM SO SERIOUSLY!"

"Hey!" protests Owen "He started-"




Owen mentally takes time out to come to grips with this increasingly poorly-written and contrived scenario. Ben laughs, claps his hands, jumps, and soils himself in a refined way.

"Yay! Uncle Moloch is here! He's my guardian angel!" he says "Things are fun when he's here!"

Owen desperately tries to escape the room, but Uncle Moloch has used his god-like powers to lock the door.

"You boys will play nice!" proclaims Moloch.

Desperate to escape from this scenario as quickly as possible, Owen throws Ben his alien date-rape spray and jumps out the window. Moloch laughs heartily before dematerialising, and Ben laughs as he plans his means of attack to stalk his beloved Martin Kemp look-a-like, wistfully thinking of the many educational qualifications and Radiohead albums the two of them can share when they live together in a National Trust building without a fire-escape in one of the few alien-free districts of rural England...

But tragically a yellow Morris Minor bursts through his apartment wall and flattens Ben at that moment. As he croaks a death-rattle complaining of the tire-marks on his shirt made of hundred-pound notes, the vehicle reverses into the night, its mission complete...


Once again, if you found this page accidentally while Googling something else my immense apologies.