Anyone reading this who is not Mr Ewen Campion Clarke and is familiar with his BF spoof page... which, er, limits things a bit, ahem, but I'll soldier on for the sake of total clarity because I'm a tool in that regard... may wonder what exactly the writing relationship is between our collaborationary efforts on the sites. Do we meet regularly in coffee shops and spend hours discussing the best pieces of toilet humour to use in that particular story? Is there a highly professional roster like the one you'd find in the production office of a US sitcom that determines which stories I'm 'on' for? Do we lock ourselves in a hotel room with a laptop until the spoof is complete?
No, because we don't meet face-to-face. Ever. That would be weird. The Universe would implode if we were to do this. It all has to be co-ordinated through email. It works like this:
a) Ewen happens to tell me what he's working on, and particularly what he isn't looking forward to. I forget for a moment I have trouble getting stuff done and volunteer to write about three dozen stories.
b) Ewen knows I don't actually get things done, and goes ahead and writes most of them.
c) About three months later, I send him one in the email.
d) Ewen puts my name on it, even if he didn't actually use any of my jokes because he'd already written the bloody thing once he got my email. He's a sport.
Ocassionally, though, I do start writing them but just don't finish and before I know it the whole thing has been done.
Case in point, the rather baffling story Dead London, wherein just about the entire cast was played by Rupert Vandsitartt (sp??), which was a particularly odd choice. I thought about which guy could be a dozen times stranger a choice to take over a story, and I came to the conclusion that Peter Berner would be pretty fucking strange. I only got the cold open, though:
The Doctor wakes up suddenly, and is mortified to find himself on the tacky and obscure ABC Sunday afternoon comedy quiz show 'The Einstein Factor'. The bloke whose speciality is fungal strains likely to be found on McCheeseburgers has wrapped up and the Brain's Trust have been shocked into silence through the sheer horror of it all, so the host Peter Berner's attention turns towards the Doctor. While the Doctor is still formulating possible pan-Galactic pub-crawls that could have led him to this massively embarassing destination he is suddenly taken aback to hear Berner say that his special subject is apparently 'Reasons I'm about to kick your alien arse'
"Sorry is that reasons I'M about to kick YOUR arse or reasons YOU'RE going to kick MY arse?"
"Take a guess"
"Damn it, I JUST LOVE VIOLENT GAMESHOWS!"
Question 1 is simple enough - "What is your name?". The Doctor thinks he has it nailed but suddenly finds himself on -100 points because according to Berner the answer was "Fuck you!" rather than the preposterous soubriquet he offered. The second question is 'What crime have you been charged with?' - the Doctor doesn't realise that this refers to one recent crime, however, and begins listing his 8, 001 public and civil misdeamonours in alphabetical order until Matt Parkinson hits him with a cattle prod. Berner says that the correct answer was "Parking a blue box on a double yellow line on Hoban viaduct", although he would have accepted "Being an unworthy bitch to yours truly, o benevolent ruler".
Abruptly Berner throws his cue cards to the wind, shouts that the time for questions is over and begins beating the Doctor with a handy phonebook, demanding to know what possible excuse he can offer. The Doctor responds that he has foolishly placed his face in a phonebooks flight path and apologises profusely - this is, sadly enough, sufficient to win the audience over. Berner declares that this round is over and the Doctor's score is -10 000 points making him, truly, dumber than Dools.
Things are thrown over to the Brain's Trust, who make some wan family-friendly jokes about the Doctor being the lowest piece of scum since Al Jolson. The Doctor tisks irritably over such revisionist PC-ness, which earns him another telephone book beating, punctuated with shouts of "YOU DO -NOT- INTERRUPT THE BRAIN'S TRUST!" and cries for stage-hands to bring on the electrodes.
The show moves on to the next contestant, Sergeant Bygum of Scotland Yard, whose special subject by odd coincidence is ALSO "Reasons why Peter Berner is about to kick the Doctor's alien arse". He blitzes through questions such as "What sort of box was it?", "Did you open the box?" and "Why the fuck not?!?". The Doctor protests as this quiz is quite clearly biased and possibly some sort of metaphor. Berner snaps that that's exactly the point!
Suddenly the Doctor finds himself in the Old Bailley, wherein Peter Berner sits in the robes of a Lord Chief Justice with some rather unconvincing 'old man' prosthetics and doing his best Colonel Bloodnok voice, proclaiming that the Doctor is to be damned well hung! And 'also executed, hur hur hur!'
The Doctor sighs and mumbles that it really looks like it's going to be one of those days..
Lots of baffling references there for you. The actual parody ended up using Bill Oddie, which I think is more sensible than the real version. The only other joke I wrote was one planned for the 'Dialogue Disasters' section:
Berner: "I now pronounce sentence. Ahem. 'Sen-tense'. AHAHAHAHAHA!"
IT'S MEANT TO BE CRAP, you Philistines!