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Scene 1 – London Street
[The Tenth Doctor, Donna and her granddad Wilf are fleeing down the street pursued by soldiers.]
DONNA: Wait! I’m confused! Why are they chasing us?
10TH DOCTOR: It’s the Bastard! He’s staging a coup to take over England! Why he’s being so hamfisted and unimaginative, I don’t know.
DONNA: So are the soldiers working for the Bastard?
10TH DOCTOR: Yep!
WILF: I thought you said they was androids!
10TH DOCTOR: [blows out cheeks] Well... they’re androids dressed as soldiers. That good enough?
WILF: If he’s got androids and he doesn’t care about making a fuss, why disguise them? Oh, I can’t go on, Doctor. I’ve completely lost the plot. I’ve got no idea what the fuck is going on. Leave me, take Donna and go!
DONNA: No way! We won’t leave you, gramps. We’re not total fuckwits!
10TH DOCTOR: You’ll just have to move faster old man!
[They turn and stare at him. He grins.]
10TH DOCTOR: I know. Brilliant impersonation of your mother, eh, Donna?
[Suddenly a car speeds up with men leaning out firing shots.]
DONNA: Do they have something to do with the Bastard or are they just random chavs?
10TH DOCTOR: No idea! Right – when I say "run" we split up, head down the side streets, through some alleyways and meet up at the heart of Soho!
DONNA: You mean Old Compton Street?
10TH DOCTOR: The very same! ALLONZEE!
[He prepares to sprint off, but Donna puts a hand on his arm and stops him.]
DONNA: Doctor.
10TH DOCTOR: What?
DONNA: We’re in Old Compton Street already.
10TH DOCTOR: [after a beat] Oh. Jings.
[The car speeds past them. They watch it run over the android soldiers.]
DONNA: Guess they were random hoodies after all. You okay, gramps?
WILF: No. I’m cream crackered and me leg’s gone numb.
DONNA: My god! He’s started using rhyming slang! It must be delirium!
10TH DOCTOR: And they say exercise is good for the old. If you don’t lose it you use it… or maybe the other way round? Enough of this self-pity, Wilf. Let me give you a hand...
[Two black-clad women in skimpy skirts approach.]
STEREOTYPICAL PROSTITUTE # 1: Ere, you looking for company ducky?
10TH DOCTOR: Not really.
DONNA: I hardly think he’d be interested in you. Daft tart!
10TH DOCTOR: What?!
DONNA: Impersonating my mum too. It’s funny, huh?
STEREOTYPICAL PROSTITUTE # 2: Ere, who are you callin’ daft? Ugly cow.
10TH DOCTOR: Excuse me, you HAVE noticed the android uprising going on, haven’t you?
STEREOTYPICAL PROSTITUTE # 1: How’s about we give you a good time?
[Wilf groans.]
WILF: I’m having a heart attack! What do you fucking reckon!?
DONNA: My god! They’re androids too, aren’t they?
10TH DOCTOR: Jings, he has android street walkers now? What kind of diseased mind is behind all this? You know, in the old days, he really had some imagination.
STEREOTYPICAL PROSTITUTE # 1: Oi!
[The Doctor takes out his sonic screwdriver and zaps the two prosti-droids, who explode.]
10TH DOCTOR: At this rate, he’ll have defeated himself before I have to! Fancy a drink?
DONNA: What? Mingle with customers and they won’t think to look for us in a bar?
10TH DOCTOR: Exactamundo, Donna! It’s so completely retarded and uncharacteristic, they’ll never see it coming.
[They turn and enter the bar right behind them while the hoodies do donuts on the android soldiers. The bar’s neon sign is "The Absinthe Aberrant".]
Scene 2 – The Absinthe Aberrant
[As would be expected for such a crummy pub populated by gay Colchester history teachers, the clientele are all 40-year-old bald, spectacled alcoholics on the verge of absinthe-induced psychotics. The Doctor and Donna enter and help Wilf into a seat.]
DONNA: Doctor, I think this is a gay bar.
10TH DOCTOR: What gave it away? Just keep a low profile...
[An incredibly decrepit homosexual in a wig and with a perpetual squint grabs the Doctor and kisses him.]
10TH DOCTOR: Excuse me? Do I know you?
DONNA: Oi! That’s assault, you know.
MARK GOACHER: No, I think you’ll find this is assault.
[So saying, he stabs the Doctor in the stomach with a knife and throws him to the ground.]
10TH DOCTOR: Jings...
WILF: You’re not doing gay pride any favors, mate.
[The wretched cutthroat takes out his mobile and rings it.]
MARK GOACHER: Hello? Mr. Bastard? Target located and eliminated! Hmm? No, I just stabbed him in the stomach. "Which stomach"? How many does he have? Oh. That many. That’s a lot. Oh, well, I suggest YOU hunt him down and murder him then. I have a degree, you know!
[He pushes his way past the customers and leaves. The customers see the Doctor, bleeding to death on the floor, cheer very loudly and start engaging in sexual activity.]
DONNA: Ere! Isn’t anyone going to ring an ambulance or something? There’s an injured man here!
10TH DOCTOR: Jings, can’t you lot do that somewhere else? Bad enough I’m dying without having to see this...
WILF: I tell you, this sets back homosexual relations ten years, this place.
[The Doctor starts to glow ethereally, a mini tidal wave swirling out through his flesh.]
10TH DOCTOR: For fuck’s sake, I can’t even think of something witty to say...
[The Doctor convulses in a simultaneously agonizing and euphoric spasm. His face literally contorts, morphing, growing and transforming before the gaze of Donna and Wilf until he has a new body and not a trace of last Doctor remains.]
WILF: Doctor?
DONNA: Doctor? Are you ok?
[The Doctor’s eyes blink open, bright and alive, shining in the light of his own rebirth.]
DOCTOR: [dazed] I was, like, "Yeah!" and she was, like, "Yeah!"
DONNA: Doctor?
DOCTOR: Love the new floppy hair. Wicked! I’m, like, young again! Yay! Where am I?
WILF: In a bar surrounded by horny men who seem to fancy your new body.
[One of the copulating history teachers looks up.]
RANDOM GAY MAN: She’s right. Vast improvement, I must say.
[Deeply annoyed, the Doctor leaps to his new feet.]
DOCTOR: Like, fuck you! You guys did, like, nothing and let me died! Screw this, the Bastard can kill you all – you’ve made me hate homosexuality in every possible sense! I’m not a hundred per cent sure who any of you, like, are, but I don’t care! In fact, I want you all dead!
[He uses his sonic screwdriver to cause all the absinthe bottles to explode in flame. All the gay men are set afire and run around screaming in pain as the new Doctor, Donna and Wilf watch on.]
DOCTOR: Yeah, like, not so fucking amusing NOW, is it? Sod it, I’m off to Cornwall...
Scene 3 – At Sea
[Not far from a small but beautifully formed fishing village on the Cornish Coast, a fisherman is examining crab-nets as the sun sets. The fisherman turns to camera.]
FISHERMAN: Evening all! Old Jim Andrews here, Cornish fisherman extraordinaire! You know, it’s at times like this as the wind blows damp air in from the sea that I look forward to getting home to my wife Annie and a cup of piping hot tea. Some people might call it a crude stereotype of a life, but I wouldn’t give it up for any other.
[There is a strange whistling sound. The fisherman stops, looks around, shrugs, and continues to extract crabs from the net.]
FISHERMAN: Anyway, what I’m really trying to say is...
[A hideous creature with diaphanous plastic gills and what look like sequins rises up out of the water, and slashes open the fisherman’s throat, spraying blood everywhere in pointless gore as he is dragged out of the boat and into the water. A pause. The creature leans over the top of the boat and speaks in a porpoise-like burble.]
SPARACUS: And now, for the exciting debut appearance of the radical cool, young, Skins-style Eleventh Doctor in a darker-than-RTD-while-still-containing-the-essential-characteristic-lighter-interludes-and-a-negative-attitude-to-young-people atmospheric adventure by a dynamic and cutting edge history teacher with extensive fan fiction writing GENIUS!!!
[Another rather awkward pause.]
SPARACUS: And cue the opening titles!
NUDE & MOANING
by
SPARACUS "FLAMINGO" JONES and his invisible friend SPIDER with their usual mindless pathological chav-hatredtranscribed by EWEN CAMPION-CLARKE with his usual pseudo-satirical rambling to bribe his way out of purgatory
deemed an offense to all mankind by STEVEN MOFFAT and he should know
not even read let alone rejected by
RUSSELL T DAVIES in favor of petty, pantomime comedic ‘wit’never actually broadcast - 1st January 2010
running time - way too long, in fact so long it stopped being funny
PART ONE: Deadly Whitsun Dawn of Death
Scene 4 – Generic Cornish Village
[Big, butch Spartha Jones lumbers down a cobbled street wearing a burgundy leather jacket and a mullet wig. She is sulking.]
SPARTHA: Why would UNIT send me to investigate strange sightings and disappearances near this village? Apart from the fact it’s what they do, anyway? I haven’t been so bored by a case ever since I entered into full-time investigative work for UNIT in the UK following the events of Journey till Dawn! Or The Snotaran Strategy, whatever it’s called. In fact, don’t I work for Touchwood now? Irrelevant point. Three weeks I have been in this village. The locals are distasteful and I suspect some of the older ones are rather prejudiced. Not like me at all. Oh well, there’s nothing for it. I shall have to go to the local inn.
[She turns around and sulks back up the street.]
SPARTHA: I wonder why this Cornish village is called Little Bampton when it’s such a home counties name rather than something Cornish? There’s only one Little town and that’s Little Petherick...
[Suddenly there is a familiar sound.]
SPARTHA: That sounds familiar.
[She suddenly notices the TARDIS is standing in front of her in a massive coincidence. The door is flung open with suitable gravitas.]
SPARTHA: Vulgar as ever, Doctor? [mildly surprised] Oh!
[A slip of a youth with floppy hair emerges, dressed in jeans and a casual jacket. He’s not quite as dynamic as the previous occupant, if he isn’t devoid of dynamism altogether.]
SPARTHA: Who are you, whiskerless youth? Where’s the Doctor?!
DOCTOR: Hey, babe. I’m, like, the Doctor. I’ve regenerated, like.
SPARTHA: No shit.
DOCTOR: Wow, it’s great to see you again, whoever you are... Wicked!
SPARTHA: [perturbed] I am perturbed that you’re so... so much younger. You also look, sound and act completely different. But you look younger. That is the most important thing.
DOCTOR: [nods] Yay! It’s great to be a kid again! I’m, like, so gonna get a myspace page. You look great in that jacket, babe! I’ve, like, so got the hots for you. How’s about we get up close and personal on the TARDIS double bed?
[The Doctor coyly lets his floppy hair descend over his eyes as TV viewers everywhere commit suicide. The resulting silence means that when a horrific scream from the distance is made, it is clearly audible. So it’s not ALL bad news.]
SPARTHA: Did you hear that?
DOCTOR: Like, hear what, babe?
SPARTHA: That horrific scream from the distance?
DOCTOR: Like, what horrific scream, babe?
[Another horrific scream from the distance.]
DOCTOR: Oh, yeah, that horrific scream from the distance.
SPARTHA: Hey! That’s coming from the shore! Come on, Doctor!
[Spartha turns and bounces off. The Doctor takes out a mobile phone.]
DOCTOR: OK. But, like, I want to film it all on my phone, so I can, like, put it on YouTube later...
[He skips after Spartha like the barely-functional retard he is.]
Scene 5 – On the Shore
[Deserted bar a beach hut and a bloodstained torn piece of fabric on the ground. Spartha runs up to the evidence, and after a while spots it. The Doctor wanders up, filming everything.]
DOCTOR: I don’t, like, even know why I’m filming this. It’s totally, like, boring, just running through a street. My hit rate will be shameful if I upload this...
SPARTHA: Oh no. Nothing for three weeks! And now this! I miss all the good carnage!
DOCTOR: [closes phone] Never mind babe. Let’s get back to the TARDIS and get hot and sticky!
[He tries to slip his arm around her, but she shakes him off.]
SPARTHA: [scowls] Are you on heat or something? Grow up! Someone has just been killed here! I know I have no reason to think that or any evidence to back me up, but that is the story we’re going with.
[Tears well up in the Doctor’s eyes.]
DOCTOR: [sobbing with self-pity] Look if you don’t, like, like me you could, like, just say!
SPARTHA: Stop weeping like a pathetic stereotyped Emo tool, you indescribably unlikable, useless, cowardly, whiny imposter! If you didn’t look so good and make me all buttery in my dusty and cobwebbed nether regions, I’d have killed you by now!
[Suddenly there is another scream, this time from behind the beach hut. The duo approach.]
SPARTHA: It’s the mangled, headless corpse of an old man! I’d recognize it anywhere!
DOCTOR: Like, is that the dude who just died or another one entirely? I’m, like, lost...
[Something scurries away into the shadows, ashamed of being involved in this show.]
SPARTHA: These claw and teeth marks couldn’t be human. Humans don’t have claws. I learned that in medical school. There are only TWO possibilities! Either this is the result of some kind of leopard or large cat... or, given that UNIT have sent me here and I am rarely used to locate missing leopards, there is something ALIEN involved in this TOTALLY POINTLESS MURDER!!
[She looks at the Doctor dramatically. A beat. He shrugs.]
DOCTOR: Yeah. Whatever. Must be a Weevil. They’re, like, totally into that senseless murder thing in backward 21st century towns.
SPARTHA: But these are not typical Weevil wounds, Doctor!
DOCTOR: OK, like, so it wasn’t a typical Weevil. End of, babe.
SPARTHA: I’ve seen them! Weevils do not resemble large cats and they live off Cardiff sewage, not Cornish bumpkins!
DOCTOR: Yeah, whatever. I’ll, like, just take some pics and then get back to the TARDIS.
[Spartha is puzzled as the Time Lord photographs the corpse on his mobile.]
DOCTOR: Sorted.
SPARTHA: So, what are you going to do? Analyze them or something using the computer database there?
DOCTOR: Nah. I’ve got some mates from facebook coming round for a party like. It’ll be steamin!
SPARTHA: [annoyed] I am annoyed! Act your damned age! Which, let us remember, is well over 900 and not like the brain-dead, sex-obsessed 26-year-old boytoy you resemble!
DOCTOR: Your point being, like...?
SPARTHA: You are not taking this seriously Doctor! I will continue to shout at you until you do so.
DOCTOR: So? I mean, like, just because an innocent human has been cruelly slaughtered, what do I care? Like I’m under 40 and obviously pathologically self-absorbed and unable to act convincingly...
SPARTHA: What we are going to do is contact the local police, simultaneously establishing why the hell they haven’t already come down to investigate the screams. And then pay a visit to the local pub to see if we can find out if there are any rumors among the locals as to what is causing this. I’m surprised I didn’t think of doing this three weeks ago, actually...
[Spartha wanders off.]
DOCTOR: [in his best Harry Enfield impression] Oh, that’s so unfair!
[Nevertheless, he is a spineless twat who acts like a three-year-old and so follows her anyway.]
Scene 6 – The Goat & Poofter
[A vibrant and noisy pub typical of most Cornish fishing villages under siege from invisible monsters, UFOs and people disappearing – and whose occupants, in the best traditions of borderline-illegal-Hammer-Horror-cliches, fall completely silent as the Doctor and Spartha enter. The locals scowl at them. The Doctor is uncomfortable at this complete lack of original thought.]
DOCTOR: How comes you ain’t checked out this dive before now? You, like, done ANYTHING in your three weeks here?
SPARTHA: [shrugs] Maybe I should have done, Doctor. However, I thought I could get all my local gossip from the fishermen which came to nothing.
DOCTOR: And, like, what did you do for the two and a half weeks after that?
SPARTHA: Shut up, numbnuts, I am an efficient UNIT agent with a sense of urgency! I am allowed to complain at the lack of leads!
DOCTOR: Whatever. [looks round] This place is minging.
[A couple of local offensive stereotypes at the bar scowl at him, easily doubling the ratings after everyone switched off after the dreadful first scene.]
ROUSTABOUT: Ere! We don’t like your sort around these parts! Layabout students! Get your hair cut!
DOCTOR: [pulls a face] Like, that’s bound to get me recommending this pub on myspace...
[Fulfilling the desire of the audience, the man goes to thump him. Tragically, however, the Landlord intervenes and saves the Doctor.]
LANDLORD: Ere now Gus, we’ll ave none of that in ere. [to the Doctor] Now what will you be avin to drink you immature and socially inept berk?
DOCTOR: A double vodka like for me, like, I wanna get completely munted!
SPARTHA: I’ll have a glass of water. By which I mean double vodka as well, but in a straight glass.
LANDLORD: [hands over glasses] There yer go, free of charge coz the BBC are payin the bar tab. Now get out of me sight, all of yer!
[The Doctor and Spartha go and sit down at a table, seemingly unaware that it is already occupied by a boy and a girl in their early 20s and thus keeping the Yoof Demographic in check.]
FRENCHY # 1: Elloo! I em Pierre and this is Francoise. We’re over here fram France. We both ztudy eculugy at ze Sorbonne. Do yu mand ef we jarn you?
DOCTOR: Yay! Pull up chairs guys! Oh. Wait. Like, you have already.
FRENCHY # 1: Let airz gev yu air life hiztaries wizzout evan arsken yair names! Yu zee, we are ekulugy ztuzents over here on holiday in ze summer break.
SPARTHA: ...we know. You just told us two seconds ago.
FRENCHY # 1: Actually ve have... vhat’s the English phrase?… an alterior moteev. Ve beth belong to Grenpiss and ve are ovar ere inwestigating ze operations of ze Gastroenteritix Coompany.
SPARTHA: And you think the best way to stay undercover is tell strangers in the pub your life story?
FRENCHY # 1: Wee, mon filly, wee! Yu zee, zey are a majair pollutont en France and zey are using yair coastline to dump zeir vaste. Zey make GM zynzetic rubbair and oil FOR ABZOLUTALLY NO RAISON VATZOEVAIR! Zey ave done a deal with yair govarnment to jare zarm of zeir carmpletely pointaless rezerch ef zey cen dump zeir vaste in yair sea! Iz, ow yu zay, jast like an epizood of Ze Goodies?
SPARTHA: Why are you telling us this, strange expositing Frenchman? How do you know that we aren’t working for the Gastroenteritix Company?
FRENCHY # 1: Vell, ze trooth es that––
DOCTOR: [bored] This is, like, so boring. How about you guys coming to a party at my place? It’s been advertised on Facebook, like. Thou, no one’s actually replied to my add for "wicked party inside police box bigger inside than out" and they, like, think I’m some tragically unfashionable Colchester history teacher in their 40s performing internet fraud...
SPARTHA: Don’t mind him, Pierre, he’s not himself at the moment.
[She kicks the Doctor hard in the shins. The Doctor stares at her for a moment, then picks up her glass, drains it, smashes against the table and drives it into her skull. The Frenchies exchange uncertain looks.]
DOCTOR: Actually, Pierre, never felt better. I’m, like, totally post-modernistic! Word!
[Spartha shoves the Doctor to the floor and tries to peer through the blood pouring down her face.]
SPARTHA: This is interesting. I’m investigating a series of strange deaths near here. Well, one dead. In the last five minutes. But it might be relevant somehow.
FRENCHY # 1: Wart meks yu zink zat?
[Suddenly the door of the pub flies open and a man staggers in. He is covered in claw marks and his left arm is hanging half-severed.]
DOCTOR: Yay! It’s Floppo, like, the adorably drunk clown! Only an alcoholic like him could head straight to a pub with his arm nearly torn off!
[He staggers and falls to the floor screaming. No one moves to help him.]
DOCTOR: Whoa. Rough neighborhood. Especially since, like, he musta walking around the village and no one like tried to help him. Or called the police. Why are the Cornish such assholes?
SPARTHA: It’s a mystery we may never solve.
[As the last remaining viewer swings slowly from a rope, the Doctor and leaps up and nudges the screaming victim with a toe.]
DOCTOR: Wow. People, like, are getting mutilated by monsters within, like, five minutes of each other! This is, like, so random. Wait. Did I say ‘random’? I meant... ‘consistent’. OK, Spartha, you’re the medic, you want to help him or something?
SPARTHA: No fear. I’m texting for an ambulance.
DOCTOR: Isn’t that, like, a tad lazy?
SPARTHA: Grow up, numbnuts! I still haven’t forgiven you for you uncouth domestic violence.
DOCTOR: I SO TOTALLY HATE YOU!
FRENCHY # 1: Hmm. I share iz pasharn, mon fille. Yu are, ow yu say, a tutul man-heting bee-yotch.
[The Doctor looks around the rest of the pub, but no one is paying attention.]
DOCTOR: You guys sure are harsh, you know that?
Scene 7 – Outside the Goat & Poofter
[An ambulance with a destination sign saying "LOCAL HOSPITAL" leaves, revealing the Doctor, Spartha (with a bandaged head) and the two Frenchies standing rather uselessly outside the pub.]
DOCTOR: ...anybody got any pot?
SPARTHA: Act your age, numbnuts! We have to assess the way forward!
FRENCHY # 1: And ow are we zuppozed to do zat?
[They all sit on a bench. A long pause.]
SPARTHA: Well, after three weeks of doing absolutely fuck all, we clearly need to investigate the beach and justify the location shoot. Again. And also the pollution angle, I guess, assuming it’s not too much of a Pertwee rip-off. That man had sand on his shoes and those wounds looked like animal bites.
DOCTOR: What man?
SPARTHA: The dead man.
DOCTOR: Which one?
SPARTHA: The one in the ambulance.
DOCTOR: Like, Spartha, he was still alive.
SPARTHA: It doesn’t matter! He had sand on his shoes!
DOCTOR: Everyone has sand on their shoes, babe, it’s a fishing village!
FRENCHY # 1: Pardon. I em, ow yu zay, keen to help?
DOCTOR: Whatever.
FRENCHY # 1: We ave erd of athar strenge animal atteks round ere.
SPARTHA: How irregular. The Unified Intelligence Taskforce hasn’t and they’ve been monitoring this town for months. I find this strange.
FRENCHY # 1: Owevair, as an eculugy studant...
DOCTOR & SPARTHA: We know! Change the bloody record!
FRENCHY # 1: Pardon. I juz like, ow yu zay, telling people zat I em an eculugy ztuzent. And as an eculugy ztuzent, I fend it ard to believe zat pollutian she could turn animals into ze kind of theng zat card inflict wounds like zat.
SPARTHA: Why should we care what an "eculugist" thinks? Are you an expert in DNA modification or animal experimentation? No? Well shut up, then Pierre!
DOCTOR: Besides, dudes, pollution can turn monsters feral. I’ve, like, encountered giant maggots the size of large rats caused by pollution. It was mingin! In fact like, this whole adventure like, is so totally, like, an amazing massive super rip off of that story, like random man, it’s like we is bein written by some out-of-it fan-fic dude! Totally!
SPARTHA: Ahem! I think you’ll find we were going to investigate the beach. You can lead the way.
DOCTOR: Wicked!
SPARTHA: And if any hideous monsters attack, you can be the first to die.
[The Doctor frowns, thinks for a moment, shrugs and grooves his way down the street heedless of any and all danger. The others follow.]
Scene 8 – On the Shore
[The group pass a car. One of the Frenchies stops and looks at it.]
FRENCHY # 1: Zoot allors! Zis is my car, mes ami.
DOCTOR: Dude, you parked your car within spitting distance of the murder scene. Total coincidence city.
SPARTHA: Puny males, always talking about cars. Come, Francoise, we shall poke about the sand looking for footprints that the tide has yet to wash away on the public beach. And don’t you dare ask what possible good that could do or I shall throttle the very life out of your body.
[Meekly, the other Frenchy follows Spartha as the first Frenchy opens the boot of his car.]
FRENCHY # 1: Merci! Eh, Doctor, look at zis mon braaaav!
DOCTOR: Only if it’s worth, like, taking a photo of with my phone.
[The Frenchy takes out a large bag.]
FRENCHY # 1: I ave, ow you zay, by totul coinsubsidance, packed two divarng zootz in ere. I ed tootorly ferguttan I hed packed zese. Zis convenience allows airz, ze eculugy ztuzents to go und zee where ze doomping is takeen pless, azzuming we ectually knew where zay were doing zu doomping!
DOCTOR: [puzzled] Wow. Suspiciously convenient, like. But how are we, like, gonna get out to sea? How could anyone, like, possibly traverse upon the water without a totally godlike gift? Oh. Wait. I remember. Boat things. And I have a TARDIS. And Spartha can always call in a UNIT helicopter. In fact, like, we’re kinda spoiled for choice...
FRENCHY # 2: I beleef I cahn elp ere...
SPARTHA: My god, you can speak!
FRENCHY # 2: [smiles] We highaired zat boat over zere earlior.
[She points to the only boat on the whole beach and who absolutely no one has noticed.]
DOCTOR: That is, like, unbelievably convenient!
SPARTHA: So. You hired a boat... and then went to the pub?
FRENCHY # 1: Wee.
DOCTOR: [grinning like a twat] Wicked!
SPARTHA: [scowling like a slag] Act your age! We need to be sensible and careful about this!
Scene 9 – At Sea
[The boat hurtles out of control over the water, as we see that the male Frenchy is manning the boat blindfolded and steering the wheel using only his buttocks. All the others are screaming hysterically as they try not to fall out of the high-speed boat.]
DOCTOR: TOTALLY WICKED, YEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAH!
[Spartha reaches forward and smacks him in the back of the head at the exact moment the boat stop, so the momentum smashes the Doctor against the dashboard. The Frenchy takes off his blindfold.]
FRENCHY # 1: Well ma frenz, it appairs zat we are campletely out of ze fuel ze boat she needz in order to, ow yu zay, move a fucking zinch. Zo we might es well ztart darving here.
[The Doctor gets up, trying to straighten his floppy hair as blood trickles from his nose.]
DOCTOR: Yay, like, this is much better than just flying the TARDIS over the water, you dig? Right babes. Me and Pierre will like do the diving as you, Spartha, can’t know how to dive like, what with being a trained UNIT operative and shit... So, you two keep a look out and, you know, try and find a meaning to your totally pointless lives, like.
[In a scene essential to the for-want-of-a-better-world ‘plot’, the Doctor and the male Frenchy get undressed to get into the diving suits while the girls stare at the Doctor’s slim, smooth limbs and glistening torso. The Frenchy is foreign so no one cares if he has an almost god-like smooth chest.]
FRENCHY # 2: Zat guy yu repeatedly berate and try to physically azzalt is, ow yu zay, very beeyootifarl.
SPARTHA: [to herself] There is certainly a plus side to this regeneration. Especially after his last body, which was like Quasimodo on a bad hair day and who I never found physically attractive. Of course, it’s a shame about his personality, his new-found alcohol problem and his new found uncaring for human life. But with a body like that, it doesn’t matter. Looks are everything.
[The men now wear diving suits. The Frenchy’s doesn’t quite fit.]
FRENCHY # 1: Remind me, Monsieur Doctor, why muzt I, ze eculugy ztuzent wear ze womarn’s wetzoot intended for Francoise in ziz fashiyarn?
DOCTOR: Because, like, I’d lose gravitas and stuff swimming around in a tart’s rubber outfit, wouldn’t I? Sides, it wouldn’t be realistic, like if I happened to fit the suit you just happened to have at the same time as luckily hiring the car, wouldn’t it?
FRENCH # 1: Meh, if yu put it like zat...
Scene 10 – Under Sea
[The Doctor and Pierre dive in and swim about. Luckily the whole ocean is lit up with a lime green glow coming from the bright sludge seeping out of the metal drums beneath them.]
DOCTOR: [muffled] Beep. You know, like, this idea is actually pretty stupid now I think of it. Beep. We’re diving into the main concentration of toxic ooze creating, like, monsters. How retarded are we, huh? Beep.
[The Doctor sighs and takes out his mobile and starts filming.]
Scene 11 – At Sea
[Spartha and the remaining Frenchy sit on the deck not doing anything because they are puny females. Suddenly there is the distinctive sound of another boat approaching. They both look up. Another boat is approaching, hence the distinctive and highly accurate noise. There is a gunshot, then another.]
SPARTHA: [with subnormal intelligence] They’re shooting at us!
FRENCHY # 2: Ow yu zay, no zhit, Zherluck!
SPARTHA: I mean that this evil corporation aren’t just loitering suspiciously around the dumping spot stupidly close next to a population centre so all their pollution will be instantly noticed, but they’re actually trying to kill us in the least-subtle and idiotic manner ever!
FRENCHY # 2: Mebbe zey are trying to get cart?
[More gunfire and the Frenchy tries to start the boat engine.]
SPARTHA: Hang on you stupid garlic-bicycle-rider! We can’t leave the Doctor and Pierre!
FRENCHY # 2: Zoot alorz, Zparza Jjons! I hed, ow yu zay, tutarly forgozzen zat! But, zince we are out ef fuel, we couldent leave zem anyway.
[They stare down into the water but there is no sign of the nauseating adolescents since they’ve dived out of view and even though they aren’t necessarily in trouble, this is given maximum tension anyway.]
SPARTHA: Oh. Wait. We should have given them a line or something so we could tell them they were in trouble, really, should we?
FRENCHY # 2: A little, wee.
SPARTHA: Shit. And I was so smug about being careful about this expedition. Still, if I kill all the witnesses, my reputation shall remain untarnished! NOTHING IN THE WORLD CAN STOP ME NOW!!
[She starts to throttle the Frenchy as the other boat continues to fire, each time only JUST missing Spartha’s head. Suddenly, the Doctor and the other Frenchy surface.]
DOCTOR: Yay, what did we miss?
FRENCHY # 1: Are yu, ow yu zay, throttling ze larf art ov ma preysharss Francoise?
[Spartha drops the other Frenchy and gesticulates to them.]
FRENCHY # 1: Sharming!
SPARTHA: Grow up, numbnuts and get yourselves on board quick!
DOCTOR: [rolls eyes] Like, we didn’t already suss already man!
FRENCHY # 2: Docteur, ow yu zay, ect yar aige!
[Meekly, the Doctor and the other Frenchy climb on board, taking their own sweet time.]
DOCTOR: Mmm. All the bullets in the water and the other boat and you’re in a panic. So, what’s, like, happening dudes?
SPARTHA: Someone on that other boat is shooting at us.
FRENCHY # 1: Zoot allors, ma fille! Zo zey are!
SPARTHA: And don’t refer to us as dudes!
DOCTOR: Sorry, dudette, it’s just you’re so damn masculine...
SPARTHA: I should hope so, too.
[Another stray bullet slams through Spartha’s severe hairdo.]
SPARTHA: Do you mind?! Who do you gun-wielding maniacs think you are?!
FRENCHY # 1: Ahah! I hev eet! Zey must wark for ze Gastroenteritix Company!
DOCTOR: You, like, sure? Couldn’t it just, like, be some Cornish yokels in a fishing boat who are totally driven psycho by polluted fish suppers?
FRENCHY # 2: No, Docteur! Zis is exactly how zey operate en France!
DOCTOR: You mean, like deliberately being so suspicious and stupid as possible?
FRENCHY # 1: Wee! Zey pointless lure in ze eco-terrorists and zen shoot zem as part of zeir, ow yu zay, primaree business plen!
[Another gunshot blasts a hole in side of the boat.]
FRENCHY # 1: Last year zey shot at zeveral Greenpeace demarnstraters in ze grands of zeir Normandy plantation! Of courze, ze French authorities, ow yu zay, failed to believe our version of events, even wiz ze dead bodies attracting ze flies. Ho! If only we had zought of filing it on our mobiles and putting it up on ze TubeYou! Damn us, ve are nuthing more zan ze cheese-eatering zurrender monkeys of yesteryeah!
SPARTHA: Well of course, you’re a bunch of foreigners and clearly corrupt and incompetent. No wonder the company can routinely execute anyone who comes near them without anyone noticing.
DOCTOR: Who, like, owns this company? It, like, isn’t Damian Satan is it? Cause he is da nuts!
FRENCHY # 2: No, monsieur. It vas bought by a Russian billionaire, Lord Ivan Nathaniel Cocker Spaniel Luke Rattigan Obstromsky Ponsonsky Oblomov Boblomov Dob Iblomov eight yearz ego. Zat is ven ze prablems, she, ow yu zay, ztartid and ve heff ONLY just noticed zem!
DOCTOR: [ala Boney M’s "Rasputin"] Oh, those Russians!
[Another pause. A few more stray bullets. Suddenly, the Doctor has an epiphany.]
DOCTOR: Yay! That explains it, like!
FRENCHY # 1: Zeriously, Doctur, vy do yu keep zaying "yay" all ze time?
DOCTOR: That’s not important right now, Frenchy! This Russian dude is clearly cutting costs by dumping his toxic waste in the sea in cheap containers which leak, and using the excess to bribe the authorities and ship this muck all the way to Cornwall! So not only is he evil, he’s financially very stupid! And the chemicals have had an effect on the marine life! Yay! Doesn’t that, like, make total sense?
SPARTHA: No. It doesn’t.
DOCTOR: Oh. [beat] Shit.
[Finally a stray bullet hits the fuel tank and the entire boat explodes in a massive fireball.]
END OF PART ONE
INTERMISSION
WARS OF THE POSIES:
The Gathering ShitstormA HISTORICAL DRAMA SPECIALLY WRITTEN AS TO BE ACCESSIBLE TO TODAY’S YOUTH
by
MARK "FLAMINGO" GOACHER
[The council chamber of King Henry the Sixth. With a fanfare of trumpets, the King enters with his entourages of non-speaking extras and sits on the throne. The two Duke Dicks stand to one side with "KISS US WE’RE THE RICHEST MAGNATES IN ENGLAND" T-shirts.]
KING: Verily tis done! Our realm is now at peace with our French cousins. The war is peacefully concluded.
[The Duke Dick of York whispers to Duke Dick of Warwick.]
YORK: Look at him, the silly wet fool. Not half the King his father was. He’s gone and lost all our lands in France bar Calais. The Frenchies are laughing at us!
WARWICK: You’re right, he’s a retarded imbecile... Can I say that?
YORK: Of course you can, Warwick. This is medieval England, political correctness hasn’t been invented yet. What’s worse is the fact that I have a better claim to the throne than he does, since I’m descended from the second son of Edward III and he the third son.
WARWICK: Eh?
YORK: He’s a Lancastrian wimp!
WARWICK: Ah. Gotcha.
[The Duke of Suffolk makes an announcement.]
SUFFOLK: Since the lazy git can’t continue speaking for himself, the King also wishes you to know that the Queen is with child. There is to be an heir at last!
YORK: Oh for fuck’s sake! It obviously isn’t his, since he’s more interested in religion than nookie. She’s been put up the duff by the Duke of Somerset. She's French of course; a French agent at the heart of our court! Woe is us!
WARWICK: Somerset and Suffolk are the ones behind us losing this war. Henry is too daft to get rid of them. They’re her stooges, the French slapper!
YORK: What England needs is a pair of real lads like us running the show. We can’t usurp the twonk as he’s an anointed king and the nobles wouldn't have it. But if we could force him to lob that pair’s heads off, kick his wife into line and start the war again, all would be tickety-boo.
[Suddenly there is another fanfare of trumpets. Queen Margaret enters with her "friend" the Duke of Somerset, and she has her hand down his breeches.]
QUEEN: We are pleased to perchance to greet you all.
SUFFOLK: Congratulations on your glad tidings your majesty.
WARWICK: Yeah, you WHORE!
[York elbows Warwick in the groin and collapses in pain. No one notices.]
YORK: Keep your friggin’ voice down! She’ll hear!
[Warwick coughs up blood and moans. York ignores him.]
YORK: Look at that crawling bastard Suffolk. What I’d give to see him gibbeted over the gates of London....
KING: Verily tis time for one to walk in one’s garden and smell the pretty flowers. But first one must pray. This baby is truly a gift from God!
WARWICK: [sobbing in pain] A gift from Somerset’s LOINS more like!
[York kicks him again. Warwick screams.]
YORK: I said keep your bleedin’ voice down! Look. We need to be more clever. It’s time we raised our vast armies of trusty retainers and seized the day.
[Warwick painfully claws to his feet.]
WARWICK: I think... you may be right... Our time has come...
YORK: Er, what makes you say that?
WARWICK: [points] LOOK! Henry has suddenly slumped into a catatonic schizophrenic stupor!
YORK: ...so he has.
[Queen Margaret glances at the prone body of the King, lying on the floor.]
QUEEN: [yawns] Help, help, one’s husband is ill. Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind.
END OF INTERMISSION
PART TWO: Planet Waves
Scene 12 – TARDIS Bedroom
[In a filthy teenager’s bedroom, its roundeled walls covered in posters of Bowie and Adam Rickitt, the Doctor stands before Spartha, who kneels before him, staring in horror.]
DOCTOR: I’ve, like, had this for a long time. I’ve two actually.
SPARTHA: What the hell is that thing?
DOCTOR: I thought you was expert on xenobiology, like?
SPARTHA: Don’t be so vulgar, you Skins-stereotype chav!
DOCTOR: [weeps] You are UNWORTHY OF MY LOVE! Anyway, it’s invisibility cloak.
[We see he is holding nothing in either hand. Spartha gets off her knees.]
DOCTOR: I, like, borrowed em from these alien dude Harrion Potorz on the planet Hogwartifrey. I was, like, "Can I borrow them for a while?" and they was, like, "Yeah man, cool!" And, like, contrivance on contrivance, there’s one for both of us, like!
SPARTHA: So? Get to the point!
[The Doctor stares at her.]
DOCTOR: They’re cloaks of invisibility, Spartha, you retard. Like, how much of a point is needed?
SPARTHA: GROW UP AND ANSWER THE QUESTION!
DOCTOR: Well, if we, like, wear these and patrol the beach tonight, whatever creature thingy comes out of the sea won’t see us!
SPARTHA: You mean... the invisibility cloaks will make us invisible?!
DOCTOR: Wicked, eh? Course, it’ll still hear you telling people to act their age, like. And smell you. And see your footprints in the sand. And it’s probably wicked telepathic. So, I guess it is completely useless! And we don’t even know when the creature thingy is going to emerge, do we? Maybe like we should go to the beach right now?
[They move to the exit. Spartha stops.]
SPARTHA: Hang on... "Invisibility"? That’s MAGIC you oversexed muppet!
DOCTOR: [in a remarkably high-pitched voice] Like, hold on! It’s made from this cool fabric that, like, totally bends light rays so people can’t see you. Isn’t that just awesome?!
[Spartha picks nothing up and vanishes. The Doctor looks around, confused.]
DOCTOR: Like where are you?
SPARTHA: [VO] This thing really does work. So you can’t see me do THIS then?
DOCTOR: Like, dude, I can’t see you AT ALL!
[Suddenly the Doctor is smashed against the wall, before flung across the room. He lies in the floor, screaming in pain as the invisible Spartha began giving him the hiding of several life times.]
Scene 13 – On the Shore
[Meanwhile an old man is wandering along the beach with a metal detector.]
OLD MAN: Evening. My name’s Old Bill Oakwell and I like a bit of beachcombing after the sunbathers have gone home. Course there aren’t many of them nowadays with all these murders and disappearances and unexplained lights in the sky, but it’ll take more than a grotesque killing spree to convince ME to stay in doors, mark my words...
[The fishy creature from the pre-credit sequence sneaks up behind the old man.]
OLD MAN: Ah, me old and rather ineffective metal detector. The Chatham 5000, it’s called. Does absolutely sod all that's useful but won’t shut up about how good it is! Came free with an invisibility cloak, a small child’s sock and a glass of absinthe, you know. With this I might be able to find some coins that have been dropped in the sand. Hang on. It’s just struck me. I could be doing more with my life. Golly gosh, I’ve wasted years doing this pointless crap! I see new horizons and opportunities opening up...
[The fishy creature tears a lump of flesh out of the old man’s neck.]
OLD MAN: Oh, this is just typical!
[The fish being knocks him to the ground and starts to rip out his entrails.]
OLD MAN: Oh, if only a passing Time Lord had a sense of urgency there might be less needless deaths!
[He dies.]
Scene 14 – The Goat & Poofter
[The two Frenchies are sitting in the pub.]
FRENCHY # 2: Zoot allors, Pierre! Ah still, ow yu zay, fail to grazb hexactly ow we zurvived ze destruction of our boat in a messive firebarl...
FRENCHY # 1: All will be explained in a future outline, mon fille. We must wait for ze Docteur and is beeg, butch transexual assistant to arrive.
FRENCHY # 2: But aren’t they going to meet on ze beach?
FRENCHY # 1: Maybe. I do not, ow yu zay, give a sheet. Gaston! More absinthe! Francoise, if in ze unlikely event we survive zese dark an terrible tarms ahead of us, and ze alien killers on ze loose do not zlaughter us and go en to annihilate ze country of England, would you do me ze honor...
FRENCHY # 2: Wee, Pierre?
FRENCHY # 1:...of hitchhiking up to Zcotland and visit a new age ztereotypical French community?
FRENCHY # 2: [firmly] Abzolutely not!
FRENCHY # 1: Phew. Zat is a relief. I cannot stand ze French women who want to do ztupeed zings like zat! Expecially when we have a car and abzolutely none of ze need to hitchhike anyvere!
[Suddenly however, a group of armed men in leather jackets burst into the pub and surround them.]
FRENCHY # 1: Mon dew! Zese Cornish vishing villages are zertainly full of ze excitement! No wonder ze landlords do not notice ze mutilated corpses or urban terrorism, eh?
RUSSIAN # 1: You vill come with us.
[A pause.]
RUSSIAN # 1: You vill come now.
[Another pause. No one moves.]
RUSSIAN # 1: You heff been identified by our comrades ez economic wreckers.
FRENCHY # 2: What ze vuk is an ‘economic wrecker’?
[The Russian raises his shotgun.]
RUSSIAN # 1: Eh. Comrade. I vas talking.
FRENCHY # 2: [sadly] Pardon.
RUSSIAN # 1: Indeed. Az I vas saying. Economic wreckers and stuff. And for zis, you vill be shot...!
[The male Frenchy finishes his absinthe before getting on his knees and begging for his life.]
FRENCHY # 1: No! Mercy! Ve are but two-dimensional exposition machines wiz, ow yu zay, no personality whatzoever! Zurely not even ve deserve to die in zuch an out of ze-blue would-be-cliffhanger moment!
FRENCHY # 2: Monsieur, if you vish to zhoot us, vy not just do it here and now then?
FRENCHY # 1: Francoise, shut ze goddam hell up!
FRENCHY # 2: It is a good question zat needs to be asked, Pierre! If zeze villains are so stupid, ve should be able to escape zem with, ow yu zay, vun smoothe-chested amateur archaeologist tied behind our backs?
RUSSIAN # 1: You may be vondering vy we are not prepared to execute you but ve ARE prepared to barge into a bar like zis in full view of an entire village in the most attention-grabbingly zuzpiciouz menner pozzible and giff lengthy end stilted speech about economic wrecking?
FRENCHY # 1: Wee, pretty much.
RUSSIAN # 1: Vell, I’m not going to tell you. Zo zere. Hahahaha, yes, comrade?
[The Russians herd the Frenchies out of the pub. The rustic locals don’t do a damn thing.]
Scene 15 – Generic Cornish Village
[The two Frenchies are dragged out of the pub and bundled into a car. The car drives up the road for a block and then parks outside a building with a huge flashing neon sign: "GASTROENTERITIX PLANT FOR ILLEGAL DUMPING – LOCALS WILL BE MURDERED BLOODILY". The Russians drag the Frenchies from the car and into the building.]
FRENCHY # 1: Zoot allors, mon fille! We just assumed ze Russians they were creating the waste in France and dumping it as far away as possible, but zey have built a plant RIGHT next to ze illegal dumping zone!
FRENCHY # 2: What diabolical ingenuity, Pierre!
Scene 16 – Generic Cornish Warehouse
[The Frenchies are forcefully manhandled into the set. A bald man in a leather jacket approaches, looking curiously like Alexei Sayle.]
FRENCHY # 1: OH NOES, IT IS RUSSIAN LEADER VLADIMIR PUTIN!!!!
FRENCHY # 2: EVERYBODY, OW YU ZAY, RUN!!!
[No one does. The Frenchies look stupid.]
RUSSIAN # 2: Niet, comrade. I am not Vladimir Putin. My name is Ivan Iblomov. I vill be your action movie commie stereotype zis evenink.
FRENCHY # 1: [sotto] Francoise, vat would a Russion BILLIONARE be doing in Cornwall?
FRENCHY # 2: [sotto] I, ow yu zay, haven’t a vukking clue, Pierre!
RUSSIAN # 2: Zo. You are ze troublemakers?
FRENCHY # 1: Um. No.
RUSSIAN # 2: Vat?
FRENCHY # 1: We are not ze troublemakers.
RUSSIAN # 2: Oh, a zouzand apologies, comrade I... Hang on. You nearly tricked me, you French bastard! Zat vas close! You know, in Russia ve deal vith people like you vithout hefink to observe ze niceties of legality. I vish to brink zese innovative business prectices into ze UK.
FRENCHY # 2: Well, Monsieur, we wish not to be killed.
RUSSIAN # 2: Hah! Your vish vill not be granted!
FRENCHY # 2: Even zo you have gone to all the trouble to brings us here, set up your base right by the crime scene and ensured both are in public view as you gloat and reveal your guilt to us?
FRENCHY # 1: Mon dew, I am angered! I am infuriated! Indeed, I may even be, ow yu zay, INCENSED! You can’t silence Greenpeace. They control ze internet, ze newspapers, zey have contacts in ze police, word of mouth, billboards, notes in class, atheist busses! You’re just lucky they haven’t done a zingle zing about zis! But WE know you are pumping toxic chemicals into the sea around here. Well, dumping drums of it into the sea around here. POSSIBLY! We just don’t have proof. BUT WE KNOW!!
RUSSIAN # 2: Ha! Do you zink ve care about vat you know?
FRENCHY # 2: Well, you DID kidnap up.
RUSSIAN # 2: In Russia ve hef a sayink: ‘if a men is a problem, no men no problem.’
FRENCHY # 1: ...so?
FRENCHY # 2: Do Russian sayings normally sound so stupid and grammatically bad?
RUSSIAN # 2: [sighs] Oy vey. No vun appreciated veiled threats any more. [gestures to a henchman] Shoot him Ivan.
RUSSIAN # 1: You vant me to kill you, comrade?
RUSSIAN # 2: Niet, niet, comrade. I said, "Shoot him Ivan!"
RUSSIAN # 1: But YOU are Ivan, comrade.
RUSSIAN # 2: So I em. Thenk you for remindink me. Is there anyone here called Vladimir?
[The henchmen shake their heads.]
RUSSIAN # 2: Dmitri? Boris?
[More headshaking.]
RUSSIAN # 2: So, all of us, to a men, is called Ivan?
[They all nod.]
RUSSIAN # 2: Zis is irregular. I find zis strange.
FRENCHY # 2: Pardon, Monsieur, but, zeriously, vy did you kidnap up and take us to a not-at-all zecret location und tie uz up just so you can tell your enchmen to zhoot uz inztead of, ow yu zay, blowing our brains out in ze pub?
RUSSIAN # 2: Oh, niet, comrade. You vill not be ketchink me out as easily as that, yes? Now. Kill ze Frenchy French froggy people, OK?
[The henchmen aim their guns at the Frenchies’ respective heads.]
FRENCHIES: Zumbody, zave es!
[A long pause. Nothing happens.]
FRENCHY # 1: Oh. I was, ow yu zay, hoping zat before you could shoot, zat door would burst open and Ben Chatham, Katie Ryan and Kyle Barry Zcott would enter and, ow yu zay, unleash tear gas canistars und fire a volley of sharts over your heads, zo you and your associates would all run away! Zen we would all rarsh out end jump into Ben’s waiting antique car and be driven out of ze complex, smashing through a perimeter gate.
[Another pause.]
RUSSIAN # 2: Ve don’t HEFF a perimeter gate, comrade.
FRENCHY # 2: [sighs] Wee.
RUSSIAN # 2: I mean, you zeem to thenk zet passing intelligence agencies just heppen to be passing end decide to attack even zo zere is no way, niet, zat zey could know zat you needed rescuing. And you zeriously zeem to believe that an antique car can escape us ven zere isn’t even a getaway driver and ve vouldn’t just zhoot you all? Vorst of all, you thenk thet zis Ben Chayteem may actually HELP YOU?
FRENCHY # 2: It was a razer stupid idea now you come to mention eet.
RUSSIAN # 2: Indeed. Now, vere vas I? Oh yes. Kill zem.
FRENCHY # 1: Ze Docteur and Sparza Jones vill avenge us!
RUSSIAN # 2: Da? Vell are zey goink to sit around, cryink into zer trendy bovril-drinks, or zey goink to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT??? A clue: I don’t giff a shet.
[The Russians open fire, blowing half the Frenchies’ heads off, leaving them looking rather stupid and gormless before they vomit streams of blood and slump dead to the ground.]
RUSSIAN # 2: Pub?
RUSSIAN # 1: Pub.
RUSSIAN # 2: [nods] Pub.
Scene 17 – On the Shore
[As the Doctor and Spartha Jones are completely invisible, this patch of beach appears completely deserted.]
SPARTHA: [VO] These stupid cloaks are too long. I keep tripping over things.
DOCTOR: [VO] If they were any shorter, like, they wouldn’t cover your feet and they’d be totally visible.
SPARTHA: [VO] We might as well hidden behind a boat...
DOCTOR: [VO] Hiding behind boats is soooooo yesterday. This is, like, so cool. It’s a bit boring, though, just like sitting here. It’s, like, cool yet boring. Simultaneously. Yay.
SPARTHA: [VO] Oh, grow up! We could be here for hours!
DOCTOR: [VO] Oh man that sucks! I wanna go soon. Some guys from myspace are having a Skins-party and like trashing this house! I know it sounds like a totally pointless waste of time, but at least it doesn’t have your ugly intellectually barren fuckhead there, so it’s awesome!
SPARTHA: [VO] This was your idea, Doctor!
DOCTOR: [VO] Yeah, but it was your idea to actually follow my suggestion, like.
SPARTHA: [VO] Shut up! We ARE not going until we’ve seen it through!
DOCTOR: [VO] I hate you, you fucking bitch. No one likes you, you know that. Even Aaron was cooler than you.
SPARTHA: [VO] Act your age, god damn it!
[As they argue, something starts to emerge from the sea.]
SPARTHA: [VO] Look, something is emerging from the sea!
DOCTOR: [VO] Did, like, you study medicine, or redundancy? Shut up!
[Slowly the creature emerges fully from the sea.]
DOCTOR: [VO] "Oooh! It’s, like, now fully emerged, from the sea, like!" You get how ANNOYING that is? YES, WE GET THE POINT! IT EMERGES FROM THE SEA! SHUT UP ABOUT IT!
SPARTHA: [VO] Kindly don’t be so vulgar, Doctor
[The fish creature lunges out of the sea towards a particular patch of ground.]
SPARTHA: [VO] Hah. You see, it CAN detect us even when we’re invisible! I was right! Again. Doctor? Doctor!
[The fish creature starts attacking a patch of thin air and Spartha starts screaming. Suddenly, the Doctor becomes visible further up the shore, running for his life and leaving Spartha to die. The Doctor hides behind a convenient beach hut as the creature ravages Spartha’s corpse.]
DOCTOR: Yeah, like, that was close, like if it wasn‘t for this invisibility cloak and like Spartha being a non-functional retarded bitch, that thing would have torn me apart. Like, yeah. Good think it wasn’t smart enough to see my footprints in the sand, like, huh? Maybe I should shut up now.
[As the Doctor watches, the creature climbs up onto the promenade, saliva dripping from its fish-like mouth, and it lumbers into some bushes and gardens. Relieved, the Doctor runs over to Spartha’s body and start repeatedly kicking it.]
DOCTOR: Wicked! Yeah, who’s gonna grow up now, like? Got, like, something to say now, do ya? No? Up yours! Yay! The bitch is DEAD!
[Gleefully he kicks Spartha’s gutted skull from her body and kicks it down the beach. He stops as a ringtone of Bowie’s "Low" can be heard – it’s the late Spartha’s phone. Shrugging, the Doctor picks up the phone and answers it.]
DOCTOR: Yellow? [overcome with emotion] Oh, hi dude. How’s you? Uh huh. Uh huh. Like, uh huh. Yeah. Big slavering monster on the loose, like. Yeah, I had a kind of a plan to stop it when it emerged from the sea, like, but you know. Shit happens. Like, I’m busy talking to YOU, that’s why I’m not chasing it or making any attempt to capture it, like. Look, I, like, know that there’s a monster on the loose, I told YOU that. Yeah, like, lots of villagers are gonna get killed, but they’re all assholes, dude. Hey, dude, like I didn’t ask to be talking to you. Freaking market research! Get a real job, you phony!
[He hangs up, and kicks Spartha’s body again in annoyance.]
DOCTOR: Jerks! Right. I’m off to The Goat & Poofter, like, while YOU can stay here and decompose. Should only take 20 minutes to get there. That monster can’t, like, kill thousands of people in 20 minutes can it? Yay!
[He skips off, singing Pink Floyd’s "Hush" to himself. Sorry, Deep Purple's "Hush". 70s rock groups with colours in the title always get me confused.]
Scene 18 – The Goat & Poofter
[The pub has been wrecked and barricades. There are bloody handprints on the windows. The lights are flickering and there is a heartbeat-type noise from outside. The Doctor walks up to a table with a tray laden with drinks, still "nah-nanna-nah"ing .]
DOCTOR: Vodka and orange for me, like; water for Spartha J; two glasses of wine for Pierre and Francoise... Hah! Like, I totally forget they all died horribly! All the more for me then! Yay!
[He downs the Frenchies’ wine and throws the water away. He crosses to a table where sits three backpackers - a scruffy-haired pale figure in a singlet, an Indigenous Australian with bleached-blond hair and a neon pink T-shirt, and a depressed youth in a multicoloured trenchcoat.]
DOCTOR: So, like, who wanted the pint of John Simms?
DAVE: Me.
[The Doctor hands him a bottle of beer with "VOTE B’STARD" on it.]
DOCTOR: And the Fosters?
[Andrew raises his hand.]
NIGEL: So the cognac must be for me.
DOCTOR: Guess again, N-boy.
[He cracks open the bottle and drains it. Outside the pub a hideous something moves past the windows.]
ANDREW: So. This fish guy thing...
DOCTOR: I know. It’s mental.
ANDREW: It’s presumably sea life that has somehow developed the ability to exist on land and mindlessly attack people while remaining secretive and furtive?
NIGEL: Honestly, Andrew, if they’re intelligent enough to remain hidden they must have SOME reason for killing people!
DAVE: Liiiiiiiiiike?
NIGEL: Oh, I dunno. Maybe they’re hunting down the stupid in a Darwinian effort to ensure the smart members of the human race survive?
[A pause, which is broken by strange two-toned cry and roar of the creature outside.]
SPARACUS: [vo] Untruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeeeeeeeeee....
DAVE: We are so screwed.
DOCTOR: Anyway, like, it’s quite clear from what those two Frenchies said that this creature is somehow the product of the illegal waste dumping that’s been going on, like.
NIGEL: Wow, thanks a lot for that, Captain Super-Obvious. We’d never have worked that out for ourselves.
DOCTOR: It’s, like, so the result of GM technology.
ANDREW: Eh? Why would anyone genetically modify illegal toxic waste?
DAVE: Yeah, and then go to all the trouble to dump it in the sea!
DOCTOR: Dudes!
[The Doctor suddenly stands and faces the camera.]
DOCTOR: On other planets the consequences of, like, changing the genetic makeup of plants and chemicals have been equally dangerous...
[Suddenly, Nigel’s head appears at the right-hand of the screen as he bends forward from off-camera and stares straight into the lens, blocking the Doctor’s shot.]
DOCTOR: Oi, what you doing then, eh?
[Nigel looks back at the Doctor, cautiously.]
NIGEL: Who the freaking hell are you talking do?
DOCTOR: I’m trying to do an important message, like, for the kids watching, dude! About why it is important like to stand up and protest against it!
DAVE: Against what?
DOCTOR: I dunno. GM stuff.
ANDREW: Oh, do me a fucking favor. Even if someone was absinthe-addicted-retarded enough to TRY making a hideous psychotic monster, it would take years, DECADES to do so. Munching some GM corn won’t rewrite the genome, will it? And if you’re going to bitch about people meddling in god’s domain, you might as well rant against Neanderthals for mastering the art of farming in the first place.
NIGEL: The hairy loon’s correct. You’re a total fucking muppet, dude. Don’t preach directly to your audience in a heavy-handed manner about something you obviously know nothing about!
DAVE: Yeah, that’s Nigel’s job.
NIGEL: Yes, Dave, that’s exactly... what?!
DOCTOR: Are you saying, like, GM technology isn’t dangerous just because it increases crop yields?
ANDREW: No. I’m saying you’re a complete tool who has managed to get your last three expository devices killed because you’re a total idiot.
DOCTOR: I am not! You just hate me because of my funny-odd elongated face and my squint!
DAVE: Why the fuck are we even listening to this guy?
NIGEL: No idea. He doesn’t even have Jayma Mays with him in this regeneration.
ANDREW: Nigel, that was Bonnie Langford and you know it.
DOCTOR: You know, my silky skin and dark eyes are considered attractive by fangirls—
DAVE: SHUT UP!
DOCTOR: YOU SHUT UP!
NIGEL: NO, YOU SHUT UP!
ANDREW: EVERYBODY SHUT UP!!
[Outside, Sparacus gives out another unearthly roar.]
SPARACUS: [vo] Smooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooootheeeee...
[The quartet freeze as the heartbeat noise gets louder and louder... then fades. The Doctor is, of course, too stupid to understand what’s going on.]
DOCTOR: Thanks, dudes!
DAVE: Thanks for what?
DOCTOR: Anyways, gang, let’s get spinnin’. I says we like go and find the creature before any other cats get like killed!
[The troika stare at him.]
NIGEL: ...and in English?
ANDREW: Uh, that monster’s already killed half the town. Why didn’t you do something sooner? Like when you were laying a trap for it earlier?
DOCTOR: Pfft. Forget you, man.
[He jumps up and downs everyone else’s drinks.]
DAVE: You are a complete alcoholic, you’re aware of this, right? Oh, and your slang is some 30-40 years out of date.
DOCTOR: No time for that, like, Dave. I gotta get me to the TARDIS to get some plasma rifles that I was given during a curious adventure on the planet Gayanus-69. Really shoulda picked them up when I got the invisibility cloaks, I guess. But where would be the fun in that, huh?
ANDREW: I think those dead and dying might have some answer to that.
DOCTOR: WhatEVAH. Right, we need to split into two teams, like and set off to find the creature!
NIGEL: He’s outside the door for fuck’s sake!
DOCTOR: You check the gardens behind the promenade – it’s probably pissed off, like, but you need to be thorough, OK? I’ll search the lanes nearby!
ANDREW: Aren’t you supposed to be getting some oh-so-convenient shotguns?
DOCTOR: Oh yeah. So I am. Dammit, that creature could be ANYWHERE!
[Suddenly Sparacus’ scaly arm bursts through the back wall of the pub and the creature itself enters.]
SPARACUS: Absiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiintheeeeeeeeee....
[The men back away as the monster looms over the Doctor.]
DOCTOR: [feebly] Yeah, like, that was, like... yeah.
DAVE: See, Doc, this is what happens when you sit around getting drunk while the monster is unchallenged all the time!
ANDREW: Yeah, maybe your wit and ingenuity can save you now, since you can’t go with Plan A of "shooting it with a machine gun".
NIGEL: You just plain suck. Chewetel Ejiofor would have rocked compared to you.
[The trio turn and walk off as Sparacus lurches forward, biting the head off a chicken like Ozzy Osbourne at a KFC abattoir. The Doctor stands, whimpering in terror as the crazed monster lunges towards him.]
DOCTOR: Unawesome. I wish I was still wearing the invisibility cloak. Only ONE THING can save me now – Class-A Colombian nasal dust!
[As the creature draws closer, the Doctor takes out a small sachet of white powder and snorts it furiously. His pupils rapidly dilate and he smiles even MORE stupidly than he usually does.]
DOCTOR: Like... whoa.
[The creature lunges towards the Doctor, its hand-like claws aiming for his throat. The Doctor leaps out of the way and picks up an ashtray and a chopstick from the bar and waves the latter around as if it is a sword. He lets out a kung fu yell. The troika pause at the door.]
DAVE: Oh. This is going to end badly. I can tell.
DOCTOR: [now insane] Behold! Tis Saint George come to slay the dragon! Beware ye untamed beast!
NIGEL: Oh, well, at least he’s doing something now.
ANDREW: And he’s stopped talking like a texting-guttersnipe-chav. That’s an improvement.
DAVE: Pity he’s about to be ripped apart like an extra in an Italian gore film.
ANDREW: [yawns] Yeah. Tragic.
[The Doctor waves the chopstick around in front of the unimpressed Sparacus.]
SPARACUS: Gravitaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas...
[The creature drunkenly runs at him but he jumps sideways as it crashes into the juke box.]
DOCTOR: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah! Brave Saint George is too quick!
[He does a truly awful David-Brent-style jih, his floppy hair flying around. The troika shake their heads in disgust. Sparacus rises up from the ruins of the juke box and flies at the Time Lord, but at the last second a milk bottle flies through the air and shatters against its scaly head.]
SPARACUS: Ubsubstantiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaated....
[The creature falls at the feet of the Doctor who finally notices what’s going on. His pupils contract to normal and looks around in confusion.]
DAVE: Dude. That unstoppable killing machine got stopped. So not only is it unstoppable, it got stopped by a milk bottle. A creature capable of surviving the crushing pressure of the depths of the ocean collapsed cause of some broken glass and bovine lactose!
ANDREW: Yet smashing face first into an electric juke box didn’t so much as slow it down, when I would have expected a fishman like that to be intensive care by now. What a lame-ass monster.
NIGEL: ...a milk bottle? Seriously, who has milk bottles any more?!
SPARTHA: [vo] I do.
[Spartha Jones emerges from the shadows. She is now undead, with part of her arm and a third of her abdomen missing, turning her flesh grey and leaving her remaining tit disappointingly flat. Blood drips from her injuries and jellified internal organs drip from her gut.]
DOCTOR: Hey, I was enjoying you being dead!
SPARTHA: Oh, grow up man!
[The Doctor places his hands over his ears and starts screaming like an Edvard Munch painting...]
END OF PART TWO
INTERMISSION
WARS OF THE POSIES: The Lancastrian Losers Leg It!
A HISTORICAL DRAMA SPECIALLY WRITTEN AS TO BE ACCESSIBLE TO TODAY’S YOUTH
BY MARK "FLAMINGO" GOACHER
[The battlefield at Tewkesbury, resembling a rather untidy Welsh paddock. The Queen and her son, Prince Eddie of Lancaster are fleeing to a small Welsh bedsit with a sign saying "TEWKESBURY ABBEY" and look terrified. The are accompanied by a priest played by David Tennant with his usual flair.]
QUEEN: Verily, the Yorkists approach but we will be safe in here. Even Edward of York would not dare slay us on consecrated ground!
EDDIE JNR: One is not so sure of that mother. Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew.
PRIEST: Jings, would you stop misquoting Shakespeare. The sooner you Lancastrian gits get massacred, the better as far as I’m concerned.
QUEEN: But surely as a priest you can stop the bloodshed by intervening!
PRIEST: Maybe. I’m not getting much incentive, though, am I?
[Suddenly King Edward IV along with his imbecilic half-brothers the Dukes of Clarence & Gloucester wander into view. The Dukes raise trumpets and play a fanfare.]
EDDIE SNR: That’s it, you Lancastrian bastards! Look upon me in AWE! Ahem. Where was I? Oh yes. Now is the summer of our discontent!
PRIEST: Aw, jings, not you too!
EDDIE SNR: Raise thy swords and halberds high men. The enemy is ours!
CLARENCE: Yeah! Let’s waste ’em!
GLOUCESTER: Gloucester kill!!
QUEEN: Spiky-haired Scottish priest! Do something!
PRIEST: Oh, all right then. Anything for an easy life.
[The Priest unenthusiastically waves a silver cross at King Edward.]
PRIEST: [bored] In the name of God, stop this now. You are defiling consecrated ground. I realize that the concept of a war crime hasn’t been invented yet, however this is the age of chivalry and mass slaughter in a church is lowbrow and unworthy of knights.
EDDIE SNR: Oh yeah, I hadden fort of dat. He’s right men! STOP!
CLARENCE: We hadn’t actually started yet.
EDDIE SNR: Shut up! Richie, bring Eddie Jnr outside with us!
GLOUCESTER: Gloucester obey!
[Gloucester grabs Prince Edward of Lancaster round the neck and frog-marches him outside.]
PRIEST: Oooh jings, didn’t see that one coming. Oh well, I can’t change history. Apparently.
EDDIE SNR: Verily, why did you come here?
EDDIE JNR: Because you usurped my father you fat-faced cunt!
[The King bitch-slaps him round the face with his armored glove.]
EDDIE SNR: Foul mouthed urchin. My childhood was never half as interesting!
PRIEST: [yawns] Look, there has been enough bloodshed today. Let us resolve this peacefully and calmly. Violence begets violence. Surrender the Prince to me and I promise that he’ll never threaten you again.
GLOUCESTER: You must think Gloucester thick as a knave.
CLARENCE: [shoving the Priest in the shoulder] Yeah! Keep out of it!
[The King chops the Prince’s head off with his sword. The severed head flies through the air and lands in the Priest’s hands.]
EDDIE: Out, out brief candle—
PRIEST: FOR FUCK’S SAKE!
[The Priest kicks the severed head into a bush, strides across to a police box in the shadows and enters it. Moments later it vanishes with a wheezing, groaning noise. The historical extras look non-plussed.]
END OF INTERMISSION
PART THREE: Under the Red Sky
Scene 19 – Outside the Goat & Poofter
[The fish person is lying in the bins, tied up. The Doctor, Spartha and the Troika are present.]
DAVE: You’re going to leave this in the bins?
DOCTOR: Yeah. Why not, like? It’s rubbish, innit?
NIGEL: It’s a psychotic killing machine who’s slaughtered half this village!
SPARTHA: Kindly be quiet. I know what I’m doing.
ANDREW: Oh, so you’re a marine biologist now, are you? With training in examining with completely new creatures? A clue: fuck off.
SPARTHA: Grow up! It’s out cold.
ANDREW: Yes. It is. And when it wakes up, it will rip your throat out.
SPARTHA: It’s tied up.
DAVE: With string you looted from the house next door!
ANDREW: More to the point... it’s string. Why would that prevent it from breaking loose?
SPARTHA: Do you mind? I wasn’t talking to you civilians! It will be perfectly fine here until I phone Touchwood to come and pick it up. So to speak.
[Spartha pokes the Doctor with her remaining arm until he hands over her mobile.]
NIGEL: Oh fantastic. Phoning people to sort out other problems. That never works!
DOCTOR: Like, it does. Spartha turned to me for help, and I turned to Greenpeace for help and they turned to Operation Helter-Skelter for help and now we’re all, like, turning to Touchwood for help. What could possibly go wrong?
[Spartha, who has been listening for once, sighs and hangs up the phone.]
SPARTHA: You are for once correct. We need to discuss things.
NIGEL: Dudette, while you’ve discussing things, hundreds of people have died and all you’ve done is tied up the monster...
ANDREW:...with some STRING!!
NIGEL: ...and you still have no idea what to do now?
DAVE: Apart from get drunk, no doubt.
SPARTHA: Until Touchwood have fully analyzed that thing...
DOCTOR: Which might take some time, like, since the only people in Touchwood with analysis skills are, like, totally pushing up daisies...
SPARTHA:...we have no concrete evidence to link it to the Gastroenteritix plant or Iblomov’s operations here!
ANDREW: So the corpses in the streets aren’t evidence enough?
NIGEL: Or the leaking metal drums on the seabed?
DAVE: Or the fact your two Frenchies were rounded up by Iblomov and executed two episodes ago?
SPARTHA: Yes, but unfortunately we need clearer proof before we can act. A man like Iblomov will have top lawyers on his payroll and probably the local police!
DOCTOR: The police are all dead, like.
SPARTHA: Act your age, numbnuts!
DAVE: Yeah. You have an immortal Time Lord who has visited every planet in the sky and saved the Earth from mutant freaks all the time and you’re worried about some lawyers?!
NIGEL: So, Time Pussy, got any ideas?
DOCTOR: Yeah, I do, actually, like...
Scene 20 – Generic Cornish Village
[Spartha Jones, Nigel, Dave and Andrew head up to the plant. None look particularly interested or happy. Dave holds a placard reading "BAN GM PRODUCTS FOR SOME REASON!!!" while Nigel wears a sandwich board saying, "NO TO FRANKENSTEIN CHEMICALS!". Spartha has a megaphone. Andrew holds a plastic bag full of eggboxes.]
DOCTOR: [vo] Why don’t we, like, create a diversion at the front gates of the Gastroenteritix Plant?
[Spartha rings the doorbell. We see two Russians at the window.]
RUSSIAN # 3: Comrade Ivan!
RUSSIAN # 4: Yes, Comrade Ivan?
RUSSIAN # 3: Those economic wreckers are back, Comrade.
RUSSIAN # 4: So they are.
RUSSIAN # 3: Hmmm. "Ban GM Products"? We don’t use GM Products, do we?
RUSSIAN # 4: Niet. Should we tell them they've got the wrong factory?
RUSSIAN # 3: Niet. Let them look like retards before we shoot them!
SPARTHA: When they come out, throw the rotten eggs...
NIGEL: [vo] Hang on, hang on, where do we get the eggs and fruit? Do we have to loot the town first?
[The quartet stop and stand around looking bored as the disembodied voices argue.]
DOCTOR: [vo] Okay, forget the eggs, like. Spartha can do a speech.
SPARTHA: [vo] What speech?!
DOCTOR: [vo] Look, it don’t matter, OK? I just need a wicked distraction like to get all the guards running, all right?
ANDREW: [vo] Er, won’t they just take out guns and shoot us all? I mean, that IS the modus operandi of this particular Russian operation, judging from what the Frenchies told you. You know, the ones they assassinated in broad daylight?
[The quartet exchange looks, clearly agreeing this a good point. The Russians nod and show off the guns they happen to be wielding.]
DAVE: [vo] And while we’re risking our lives round the front, what exactly will you be doing?
DOCTOR: [vo] You’re gonna provide the distraction, right, so I can get free reign round the back!
[We cut to the back of the building, where the Doctor is trying to cut through a chain-link fence with a wire cutter. He looks up as he hears the voiceover’s appalling double entendre.]
DOCTOR: Like, ooh-er!
DOCTOR: [vo] Shut it and get to work!
[The Doctor shrugs and continues to cut through the wires.]
ANDREW: [vo] Er... don’t you have a sonic screwdriver any more?
DOCTOR: [vo] Oh yeah. I do. Yay! Totally forgot that like.
[The Doctor is surprised when, via crude editing, his wire-cutters turn into a sonic screwdriver. He bangs it against the wire fence, clearly not having a clue how to use it.]
DOCTOR: [vo] Right, so while you draw their fire, like, I cut my way in...
NIGEL: [vo] And, actually, don’t you have a time travel box that could some faint use in this situation?
[Rolling his eyes, the Doctor turns and walks away from the fence. He crosses to the TARDIS, standing where it was parked. He shoves open the door.]
DOCTOR: OK, OK!! Doing it!
[He enters the police box and closes the doors. The light flashes, the engines grind and the TARDIS fades away... to reappear on the other side of the fence. The door opens and the Doctor emerges.]
DOCTOR: You happy now? OK?
DAVE: [vo] Not particularly, no. Why don’t you use the TARDIS labs to clean up the pollution in the sea?
DOCTOR: What? Like... why?
NIGEL: [vo] Because that pollution will be creating more hideous fish mutants all the time, that’s why!
DAVE: [vo] Yeah!
ANDREW: [vo] Speaking of hideous fish mutants, there’s still the matter of the one you TIED UP WITH STRING getting loose and killing everyone...
DOCTOR: Look, you wankers, I’m, like, trying to treat the cause, not the, like, symptom, OK?!
ANDREW: [vo] Well, why not go and confront Iblomov directly like the REAL Doctor would have, huh?
DOCTOR: Fine!
[The door to the building opens and Iblomov emerges with two armed Russians emerge.]
DOCTOR: Wow. That was, like, unexpected.
DAVE: [vo] Not really. Why would a man like Iblomov order all his security to the front gate to deal with four protesters anyway?
SPARTHA: [vo] Excuse me, I’m still far from clear about what vital part in this vulgar game I should be playing?
DOCTOR: You’re, like, going to be round the front making a gnarly speech to, like, distract him.
SPARTHA: [vo] But he’s not distracted.
DOCTOR: Grow up and do what you’re told, you total slag!
[At the front, Spartha reads, bored from a prepared statement.]
SPARTHA: "The company is genetically modifying industrial chemicals to make them cheaper to mass produce! GM raises genuine concerns as it will destroy organic farming in any area where it is planted." Hang on, this is just a luddite GM Bogeyman argument that totally misses any ethical questions! How vulgar! This speech is total crap: "You can genetically engineer chemicals because certain chemicals do have genes. Like blood or orange for example – which ARE chemicals because they’re a liquid!" What retard wrote this?!
[At the back.]
DOCTOR: Oi! Don’t, like, diss me, you cow! I’ll totally sue you. [to Russian] Like, where we we?
RUSSIAN # 5: Ha! Zo you thought you could fool me, yeah? I, Ivan Sergeiovich, em no fool!
DOCTOR: Sorry, dude. I was actually, like, after Ivan Iblomov.
RUSSIAN # 5: Pah! All Comrades are essentially interchangeable. Bek en Russia we heff a saying...
DAVE: [vo] Another one? Is this man only capable of speaking in made-up proverbs?
RUSSIAN # 5: Shut yo mouth! Where was I? Ah, yes. "the death uff one man is a tragedy as you’ve plunty left to shoot".
ANDREW: [vo] ...they obviously talk a lot of bullshit back in Russia, then.
DOCTOR: That doesn’t even mean anything, like!
RUSSIAN # 5: It means you are goink to die, Comrade.
DAVE: [vo] That’s slightly patronizing, isn’t it?
RUSSIAN # 5: I sed, shaddap! [to the Doctor] En yor knees.
[The Doctor reluctantly kneels down.]
NIGEL: [vo] WHAT?! No way would you kneel! This is the Doctor! This is where he’d say, "Nah, I’m fine thanks, I’ll just stand" and then enter a long monologue where he explains why the villains are stuffed!
[The Russian points the gun at him and prepares to pull the trigger.]
DOCTOR: [vo] Yeah... I think I might have found a flaw in my plan, like.
[The last few moments rewind: the Doctor gets up, talks to the Russian, the Russians go away, the Doctor goes into the TARDIS and then takes off. The image pauses and then fast-forwards as if on a VCR.]
DOCTOR: [vo] Oh well, I’ll just have to have two of you come with me.
[The TARDIS reappears and the Doctor, Andrew and Dave emerge. The Russians appear, talk to the Doctor, then get him to kneel and aim a gun at him.]
DOCTOR: [vo]
Right, so Dave like kicks the gun out of Iblomov’s hand and Andrew totally launches himself at the evil Russian henchmen, like!DAVE: You’re joking! We’ll get shot!
ANDREW: Wouldn’t Iblomov’s henchmen be covering us with guns anyway?
DAVE: And what if we are forced onto our knees as well? What happens then?
DOCTOR: [vo] Well, er, one of them shoots but it whizzes past your head and hits the ground.
DAVE: [shakes head] Oh, no, no, no. No fucking way. I’m not doing that. I don’t like resorting to violence at the best of times and if you think I’m going to willingly walk into a gunfight unarmed after you got your last two companion substitutes an instant lead transfusion, you’re even more retarded than I thought.
ANDREW: What are you actually going to be doing to save yourself, then?
DOCTOR: [vo] Well, I was expecting you to just, well, beat everyone up, like. Stamp on Iblomov’s head and kick the henchmen in the teeth, what with them being all, like, Russian and evil. And when they’re all out cold and, you know, suffering massive internal bleeding, I’ll dust myself down and say...
[The Doctor gets off his knees.]
DOCTOR: Like, wow, that was fab! Anyways guys, let’s, like, explore inside!
ANDREW: Explore?!
DAVE: So, what exactly was your original plan before the Russians turned up?
DOCTOR: Well, sneak into the Gastroenteritix plant and like try and find some evidence. I’ve got this snazzy new phone that takes brill pics, like. We’d enter the building and wander round some corridors, like, before going into this mega large warehouse which is, like, INSIDE the building?
Scene 21 – Generic Cornish Warehouse
[The Doctor pantomime-style tip-toes into the warehouse, skips over the stiff corpses of the two Frenchies and hides behind some boxes as two Russians have a crafty fag and read local paper, "The Cornish Infodump". The headline reaches: HOLOCAUST HAPPENS WHILE HEROES GET HAMMERED!]
DOCTOR: [vo] And then I’d scope out two of Iblomov’s scientists talkin, like...
NIGEL: [vo] Oh, how very convenient! Because they would ONLY discuss things in a preposterously-placed warehouse where anyone could listen...
DOCTOR: [vo] Shut up!
[The two Russians chat in a surprising lack of Russian accents.]
RUSSIAN # 6: Enjoy this break while you can, Chamber. We’re shipping this lot worldwide tomorrow.
RUSSIAN # 7: That’s a bit short notice, isn’t it?
RUSSIAN # 6: Well, they’ve perfected it all apparently.
RUSSIAN # 7: I still don’t get why a Russian chemical company would want genetically modified blood.
RUSSIAN # 6: You don’t get most things, Chamber. They’ve made this sort of blood stay fresh without being refrigerated, that sort of thing. Hospitals, blood banks, they’d kill for a massive advancement like that. This is a license to print money, isn’t it?
RUSSIAN # 7: No, I think that would be when the government actually give you a license to print money, Rupert.
RUSSIAN # 6: Oh, shut up, Chamber.
RUSSIAN # 7: I don’t think GM blood is going to take off though. What about that bloke who tried the transfusion the other day?
RUSSIAN # 6: Which bloke?
RUSSIAN # 7: The dead one.
RUSSIAN # 6: That narrows it down.
RUSSIAN # 7: You know, the one that exploded and had all that avocado pouring out of every orifice?
RUSSIAN # 6: Oh. Him. Well, maybe the GM blood needs a bit more work. But the GM conifers are looking good though – they can grow 20 feet in six months. And they can get really tall.
RUSSIAN # 7: Are those the conifers that are full of small pox?
RUSSIAN # 6: ...yes. You know, call me a sentimental fool, Chamber...
RUSSIAN # 7: You’re a sentimental old fool.
RUSSIAN # 6: But maybe we should have taken the job at the fish and chip emporium instead.
[The Doctor jumps out from behind the boxes.]
DOCTOR: [disgusted] That is, like, disgusting! That, like, settles it! There’s no way I’m allowing any of this stuff to, like, leave here!
DAVE: [vo] And how are you going to stop them?
[The Doctor stops and shrugs.]
DOCTOR: [thinks] Um....
Scene 22 – Generic Cornish Village
[The Doctor, Andrew, Dave and the Russians are still standing round.]
DOCTOR: How’s we gonna stop them? That’s a good question, like.
RUSSIAN # 5: Yor cud cause anutter commotion, I zuppose. Set off the fire alarm, maybe?
DOCTOR: Yay! We can smash it, get the Russians out then wait for backup!
DAVE: What backup? The fire brigade?
ANDREW: Why can’t the 1142-year-old Time Lord come up with his own plan? Or do you really think hoping the Russians will freak out over a sprinkler system?
DOCTOR: Nah, it’s, like, brill! The police and UNIT will turn up and sort everything out!
DAVE: Why in the name of Dommervoy sodomy would UNIT turn up to a fire alarm in Cornwall?
DOCTOR: I dunno, but it’s just the kind of ending I like! Everyone is saved!
ANDREW: Apart from the hundreds killed by the creature you tied up with STRING!
DOCTOR: But Iblomov will be, like, totally arrested and deported to the Ukraine like for gangland murders.
RUSSIAN # 5: Zat is gud. I heff numerous contects in the Ukraine and vill be free and back in business just in time for the start of ze financial year.
DOCTOR: Unawesome. But that GM stock will be incinerated, though...
RUSSIAN # 5: Spreadink the small pox everywhere? Bad move.
DAVE: And there’s still all the toxic mutagen in the sea!
DOCTOR: Oh well, I’ll, like, contact an organization called Doomwatch to clear up the toxic stuff, like?
RUSSIAN # 5: "Doomwatch"? Fuck this!
[Everyone starts to walk off leaving the Doctor alone.]
DOCTOR: Hey, like, come back! We can celebrate, like, at the pub about sorting all this out! I’m steamin!
SPARTHA: [vo] You haven’t actually done any of this yet, numbnuts!
Scene 23 – Outside the Goat & Poofter
[As before. The Doctor, Spartha and the troika are standing over the lifeless body of Sparacus, tied up beside the bins.]
DOCTOR: Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that.
NIGEL: I say we just get the hell out of here and leave those two to die horribly trying to thwart an evil corporation with childish pranks?
DAVE: [to Nigel] I say you’re right.
ANDREW: [to Dave] I say you’re right.
[They turn and walk off. Spartha looks at them, then at the Doctor, then turns and walks off.]
DOCTOR: Awww. This sucks!
[Behind him, Sparacus suddenly awakes, bursting out of his incredibly pathetic STRING bonds. He rises up behind the Doctor, who screams like a girl at the monster towering over him. At the last second, Sparacus stops and stares into the camera.]
SPARACUS: Don’t forget to tune in for the next thrilling installment of this long-awaited classic episode, folks! It’s much better than the current TV specials, that’s for sure! You don’t find RTD providing such high-quality Doctor Who material to an appreciative audience, do you?
[It turns back to see the Doctor has scarpered.]
SPARACUS: Fuck.
[The Time Lord flees down the street and Sparacus gallops after his running figure. The Doctor turns a corner and tries the door to a shop covered in bloody handprints, but its locked and precious seconds are wasted on the lost cause of trying to open it as the monster draws closer and closer. The Doctor fearfully looks at the monster, tries the door one last time, then runs off. He turns another corner and sees the TARDIS at the end of the alleyway. Suddenly Sparacus lurches from the darkness right in front of him. The Doctor screams and runs past it to the police box but the door is shut.]
DOCTOR: Oh wow! You gotta, like, be kidding me!
[He turns as Sparacus suddenly breaks into a run, arms extended towards the helpless teenager. Behind the Doctor, the door swings inwards, a hairy arm reaches out, grabs the scruff of the Time Lord’s neck and drags him inside, slamming the door shut in the monster’s face.]
Scene 24 – TARDIS Airlock
[The Doctor is pulled through a pair of sliding doors by Andrew as Dave presses a button the wall next to it. The doors slide shut. They are standing on a metal-grille-floor in a corridor ending in glass doors beyond which is the control room.]
DOCTOR: Thanks for that, like, dudes.
DAVE: We knew you wouldn’t be able to cope. So now what?
ANDREW: Oooh, do you think the Last of the Time Lords will want to run away?
DOCTOR: Damn right!
[He strides over to the glass doors, which slide open as they approach.]
Scene 25 – TARDIS Control Room
[The room is decorated with two rings of large roundels, each about a third the height of the room. There is an archway going over the central console and more roundels on the ceiling. The console is circular and with eight control panels. The scanner looks like a large, old-fashioned TV set with control dials in the bottom right corner. There is a lamp and a second set of controls on a flat work surface by one of the walls. Nigel and Spartha Jones stand by the console as the Doctor, Andrew and Dave enter.]
ANDREW: So we leave the world to suffer the fate you should have prevented. How mature.
DOCTOR: Like, you know, whatever, man! How about a trip to Alzaneran 4, like?
NIGEL: You think that’s adequate recompense for us saving your worthless life?
DOCTOR: Aw, seriously, Nige – you’ll love legendary Museum of the Crystal Caves! It’s totally the largest depositary of archaeological finds and techniques in the galaxy!
NIGEL: And... why should that interest us?
DOCTOR: Well, you know. The lost civilization of the Clanacs was pretty cool. I mean, they left so much shit around the place, they must have been massive. Some of the technology used to date those things was, like, phenomenal. The rest of the technology was kinda crap, pointed sticks and stuff...
DAVE: Why don’t you use your time machine and see them before they were lost, then?
DOCTOR: Awesome! I wish I’d, like, thought of that! OK, how’s about we take another trip to see the Clanac Empire?
SPARTHA: I think a rest is in order from this archaeological business. Some of us have a limited interest in such matters.
DOCTOR: Who says, like, YOU were invited, bitch?
NIGEL: Yeah. What makes you think we want you around? You’re a warped, repressing, psychotic cow with the morals of an alley cat and the IQ of a Kath and Kim fan! No one sane would want to spend time with you of their own free will!
DAVE: Why the hell are you with us anyway? You don’t LIKE us, you don’t LIKE time travel, so why did you come with us in the TARDIS?
ANDREW: Maybe she requires a daily amount of things to bitch about?
[Spartha scowls.]
ANDREW: AND you scowl too much.
SPARTHA: That is a stupid thing to say.
NIGEL: I know. But my point that you’re a mindlessly negative bitch will stand up in court.
SPARTHA: I simply have different interests to you.
DAVE: ...like what? You only enjoys getting drunk and insulting Rose. You don’t find ANYTHING interesting!
SPARTHA: Why is it all men are overgrown fourteen year olds?
DOCTOR: All men? Isn’t that a rather stupid thing to say, like? Maybe it’s because you’re such a bitchy killjoy no one likes, Spartha? Or is this, like, your way of announcing you are now gay?
SPARTHA: Don’t talk back to me, numbnuts!
[Andrew puts a friendly arm around her shoulders.]
ANDREW: Spartha my dear, would you like us overgrown fourteen year olds to gang up on you, throw you out the doors and leave to your fate?
SPARTHA: [rolls eyes] Of course not, numbnuts.
[Andrew grabs her by the neck and screams in her face with inhuman volume.]
ANDREW: THEN SHUT!! THE FUCK!! UP!!
[He releases her. She stares blankly ahead catatonic. His companions examine her.]
DAVE: Wow. She has!
ANDREW: Ah. [dusts hands] I could listen to her all night when she’s like this.
NIGEL: I’m almost impressed.
[They finally notice the Doctor is not paying attention, as he is on his mobile.]
DOCTOR: I was, like, "Yeah!" and she was, like, "How come?" and I was, like, "Yeah!" and she was, like, "No kidding?!" and I was, like, "Well mingin’!" and she was like...
ANDREW: Ahem!
DOCTOR: [covers mouthpiece] Yeah, what?
NIGEL: What are you doing, you offense to intelligent design?
DOCTOR: Just, you know. Making a call to a friend. From Facebook. OK? [to phone] Like, where was I?
[Dave is peering at a circular porthole in the wall through which the outside world can be seen. The growling Sparacus can be seen staggering towards them.]
DAVE: Shit! If this TARDIS is as impressive as you are, that thing will break in any minute!
ANDREW: [nods] The outlook is bleak!
NIGEL: What are we gonna do?
ANDREW: [impressively] Wing it.
[Andrew starts flipping controls on the console.]
NIGEL: Are you sure you know what you’re doing?
ANDREW: Haven’t a clue.
NIGEL: What?!
ANDREW: You want Skins boy there to take over?
NIGEL: ...carry on.
ANDREW: Don’t panic Nigel. All we have to do activate the automatic site locators, feed in the landing coordinates while using the X sensor.
DAVE: That’s all?
ANDREW: Yeah. Should be a simple button on the site-location console.
DAVE: And where’s that?
ANDREW: Beats me.
[He crosses to the second set of controls and pulls a lever across. The central column starts to rise and fall. Various hums and sounds emit from the console. The fish creature outside the portal dissolves into the LSD horror of the time vortex.]
ANDREW: There we go. Safe and sound. I should do this professionally.
[A rippling eddy that shakes the craft around and on its axis. Some of the smaller, more delicate components in the console expire in small showers of sparks, and the room rocks from a large explosion.]
NIGEL: Well, after that brief dabbling with the unknown, a return to your usual standards, Andrew!
ANDREW: Hey, if the pilot didn’t take phone calls while driving, there’d probably be less crashes!
[Andrew and Dave try to coax some reaction from the many consoles and panels ranged before them while avoiding showers of sparks thrown out by the sensitive equipment.]
DAVE: What the hell’s happening?
[The Doctor pisses about with a fire extinguisher, spraying it liberally around the control room.]
DOCTOR: It’s a mega time displacement fissure!
ANDREW: A fissure inside time displacement? How does that work?
NIGEL: Does that actually mean anything or are you just making noise?
DOCTOR: For a few moments, like, the natural flow of time was completely thrown off balance!
DAVE: Can you see the oxymoron there? Can you?
DOCTOR: Someone or something’s, like, using primitive time travel equipment. If they’re trying to change history or that, like, we could get the mingin’ Dommervoy! Or, you know, like, a time rupture could occur.
SPARTHA: [frowning] And is this dangerous, do you think?
NIGEL: Who cares if it’s dangerous, we’re right in the middle of it!
[Dave flips up a hatch on the console and presses his hand into the mould beneath. There is a bright flare of light, and every molecule in the room flies outwards at the speed of light... and reforms, with a rather nice reverse explosion effect, back to normal. Everyone looks around.]
DOCTOR: Like, wow! How did you know how to do that?
[Dave closes the hatch and points to it. It is marked "USE IN CASE OF MEGA TIME DISPLACEMENT FISSURE". An awkward pause. Nigel leans between the two to look at the hatch then turns to the Doctor.]
NIGEL: You’re pathetic.
[The Doctor slams his hand on his floppy-haired head. Andrew looks out the porthole, which now shows some bushes and sunshine.]
ANDREW: Anyone have any idea where we are?
DOCTOR: I do, actually, like. We’ve tracked the source of the energy...
NIGEL: What energy?
DOCTOR: You know. The energy.
DAVE: What energy? We were in a "Mega Time Displacement Fissure"! There wasn’t any energy!
DOCTOR: Well, like, anyway, we’re at the cause of it.
SPARTHA: Which is?
DOCTOR: Somewhere near London.
DAVE: England, again? Sheesh...
ANDREW: The grounds of Hampton Court Palace?
DOCTOR: [suspicious] Maybe.
ANDREW: It just that there’s a sign out there, look. [points] Not to mention all the tourists milling around.
DOCTOR: Oh, I love visiting this place like. There’s so much history and heritage, like, bound up here.
DAVE: So what? You’ve got a time machine, you idiot. You can visit the original Tudor period for crying out loud!
DOCTOR: Yeah, but have you seen the Queen Anne rooms? The Georgian rooms? Like, superb! Most people, like, think Henry VIII built this place, but he actually won it in a Cornflakes competition held by Cardinal Wolsey...
[The others yawn with boredom.]
ANDREW: OK, I say we get out here and walk?
NIGEL: Seconded.
DAVE: Motion carried.
[The troika turn and walk out of the airlock while the Doctor continues to talk crap to himself, looking out the porthole. Spartha wanders after them.]
DOCTOR: You know there’s the largest, like, grape vine in the world here? They call it the Great Vine! What a brilliant name! You know, I might stop and check that out. It’s not like the world is in danger, right, is it? Oh wait. It is. Still, like, I can work around that when I try and, like, find the source of that time displacement. Anyone? Hello?
[He realizes he’s alone.]
DOCTOR: Jerks.
Scene 26 – Tudor Hall
[The troika mingle with tourists as they wander past a wall with some generic paintings on it.]
DAVE: Where to now?
NIGEL: Out of here before my brain atrophies. Can you believe people pay twelve pounds entrance free to this celebration of tedium? No wonder there’s a credit crisis. I mean, who cares about this pile of crumbling brickwork? Maintenance and upkeep? Pah! Wasting precious space and resources by celebrating those still dead and not those currently with us.
ANDREW: Very erudite, Nigel. You should run the heritage trust.
NIGEL: Should I?
ANDREW: Well, someone should.
DAVE: Can you smell something?
NIGEL: Probably the drains acting up. What a waste of time this vacation has been.
ANDREW: We met a monster, an alien and traveled in a time machine.
NIGEL: We met a monster, a non-functional retard and travelled from one bit of England to another. Big deal.
ANDREW: Good point. Well made.
[The Doctor runs into view, waving a generic bit of sci-fi equipment.]
DOCTOR: Hey, dudes!
ANDREW, NIGEL & DAVE: Piss off!
DOCTOR: But this device, like, detects residual energy from time travel! It, like, has readings what say the energy, is like, coming below us.
ANDREW: It’s faulty.
DOCTOR: No it’s not!
ANDREW: Then why didn’t it lead you back to the TARDIS then? Doesn’t that have residual time travel energy?
[The Doctor stops in his tracks.]
DOCTOR: Um... Oh.
NIGEL: Typical. You are beyond worthless.
DAVE: Are you sure you can’t smell something?
NIGEL: Like what?
ANDREW: Gas?
DAVE: Yeah. That’s it. [coughs] I didn’t know they had gas chambers in Tudor buildings.
DOCTOR:
Oh no! [looks round frantically] Like, everyone get down!NIGEL: Now is hardly the time for disco!
DOCTOR: No, you see, gas floats so it’s safer to be at ground level!
ANDREW: [beyond disgusted] "Gas floats"? "Gas"? "Floats"? What the fuck are you on about now? First blood’s a chemical and now gas floats?!
DOCTOR: SOME gases do!
DAVE: And surely we can just WALK out of the hall if it’s so dangerous?
DOCTOR: Will everyone, like, just be quiet for a minute?
NIGEL: What, so you can amaze us with more of your embarrassing brain damage?
DOCTOR: SHUT UP!!
[They all fold their arms at look at him. Most of the tourists leave, complaining of the smell.]
DOCTOR: [awkward] Um. Er. I sense the sound of gas.
ANDREW: You mean, you can "hear" it?
DOCTOR: Yeah.
ANDREW: And is this lighter-than-air toxic gas one that can’t penetrate cotton?
DOCTOR: Maybe. [clears throat] It’s emanating from a grill on the side that this wall, like.
[He points to a large tapestry, billowing about visibly.]
DAVE: Why would anyone pump out gas behind a wall hanging? I mean, talk about drawing attention. Besides, why hang a drape over a grille, it’ll block it.
[Nigel rolls his eyes, tugs down the tapestry and kicks into a corner.]
DAVE: Yeah. Just like that. Asking for trouble.
NIGEL: [to Doctor] Better?
DOCTOR: Um. Yeah. That should cover the hole, like.
NIGEL: Good. Now sod off.
[They finally notice a rather angry old man in moustache and bowtie standing behind them.]
MOUNT: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU COLONIAL SCUM THINK YOU’RE DOING?!?
NIGEL: Jesus! Where did he spring from?
MOUNT: GET AWAY FROM THE EXHIBITS!
ANDREW: [thinks for a moment] No.
[That takes the wind out the old man’s sails a bit.]
MOUNT:...DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!?
NIGEL: The question you really ought to be asking is "do we care who you are"?
DAVE: A clue: no.
MOUNT: I AM SIR ALISTAIR MOUNT!
ANDREW: [yawns] Of course you are.
MOUNT: I AM HEAD OF THE HAMPTON COURT MANAGEMENT TEAM!
DAVE: Oh, so YOU’RE the one we sue.
MOUNT: [in a small voice] Sue?
DAVE: Yeah. We nearly asphyxiated thanks to your incompetence. This incredibly-stupid placed vent was pumping out a toxic, lighter-than-air gas. Either you people have very bad air conditioning or else someone was trying to kill your customers.
ANDREW: Mmmm. "See Hampton Court And Die". Heard worse advertising campaigns.
MOUNT: WHERE IS THE EVIDENCE?
DAVE: Well, the Doctor here...
[He trails off when they all look across to see the Doctor has put on an iPod and is dancing around on the spot like a loser. Scissor Sisters blare from the speaker. Dave covers his eyes.]
DAVE: I fucking hate this guy.
DOCTOR: "Take your mama out all night! Yeah!"
MOUNT: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, SWITCH THAT FUCKING THING AND LISTEN PROPERLY YOU PATHETIC VIRGIN TEENAGER!
ANDREW: I dunno. I think we’ll get a lot more done without him.
MOUNT: YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE SOMEONE IS SABOTAGING THIS PALACE COMPLEX? JUST BECAUSE THIS IS THE THIRD INCIDENT THIS WEEK, AFTER THE FIRE IN THE QUEEN ANNE WING AND THOSE TWO AMERICAN TOURISTS CRUSHED BY THAT BEAM THAT FELL OFF THE ROOF OF THE CHAPEL? ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME THAT THERE IS SOME KIND OF CONSPIRACY AT WORK HERE?
DAVE: Maybe. Gassing everyone in the building is a little harder to pass off as an accident than the first two. Whoever’s doing this must be getting really desperate to...um...something.
MOUNT: THERE IS NO PROOF WHATSOEVER!!!
NIGEL: Christ. Do you have someone that looks after you? A grown-up we could talk to, maybe?
MOUNT: WHAT KIND OF FUCKERS WOULD WANT TO DO SUCH A THING?!
ANDREW: [shrugs] Dunno. [shrugs again] Don’t care.
DAVE: [waves] See you in Court, bitch. We’ll say hello to the anti-terrorism squads for you.
[They start to walk off. Mount headbutts the wall.]
MOUNT: THAT’S IT! THERE’S NO ALTERNATIVE! I’M CLOSING DOWN HAMPTON COURT TO THE PUBLIC! UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!
ANDREW: [over his shoulder] Tell it to the police while you explain how you let innocent members of the public get gassed. Come to think of it, they should be here already.
[The Doctor crosses to Mount as he continues to bash his skull against the wall.]
DOCTOR: Don’t be, like, a pussy or something, guy. That’s probably what whoever is doing this wants. [blinks] Oh, wow, I think that, like, answers the motive question. Someone wants this place closed, like!
NIGEL: [over his shoulder] Good!
DOCTOR: It might be criminals, like, after priceless tapestries.
MOUNT: LIKE THE ONE THAT YOU PEOPLE STUFFED INTO A VENT A MINUTE AGO?!
[The Doctor smiles pathetically.]
DOCTOR: Like, yeah. Unless, like, there’s more to it! Something like, more threatening than just theft?
MOUNT: WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE A MOTIVE AT WORK HERE MORE THREATENING THAN JUST THEFT?!?
DOCTOR: I dunno. Maybe something to do with that interference in the flow of time I, like, experienced.
MOUNT: WHAT THE SHIT ARE YOU GOBBING ON ABOUT?!
DOCTOR: It’s just this timey wimey crap which might be relevant.
MOUNT: WHY SHOULD IT BE RELEVANT?
DOCTOR: ...Shut up, slag! Now, I suggest we hang round here surreptitiously, like, after its closed. And since you just closed, that should be easy. Come on, Mount boy! Cheer up! We’re gonna spend the night in a place full of booby traps designed to kill us all! Yay!
Scene 27 – Kitchen
[The Doctor and Mount are hiding behind one of the ovens in the kitchen, along with Spartha Jones and, for no readily apparent reason, a nun.]
DOCTOR: ...and, you know, looking back at it – objectively, like – I’m beginning to get the impression I’m not really doing very good, like. I mean, lost Donna. Wilf. The two Frenchies. The three Aussies. Worse, like, I can’t even lose Spartha over there.
SPARTHA: Oh, grow up, numbnuts.
DOCTOR: And I haven’t actually, like, defeated anyone yet, either. It just struck me that when the Bastard was trying to take over, like, England, I ran away. When sea monsters attack Cornwall, like, I leg it again. So that’s pretty much why I’m bothering to stay here, like.
MOUNT: YEAH. WHATEVER. HAMPTON COURT IS NOW CLOSED AND EMPTY APART FROM THE SECURITY GUARDS AT THE GATE.
NUN: And us.
ALL: Shut up!
[Spartha Jones is looking around rather anxiously.]
SPARTHA: I’m feeling rather anxious. How long exactly are we supposed to just wait here for?
DOCTOR: Long as it takes, babe. Until someone tries to kill us.
SPARTHA: Well, I don’t like the atmosphere in here without the tourists and staff around.
DOCTOR: Well sod off then, like. You’re neither use nor ornament. No one wanted you here!
SPARTHA: Excuse me. I was speaking. Ahem. It’s rather spooky.
DOCTOR: [gleeful] So it should, like. The ghost of Catherine Howard, like, haunts this gallery – so they say, like. She was dragged out of there screaming to be executed, you know. Still, she was a right bitch, like. No one missed her. Not even the executor. Hah!
MOUNT: HOWEVER, THAT GALLERY IS NOWHERE NEAR HERE, YOU LITTLE TURD!
DOCTOR: Oh. Well, there must be something haunting the kitchens, like. A chef with his arm cut off or something. Maybe.
SPARTHA: Wait a minute. Who’s Catherine Howard?
MOUNT: [astounded] I AM ASTOUNDED! DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOU DON’T KNOW WHO SHE IS?
SPARTHA: Why else would I ask who she is, you puny phallocentric dope?
MOUNT: CATHERINE HOWARD WAS THE FIFTH WIFE OF HENRY VIII! MY GOD, THE PUBLIC REALLY ARE PIG-IGNORANT AT TIMES!
DOCTOR: Yeah. Amazing that you screaming like a nutter doesn’t put them off visiting here. Oooh, wait. Yeah. It does.
MOUNT: FUCK YOU, FLOPPY-HAIR! YOUR ZOMBIE TART WILL BE TELLING US NEXT THAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHO THOMAS CROMWELL WAS!
SPARTHA: Well, I do, you waste of testosterone and spermatozoa! He was Henry VIII’s right-hand man for most of the 1530s!
MOUNT: FOR PITY’S SAKE, I THINK EVEN A MOLLUSK KNOWS THAT THOMAS CROMWELL LEAD THE ROUNDHEADS AGAINST CHARLES THE FIRST!!
SPARTHA: That was Oliver fucking Cromwell!
MOUNT: WAS IT?
SPARTHA: Welcome to the world of the dim.
MOUNT: FUCK YOU, ZOMBIE!
DOCTOR: Can we, like, stop the squabbling? I, like, just heard something dudes!
[They all go quiet.]
NUN: What was it?
ALL: Shut up!
[Another pause.]
SPARTHA: What did you hear?
DOCTOR: Nothing. Just wanted you two to shut the fuck up.
SPARTHA: How vulgar!
NUN: You know, I can hear a sort of whirring noise...
ALL: Shut up!
[Another pause.]
DOCTOR: Hang about, like. I can hear a sort of whirring noise, like, sort of emanating, like, from somewhere, like... near!
NUN: Oh for fuck’s sake.
MOUNT: RAM A TOASTING FORK INTO MY ARMPITS! THAT IS COMING FROM THE CELLAR!
[The Doctor leaps up and grins.]
DOCTOR: Well come on, let’s explore, like!
[He dances a little jig while singing Scissor Sisters lyrics before he notices the others staring at him.]
DOCTOR: Oh. You want to come too, like. All right. But I insist one of you, like, carry me.
[He drapes his arms around the nun.]
DOCTOR: Show me the way Sir Alistair, you walking brontosaurus of constipation!
MOUNT: FUCK YOU.
Scene 28 – Old Tudor Cellar
[Dark, damn and empty. Rather like the plot. Mount leads the way down some stairs, followed by the nun carrying the Doctor in her arms and Spartha bringing up the rear.]
MOUNT: MY GOD! WHAT WAS THAT?!
NUN: What was what?
ALL: Shut up!
DOCTOR: What was what?
MOUNT: SOMETHING SHUFFLED IN THE DARKNESS!
SPARTHA: Well, shine a torch at it, you giant, gnarled testicle!
MOUNT: OH. RIGHT.
[Mount switches on the torch he was carrying and shines the light. It picks out a stuffed toy cartoon rat from "Pinky & The Brain".]
DOCTOR: Wow. That is, like, THE laziest plot device in all of horror. Can’t believe you fell for it, dude.
SPARTHA: I hope there’s a damn purpose to this!
NUN: What? Are you brain damaged or something? We’re here to investigate the noise, you stupid undead harlot and find out if someone’s hiding here! Don’t you pay attention?
SPARTHA: [very pathetically] ...shut up. This place is lousy with vermin! Or, you know. Toys.
[Suddenly the noise starts again and coloured lights start flashing.]
DOCTOR: Oh, wow, like... a disco!
[The Doctor leaps out of the nun’s arms and down the stairs. The source of this rave light show is a raised platform and a wall of sophisticated equipment stolen from the set of "The Indivisible Enemy" in 1977.]
MOUNT: GOD! STUDENTS MUST BE HAVING THEIR SO-CALLED NEWFANGLED ROCK AND ROLL DOWN HERE! HOW DECADENT!
DOCTOR: Aww. Unawesome! This isn’t a dance machine, it’s just a sub-interfacing time transporter.
MOUNT: ...AND IN ENGLISH?
DOCTOR: ...I was talking in English, like. Retard.
NUN: How come no one ever noticed this before? How did it get here without attracting anyone’s attention? How is it responsible for the aforementioned fire and collapse?
DOCTOR: [meekly] ...shut up. Like, as I was saying, this situation is minging! Sub-interfacing time transporters should no longer exist, like.
SPARTHA: Wow. Welcome to the world of dim. YOU’RE A TIME TRAVELER, YOU IDIOT!
DOCTOR: Oh! You mean someone or, like, something is trying to break through from another time?
SPARTHA: That’s why we fucking CAME HERE in the FIRST PLACE, Dr. Obvious! God, I despise you!
DOCTOR: Oh. Oh, yeah! So we did! I thought it was just for the thought-provoking history...
NUN: The only thought you’re provoking is "The Doctor Is A Moron".
ALL: Shut up!
[While the regulars bully an extra, a strange translucent glow appears on the platform and in an incredibly cheap special effect, three figures materialize – a big fat guy dressed in velvet with a cheap bedazzler making it look jewel encrusted and two young men, clearly deeply ashamed of themselves.]
DOCTOR:
Why are you, like, even here anyway?NUN: I’m doing a lot better than you, ya gobshite!
SPARTHA: That doesn’t answer the question!
NUN: Oh, like YOU would remember the answer, Mrs. Brain Dead!
[Mount finally turns and notices the men with swords approaching.]
MOUNT: FUCK THIS!
[Mount immediately sprints past them and up the winding staircase.]
DOCTOR: What’s he so fussed about, like?
[They turn and see the newcomers. The Doctor is horrified. For some reason.]
DOCTOR: But this is, like, impossible! People appearing out of nowhere in the presence of high-tech
Equipment, like? It’s unheard of!
[The sword-wielders draw closer.]
NUN: You know, is it me or does that man look like Henry VIII?
DOCTOR: It is Henry VIII, you daft undead cow! I think we should, like, run!
NUN: Why should we run from medieval yokels?
DOCTOR: Habit?
[The Doctor and the nun run for the steps. Spartha finally twigs and hurries after them. At the top of the stairs, Mount loses his balance and topples backwards, tumbling down the stairs in a crude slapstick sequence before flattening the others in a kind of Indiana-Jones-bowling-ball homage. The sword-wielders continue to advance menacingly, even though they don’t have any lines.]
SPARTHA: You stupid old fool!
NUN: Oh, very helpful, Spartha.
SPARTHA: Shut up!
DOCTOR: [dazed] What this amounts to is that Mount’s wrong foot has added to our mounting problems. We like have a mountain to climb now! Oh, I can quip so wittily!
[Spartha bangs her fist on his head.]
DOCTOR: [even more dazed] Like, yay, this is wicked man! I’m awesome! Kiss you off these lips of mine!
[They all stop, realizing the guardsmen are standing over the two of them.]
DOCTOR: ...shit.
END OF PART THREE
INTERMISSION
WARS OF THE POSIES: He Ain't Wayward, He's My Half-Brother
A HISTORICAL DRAMA SPECIALLY WRITTEN AS TO BE ACCESSIBLE TO TODAY’S YOUTH
BY MARK "FLAMINGO" GOACHER
[With another bloody fanfare of trumpets, King Edward enters a seedy warehouse followed by members of Parliament, Magnates, Nobles (due to budgetary restraints represented by the Duke Glouchester). The Queen, the Priest and the Duke of Clarence are standing around having a crafty fag with two guards Rosencrantz & Guildestern.]
ROSENCRANTZ: One-eyed lion! Can you believe it!
PRIEST: Jings...
GUILDESTERN: ONE-EYED!!
PRIEST: I can imagine. Oh, jings, back to the acting.
[Rosencrantz and Guildestern grab Clarence and drag him over to King Edward.]
CLARENCE: [disgruntled] I am disgruntled! Unhand me thou foul dogs!
ROSENCRANTZ: Yeah. That’ll make us like you and want to let you go.
GUILDESTERN: Asshole.
CLARENCE: [to Eddie Snr] I beseech thee, dear brother, to let me go at once!
EDDIE SNR: Pray be silent! It pains us greatly to have to read out the charges against ye, our own brother. You are hereby accused of high treason, predicting the early death of your King, accusing the Queen of witchcraft and generally being a pain in the rear end! And despite being given huge amounts of land to shut you up, you keep fucking talking! How do you plead?
CLARENCE: Not guilty! This is all the Queen’s doing! The foul Woodville enchantress has you bewitched.
ROSENCRANTZ: Oooh, smart move, retard.
GUILDESTERN: You say you’re not guilty of calling the Queen a witch and then you call her a witch.
ROSENCRANTZ: Totally brainfucked.
GUILDESTERN: Word.
CLARENCE: Fuck you! [to Eddie Snr] Anyway, even if that tart ISN’T a witch, you’ve always been a fool for women. The whole realm knows ye think with your bollocks!
EDDIE SNR: Oh, like I’m different from all other guys in that!
QUEEN: I think he’s proved his guilt with his own tongue, husband. Can we kill him now?
GLOUCESTER: Thou sully name of King!
CLARENCE: Actually it was the Queen.
GLOUCESTER: Gloucester not care! Gloucester angry! Gloucester SMASH!
EDDIE SNR: SHUT THE FUCK UP GLOUCESTER! Right. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Now. Clarence. I ask you brother to refute those comments about the missus and plead for mercy. I’ve no desire to send you to the chopping block for high treason of which you are obviously guilty.
CLARENCE: Oh no. I am of the royal blood.
EDDIE SNR: I know. I’m the King. You’re my brother. It’s kind of obvious.
CLARENCE: But I am our father’s son! You are not!
EDDIE SNR: You little shit! I was your "dear brother" two minutes ago!
CLARENCE: Our mother had you with an archer called Blaybourne!
EDDIE SNR: So... I am STILL of the blood royal as I am our mother’s son? There is therefore no problem, especially as I am not guilty of high treason, am I?
CLARENCE: Oh yeah. Didn’t think of that. Well, you can STILL fuck off!
EDDIE SNR: Thou foul boar! False, perjured, fleeting Clarence! Why doest thou spread such lies!
CLARENCE: Because I don’t like you very much.
EDDIE SNR: Oh, is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to hear thy brother spead lies about you!
CLARENCE: Oh get over yourself!
PRIEST: [munching on popcorn] Yeah, and stop quoting Shakespeare you sassenach bastard! He hasn’t been born yet! In fact, you’re so annoying I’m going to stop just standing here munching popcorn and do something about it! Right, sire, lets call a spade a spade. Clarence as guilty as sin but you don’t want to execute your own brother.
EDDIE SNR: I don’t. He’s my half-brother. Doesn’t anyone pay attention?
PRIEST: Not now. How about surrendering him into my care and I’ll ensure he vanishes without trace. You then start a rumor about him being drowned in a barrel of Malmsey wine and everyone will think justice has been served and I can get the hell out of this god awful miniseries.
EDDIE SNR: Verily, this sounds like a good plan.
PRIEST: Yeah, you could have agreed the last time I suggested it. Wanker.
QUEEN: Edward, if you want thy oats tonight I suggest that you ignore this priest and execute the villain.
PRIEST: Oh, you back-stabbing bitch!
CLARENCE: I agree with the Queen!
ALL: What?!
CLARENCE: I will not be shunted out the way! If I am to die then I wish to die with honour! This wine idea sounds great, I love Malmsey wine...
ROSENCRANTZ: You think drowning in wine is honorable?
GUILDENSTERN: Fuck this, this brain donor is too stupid to live!
ROSENCRANTZ: Word!
PRIEST: Look, you lot will you just shut up? I’m trying to save a man’s life!
CLARENCE: I do not need the assistance of lowly priests. I am of the blood royal. Did I mention that?
PRIEST: And you want to drown in wine? Fine, shithead. Last time I try and help the English monarchy again! You’re more trouble than you’re worth! Queen Victoria was just as bad.
EDDIE SNR: Right. Take him out and drown him in a barrel of wine. Who is that comely wench over there? Lovely shape. I think a private audience with her King is in order...
QUEEN: Firstly, you just agreed to murder your own brother to have sex with ME tonight, and secondly that "comely wench" is actually a priest. You really ought to get your eyes tested.
[At that moment there is a wail of a siren and a couple of police cars roar round into the warehouse. The police leap out along with eminent historians following in a black Mariah.]
HISTORIANS: Stop this travesty!
INSPECTOR: Grab em!
[The police grab King Edward and bundle him into the Mariah. Clarence is led off with a blanket over his head. They are bundled into the black Mariah and the van drives off, with all of the nobles inside. The police chase after the Priest as he, Rosencrantz and Guilderstern leg it.]
INSPECTOR: [into megaphone] All right! Clear off! Go on! Move along. There’s nothing to see! Keep moving!
[Suddenly he notices the cameras.]
INSPECTOR: All right, put that away sonny!
[He walks over to it and puts his hand over the lens. The film runs out through the gate and the projector shines on the screen. There is a blank screen for some fifteen seconds. Suddenly jazzy music. Animated titles. "THE END – DON’T YOU FEEL EDUCATED NOW?" Slushy organ music starts.]
PART FOUR: Time Out of Mind
Scene 29 – Underground Throne Room
[Henry sits on a throne, enjoying a massive plate of turkey drumsticks served with flagon of red wine and some quail eggs in lieu of characterization. He is attended to by a large group of servants, but due to budgetary reason looks like one of the guardsmen called Nathaniel. The other, IDENTICAL guardsman, also called Nathaniel, is leading the Doctor, the nun, Spartha and Mount through a secret doorway from the cellar.]
DOCTOR: I don’t remember this on the tour, like.
NUN: What the hell is there a throne room doing underneath the palace?! Aren’t you supposed to know about these things, Mr. Historian?
MOUNT: FUCK OFF.
DOCTOR: I suppose, like, this Henry dude sent servants ahead in time to set this place up. And maybe, like, gas people. Or something. You see that lot of them arriving was what shook the TARDIS up, like! Hah! Knew it would, like, all make sense eventually.
SPARTHA: Yeah, big consolation there, numbnuts.
DOCTOR: This is all wrong though! I’m, like, so concerned as to how, like, the Henry dude came by this technology. And why the hell he’s doing this – I still dunno what that’s all about.
NUN: Well, ask him where he got it from if you’re so bothered!
DOCTOR: Oooh! Good idea. Oi! Hal, bro! Who gave you the motherfucking time machine, pussy?!
[The guardsman effortless flings the Time Lord to the floor.]
NATHANIEL: Kneel before the King, knave! And do not speak lest he addresses you first or your head will be forfeit!
DOCTOR: Hah! I just grew another one, bitch, so what have you got to say to that? And I’m not a knave, I’m a lord so fuck you!
[The Doctor turns and knees the guardsman in the bollocks. He screams in pain and falls over. Henry finally looks up from his food.]
HENRY VIII: Who is this worm? And these others? Fuck it. Don’t care. Get the block ready. ORF WITH HIS HEAD!
DOCTOR: Hey, we’ve met before Hal. I can call you Hal, like? I’m the Doctor. Nice new face and superior locks but still the Doctor, like!
HENRY VIII: [scowls] Right. So you expect me to believe you’ve changed your face.
DOCTOR: Well, like, you’re a time traveler. Thought you’d be a bit open minded.
HENRY VIII: I am! Tis true! Besides, my allies warned me that you could change your face. Guardsman, make this churl kneel! ORF WITH HIS SHINS!
[The first guardsman is still lying on the ground in pain so the second one has to walk up to the Doctor and attack him round the kneecaps with a staff. The Doctor stands there, unaffected.]
DOCTOR: Um... and the point of this is, like?
HENRY VIII: You may be the Doctor, but I hate you!
DOCTOR: Oh. Deep. Never heard that one before, like. Not! So, stop pissing about and, like, tell us who you’re in league with, right?
HENRY VIII: Who is this fine spirited filly with half her flesh missing? We hope all wenches are this comely in this age. She should be lively between the sheets as we get between those strong thighs... pounding away...
[He starts to drool uncontrollably. Everyone stares at him.]
DOCTOR: Um. Hello? I asked you a question?
[Henry continues to drool. Spittle dribbles down Henry’s beard.]
DOCTOR: I think I just threw up a little in my mouth...
NUN: I can’t believe this guy ran the country.
HENRY VIII: And this other wench is even shapelier!
SPARTHA: Excuse me! I have no intention of ending up like your unfortunate wives!
DOCTOR: Oh great, Spartha, tell him MORE of his own future, that’s bound to help!
HENRY VIII: Alas, you make our small piggy eyes hard and cruel! We see that an example needs to be made – and I chose the one amongst you I do not wish to anally rape! ORF WITH HIS HEAD!
[The other guardsman hastily pulls on an executioner mask and picks up an axe.]
NATHANIEL 2: Which one, sire?
HENRY VIII: Mmm? Oh, the old man.
MOUNT: FUCK.
HENRY VIII: Ensure you take five chops to get his head off and I’ll give you three gold sovereigns.
NATHANIEL 2: Gold sovereigns, mate? What do you think this is, the bleeding Middle Ages?
NUN: You want him to take his time? You sadistic cunt!
SPARTHA: Yes, you’re behaving like a vulgar gangster rather than a member of the royal family!
HENRY VIII: [laughing like Sid James] Such spirited fillies, ha- ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
DOCTOR: Look, I cannot let you do this. This is, like, pointless!
[He realizes that Henry is drooling again, and looking directly at him.]
DOCTOR: What? Like, what? What is it?
HENRY VIII: Truly this new Doctor is so pleasant of face he is as comely as a girl.
NATHANIEL 2: Oh, for fuck’s sake!
[In frustration, he slices off Mounts head – at the precise moment of impact, Mount transforms into a wax effigy of Matt Lucas and tomato sauce belches from a pre-prepared nozzle.]
DOCTOR: You should not have, like, done that! You’ve made this personal now! I’m gonna stop you and your stinking allies for REAL this time! I can’t STAND unconvincing executions, like!
HENRY VIII: Hah- ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha- ha-ha-ha-ha! You, Doctor, are in no position to threaten! We think it’s time that YOU go to the block as well. ORF WITH HIS ‘EAD, HA HA HA HA!
DOCTOR: I thought you fancied me, you insane old fuck?! And I’m an alien! You kill me and you only make me come back stronger! Didn’t your allies tell you that, like?
HENRY VIII: ...shit, so they did. And a great alchemist may be useful in our quest to regain control of our realm! And, true, your looks are most beguiling. Tis true, that thy skin is appealing as that of a pretty wench. When I am King again in this time, I would have you serve me as my manservant.
DOCTOR: Why do you want to be, like, king again? You were already, like, king, you moron!
[Henry VIII stands up... and begins to sing!]
HENRY VIII: The allies rescued me at point of death
In Fifteen Forty-Seven.
Used their medicine to restore my health
And stop going to heaven!
The built this place!
Sent me through time and space!
And warned me about Doc Eleven!
[The floored guard, unable to get up, tries an early breakdance on the floor.]
HENRY VIII: Said that by Sixteen-Oh-Three my dynasty would be dead
Cause of all ex-wives who lost their head
My children would be barren and all die out
But I’m off to Two Thousand And Seven or there about!
I’m reclaim my realm
Get back at the helm
Make this country great once more! Yeah!
Gonna take this chance
Gonna make it last
Gonna screw some future whore! Yeah!
DOCTOR: Well. That, like, explains everything except for who your allies are and why the hell they’d do something as stupid as this. They could have just restored you in 1547 and kept you on the throne, like, couldn’t they? Save a lot of hassle acclimatizing to a new time zone, wouldn’t it?
HENRY VIII: Probably, but they’re kind of stupid. Now, in return for that information, Young Doctor, we would have you wear a dress and some fine silk underwear for us!
DOCTOR: Why?
HENRY VIII: We are attracted to you yet you are a man, and this confuses us. We usually sleep with wives.
DOCTOR: Dude, you’re in the 21st Century. Homosexuality isn’t illegal, like. Mind you, those gaywads were what caused my regeneration, like, so on principle, I’m going to have to kill you in misplaced revenge.
HENRY VIII: But we told you our backstory! We earned our reward!
DOCTOR: True. OK, like, let’s haggle. How about, like, I don’t kill you?
HENRY VIII: What?
DOCTOR: Dude, you’re helping an alien invasion. My facebook cred would fall through the roof if I let a fat old perv like you help them, would I?
HENRY VIII: Oh, well, if you’re going to be like that, our allies will make their sport with you!
SPARTHA: Shut the fuck up you medieval reactionary stereotype!
HENRY VIII: Tame that shrew! Didn’t you notice us decapitate your comrade?
NUN: Yeah, pay attention.
ALL: Shut up!
NUN:
YOU shut up!HENRY VIII: Don’t you tell me to shut up! I’m the fucking king!
DOCTOR: Oooh, I’m so scared, like! What are you going to do, like? Poison us with your ulcerated leg? Wave your walking stick at us? You’re so bloody fat you can even move, Jabba!
HENRY VIII: If I’m so fucking pathetic, how come I have Time Lord technology on my side, bitch?
DOCTOR: You don’t have Time Lord technology on your side, you gormless shite! You wouldn’t know Time Lord technology if it ripped open your sun, vomitted the insides over your fat gut and then rewrote your biodate with monkey DNA!
HENRY VIII: Is that so?
DOCTOR: Yes, dribble-features, IT IS!!
HENRY VIII: Well, that’s where you’re wrong!
[Suddenly there is the sound of giggling and two floating replicas of the Death Star fly into the room.]
DOCTOR: Ooh. Toclafane. Funky.
TOCLAFANE 1: [in a boy’s voice] We are Time Lordth. I am Tremath and thith ith my thithter Athtellata. You will therve uth ath you are a grown up.
SPARTHA: Pur-lease, he’s more immature than you are!
DOCTOR: What the hell? You’re not Time Lords!
TOCLAFANE 2: [in a girl’s voice] Yes we are!
DOCTOR: You aren’t!
TOCLAFANE 2: Are!
DOCTOR: Aren’t!
TOCLAFANE 2: Are!
DOCTOR: Aren’t!
TOCLAFANE 2: Are!
DOCTOR: Aren’t!
TOCLAFANE 2: Are!
DOCTOR: Are!
TOCLAFANE 2: Aren’t!
DOCTOR: Hah!
TOCLAFANE 1: Thit.
TOCLAFANE 2: It is not! Our parents were on the High Council. When they realized what was likely to happen they broke all of the rules to save us.
DOCTOR: Bullshit.
TOCLAFANE 2: We were placed in these orbs and hidden in the void.
DOCTOR: Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!
TOCLAFANE 1: The void thip wath programmed to re-emerge into thith univerthe.
DOCTOR: Bull...
TOCLAFANE 1: It’th true!
DOCTOR: ...SHIT!
TOCLAFANE 2: We were lost in the void for so long. It was dark and cold. We want some fun. We are Time Lords and every other race are our playthings. We will alter time and kill things!
TOCLAFANE 1: Killing thingth ith fun.
DOCTOR: You’re Toclafane, and, like, there’s no denying it! You must be insane to think I’d fall for that bollocks!
TOCLAFANE 1: I knew thith wouldn’t work. I told you tho.
TOCLAFANE 2: Maybe it WOULD have fooled him if you weren’t such a bad fucking actor! Thtupid!
TOCLAFANE 1: Don’t thalk to me like that!
TOCLAFANE 2: MAKE me, lisp boy!
[The Doctor shakes his head and walks away.]
DOCTOR: Sod this for a game of soldiers, like.
TOCLAFANE 2: Oi! Come back!
TOCLAFANE 1: Yeth! You will therve uth! YOU ARE OUR THLAVE!
[The Doctor, facing away from them, holds his hands up and flips them both a double bird.]
TOCLAFANE 2: How very dare you! You are going to serve us! And when we finish with Earth you’re going to find us OTHER planets to play with!
TOCLAFANE 1: Yeth! You will give uth your TARDITH!
DOCTOR: Why should I?
TOCLAFANE 1: YOU HAVE NO CHOITHE!!
TOCLAFANE 2: Yes, we will grab you and kick you in the teeth!
DOCTOR: You don’t have legs.
TOCLAFANE 1: FUCK! Thoulda theen that one coming!
TOCLAFANE 2: We can still put Henry VIII back on the throne and send Delta Waves across the Earth and kill two thirds of humanity! And in the confusion we will unleash Henry’s army waiting to be transported here!
DOCTOR: What? With that equipment out there?
TOCLAFANE 1: Yeth.
DOCTOR: I better go and wreck it then.
[The Doctor turns and leaves.]
TOCLAFANE 2: Dear God you depress me sometimes.
TOCLAFANE 1: Aww.
HENRY VIII:
God’s death and teeth, you useless floating soccer ball-shaped churls tempt me, you tempt me. to have your head off!TOCLAFANE 1: Ha-ha! You truly are an amusing human, all huffing and ranting. We find you endlessly entertaining, like Jonathon Ross without Russell Brand to provide high-quality satire.
HENRY VIII: I promise you, as soon as we have control of the realm and no longer need the help of you mocking urchins, you are going to die the same way as my two unfortunate uncles did in the Tower of London!
TOCLAFANE 1: Yeah, sure, whatever. Grown-ups talking now.
HENRY VIII: I thought you said grown-ups destroyed your world in a war and you need no more of them.
TOCLAFANE 1: Whatever! [to Toclafane 2] What are we going to do with the Doctor?
TOCLAFANE 2: Maybe we can textht Operathon Delta and get them to help uth?
TOCLAFANE 1: Maybe you can SHUT THE HELL UP? Are we not Toclafane!
TOCLAFANE 2: ...um. Yeth. Wath that in doubt?
TOCLAFANE 1: Do we not want fun?
TOCLAFANE 2: Erm...
TOCLAFANE 1: Are we not superior? Will we not use this stupid planet for games? Shall we not use other planets? Shall the Doctor not help us find them?
TOCLAFANE 2: ...what exthactly do you actually want me to thay?
TOCLAFANE 1: Something useful for once! Like, don’t mind me, I’ll just go and kill the Doctor, shall I?
TOCLAFANE 2: ...I thenthe you are trying to tell me thumthing.
TOCLAFANE 1: FINE! I’LL do it! As per bloody usual!
[The Toclafane extrudes lasers and revolving blades.]
TOCLAFANE 1: 100 trillion years and STILL no intellectual conversation... No! Wait! On second thoughts, I won’t kill the Doctor! I have a better idea!
NUN: Oh, for fuck’s sake!
[The Toclafane floats over to the nun and Spartha.]
TOCLAFANE 1: Doctor! Either you will give us the key to your TARDIS and a list of similar planets to this to have fun with or I kill this female human!
SPARTHA: Look you rancid little terrahawk, I’ve a good mind to give you a clip round the ear!
TOCLAFANE 2: Oi! Don’t dithrethpect my brother, bitch!
TOCLAFANE 1: Yes, call me names again and we’ll kill you!
SPARTHA: Shut it, you bowling-ball-shaped little trog!
NUN: You suicidal or something?
SPARTHA: Like this runts could ever be vulgar enough to harm ME?!
TOCLAFANE 1: Right! That does it! I’m shooting that one now!
[The Toclafane fires Spartha with a blast of Stedt radiation, turning her to less than dust.]
TOCLAFANE 1: HahahahahaHAAHAHAHA!
[The Toclafane spins around in joy, firing randomly. Two Tudor guards are evaporated, and a stray bolt strikes the other Toclafane.]
TOCLAFANE 2: Oi! I’ll do you for that!
TOCLAFANE 1: MAKE ME, LITHPY!
[The two floating spheres shoot at each other for a few moments before both explode and the scrap metal remains fall to the floor.]
HENRY VIII: Gosh. That resolved itself rather neatly, and saved us the task of turning the tables on these urchins. We have mastered how to use the machine which will wipe out enough people to allow us to subjugate the rest and no longer need help! You will be held here until your beheadings!
DOCTOR: [oov] Sorry, like! I just wrecked their machinery, remember?
HENRY VIII: Oh. Yes. Shit. Well, don’t think I’m going to go meekly back to the 16th Century, matey boy! I want to be master of the 21st – and I can see no problems at all with that brilliant plan! Now, wench, you will show me how to master this iPod and get it to play Greensleeves. I want a banquet, so I can stuff my face with chicken legs, pork crackling, beef, lard and a hunk of venison!
[The Doctor reenters, with lots of cables and wires draped over him like a scarf.]
DOCTOR: Tough luck, fatso! All I have to do, like, is press this red button and a third of the population will totally be wiped out. Or maybe, like, it will cause you to die like the horrible fat pig you are, like. Feeling lucky, like, H-Man?
HENRY VIII:
Go ahead, punk. Make my era!DOCTOR: Your funeral, like!
[The Doctor presses the button. Henry looks worried.]
HENRY VIII: No, no, please! Stop it!
DOCTOR: Who are you, like, to tell me to stop it?
HENRY VIII: I am King Henry VIII, supreme head of the church in England! I command you to stop!
DOCTOR: And I’m the Doctor, supreme head of.... of... oh who cares. See ya on the flipside, like, Henry.
[Henry screams and he and all his courtiers dissolve like a staked vamp in Buffy. The Doctor and the nun are left alone amidst the dust, blood stains and carnage.]
DOCTOR: There we go, like. Time restored to normal. Still have all those beheadings and gas attempts, like, but you can’t have everything, can you? But all those pointless booby traps the Toclafane installed to randomly, like, kill total strangers will be gone too.
NUN: [surprised] I am even vaguely satisfied by this.
DOCTOR: Nun after me own hearts, like.
END OF PART FOUR
Next Episode:
Nemesis
Dr. Who
The Old Dr. Who
THE GUY WHO PLAYS "TONY" IN 'CORONATION STREET'
Spartha Jones
Donna Noble
DAME JUDI DENCH
Wilfred Mott
DAVID BOWIE
The Frenchies
Andrew Beeblebrox
Dave Restal
Nigel Verkoff
Generic Russian Villain
Alistair Mount
BRIAN BRESSED
Unsuably Sensible Nun
THE GIRL WHO PLAYS "HANNAH" FROM "SKINS"
Hencry VIII
Nathaniel
Nathaniel 2
RAY WINSTONE
Generic Cornish Fisher Folk &
The Two Dicks
King Henry VI
The Queen
Eddie Junior/Eddie Senior
The Priest
Clarence
Gloucester
Rozencrantz & Guilderstern
Historian
Inspector
Title Music "Doctor In Distress" by
Script Editor
STICKY YELLOW LIQUID
Executive Producers
MLOCK THE WEAK
SHERRINGHAM
RICH FLAIR
Director
BERNIE FISHNOTES
This script is © Sparacus. Not that anyone is ever, ever, EVER going to try to nick it...
"Anyway, moving on, it is clear from the lack of reaction towards my work that it is far more popular than anything else. Therefore all of my original points have been proven correct - not that I wish to sound pompous. Anyway I can’t sit here chewing the fat all night - its time for bed - and I’m dying for a slash."
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