DIY Sheep versus Doctor Who and everybody else

so they all rolled over and one fell out

Home | Life, the universe and general mickey taking | bad wolf one decending (taking the mickey out of Mickey) | taking the mickey (this is the really funny bit) | you will never look at Sylvester the same way again (funny and perverse) | fan fiction | mental anarchy: ewen campion clarke's alternate big finish guide or wot? (just plain kinky) | the evil that is Richard E Grant (evil, but funny)

How many Doctors can you stick in a multiple Doctor story. I managed eight and one bewildered actor....
PERCY GETS THE JOB: Sylvester's breakfast adventure

He tried to pull it off, but that only hurt. He tried to bite it off, but that only hurt more and made it start to bleed.

He sighed: 'Admit it Percy. You are nervous. And sitting in a café in Basingstoke chewing your nails when isn't going to accomplish anything,' he thought to himself as he looked at his untouched breakfast.

'No it's not, is it?' said a loud voice in his ear, startling him.

'But it can't hurt, can it' said another voice in his other ear.

'What do mean? Just look at that thumb? said the first voice.

'Have some more tea old chap. That will make you feel better,' said third voice.

'That bun looks nice,' said a fourth.

Percy looked up and his eyes widened in amazement. Standing around him were an assortment of Doctors? Either that or they had got all the actors who had ever played him to pull some horrible practical joke, but there was Billy Hartnell and wasn't he dead?

'Patrick Troughton', 'Bill Hartnell' and 'Jon Pertwee' were looking down at him in concern, while 'Colin Baker' was currently eating his currant bun and 'Tom Baker' was eyeing off his orange juice with a mad sort of gleam in his eyes.

'Oh no,' he thought. 'I've gone mad.'

Patrick? - patted him reassuringly on the back. 'No you haven't. It's all real. Just think of it as a bit odd. That one always works for me,' he said smiling.

'And that is meant to make him feel better is it you nitwit? And stop replying to his thoughts,' retorted a man who looked exactly like Jon Pertwee.

'Shut UP you two' yelled someone from the back. 'Let me through. This one is mine thankyou' he bellowed as he swatted Doctors aside with his battered Panama.

Percy looked up at the newcomer and gasped.

The newcomer beamed at him. 'Yes it is a little odd, but I will explain, '

He then plonked himself down on a seat.

'I won't bore you with all the technical gobbledygook,' he said as he reached over and stole Percy's tea. For some reason, that no one has ever been able to explain - relative dimensions/freak web of time thingie/someone inversed the revision of the neutron flow/yada yada yada, I - that is we - are somehow inexorably linked to the BBC. Whomever they choose to play the Doctor determines, well - us - and what we look like,' he said as he gestured at a man who looked exactly like 'Peter Davison'.

But then 'Peter' smiled at him and suddenly he knew deep down that this man definitely wasn't Peter.

Suddenly 'Peter' fixed him with an intense stare. 'I say old chap. Do you want that scone?'

Percy could only shake his head mutely.

'Thanks awfully,' said 'Peter' as he started to smother it with jam and cream.

Percy's doppelganger smiled. 'Yes. That is Number Five. He was very pleased they picked Tristan.'

'We can be very vain sometimes,' said 'Patrick' looking pointedly at 'Jon', but 'Jon' merely sighed and mumbled 'get over it,' under his breath.

'And because you are going to be me, I am you. So we all thought we should pop around and say congrats and all that.'

'But I haven't got the job yet. I am still waiting to find out,' he said ashen faced.

The little man frowned and took out a gold pocket watch out of a truly awful vest adorned with little red question marks. 'Mmmmm, we're early,' he said menacingly to Five who merely smiled sheepishly through a mouthful of scone.

'Oh well. I think you can take it as a given,' said the seated man with a knowing smile.

Then he stood up and addressed the throng of Doctors. 'Come on chaps. Stop squabbling. Yes we can visit the zoo, the cricket ground and the Brigadier, but first breakfast. No jelly babies do not count. What do you mean you're not hungry now?' he admonished as he herded them off.

He counted them off: 'One, two three four five six. Six? Six where are you?' he yelled. 'Someone find Six - and get Eight away from that pet shop window before he buys a puppy. The TARDIS will have a fit if he does... I don't care if he doesn't want to come. Put him back on the toddler leash if you have to. Just bring him.'

Six appeared from a nearby juice bar. 'I had no idea. This is apple, pear, ginger, and carrot with ginseng. It is delicious. Why didn't someone tell Mel about this?' he muttered as he joined the group.

They moved off down the road, only stopping momentarily to prize Eight from the pet shop window and were gone.

After they had disappeared Percy sat back and stared at the remains of his breakfast. 'Well that was odd,' he said to himself.

'Yes they are a peculiar bunch,' said a voice from the next table.

With a sinking feeling Percy looked over. 'Anthony Ainley took a sip of his latte and smiled. 'Just thought I'd introduce myself before I start trying to kill you.'


PART TWO: FAN can we shove any more in there WANK!
It had been a long tiring day for the actors at the first ever Completelymadeupcon. For the second time in history five Doctors had been rounded up (some more reluctantly than others), contractually obligated and deposited together for three days at the lovely Baha Hills Hotel, South Bognor for the convention to end all conventions: Completelymadeupcon: The biggest, the bestest, the greatest convention in Doctor Who history.

'Fans should be shot,' said Peter as he slumped down on a chair in the green room.

'Especially ones who turn up in your costume,' replied Colin as he monopolised the sofa. He waggled a hand in exactly the way he had done during a scene in the third act when he had played Little Buttercup in The Pirates of Penzance last Christmas. 'Why? Is it some dastardly fan conspiracy to punish me? Do they want to remind me of how bleedin awful it was? I was aware you know. I tried to make changes, but all John Nathan Turner would let me do was rub my pussy occaisionally.

'Have you ever encountered one of those in the lift, early morning. with a hangover?' asked Sylvester, with a particularly grouchy 'r' roll, as he sat down with his tea. 'That bloody jacket,' he said with a shudder.

'I seem to remember we have been through this before Sylvester. I am sorry, but it wasn't my idea - the hangover, the pool party, the tequila shot contest or the jacket,' retorted Colin.

'At least your didn't spend half your time trying not to get strangled by your own scarf,' bellowed Tom as he threw the aforementioned instrument of torture across the room where it managed to entangle Paul who had entered and was now making a be line for the mini bar.

'Exhausting day lads?' said McGann from beneath a tangle of scarf. 'I spent all day dodging people who wanted to get into my trousers.'

'Yes, did you eventually manage to ditch Richard Franklin?' inquired Sylvester.

McGann smiled evilly: 'Nutted him, in the John, right after the Shada panel.'

'Wish I had my own 'Brigade',' sighed Peter. 'Kate Orman won't even look at me twice.'

'Oh come on Pete. I saw you being ogled by a few love strucks,' replied McGann as he untangled the scarf.

'Gwyn is a lovely girl with taste and style,' replied Peter defensively.

'Oh pleeeese,' interrupted Tom as he waggled his vodka bottle theatrically at them. 'You lot had it easy today. Three idiots dressed as Silurians cornered me in the carpark and kept going on about some massacre of their people by the Brigadier and why hadn't I stopped it. I tried to explain I wsn't Jon Pertwee, but it didn't seem to sink in.'
'Wierd cannot describe this job,' agreed Peter. 'But then I suppose it is par for the course, eh guys?'

Sylvester took a deep breath. This was something he had been dreading to bring up, but he could not think of a better time.

He looked up. "Just how weird has it ever gotten?' he asked to the assembled masses.

'What do you mean?' asked Colin.

Sylvester looked flustered. 'Well - have you ever had an encounter with. not fans, but . something you, when you were first cast?' he trailed off, not knowing how to finish without sounding foolish.

'Oh them,' exclaimed Peter.

'Don't you mean us Peter?' said Colin with a smile.

'Oh,' said Tom as understanding dawned. 'I thought I had just done too much hash, but that does explain it,'

'When you got the job they came to say 'congratulations' did they? asked Peter.

'And the first three do nothing but argue, a complete cliche of the Three Doctors,' added Colin.

Paul looked shocked. 'I thought they were a load of raving Doctor Who loonies,' he said aghast.

'Still they were very interesting. They bought me lots of drinks and we spent the night in the local pub. and.'

He trailed off as a flood of memories came back to him. He looked worried as a memory of a green skinned 'go go' dancer with four arms in a seedy bar on Ursa Minor flashed before him. Oh dear. What if 'Lillinia' had actually been real?

'Well yes. I was having breakfast and they sort of came,' said Sylvester uncertainly.

Peter beamed at him. 'Don't worry Syl. Like they said, they were just saying hi.'

I do apologise for the obligatory 'lets see how many Doctors and their cliches we can cram into one story' and for the 'for you it's a television show/but oh my it is also real - what are the odds' elements of the story, but it amused me and that is the main thing.

And for those who don't know Sylvester McCoy is not his real name. He was born Percy James Kent-Smith.