Serial REG – I Scream "Boom-Shaka-Laka"!
Fifteenth Entry in the EC Unauthorized Program Guide O' Whitnail &
D O C T O R W H O
REG - I Scream "Boom-Shaka-Laka"! -
The planet Earth, in the year
2003. After countless eons of being attacked, invaded, probed and fondled by alien invaders, the peoples of Earth have finally
decided to go on the offensive. Failing that, they plan to just plain offend. Now, an alien meteorite plunges through the
sky and smashes into a quarry floor. Demonstrating the increased scope of this new adventure, the two inbred yokels watching
this are from New Zealand. Tired of sheep but afraid of lice, the duo hurry over to this alien and prepare to abduct it, strip
it naked, give it an anal probe and then release it back into the galactic community where its claims of what happened will
lead to it being ridiculed forever. The disgustingly phallic alien lets out a discharge that stops the two fush'n'chup lovin'
cousins frozen in mid-step. As their prey begins to sing Oasis hits at them, they scream in horror...
With its usual
impeccable timing, the TARDIS pops into existence on a street corner, three weeks later, on the other side of the planet –
making the previous tense five minutes seem like a total irrelevance and, frankly a waste of decent film and screen time.
In fact, this little plot twist lead to countless viewers saying, in no uncertain terms, "Bugger THIS for a game of soldiers,"
and switching off. Sadly, had these sad, lonely people (the fans) simply acted like Joe Public and refused to move their bloated
thumbs and change channel, and thus watched the rest of the story and learned that there actually was an albeit-tenuous link
to this opening scene. Now, that's irony for you.
Back to the action. Out of the blue box of Rassilon staggers an alternative
version of the latest incarnation of Doctor Who - pissed out of his head on anti-freeze and furious his Dracula outfit is
no longer the height of fashion on the planet Luxury-Yacht 433. Shouting incoherently into the TARDIS that he's off to get
wasted, the Time Lord totters towards the pub. Inside, he demands the finest wines known to humanity as he is a massive film
director who is going to buy the whole town and convert it into a Starbucks if he's ignored. Sighing, he does admit he has
no idea just exactly WHERE he is, but his money is just as good as anyone's - i.e.: non-existent, so just put it on a tab,
bitch. The barmaid, Alison Chaney, refuses to give him any booze unless he tells her how he managed to get past the mysterious
alien barrier that surrounds this sleepy town. The Doctor retorts that he did it 'with difficulty' but that there are far
more interesting things to worry about like, say, getting him a drink already. Besides, he points out, if they're isolated
from the rest of the outside world, they won't get any new beer supplies so they must empty the cellar before it gets sour.
The winos side with the Doctor and so Alison is forced to watch as a bunch of dole-wasters and a pissed-off vampire-lookalike
punish their evil livers and suck all the alcohol from the establishment simultaneously. Once the last barrel is dry, the
Doctor tries to stand upright and asks her what her problem is - if he can get one pub to accept foiled alien invasions in
lieu of payment, he might be able to walk the streets of Mutter's Spiral without fear of rampaging alien bartenders.
explains that, three weeks ago, a meteor crashed, creating a weird barrier around the town and all the animals ran away. Just
as she explains that any loud noise will attract their alien overlords and earn terrible revenge, the Doctor realizes there
is no Fleetwood Mac on the jukebox and promptly announces the whole human race can go **** itself. He staggers out and decides
to try and creep into the TARDIS from the wrong direction, but gets lost. After passing out on a pile of rubbish, he learns
it is, in fact, a homeless lady with a bottle of methylated spirits. Normally, the Doctor would just mug her, but the old
bitch wants to tell him her life story. Shoving her out of her cardboard box, the Doctor takes the bottle and begins to nod
and say, "Lay it on me, baby" as she drones on an on about how aliens have ruined her life. She goes on to say she actually
won the lottery and was about to collect it when the aliens attacked and she is, ironically, the richest woman in the western
hemisphere. But, before the Doctor can torture the winning numbers out of her alcohol-ridden brain, an alien worm sings 'The
Eagle Rock' and the bag lady melts into a puddle. Blind with shocked fury, the Doctor screams at the sky...
vomits on a police box while a heavy-breathing shadowy figure sings 'Pretty Woman' in the background. Proving just how useless
the local council is, a few drops of stomach acid eat through the pavement and the TARDIS plunges into the frothing lava below.
Returning to her flat, Alison finds her boyfriend lying on the couch in a pile of his own effluence, pizza and beer cans.
She tells him she almost managed to get a revolt going against their inhuman captors, which is a damn-sight better than what
he's doing. Her boyfriend, Joe, retorts that if a man can't pull some cones and pass out in front of the telly in his own
body waste, they might as well have let the monsters WIN! Alison correctly deduces he is talking crap and rolls him off the
sofa and starts using him as a footstool. Just then, the Doctor bursts in - he hasn't got where he is today without being
a proficient stalker, you know! - and demands to know if anyone knows the winning numbers of the lottery. Alison tells him
they were 0, 0, 0, 0 and that the Doctor can now piss off. The Doctor thanks her and leaves, before re-entering the flat moments
later announcing that those were LAST WEEK'S numbers and he suspects the barmaid is trying to hide something.
refuses to reveal the true numbers until he listens to her tale of woe and alien torture, so the Doctor rolls his eyes, pulls
up her boyfriend and begins to mime "The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad" in French. Meanwhile, Alison explains that, after isolating
the village the aliens have been ruthlessly killing anyone having a happy sex-life. The surviving humans are mad with sexual
frustration — it's a terrible choice, isn't it? The Doctor concedes that there is a genuine problem that he, morally,
cannot stand by and let happen. However, he is VERY comfortable... Alison decides to end it all and fakes an orgasm. Joe is
downcast as she sounds a lot happier than when they’re making out – but why would she fake them so badly in bed?
This theological debate uses up all his brain-cells and he just dribbles for the next five episodes. Meanwhile, two phallic
worms burst out of the floor and lunge at the Doctor, squealing "Under The Milky Way"!
The Doctor screams
like a girl at the monsters, which gives them pause for thought. Thus, the Time Lord releases a 10-ton weight he carries around
for these sorts of emergencies and squashes the worms flat. When two more monsters appear, the Doctor’s quick-thinking
saves himself and the humans. As a handy Bengal tiger eats the new monsters, the Doctor sets up a fertilizer bomb to blow
the flat to smithereens. As the Doctor, Alison and Joe bask in the roaring glow, the locals arrive, wondering if continued
sexual frustration finally leads to spontaneous human combustion. Realizing he’s just wiped out a good chunk of prime
real estate and probably annoyed some hideous monsters, the Doctor runs for the TARDIS. Finding it missing, he decides he'll
probably have to actually get off his arse and save the Earth once more. Ringing the WANK Helpline, the Doctor gets some rather
disgusting wrong numbers before finally being put in touch with Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart.
Below the city, a bunch
of the hideous Freudian creatures gather around the police box. Sharing an unspoken telepathetic bond, the aliens conspire
to ring the TARDIS's doorbell and then run away. However, after the 7893rd time, the alien leader – Prima Donna Kebab
– decides to push the envelope and then enters the TARDIS. Inside, the Bastard is waiting for it, desperate for a bit
of company and, simultaneously, blind with fury after eight thousand practical jokes. Deciding to kill two birds with one
stone, he seduces the alien worm and then kicks the living **** out of it, his oblique Martian curses bleeped out until it
sounds like a truck backing up.
UNIT arrive and promptly begin to loot all the stores they can and begin shooting civilians
and blaming the sudden prevalence of bullet holes on delayed shock from the aliens' attack. The Brigadier meets up with the
Doctor and proudly relates they have 678 casualties to blame on the aliens - a full 678½ casualties MORE than is officially
needed for authorization to blow the **** out of passing extra-terrestrials. The Doctor is, frankly, dismissive of the Brigadier
and only wants to get his TARDIS back so he can avoid the hideous sex-fest that will occur as the repressed villagers leave
the invasion area. The Brigadier doesn't believe it for a moment, but promises he'll video-tape the whole thing if the Doctor
helps them. The Doctor suggests they search the massive alien spacecraft sitting in the middle of an impact crater that used
to be Luton. The Brigadier sets all his men onto it, commenting that there have been so many invasions of Earth, he only really
notices space-wrecks by their ABSENCE nowadays. The Doctor vows that, if he gets the chance, he'll shove the whole wreck down
Lethbridge-Stewart's throat and choke him to death with it. The Brigadier replies that it is just these little displays of
charm that make the Time Lord so darn endearing.
Alison has managed to use her natural accoutrements to secure safe
passage out of Lannet. In fact, she's so good at this sort of bribery, she's managed to get her boyfriend, Joe, out as well
- under the guise of her hand luggage. However, the heavy-breathing shadowy figure who has been... well, shadowing her...
refuses to let her leave. Crooning "Girls Just Want To Have Fun", it breaks into the truck, melts the soldier-cum-driver-cum-sad-git-in-the-red-T-shirt,
captures Alison and carries her off into the night as only B-grade horror-flick monsters can. Joe is stunned that an alien
monster hasn't found him at all attractive and sits in the wreckage, wondering if he should perhaps brush his teeth more than
once every five years? Meanwhile, Alison is now in the underground cavern when Prima Donna Kebab begins to unpack a Sonytron-Automatic-Karioke
The Doctor, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, RSM Benton and a bunch of anonymous, useless
troopers whose job description on a good day is 'cannon fodder', head down into the cave tunnels linking the crashed space-ship
to the caverns below the isolated town. The team soon discovers a hidden stockade of weapons of mass destruction and decide
not to get involved, leaving them where they are. Suddenly, a hideous blobby monster appears and begins to shuffle down the
tunnel towards the intruders. The Doctor does not panic, but simply runs and hides, telling the Brigadier to just charge the
monster and show no fear. As the Time Lord sits back and lights a cigarette, the soldiers follow the Doctor's dubious advice
and charge, screaming, at the monster. It bursts into an up-tempo rendition of "Bittersweet Symphony" and the soldiers are
reduced to tears. Determined to escape this fate, the Doctor dives inside the monster's gut. The UNIT men scream like little
wussy babies and run away as the monster heads back down the tunnel, more Verve songs being muffled by the Time Lord in its
gullet. As the gaunt character boasts later, "It felt SO good..."
The Bastard hears the phone in the TARDIS ring but,
assuming it to be the alien monsters outside trying to get a laugh, refuses to answer. The Doctor's pathetic reel-to-reel
answer machine whirrs into life, the usual message about nobody being in and "speak after the tone" muffled by the sounds
of what appear to be half-a-dozen schoolgirls giggling, prompting the Doctor to regularly hiss, "For God’s sake, Serena!
We've got all night - no, no, don't touch that..." As the Bastard says, he really should change the message as most of the
phone calls they get are of the heavy breathing variety. This time, however, it is the Doctor, suggesting the Bastard get
off his lily-white backside and set up something called "the BBC Sound Studio"...
The Doctor jumps out of the monster's
mouth to find himself in an underground cavern full of slathering monsters and lava – like the last episode of "Buffy".
And "The Time Machine". And "The Lord of the Rings". And "A View To Kill"... The Prima Donna Kebab introduces herself as the
leader of an invasion force of the Boom-Shaka-Laka Federation, which boasts two thousand drones. The Doctor notes that one
thousand, nine hundred and ninety-six of them are clearly in the next room, and asks the aliens what the hell they think they're
doing under Lannet. Prima Donna Kebab replies that the Boom-Shaka-Laka are ancient creatures who achieved their evolutionary
peak during the 1980s. Despite the constant nostalgia evenings, the universe has moved on and the monsters are tragically
unfashionable with their mullets, white leisure suits, Goth make-up, Kraftwork T-shirts and love of all things Kyle Minogue.
The Doctor suggests they just all commit suicide in the local black hole that oddly enough hangs at one end of the chamber,
waiting for a cliffhanger.
Prima Donna Kebab suggests instead the Doctor hand over the secrets of the TARDIS to let
them transfer the whole universe into 1983. The Doctor laughs uncontrollably and says he couldn't as he is "spaced". The Boom-Shaka-Laka
lead in Alison and threaten to sing "Come On Baby, Light My Fire" at her if the Doctor does not submit. Terrified, the Doctor
unlocks the TARDIS doors, drop-kicks the Bastard (who acts as the bouncer to the police box) and hands over a handy pamphlet
called "How To Manipulate The Pattern Of History For Fun And Profit". He is then thrown out of the ship while two, slightly
more geeky, Boom-Shaka-Laka study it. The Doctor rounds on Alison for not sacrificing herself for him – SHE was the
one they wanted to kill, after all. The Doctor is filled with anguish at her blunt reply – two words, second one "off!"
– and remarks that his tongue is like a greying yellow sock. As he whines that a trip to the countryside should have
helped his regeneration but even in Lancashire he looks like he's on death's door, the Doctor slips on a banana peel and plunges
into the black hole...
As he plunges towards certain death, the Doctor decides to go out with a bang and begins to back prank
call after prank call, moving through his phone book, until he finds a phone number for Big Finish. Dialing it, the Doctor
gets a loud message that he and everything he stands for is non-canonical and thus, nothing that has happened has, is or will
ever happen. Saying this sort of thing above a singularity (with the total authority of someone who got annoyed at twisted
continuity in "The Lethal Assassin") has weird effects. Logic, sense and lateral plot development go out of the window and
the last episode is completely ret-conned out of existence.
The Doctor finds himself in the TARDIS with the Bastard,
but Alison at the mercy of the Boom-Shaka-Laka. The Doctor denies all accusations and decides to visit his friend, Danny.
Meanwhile, Benton and the lads are trying to haul Joe out of the car wreck, the lardy git totally unable to understand why
aliens don't find him irresistible. Suddenly, Joe's self-esteem, what there is of it, is boosted as Alison is carried out
of a volcano by a Boom-Shaka-Laka, complaining that the black girl has no "rhythm". Joe immediately begins to sing every Bob
Dylan song he can and the alien collapses onto the ground, writhing in agony. The Doctor arrives, pisses himself laughing
at the sight of the tortured monster, and begins to empty helium balloons into the air. As The Time Lord realizes that his
only chance of a date has buggered off to London, he tries to ring her and begs her to return to Lannet for some ebony-and-ivory
action. Unfortunately, with supremely-advanced phone technology comes great responsibility and, as the Doctor has been fresh
out of that for the last 513 years, it comes as no surprise he has unintentionally declared his love to the entire population
of Lannet and thus, the rest of the credited cast members. As they rush back to the beleaguered town, each expecting a charming,
romantic, candle-lit dinner for two, Alison finds herself beginning to mouth Yothu Yindi-style chants. She decides to ring
the Doctor to tell him of this phenomenon, but can't bring herself to dial. She must have SOME standards left, after all.
But her triumph is short-lived: to Joe's undisguised horror, his girlfriend is turning into a karioke machine before his very
The gathered crowds of frustrated villagers are gathered near the pub, annoyed that they have been unintentionally
stood up by a randy Gallifreyan as Alison turns into a fancy jukebox. Now possessed by forces beyond the comprehension of
simple mortals like you or I or the writer, they begin to sing, sing, SING! The TARDIS arrives for the Doctor's date as "Come
Up And See Me, Make Me Smile" fills the air. In another one of those little coincidences, the entire UNIT force happens to
be hiding in the TARDIS and begin to fire warning shots – over the kneecaps of the crowd. The Doctor deduces the source
of the music as the sexy-looking karioke machine and plugs in some headphones. Thus saving the day, the Doctor is boasting
how clever he is when the recorder solo from "California Dreaming" jolts through his head and he collapses... only to recover
moments later, having provided half a second of dramatic tension.
After a frustratingly-missing scene, Alison is back
to normal and the Doctor has worked out the Boom-Shaka-Laka's entire fricken' master plan. The aliens have performed completely
similar and predictable invasions all over the planet – the same redneck towns and hillbilly inhabitants looking identical.
(Damn it, they ARE identical! Haven't the producers heard of EXTRAS????) However, all of these are about to chant out the
lyrics to "Baggy Trousers" by Madness, plunging the Earth back into the depths of the 1980s FOREVER! With the Boom-Shaka-Lakas
back in fashion, nothing on Earth will be able to stop them. Just as the Brigadier and Alison can react to this news, the
crowds begin to sing along the music intro to "Baggy Trousers", which segues nicely into a cliffhanger, if not the end music.
With now under an episode to stop the Earth from being rewound to a point where break-dancing aliens can conquer
all, the Doctor decides that he and the Bastard should retire to Milliways, the Restaurant At The End of the Universe. The
Doctor plans to go there and get wrecked, then eat a pork pie and drop a couple of soamser fifties, then he'll just reset
the randomizer. Although this means they'll miss out next Monday, they will, however, come up smiling the Tuesday before.
When Alison politely points out that it might be more constructive to save the Earth from a fate worse than death, the Doctor
tells the Brigadier to just bomb all the innocent people into the Stone Age – it's what they do every other time, aliens
or not, isn't it? Alison protests that this is most inhumane thing she has ever heard. "INHUMANE?!" the Doctor roars, "How
DARE you call me 'inhumane'! ...Inhuman, perhaps. Inhumane, never! Right – I'm going to save the Human Race! The Shaka-Laka-****ers
will rue the day!" he proclaims, brandishing his sonic screwdriver.
The Doctor grabs Alison and they enter the TARDIS,
and travel down to the underground cavern where the Prima Donna Kebab sits alone, watching the Discovery channel, believing
it to be caterpillar pornography. The Doctor emerges from the police box with Alison by his side – the Bastard remaining
in the TARDIS because, evil though he may be, STUPID he is not. When the Doctor strides up to beat the crap out of the overgrown
pubic louse, he sees the damage that the Boom-Shaka-Laka are doing – their renditions of "Frosty the Snowman" ala the
Jackson Five are blowing jet fighters out of the sky. With the conquest of Earth assured, and the fact twenty-five minutes
are up, the Prima Donna Kebab prepares to execute the Doctor and Alison, thus providing a cliffhanger with which to end this
The reprise to episode six is so pathetic it defies belief, as does the new Doctor's approach
to dealing with hideous, face-ripping-off, monsters from the foulest pits of damnation: "Would you like a drink, Miss Prima
Donna Kebab? Look, I've a heart condition – I've a HEARTS condition. If you hit me, it's murder. The other one won't
work and I'll regenerate into Arabella Weir! I don't know what my compan... ACQUAINTANCE has said to upset you, but it's nothing
to do with me, is it? Oh, it is. Well, I suggest we all step into deep space and settle it, mighty alien overlord to pathetic,
weak and vulnerable human. Is that the door behind you? AHAHH! OUT OF MY WAY!"
The War Chief of the Boom-Shaka-Lakas
is unimpressed. However, it still decides to tie the Doctor and Alison against a pillar while Spandex and lycra begins to
encircle the globe. The invasion is all but complete and the Doctor doesn't care – he's found some Fleetwood Mac and
is deliriously happy. This dramatic twist of events doesn't quite explain just how the hell he managed to untie himself and
Alison, and search the aliens' CD collection without the Prima Donna Kebab, who is sitting right beside them, from noticing.
As the Doctor boasts about how cool the band is and how he has visited every parallel dimension when they got back together,
Alison takes pity on us all and bitch-slaps him. Numerous times. The Doctor huffily announces that he was not going deranged
with fear and panic but was instead coming up with an amazing plan, the likes of which he swears he will explain later.
Doctor turns to the Prima Donna Kebab and begins to sing 'Oh, Well' at the top of his voice. The song proves the Doctor's
point and the near-mystic energies in this ballad forces every single Boom-Shaka-Laka on the planet to disappear in a puff
of logic. The Prima Donna Kebab prepares to bite the Doctor's head off, but slips on the banana peel, slips and falls back
into the black hole. With the Madness song interrupted, it has left a lasting impression – "Funk" music has been banished
from the realm of mortals.
As the Doctor and Alison return to the TARDIS, the biggest moral victory so far in Doctor
Who under their belts, the writer twigs that another five minutes have to be padded out and so there are some gratuitous scenes
of suddenly-resurrected Boom-Shaka-Laka appear and chase our heroes around the gave before some UNIT people appear and give
the aliens both barrels. For some reason, the formerly-indestructible aliens fall down dead and the Doctor and Alison leave.
the ship, the Doctor pilots the craft to land on a grassy knoll where he plans to meet up with the Brigadier and boast that
his latest bitch has yet to be drawn away from him. Meanwhile, the Bastard talks with Alison and begs her to stay. Not only
will her presence help this Doctor recover from his traumatic origin and subsequent losses, a lithe barmaid in the TARDIS
makes life for the Bastard so much easier – he can't stand the arrogant prick at the controls for much longer, but is
unable to castrate the bastard with a pair of eyebrow tweezers at the Doctor has specifically programmed him not to.
TARDIS materializes next to a trembling tent. The Doctor emerges and hears the voices of the Brigadier, Benton and Joe from
within. As he lifts the tent flap to look inside, his eyes widen and he runs back into the TARDIS, begging for a bucket. As
the police box begins to fade away, we hear Benton request: "Permission to howl, sir?"
Then, the internet connection
gave way, thank Christ.
Books(s)/Other Related –
Doctor Who: The Boogie Outlaw (Canada Only)
Medulla Oblongata Songbook
"'I Came, I Saw, I Yodeled' And Other Crap Invasion Plans That Failed To Conquer The Planet
Earth" by Michael Grade
Fluffs – Richard E Grant seemed a bit inhumane in this story
When an awed Alison
asks, "What are you?", the Doctor replies, "A sandwich machine. Sorry. I meant to say... a LOVING machine!! ...If you know
what I mean!"
"Die, Doctor! DIE!" screams the Doctor halfway through episode 4 for no readily-apparent reason.
How does the Doctor know that there is a 10-ton weight in the ceiling of the flat when Alison and Joe, who claim
to have built the apartment, were unaware of its existence?
Previous stories have firmly established that the Doctor
is distinctly UNABLE to shove man-eating Bengal tigers into his pocket so he can unleash them on his enemies, and has been
badly mauled on the numerous occasions he has tried. If he could do this, why wouldn’t he use it on EVERY single baddy??
we’re on the subject, just after the Doctor screams, "Kill them, Simba! Eat their BRAY-YEEEEEEEEENS!" we stay on his
deranged face for a full three minutes while, in the background you can hear the director screaming. We then cut to the amazingly-false
two-dimensional cardboard-cut-out silhouette that jerkily glides across the set towards the two aliens. Now, HERE'S the goof
– it is quite clearly the shape of Zebra, not a tiger! Jesus, just because both animals have stripes, the crew got them
confused??? Give me strength!
Just before the bomb goes off, we see the Doctor, Alison and Joe running away from the
flat. Then, we get a thirty second outtake from "Not The Nine O’clock News" of Rowan Atkinson sneezing violently. We
cut back to show the flat is now a burning ruin. Over the scene, we can hear Rowan apologize to someone called "Lloyd" and
beg for some tissues, rendering the dialogue of that scene inaudible.
I’m fairly certain that the Shaka-Laka's
P.O.V should have cut away before we see it sliding off the set, leaving the studio altogether and then heading for the gents’
toilets via an illicit drug deal in the shadowy confines of the BBC canteen.
As the Doctor's message comes through
on the answering machine, I swear you can hear someone's mobile go off and the Bastard whispering "Not now, Jeremy... Look,
I'm working, all right? Of course I do, I just can't say it now, OK! Oh, don't be like that, muffin! Hello? Hello? Oh, rat's
Speaking of mobiles, as the Doctor plunges, upside down into a singularity, he pulls out the phone, fumbles
and drops it. He then scowls at shouts in the direction of the black hole, "OI!" Then, a human hand appears, and passes the
Doctor the mobile, which he takes saying, "If I see this in the finished episode, I'll take the bastard axe to the producer.
Bastard. You'll all suffer. I'm going to be A STAR!!!!"
During the chaos as the world’s atmosphere begins to
fall apart, John Levene can be made out shoving his way through the crowds of extras, heaving for the exit, a cigarette in
his mouth as he says "Coming through, people". At first, you might think this is intentional, scripted even – but just
how is Benton supposed to be striding through crowds simultaneously on twenty-six different parts of the planet? Is this something
ANY UNIT officer can do? The Brigadier and Benton meet the TARDIS in New Zealand with no trouble, even though there is no
reason for either of them to be there. Or is it just doubling-up on location? If so, then I guess it's STILL a blooper!
come the Prima Donna Kebab Shaka-Laka can tie people to comfy chairs when there is no need for chairs, or rope in the caverns
and she didn't even have arms to start with?
The title sequence is obviously Jon Pertwee's title sequence with the
music done on a Jew's Harp. However, the titles have not been updated and each one shows Jon Pertwee's face, his logo, and
call this story "Carnival of Munsters Episode Two".
The Doctor can create a massive weapon
of nuclear destruction with a bag of NorbensTM fertilizer ("From The Ground To You"), a plastic skull key ring and three towels.
The Doctor defeats the Shaka-Laka by "reversing the atonality of the karioke flow".
Prima Donna Kebab: A simple toy?
That's my sonic screwdriver you're talking about!
Prima Donna Kebab: It is hardly worth your humiliation.
Fashion Victims –
The Doctor's hideous Goth outfit with horrific echoes to the Time Lord's triceratops
Fashion Triumphs -
Alison's bra seems to be trying to emigrate every time she inhales
Links and References
The Doctor compares being hung-over to having a Snotaran **** in your head. Just HOW this happened isn't clear, and I,
for one, am not complaining. Since Doctor Root & The Enema Within, the REG Doctor has downloaded the Bastard's mind into
an android for a laugh. It must striptease, do a cartwheel and vomit on the Doctor's order of "LUBRICATE!"
It is heavily implied that the last sixteen pretty girls the REG Doctor has tried to hook-up with have
been seduced by the Brigadier using the mysterious "Melon Device".
Groovy DVD Extras -
A completely new end sequence
to Episode Six. The Doctor turns directly into camera and says this entire adventure kinda reminds him of a song, "We're SO
Screwed", which he proceeds to sing despite the protests and sobs from Alison and the Bastard. The credits then roll over
the singing Doctor in upside-down, back-to-front Czechoslovakian.
Dialogue Disasters -
Bastard: A young woman again?
Doctor: Yes, again!
Bastard: On this point, your programming
of my electronic brain is quite clear. I am not to give the girl your phone-number.
Doctor: So, why are you giving her
Bastard: Guess, loser.
The new PC Doctor's attitude to New Zealanders in general - "Are you the same
as all the other sheep?"
Alison: What will all those slaughtered funk musicians do now, Doctor?
The first words between the new Doctor and his new companion -
Doctor: Do you fancy a puff
of my huffer?
Alison: That's a terrible chat-up line.
Doctor: Sarah Michelle-Gellar thought otherwise.
Doctor, I have some extremely distressing news.
Doctor: WE'RE OUT OF WINE??!?
Joe: Have you, uh, actually... Actually,
you know... have you done it? You know... with a woman?
Doctor: So many answers to that, but no... no interest in giving
Dialogue Triumphs -
Prima Donna Kebab: Resistance is useless!
Doctor: [sneers] What ****er said
Joe: What do you think you can do?
Doctor: Resist them, surprise them, abuse them roughly will marrows and
salami... Oh, and maybe finally win the special Lotto jackpot!
Bastard: I am not fond of you.
Alison: Then why do
you call me "Ali-baby"?
Bastard: I call everyone that.
Alison: OK, now you're creeping me out now.
Trust me, I know about fetishes - I'M THE DOCTOR!
Doctor: I'm a Time Lord... reduced to the state of a bum!
[uninterested] Dear me, how tiresome.
Doctor: [sobs uncontrollably] I feel like a Snotaran's shat in my head!
stunning first scene between the Ninth Doctor and Brigadier –
Doctor: [bitterly] How disgusting, Alistair. I seem
to attract bondage freaks. They're either strapping me to leather couches, growling in Morse code or seducing my friends.
Go and find someone else to play your filthy
Brigadier: Damn it, Doctor - you used to be cool!
[worried] I'm still cool! Get the whipped cream, I'll prove it.
Doctor: In time, I hope you will come to accept my
peccadilloes. Sometimes, it's all I can think about. Well, most times. Well, ALL the time, but that's enough of that.
Is that why you brought me here? So you could do this in front of me?
Doctor: Oh, no. That would be sheer vanity. I need
you in a very biological sense. Hit me again, "George"!
Prima Donna Kebab: The singularity, when set like this, becomes
a black hole. It crushes everything down to a mathematical point. Many lesser beings have fallen in accidentally. Maybe it's
because we can't be bothered opening and closing it.
Doctor: "Accidentally"? ACCIDENTALLY! Those aren't accidents. They
are throwing themselves into the black hole gladly. Throwing themselves into space to escape all the hideousness of it all!!
[to Alison] Throw yourself into the black hole, darling! You haven't got a chance!
Doctor: Why have you invaded a tiny
part of Lanchashire?
Prima Donna Kebab: Our ambitions stretch much further than that.
Doctor: [aghast] You mean, Nottinghamshire?
Donna Kebab: Exactly!
Doctor: [horrified] Dear God, the horror! No, not that! OH, SWEET JESUS, NOOOO!
Donna Kebab: Are you being sarcastic?
Doctor: ... ...nope.
The Bastard summing up the Doctor's character in a single
"As always, you're screwing two things at once. Perhaps your most infuriatingly human trait."
Bastard: Every day seems to present a new challenge to one's dignity. [Evil Bastard Chuckle] Oh, yeah. Sweet,
Viewer's Quotes –
"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man! Richard E Grant IS the Doctor! There's going
to be a whole new series about this character – Telos novellas, DWM strips, BBC Books! EMBRACE THE NINTH DOCTOR!"
some poster at Outpost Gallifrey (2003)
"REG sucked at the Doctor. His singing was off-key, I can’t stretch myself
to fit I Scream "Boom-Shaka-Laka!" into my narrow continuity, and everyone knows there isn't going to be another one. I decry
this as distilled whippet **** and anyone who doesn't is a damn moron."
- the same poster at Outpost Gallifrey after he
saw the story (2003)
"When I heard they were making a cartoon of Doctor Who, I knew that there would only be one enemy
monster that Cosgrove Hall could possibly capture the grace and beauty of, yet still retain the horror and fear generated
by such an ungodly nightmare. Yes, "Doctor Who Sings The Quirks A Lullaby" would have cemented Richard E Grant's place as
the Doctor and spun-off an entire new series of the show. Did they listen to me? Did they ****." - the Creator of the Quirks
"The new webcast is called 'I Scream "Boom-Shaka-Laka"', but I'll be screaming something a bit more prosaic
if I ever have to watch it."
- Tony Davenport, www.ireallyreallyhatescifidontyouknow.com
"This has to be the most anodyne, pathetic, drawn-out wastes of space it has ever been my misfortune to come
across. The phrase, "square to the point of deformity" has never been so aptly used. This entire mockery of Doctor Who shall
be the final nail in the coffin. No, I haven't WATCHED the story, more sort of SET FIRE to people that have." - Dan Freeman
"I notice that the vastly-superior Shagged'er has gone from the BBC Cult Website the moment this crap turned
up." - Douglas Adams, via Ouji Board (2098 – rather good, considering his previous experiences with deadlines)
you know not a single slash fiction piece about this story has turned up? DOES THAT NOT SUGGEST SOMETHING? If only the Doctor
had been crucified and dipped in beeswax, maybe then, THEN, this story could have been a winner." - Kate Orman (2004)
will be my final piece of Doctor Who fiction. Honest." - Laurence Miles (2003)
"Doctor Who Animated? ANIMATED!?! Look,
buster, I know animation when I see it, I've seen a lot of animation and you, sir, are not animation!" - Andrew Beeblebrox
"Aw, he's getting wasted on lighter fluid, bless 'im!"
"Yes, he definitely takes after you, dear."
REG Doctor's parents, the Eighth Doctor and Charley, in “Schizo" (2003)
Psychotic Nostalgia –
this story has to be, without a doubt, the best expose of alien karioke experiments being carried out by Harley Street doctors.
Yeah, man, it's time for the truth! I was so impressed, I began to sing "Innocent Eyes" by Delta Goodrem for 87 hours straight
while I hung, upside down, from the ceiling in front of the distorting mirror of Ashgotoroth! You know what, it all suddenly
became clear to me! Doctor Who was never cancelled! This is just one of the stories that has been made since 1989 that the
MIB have frantically tried to hide from our sight! They say they're making it in 2005, but I know the truth. The REAL Doctor
Who, with Ian Richardson as the Tenth Doctor, won't be let in for Season Forty-Two and they'll just get some big-eared, mop-haired
freak to cover up the truth! OH, MY GOD! MY BRAIN JUST IMPLODED..."
It was after watching this story together
that Tom Baker and Hilary Duff finally agreed to tie the knot. The marriage was annulled six hours later when Hilary realized
that the man she had married was not the Tom Baker who had been systematically sending her love letters and serenading her
at night in Latin. She has now shacked-up full-time with Madame Tussurds' wax model of the Fourth Doctor and are expecting
their first child in June.
Rumors & Facts -
In 2002, BBCi launched an all-new animated fantasy series that was broadcast over the internet
and watched on a fantastic three occasions – two by people whose PC's jammed on the website, and another who had wandered
off for lunch and come back in time to miss the entire adventure. The animated webcast was called The Boasts of Albion, about
a sword-and-sorcery braggart who vainly tried impress his peers. The so-called animation was done by Cosgrove Hall –
the god-like beings responsible for Danger Mouse and Count Duckula and, thus, every single TV show a fictional character on
the BBC is allowed to watch before the plot kicks back into gear. James Gross, the producer of BBCi, had been tempted at animating
a Doctor Who story for some time. His first effort, Beth Comes To Rhyme had static images of various characters doing sod
all. This was improved in Meal Time where the various static images faded in and out of focus in time to the incidental music.
The most recent work was the re-make of Douglas Adams aborted tale of anarchic set-burning, Shagged'er II: This Time It's
Finished wherein static images of characters ice-skated around static sets with monotonous close-ups for often ill-placed
dialogue. Gross decided that, in conjunction with the BBC, they would advance this method and screw up Doctor Who forever.
BBC had been slowly but surely devastating the BBC books range - after first denying it from doing absolutely anything interesting,
it wiped out Gallifrey and became obsessed with Sapphire & Steel-type plot twists that required a Grade A certificate
in continuity to open the book. Then, they reduced the book production from once a month to one every five seconds on a blue
moon in Afghanistan. The evil masterminds then tackled the DWM comic strip – after a teasing glimpse of homosexual naughtiness,
it sent the solo eighth Doctor who cared where, facing vague, unmemorable threat after another with no companion or even a
clue. With Big Finish, the BBC bastards had a field day. They created ludicrous gaps in the lives of the Fifth, Sixth and
Seventh Doctors, giving them all new companions, pointless story arcs and then made every single episode non-linear, forcing
you to buy two CDs to understand the content of just one. A Lithuanian prostitute forced Nick Briggs to shatter his Dustbin
War Story series in the cradle, and then, a master stroke!
Doctor Who fans regularly bitched about what crap they lumbered
with and pretended that, if THEY had been in charge, things would be so much more different. So, Big Finish did just that,
and released the Unsoiled range of audio dramas: "Arse Morality", with Geoffrey Bayldon as a Doctor who refused to leave Gallifrey
and spent eternity staring at Madonna's backside; "Empathy for the Weevil", with David Warner missing the UNIT era and finding
a fetishist cave of dildos being manipulated by the Bastard's beard; "Full Frontally ****ed", with David Collings as a nice,
clean-cut Doctor who never told lies or seduced his assistant and was shot dead half way through the first minute, to be recast
as Ian Levine in a Blob-style plot as the Doctor Who fan rolled over hapless innocents; "He Dresses In Women's Clothing And
Hangs Around In Bars", which was a musical production of the Lumberjack song by Monty Python; "Headline" about a guy who was
forced to write endless script for a crap TV show called Doctor Who while being haunted by a creature that existed in photographs
and starred Sir Derek Jacobi as Rob Shearman; and "Revile", with Arabella Wier doing sod all but farting for sixty minutes,
then having a nap.
The fans realized that, no matter what reality, Doctor Who could never live up to their high expectations
and turned desperately to the Eighth Doctor Big Finish stories – only to endure the bowl-shattering insanity of Zig-Zag-Gay-Ass
and the fifteen hour weirdness that was Schizo. Then, the BBC sprung its trap.
It keel-hauled Paul Cornell into tapping
out a generic Pertwee story called "My Wife Likes Ice Cream", which they then renamed "Project Catflap" and handed the finished
product over to Gross. The crucial element that this would be an "all-new" adventure for an "all-new" Doctor. Rather than
do something even remotely sensible like handing over the role from Paul McGann to his successor, "Project Catflap" would
begin four hundred years into the Ninth Doctor's life and see him resolving unseen and undefined horrors to become truly the
Doctor for the last three minutes of the animated series, which would then have absolutely no sequels, prequels or mentions
again in any kind. This final nail through the heart of Doctor Who was planned to utterly annihilate the show's fandom –
giving them something to pin all their remaining hopes and dreams, failing to live up to it, and then buggering off while
the scarf-clad wankers sobbed uncontrollably.
In order to make sure that there was no chance this so-called official
incarnation could never make another outing, the BBC cast derranged hermit and violent alcoholic Richard E Grant as the Doctor.
An actor of his caliber would never deign to play the role twice and, convinced of being spied on by alien saucer people,
refused to let the BBC use his likeness on any book covers or in the DWM comic strip. When given the brief to play a character
with a stiff upper lip, a keen sense of humor and a way with ladies of any species, Grant was terrified – his remit
was only for bitter, grieving drunks who did sod all while their mates actually went and made something with their lives.
He was also going through a strange gothic phase and insisted that the Doctor should be very pale, have large teeth and refer
to himself as "The Count Formally Known As Drakhoola". Fearful of casting another deranged sociopath as the Doctor, Grant
was pumped full of morphine, strapped to a chair and electrocuted until he had recited the whole script three times over.
no other reason that to annoy the fans and confuse the public, Cornell decided to pad out an episode by having the Boom-Shaka-Laka
breaking into the TARDIS. They would then be repelled by a character that Cornell thought up off the top of his head –
the TARDIS Bouncer, played by Peter Davison in a cricket jumper. When Davison announced publicly he would rather lick Greg
Dyke's scrotum than appear in Doctor Who again, a hasty re-write was made to ruin the remaining character of the Bastard.
Sir Derek Jacobi was cast as he was still under sedation after his Unsoiled play "Headline".
On the priviso the story
featured a mass of continuing characters played by such big-star names no one with two brain cells to rub together would even
try and make another series, the BBC gave "I Scream, 'Boom-Shaka-Laka'!" the green light. The animation reverted to the original
pattern set down by Beth Comes to Rhyme, and had the character's jaws sag open and then close, allowing a bare minimum of
dialogue to be played out. Paul Cornell was paid for his trouble by writing a Liberal book of right-on ****e which could be
sold to gullible anoraks as a novelization of the story, while both Rob Shearman and Gay Russell stretched credulity and their
own sanity to breaking point trying to fit 'Shaka-Laka' into continuity. Their end result – that the REG Doctor is the
Eighth Doctor and Charley's illegitimate love child being manipulated by Nicholas Briggs – does not warrant further
"I Scream 'Boom-Shaka-Laka'!" did everything it had to, and wiped out half the fan population in a fortnight.
Nobody wanted it, nobody needed it and everybody wished they didn't care so much. Opinion forums that had been stretched to
breaking point by blind speculation shut down to lack of use. A few bitching letters were sent to DWM, but they all followed
the same pattern. It seemed like the Doctor had finally been forsaken by his fans and was free to escape this earthly realm
And THAT was then they announced they were making a new series...
To close this entry, the Ninth Doctor's
excised musical number--
"We're SO screwed, we're SO screwed
We're SO screwed, we're SO screwed, yeah!
To save my life
Call the wife in
Nothing to say
But what's the date?
Nothing to do
If you've got nothing to say
Then it's okay
We're SO screwed, we're SO screwed
We're SO screwed,
we're SO screwed, yeah!
Coming down to Earth
Don't wanna go
Heading for Rome
I dial the phone
Everybody knows aliens're invading
They're everywhere, they're all-pervading
Everyone is in their thrall
say, just come one, just come all
After a while
I start to smile
As the Shaka-Laka rule
Then I decide to
Wipe out the sluggy fool
But nothing will change
It's still the same
You don't care what I say
it ain't okay!
People running round, under a spell
It's about time the sword did fell
Aliens implanted in their
They're going to screw up the air
But I guess that's fair
Somebody needs to save the world
that you called
But frankly, I say
I'll call it a day
You'll have to save yourselves
If you can't survive
won't be revived
You didn't care what I say
It wasn't okay
We're SO screwed, we're SO screwed
We're SO screwed,
we're SO screwed, yeah!"
AND A BIT EXTRA....
If you have come this far into this web site you must know that there are surprises all over
for those who take the time...
Now we present a lovely story about four lovely young university students.
Rick stumbled into the confines of his room and stared in shock. His bed was back where he had left it, in the corner
of his room against the wall that connected it to Neil's quarters. There was no sign that the floor had recently collapsed
- or of its impossible flipping across the house.
Confused, Rick turned and stepped out into the landing.
Filling up most of the space was a dusty, armored, anti-tank gun. It was positioned in such a way it blocked
access to both flights of stairs and the bathroom. Vyvyan was adjusting some controls out of view, a crazed look in his eye
as he adjusted another handle.
'Vyvyan!' Rick shouted, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice. 'Where did you
get that howitzer?!' he demanded, preying that this topic of conversation would give him a chance to escape.
it,' Vyvyan offered with an evasive shrug.
'Well, you can just about bloomin' well put it back this instant, young
man!' Rick retorted.
'I will, I will,' Vyvyan promised viciously. 'Just as soon as I've blown you to pieces!'
swallowed. He was a tough customer but not even he could stand up to an anti-tank gun blast! And Vyvyan, who was usually one
to maim rather than kill, was struggling to aim the barrel at him. Vyvyan was trying to kill him! Rick realized at that moment
that just because the outward symptoms of Vyvyan's hangover were gone didn't mean the chemicals were still out of his system.
He would have to play this very carefully - the bastard could do anything. He could ---
Rick realized that Vyvyan had
fired and dived for the cover of the doorway to the punk's bedroom.
The blast scraped past him, swallowing up the landing
window and vanishing into the swirling dark mist beyond. Rick struck the floor gasping for breath, and heard a clanking noise
as the barrel was re-aligned. The self-styled anarchist looked up to see Vyvyan re-loading the howitzer.
no trace of sanity in those dilated pupils.
# # #
It could have been anywhere. The sky was thick with coiling
grey-black clouds, the land below diffused in a pale blue twilight. Mist and fog curled over the long, reedy grass that was
occasionally interrupted by gnarled, skeletal trees moist with condensation but boasting no foliage.
figures were sitting on a fallen tree, their simple clothes in shades of brown from countless stains, skins grubby and unwashed.
One of them, larger and hairier than the others, looked around him, bored as he always was on a Sunday. The mist meant that
he could only see a few feet in any direction, but still inspiration struck.
A misplaced look of cunning formed on
his vacant face and the peasant turned to his fellow. 'I bet,' he grunted smugly, 'in one second... both of my legs will fall
It took a full three seconds for the others to react. The scrawniest and hungriest-looking of the pair leant
forward and growled, 'All right! You're on!'
The remaining farmer nodded and pointed at the large man's leg, encased
in yellowing tights. 'One!' he counted, eyes narrow with suspicion.
The peasant leant back, lifting his legs from the
moist ground. He kicked out both of them and waited for the splash as the useless limbs crashed into swampy surface beneath
But they didn't.
The other two laughed loudly and held out their dirty, callused hands for payment.
the third sack of potatoes I've already lost today!' the loser complained miserably, on the verge of tears as he slammed down
the meager currency into the waiting hands of his companions.
Suddenly, there was the heavy sound of hoof beats squelching
in mud. The trio turned to face the banks of mist directly behind them. A dark shape swirled into view, finally piercing the
fog to reveal the horse carrying Sir Boring Old Fart, the local knight. He slowed to a halt beside the peasants, allowing
them to see two slender shapes - one predominately grey, the other blue - draped over the back of Sir Boring Old Fart's saddle.
The long hair of both figures showed them to be female.
'Hey, everyone!' called the knight cheerfully, 'there's a 20th
Century pad back there, and they're giving away free damsels! Here, have one,' he said generously, and flapped out with his
right hand behind him. The grey shape was flipped off the horse and plummeted into a bare patch of earth. A patch which seemed
to be nothing but muddy water as the "damsel" sunk up to its elbows in the muck.
With a wave, Sir Boring Old Fart rode
off into the mist and in moments was gone.
The peasants turned to look at the muddy shape struggling to sit up.
hippie knight had definitely kept the looker.
# # #
Neil was jolted back from the opening theme of Dallas
by a sudden wave of ice-cold mud that instantly enveloped his body. Twisting around, he cracked open his eyes to see nothing
but grey mists. What had happened? Where was he? As ever, he felt a sinking depression as the answers came back.
hippie knight - hah! Breadhead knight more like! - had kidnapped him and Rick's pretend girlfriend, rode out of the house
and then thrown him in the mud. Neil ripped himself out of the bog and found himself in a mist-strewn field, facing three
small grubby men looking at him in a mixture of disgust and disappointment.
'Excuse me,' Neil croaked as he focussed
on the trio, 'but can you tell me what happened to the rest of the street?' he asked hopefully.
They stared at him,
not understanding a word.
Neil scraped most of the mud out of his hair and ears, wincing as he heard a shrill, building
howl just on the edge of his senses. Was it tinitus? Had he finally been hit once to often?
The noise got louder and
Neil had the briefest impression of something hurtling through the fog towards the silent trio moment before the explosion
hurled him back into the mud. The blast of heat seemed to dry out the mud into crumbly sand that slid off him, and he looked
up to see a small heap of burning charcoal where once had been three people.
The explosion had also cleared some of
Oh, how Neil wish it hadn't.
# # #
Rick pressed himself into the corner of the far wall, but
Vyvyan had re-positioned and re-aimed the howitzer. He had no way out this time. Rick licked his lips, feeling suddenly very
cold. It was time to cut his losses - virginity or not, he wasn't prepared to get blown to pieces for anyone. With the possible
exception of Felicity Kendall, obviously. 'Oh, no!' he gasped, suddenly realized the anti-tank gun was now fully loaded.
he screamed. 'No!'
Vyvyan grinned and hissed, moving to pull the firing lever.
'Please!' Rick howled. 'You were
right and I was wrong! I am a virgin!' At that moment, he would have said anything if it would stop Vyvyan from pulling
the trigger and ending his life.
'Not for long, matey,' Vyvyan growled demonically.
He pulled the trigger.
shattering blast took out the rest of the window and also a chunk of the wall. More mist blew into the landing under pressure
and, cursing, Vyvyan moved to reload the howitzer for one, final blast. He cast a glance at the huddled shape on the floor,
wracked with deep, loud sobs.
# # #
Peasants, men and women and all equally unhygienic,
were rushing out of a round, clay-built hut sitting in the corner of the field, surrounded by a small patch of cultivated
land and firewood. The peasants, upon seeing the burnt remnants of their three companions and a long-haired stranger nearby,
had leapt to the wrong conclusion and were immediately arming themselves with whatever they could lay their hands on - pitch
forks, scythes, stick and, in one cash, a bright white cartoonish bone.
Neil began to back away, praying for the mists
to return and cover his retreat. This was just typical! Rick or Vyvyan never got kidnapped by hypocritical knights and sold
to peasants who promptly just exploded for no reason and left the blame pointing at them! And where was he? What had happened
to the town - it had been there when he'd been rudely awoken this morning...
Neil realized that the leader was shouting
at him as they approached. 'Look, sorry about your relatives...'
'He's a sorcerer!' shouted one of the peasants, and
others joined in. Was it his imagination, or could he hear that whistling noise again?
'No, I was just wondering where
the bus stop had gone!' Neil protested.
The peasants slowed their advance and exchanged a few cautious glances. Neil
suspected that they had no idea what a bus stop actually was, so Neil helpfully added, 'The one that was where that hut is...'
pointed to the hut, and the peasants turned to follow his lead. As their gaze rested on their dwelling place, said dwelling
place was suddenly ripped apart by a blinding red-yellow explosion that instantly consumed the hut and everything around it,
creating a plume of smoke that filled any gaps in the fog.
The peasants turned to look at Neil, then back at the burning
remains of their home.
Neil turned and ran for his life.
After a few moments of blinding stumbling through the
mists, he saw the familiar silhouette of his house sitting incongruously in the next field, surrounded on all sides by leafless
black trees. Sulphurous light spilled from the windows and ruined doorway.
Any hope Neil had gained from the sight
disappeared as he realized the peasants were right behind him.
# # #
Rick and Vyvyan trudged down the stairs
onto the first landing, the former sniffling and trying to casually dry his red-rimmed eyes. His final breakdown into tears
had prompted enough amusement from Vyvyan to put aside the howitzer and Rick had used all his formidable powers of diplomacy
He peered down at all the loose change in his hand and made a final calculation. 'There you go, Vyvyan,'
he said, voice tight and dry after his recent shouts and sobs. 'There's the 59 pence compensation for disagreeing with you,'
he said, emptying the shrapnel into the punk's outstretched hand.
Rick looked down at the sign he was now wearing -
a piece of cardboard on threadbare string that hung around his neck. Scratched onto it in felt-tip, in large, easy-to-read
letters were the words I AM A VIRGIN. 'Yes, I'll have the T-shirt printed first thing tomorrow morning,' Rick promised meekly,
inwardly consoling himself that at least he was alive.
Then he staggered and nearly fell as Vyvyan's hammer connected
with the base of his skull.
Rick turned and saw it wasn't a hammer but in fact some kind of medieval mace. How had
he got hold of that thing? Still, he refused to get into more trouble - although Vyvyan seemed sober, there was definitely
no telling what he could do.
Biting back the curse, Rick turned and looked around. The place was in even more of a
wreck than before - the inner door was now lying at his feet, a large crack in the central window pane, muddy footprints were
everywhere and what was that he could smell? Horsepoo? What had Neil been eating? Come to think of it, where was Neil? Both
he and Helen were missing, and Mike was peering anxiously through the curtains.
The answer came as a silhouette ran
out of the grey fog into the hallway. It was Neil - and he looked worse than ever. Mud was spattered across most of his body,
and he stank of horse business and gunpowder. 'Guys! Guys!' he moaned, turning to pick up the inner door and throw it against
the gap in the wall. 'Barricade the doors! Lock all the windows! Pretend to be invisible!' he wailed, placing the rickety
chair against the door to improve his pathetic barrier. 'I've just committed a bit of a... faux-pas.'
angry noises and shouts could be heard from all sides of the house.
'Neil, have you upset the neighbors?' demanded
'No, no, Mike,' Neil replied absently, rushing over to the windows to see how best to fortify them. 'I've blown
Clearly Vyvyan's blasts had found a target, Rick considered, feeling suddenly giddy as he remembered that,
yet again, he had almost been killed today. 'Blimey,' he exclaimed weakly, 'who said Sunday was a day of rest?'
looked up from the sofa into which he had slumped. 'God did,' he supplied, pointing to Rick.
Rick nodded, snapping
his fingers and pointing back at Vyvyan. 'That's right! I knew it was someone Tory.'
'I knew I shouldn't have touched
that magpie,' Neil grimaced, gnawing at his fingertips.
Rick rolled his eyes. 'Oh, God, Neil,' he complained, 'you're
so superstitious. Anyone would think we were living in the Middle Ages!'
Mike look up from the window again. 'I don't
want to worry anyone - but we are.'
'What?' exclaimed Vyvyan and Rick as one, and they joined Mike and
Neil beside the television and peered out through the curtains. There was no denying it - something very strange had happened.
Hillocks and skeletal trees, enshrouded in the thick grey fog had replaced the suburban streets and town. Short, manic little
silhouettes were raging through the mists towards them.
'Oh no,' growled Vyvyan as he stared at the vista. 'It seems
as though, mysteriously, the whole house has gone through some sort of time-warp.' He rolled his eyes in despair, as if this
situation was most boring, predictable and cliched disaster imaginable.
Rick peered between the shoulders of the punk
and hippie, clapping his hands in delight. 'God, isn't it all simply enchanting,' he crowed happily. 'It's like one of those
wonderful drawings by Brughel with lots of working-class people thrashing about the place with pitch-forks!' he observed,
miming such a pitch-fork-thrashing movement with his empty hands.
'Yeah, they look really angry, don't they?' Neil
Rick, carried along by what was probably delayed shock, turned away from the window, the shouts
and the sounds of breaking glass and wandered over to the kitchen. 'Oh, just think!' he enthused. 'No nuclear power, no pollution,
no electrical cables ruining the landscape...'
Rick trailed off.
A thought had occurred.
He turned to
face the others. The thought had occurred to them as well.
'...no telly,' they gasped in unison.
no,' Neil wailed in torment. 'I'll die if I miss Scooby-Doo!'
Vyvyan nodded, aghast. 'Too bloody right, Neil.
Everybody panic!' he ordered at a shout.
'When you said "panic",' Neil said miserably, 'I didn't think you meant, "hang me"!'
His criticism summed up the
situation. While he had begun to fret on the spot, Mike, Rick and Vyvyan had leapt into what seemed to be an extremely well
rehearsed plan of attack. Mike, for his part, had crossed to the sofa, picked up the pillow that earlier that day Helen had
tried to smother him with, and tucked it into the corner of the couch. He then sat down comfortably, positioning himself in
front of the television.
Vyvyan had scooped up a coil of rope and thrown it up into the air. One end had looped around
an exposed beam, revealed during the chaos of the day, and tied one end around his right hand.
Rick had snatched the
rickety chair from holding up the front door and placed it directly beneath the swinging end of the rope, which Neil recognized
as a hangman's noose moments before they'd turned on him. 'Neil, stick your head through here,' he was told by Vyvyan. 'Right,
stand on this,' Rick ordered.
Now, Neil was standing on the wobbling chair, the noose tied tight around his neck, his
own long coarse hair scratching against the thin skin of his neck. Vyvyan was sitting on the opposite side of the sofa to
Mike, holding the noose taunt while Rick stood beside the TV. 'Test the TV, Rick,' Vyvyan ordered.
'Right,' Rick agreed
enthusiastically, pointing to the punk as if to emphasize his point. Rick snapped down the switch and dived onto the couch
in the space between Vyvyan and Mike. The ghostly reflection of the house melted away as the set warmed up. Immediately, a
set of plummy, Liverpudlian tones began to boom out from the speaker as shapes sharpened out of the illuminating screen.
why or how the television was working none of them knew. Perhaps, somehow, the house was still connected to the mains and
supplies in the far future and thus it was working normally. Perhaps television as an industry had been around a lot longer
than anyone had really admitted. Perhaps it was all a freakily convenient coincidence. But the lads had long ago learnt to
ignore such paradoxes.
The screen showed a bald, rotund man in a leather jacket, shot from the (very large) waist up.
He was clearly part of the widespread Balowski family, but his articulate voice and apparent sanity suggested he was one of
the more distant, lucid members. Behind him was a black background, on which was painted in arty, italic print the words DID
'...hotting up in the battle between TV stations for higher ratings,' the man was saying.
very lucky, Neil,' Vyvyan grunted. It was part of the house charter that, in the lack of other entertainment, it was perfectly
acceptable to murder a member of the household whose last name began with 'P' in order to stave off boredom. They had not
told Neil this in order to keep the atmosphere relaxed.
Neil opened his mouth to reply when suddenly Vyvyan flicked
his wrist and kicked out with his foot. The rickety chair toppled over and the hippie plummeted to the floor. However, the
noose was no longer held tight, and so Neil escaped with only a few bruises, but his impact blotted out what the bald man
was saying, something about ITV's lineup.
'...because the BBC came up with Strip Sex Snooker Darts on Ice, with
Torvill and Dean. Of course, ITV came back with Roland the Rat's TV AM Public Executions.' Behind the man, the DID YE
SEE? background began to rise up out of sight. '"Yeah, cut his head off, yeah!"' the man said in a drawn-out Roland
the Rat impression. 'But now,' he said with sudden urgency, pointing dramatically out of the screen, 'we have--'
the screen was filled by a beautiful buxom wench wearing a pale pink dress and one of those curious hats that sprouted from
her ears and hair, curling around the back. She was French, or perhaps German, at the very least foreign, and English was
her second language. 'Jester Balowski's Medieval Torture Hour!' she shouted joyfully.
The image cut to that
of the studio audience. As Neil righted himself he could see it was a typical 20th century BBC studio, the sort of thing Dicky
& Deano would appear in. The audience too appeared surprisingly average - men, women, all adults, most Caucasian and wearing
synthetic clothing. They were all cheering and applauding as Jester Balowski ran down the steps between aisles and towards
the stage. He was identical to the man who had just introduced the program, almost a clone except he was dressed as a court
jester, the dark blues and bright oranges of his pointed headdress given an authentic medieval layer of grime, a feral grin
of yellowing, crooked teeth. 'Yeah!' the Balowski shouted. 'Medieval torture!'
Jester ran onto the set,
which had a painted backdrop of dusk settling on a cemetery, in front of which stood plastic molded arches of stone dungeons.
Between curious decorations comprising of three human skulls and peacock feathers were whips, chains, and racks. The foreign
'princess' stood demurely to one side. Jester leapt onto the stage, spinning around to face the audience and the camera. 'And
our first victim tonight is - Gwendolyn?!' He had left such a short pause in between words, for a split second the lads
wondered if the princess herself was about to be put to the rack.
Similar thoughts had occurred to the princess herself;
she was looking pale and worried. 'Our first victim tonight,' Gwendolyn said quickly, struggling to pronounce each
word correctly, 'is Spasspecker the Dull!'
The audience, barely calmed from Jester's entrance, went wild once
more. Another man was charging towards the stage like Jester before him, and was waving his arms around him in a mixture of
delight and attention seeking. He was dirty, grubby and wearing earth-coloured robes, and his wide, pale blue eyes spoke greatly
of natural stupidity. Unlike the audience (or, indeed, the entire program), Spasspecker the Dull was right out the barren
wastelands outside the house in the Dark Ages.
'Come on down! Spasspecker, come here! Whoo hoo!' Jester Balowski
enthused as the peasant finally reached him and the applause began to die down. Effortlessly, he gently twisted the awestruck
Spasspecker into position to face the camera, his voice immediately thickening into a twisted, patronizing tone. 'First
in for medieval torture?' he asked in a common-sounding accent.
Spasspecker, still apparently dazzled by the lights
and cameras, nodded mutely.
'First question,' Jester said brightly. 'Are you nervous, Spasspecker?'
peasant thought about it for a while, his ruddy face suddenly grave. 'A little, Jester, yes,' he drawled.
host gave a machine-gun burst of cheerful laughter. 'And apparently, apparently, you're married with one lovely daughter?'
he asked, lacing his words with a kind of approval.
'That's right, Jester,' Spasspecker agreed, relieved that
the questions were playing to his strengths - general knowledge about his own immediate household. 'Gwenneth.'
Jester repeated playfully. 'That's right. But unfortunately, she can't be with us tonight, can she?'
Spasspecker agreed, shaking his head, but Jester Balowski's 'No' was far louder and drowned out his voice. 'No,
because she's not very lovely at the moment? No,' he continued, blotting out the peasant's confirmation. 'No, because
she's got the plague at the moment, doesn't she?'
'Yes,' Spasspecker said with a weak chuckle.
her face is one enormous bag of pus!' The Jester was now screaming at the audience, taking a sadistic pleasure in every
badly pronounced syllable.
'That's right, Jester,' Spasspecker announced, sounding more confident. 'As a
matter of fact, there is quite a funny story attached to that. Because she wanted to come along tonight,' he sniggered,
the punch line obviously too good for him to keep a straight face, 'but her arms fell off!'
There was laughter
and applause, some of it from Jester Balowski, but it didn't reach his eyes. 'I hope you're ready,' he cut in, 'so,
actually, pay attention, because we'll be right back after this break.'
Spasspecker nodded sagely and stared at
the camera, and thus was taken totally by surprise as the Jester snatched his right arm and wrenched it down onto his raised
knee. There was a sickening crack of such intensity that even Vyvyan winced. Spasspecker's eyes bulged out of his skull and
his mouth swung open and closed, making a pained gasping noise.
Jester Balowski roughly drew the peasant closer to
him in what would have been a comradely embrace if it weren't for the pained grunts Spasspecker made, and bruises forming
under the Jester's fingers. 'Now, would you like to be tortured?' Jester asked happily.
Despite the increasing
pain, the peasant managed to croak out the affirmative. Twice.
'Would you like some live scampi in your britches?'
'That'd be nice,' Spasspecker wheezed, triggering cheers from the audience.
you like to have your eyes sucked out by a goat and replaced with some hot toffee apples?' Balowski suggested, making
scooping motions with his free, meaty hand. The audience cheered even louder and the Jester snapped, all bohemia gone: 'Well,
it's completely bloody irrelevant anyway!' he snarled. 'Tell us, Spasspecker,' he asked, suddenly curious, 'exactly
what was your crime?'
Spasspecker swallowed before answering. 'Whistling on a Tuesday, Jester,' he admitted
There was a moment of total silence.
The audience began to boo. 'You bastard,' the Jester spat,
revolted, before returning to business. 'We've got for you, later on, Pro-Celebrity Torture!'
The picture changed
to the part of the set to the right of Jester and Spasspecker. Flanked by two gorgeous handmaidens in similar princess outfits
to Gwendolyn was an enormous figure holding a black card. With silver patterns coiling around the edges, in delicate white
letters were the words TOBY GRUNTSPLATTER. The man's face was completely hidden by a black leather hood, revealing only his
eyes and mouth, his muscular body almost contained by a black leather jacket, freeing his huge arms before they disappeared
into matching fingerless gloves. The audience sheered at his sheer presence, because he did not move or react to anything
around him, let alone his beautiful female companions.
'In which, today,' Jester continued, 'Toby Gruntsplatter,
pain-giver for the court of King Edward the
Optical Illusion will be torturing a team comprised of Dennis Waterman's Show
The audience cheered and the image changed to the opposite side of the studio. An old, bearded
man in a black robe, hood pulled up over his balding head, clutched excitedly at a similar sign to Gruntsplatter, but this
one was marked DENNIS WATERMAN'S SHOWBIZ XI. He was also flanked by two figures, who the lads instantly identified.
Sir Geoffrey Chaucer,' Jester continued.
The old man let go of the sign with one hand and waved the free appendage
at the audience. A cheer.
'Sir Boring Old Fart...'
The self-styled hippie knight leant against the set
and raised a gloved hand with the karma sign. Another cheer was heard, but Sir did not react.
'...and Helen, the
completely mad murderess!' Jester concluding, pronouncing 'completely' in such a way that it rhymed with 'slightly'. Rick's
pretend girlfriend was busy brushing her hair, face blank and clearly not in the least concerned she was about to be tortured
to death live on national television.
Rick's heart went out for her, and then he stopped and frowned. "Murderess?"
Helen was the nutter they'd been hearing about? He felt a sudden surge of hope. She was a nutcase - her word meant nothing!
If Rick said that he'd scored with her, she couldn't prove otherwise. And she was a psychotic murderer! Well, the Friends
of Stalin society were going to get an earful of this when he got back. If he got b---
There was the sound of breaking
glass and a strange sensation ran through the top of Rick's scalp and suddenly a slim yellow arrow thudded into the control
panel in the side of the television. Helen's blank features vanished from the TV screen as the device was suddenly and violently
switched off. Rick looked around, hands creeping to his head to find his hair had been roughly parted down the middle...
arrow had just missed skewering his skull!
With the TV now off, he could hear the angry shouts, the banging and thudding
and breaking glass. ''Oh, no!' he exclaimed, rising to see shadowy figures at every door and window. 'The whole house has
been surrounded by angry medieval peasants!' he wailed.
Mike swallowed, realizing it was time to face the music. 'They
think we're witches, and they're going to burn us!' he explained for Rick and Vyvyan's benefit - it hadn't taken much to work
out, after all.
'We're completely trapped,' Vyvyan summarized practically. 'The outlook is bleak!'
on the verge of hyperventilating. 'What're we going to do?' he moaned.
Vyvyan looked around him as the inner door and
back door finally gave way.
He sighed. 'Oh, who cares?' he groaned and slumped back down on the sofa.
Mike agreed dismissively and pulled a pack of playing cards from his pocket. Fighting off the peasants would be a long, uncomfortable
chore and they'd probably lose. At least this way he could legitimately claim to be "a cool person" as they were dragged to
Following Mike's lead, Rick and Neil also sat down and they began to play a game of Fish.
maggot-ridden peasants swarmed through the house...