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The Doc gets pissed as a newt...
















I do apologise about this. This was meant to be something completely different - something to do with regenerations or some such. And it definitely was not meant to involve 'ess eeee exxxx' at all.

Not at all.

But maybe some crept in.

I am sure random physics took over, followed by a whole bunch of random physicists. That rotten Stephen Hawking drank all the beer, taped a sink plunger to his head and wheeled around yelling 'exterminate'. Then the twinkie ate all the popcorn. Einstein and I got our own back though by going upstairs. Well after that things truly took a turn for the ludicrous and the words starting joining themselves in a truly peculiar fashion to the extent that even I started getting concerned. At that point it was just all getting a bit too odd so, as any coward would do, I just sat back and watched as the dots joined themselves.

So this is a story that was not intended to have anything to do with sex - at all, but somehow got a bit off track - and there could be some sex references involved, but not much, or perhaps a lot. OK, perhaps it's all about sex. But then again sex is pat of nature and a wonderful thing. So perhaps this story is all about sex, but there isn't any actual sex in it so its OK for the littlies... Please also take it with a grain of salt - humour makes the world go round.
















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The soundtrack of The Matrix (Revolutions) was playing on the TARDIS sound system and it made him feel all sort of grand and worthy of all the universe saving acclaim he had been receiving lately. For some strange reasons he felt as if he should be standing on the prow of a doomed ship yelling 'I am the champion of time' very loudly to the waves.


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He was also pissed as a newt and that was also probably contributing to his good mood.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Boris Yeltsin Vodka. Brilliant marketing - and made in the lovely district of Chernobal in Russia. He didn't know what it was, but it had a special something. It was good vodka. After the second bottle it was really good vodka. After the third bottle it was the best bloody vodka in all the known universes (and probably a few unknown ones as well).

He had decided that perhaps he was 'the one' - or perhaps he was only one of the twelve? It was very difficult to tell nowadays, what with all the changes in concepts floating about. It had even been suggested that next time he would be a girl. Well it would make change from being short, weird looking and, for some unknown reason, Scottish.

'I mean' he wondered, 'who ever heard of a Scottish Time Lord?'

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'Oh, who am I kidding' he thought glumly. I know the future and its Sherlock Holmes zombies from outer space. Well at least we can chalk one up for the 'little one' during this incarnation.'

He sighed. It was tough being Obi Wan Kenobi like. Having to gurgle on about burning skies, napping rivers and saving people from turning to the Dark Side all the time.

'Dark Side? That doesn't sound right?' he thought. So he took another drink and it sounded much better.

It was all very well, but it was trying at times - especially Leela. She was 'totilicious'. No matter what the planet or the weather she felt all she needed to combat monsters and weirdo aliens consisting of green slime was a bikini and a large knife. Where had he picked her up again? He made a mental note to go back there.

He fingered imaginary breasts in time with the music and consoled himself with the fact that it might have been worse: He could have been Welsh.

Perhaps, if he was a girl he could finally get some action instead of poncing around in cricket gear or pretending to like juggling.

He fished out some Jackie O style sunglasses that Jackie had kindly given him and popped them on:

'I AM Keanu' he muttered to himself as he performed bad kung fu moves around the room in slow motion.

I mean how thick were they? No one, not even a Time Lord likes cricket that much. Yes it is fun if you are an extra from Brideshead Revisited, but who wants to go around all the bleedin time in red stripey trousers and eighties 'running boots'?.

And how come no one had ever told him he was colour blind in the Sixth? No wonder he had never got any. Who would go out with someone dressed as a traffic light?

But he just couldn't remember why he had spent all that time trying to kill Peri. A beautiful girl with a penchant for wearing not much and all he had wanted to do was strangle her: Bastards. Just cos they were all BBC pooftahs didn't mean he had to suffer?

What a bloke really needs every now and then is some sex.

And as to the juggling he thought: Balls! Being able to play the spoons was not something to impress the girls, and being able to pull a coin from behind someone's ear might stop the Gods of Ragnarok, but it wasn't going to save the city of Zion was it now! No that took a long black slinky coat and several million dollars worth of special effects. Not too likely on the BBC budget:

'There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, the seas asleep and the rivers dream, but owing to BBC budget constraints all your going to see is a bloke in a rubber suit chasing me - very slowly - down a corridor.' he thought to himself and fell about laughing.

'Some sex?' he thought to himself as he took another swig from the vodka bottle. 'I need lots of bloody sex if you ask me'.

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'I am a red blooded heterosexual Time Lord' he thought, but it had been so long that lately even Tannis had begun to look tempting, and he had the worst haircut he had ever seen on a sentient being (apart from Tegan).

Everyone else who regularly saves the universe gets to get the girl, oh yeah - but not me. I just get to keep wandering around in a phone booth. And you try explaining the concept of a police box to someone from the mobile phone generation? And just what was a pollyphonic ring tone anyway?

'Oh Rassilon' he shouted very loudly to the underside of the console (by this point he was lying underneath the console. You can probably work out what is going on here. If you can't go buy yourself a few bottles of vodka - drink them really quick and you too will understand).

 


'Where does my future lie... and can I please turn into Hugh Grant and finally get some?'

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.....
 
 
 
 
 
 
PART TWO
 
 
 
Ace walked into the control room and stopped dead.

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The music was blaring, but the Doctor was in no state to notice. He was lying fast asleep under the console wearing the stupidest pair of sun glasses she had ever seen in her life.

She turned off Marilyn Manson and surveyed the scene. Chaos, bottles, clothes and crisp packets everywhere, and, for some reason, the rotor was wearing his god awful question mark vest and was topped by his hat.

"Wow. Some party Professor. That's the last time we go visit Boris for a while. He's a bad influence he is."

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"Want to go to bed Prof," she said loudly as she nudged him with her foot, but he seemed happy to stay where he was and merely rolled over muttering something about making a 'move on Romana' next time he was in E Space.


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'Fine then' she thought and trudged off to get a blanket for him.

She wrapped him up in the blanket, stuck the sun glasses into her pocket (and not realising their historical significance made a mental note to leave them on the next doomed planet they visited) then she stuck his question mark jumper under his head for a pillow.

"Right, now you - get some sleep," she told him.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "But I am the king of the world?"

"No, that's Leonardo DeCaprio. You are the Doctor."

He looked at her suspiciously. "Am I really?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes. And even Doctors need a night off now and then. So get some sleep." She tapped his forehead with her finger and he went out like a light and started to snore gently into a little red woolly question mark.

She laughed to herself. 'Easy really, when you know how,' she thought.

 

 

THE END

 

 

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And a big goodnight to boys and girls everywhere.