Starring Benjamin James Sebastian James Chatham, "Britney Chaytheem", Tomace St John Wallace, Katie Ryan, Spartha Jones (the Sparthabot formally known as WOMAN) and Anselm Notsurewhatthelastnameis...
...the Doctor, Martha Jones, Abby Simpson and Donna Noble...
...Dr Spoon (Rupert Woosing-Gart), Alistair Miles and Arco Chamber...
...and Nigel Verkoff, Andrew Beeblebrox, Dave Restal, Eve Markson and Katy January.
THE GOATS OF EMMERDALE
Out in the farthest reaches of the solar system where the real estate prices are frankly ridiculously cheap, forms a strange consciousness of pure energy. In the cold, mostly empty silence of space, the entity is unseeing, unfeeling and yet sentient, possessed of a craving for organic existance. And more importantly, absinthe. A luxury the entity has craved for thousands of years... or maybe twenty minutes... being an alcoholic can mess with perceptions of time between drinks.
The entity senses life and moves through the planets of the solar system. It abandons Planet 14 for being too cold, barren and under Cyber control; it misses Xena for being named after a famous lesbian; it skips Cassius for being too cold, barren and NOT under Cyber control; it navigates around Pluto for being too closely associated with common trash like Walt Disney; it avoids Uranus for sounding vulgar; it passes Neptune for all the devil goblins living there; Saturn it blanks for being a planet that could float in a bath if there was a path big enough; Jupiter for ugly red pimple tornado, the entity ignores; after worming its way through the asteroid belt, the entity totally forgets to check the planet Fendahl, coz it's in a time loop and isn't particularly notable. And, after forgoing Mars out of sheer racism, the entity arrives at Earth, covering unimaginable distances instantaneously at truly phenomenal speed.
In sheer denial at all the other planets in this star system capable of supporting life and providing substinance, the entity enters the atmosphere of the Earth. What with it being non-physical, the friction of entry doesn't do a damn thing. Transfixed by the same narrow-mindedness, out of all the islands and continents of wonder and desire on the planet, the entity decides that Manchester is the only possible source of nourishment, and hurtles down towards an ordinary street.
This tedious backstory is just justification of using that old "crash zoom from Earth in orbit to one tiny bit of England" pre-credits sequence that RTD is so damn fond of. Why do we bother?
In a flat of one such Manchester Street, two spaced drug addicts are playing with a newborn baby girl. "You can't put her down as Jedi on the census, Tim," says Daisy wearily shaking her head. "Even if it was legal!"
Tim shakes his bleached-blonde head as he rolls a joint with one hand, holds the baby in the other and uses that hand to control his xbox. "Come on, Dais, you know as well as I do that her midi-chlorian level was off the scale!"
"You worked that out from the free personality test the scientologists gave us."
"I just happened to use that as notepaper when working out."
"You got any witnesses?"
"Yeah. Well, Brian was in the room."
"Reliable ones?"
"Nah, not one."
The lovers share the joint, and thus do not react at all as entity seeps through the roof into the walls, the very fabric of the house and surges out into a swirling tornado in front of them.
"Oh yeah, Brian wants us to go to his exhibition at the Tate Modern, his new one about the prime minister."
"What? 'Anglo Saxon Foreplay'?"
"Yeah, apparently the Toclofane represent the 21st century's artistic castration."
"What a load of balls," Daisy scoffs.
"Pretty much."
"Look we can't take her out there, she'll get nightmares."
"We could always get the new guys upstairs to look after Luke."
"Tim! For the last time, we're NOT calling her Luke!"
"It's better than Lukemia..."
"And besides," Daisy continues. "I don't trust those new guys with a baby. They're a bit odd."
The entity sweeps upstairs, where two men (one wearing a maroon hat) are glumly unpacking. "You stupid little skinny man!" shouts the hatless one for no real reason. "Thanks to and that stupid little baby Chris... to... pher... we've had to flee the country of our birth and end up in England of all places."
"Oh, I dunno, Col. I think it could be fun here."
"Fun? Fun? England just happens to be the hotspot of all alien activity in the entire world! Didn't you notice how many time they stopped the trains because of Yeti on the track? You can't move in this country for national landmarks that turn out to be conductors for alien energy."
"Hey, you're right Col!" his friend enthuses. "There are hardly ever aliens in Australia! We could start a whole new life, maybe join up with some professional paramilitary organization and start meeting aliens and other stuff."
Colin laughs adoringly. "Aww, you're pricless," he tells his companion, before clipping him round the ear. "Franky-wanky-wanky! Alien hunting is the most dangerous of all possible jobs there is - it'd be safer to cover yourself in tuna fish salad and then lock yourself in a cage with a hungry lion and shove your head in its mouth."
"Why's that Col? Are aliens really dangerous?"
"Not half as dangerous as Touchwood, Frank! Lead, as they are by Captain Jack Harkness, Time's Dirty Little Whore, they've caused more death and destruction than the entire War in Iraq. You see, Frank, I had this friend... Russell. He was working at Canary Wharf Tower back in 2007..."
"Canary Wharf Tower? Which one's that?"
"The one with all the "Top Secret Touchwood Organization - Sod Off!" logos in the windows. Yeah, Russell was working there for just one day, and at the end of it he was dead. First, he was partially transformed into a Cyberman. Then, he had all of his limbs shot off by a Dalek who was using him for target practice. Then, without any arms or legs, he fell out of the window and fell over a mile to the ground."
"And did that kill him?"
"No, it was Touchwood that killed him. They saw him falling out of the window and fired a tactical nuclear missile which blew him up and killed about seven hundred innocent bystanders."
"Well, Col," Frank replies, "I also had a friend, called Russell - a different Russell - and he joined Touchwood in its Glasgow office. And after just one day, the strange man running it had made this glass Dalek and encased Russell inside it, full of strange mutative chemicals that turned him into a hideous spider-crab monster. But Russell escaped and then turned that glass Dalek into a piece of corporate art and sold it to the Tate Modern for thirteen million pounds?"
"Yeah, well," Col replies, "my other friend - coincidentally, also called Russell, joined the Cardiff branch of Torchwood and, after just one day, quit because everyone else was a completely unprofessional nymphomaniac with no sense of responsibility whatsoever causing all this chaos and not even being sorry about it. So he sold his story to the Sun, and now is the most respected homosexual in Welsh public broadcast television."
Frank stares at him. "Really?"
Col stares back. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" he screams very, very slowly.
Frank smiles idiotically. "What an amazing story!"
The entity has soaked in all the sounds, all the emotions of the two men... and decides they are supremely pathetic and permeates through the house into the next building along the street.
It comes across two other, far less endearing men sitting on a sofa surrounded by empty beer cans as a toddler plays with second-hand action figures at their feet. "So, how's your Dorothy been copin?" asks the dark-haired one.
His blond companion suckles on a beer can. "All right. Mind you, her being in A&E when that hospital was sucked to the moon by Space Rhinos with an H2O scoop left her in a right mood. How about your Deborah?"
"She keeps telling me that Operation Helter-Skelter isn't going to last out the financial year and I should get a proper job."
"Women, eh?"
"Gary?"
"Yeah, mate?"
"Where did you get that great tattoo?"
"Oh this?" Gary says, flexing his arm with the snake symbol down to his wrist. "Nice, innit? I was playing with that second hand crystal set you got me last week and it just appeared."
"What? You mean "you got drunk and accidentally had it tatooed" appeared?"
"No, mate. "Appeared" appeared."
"How's that work then?"
"Well, Tony," Gary replies after belching. "As you know, I don't like speculate wildly..."
"Yes you do. Remember those porn videos?"
"SPECULATE, Tony! SPECULATE! Anyway, I'm just saying that if I was prone to imag... imago... talking out my arse, then I'd say some kind of evil alien mind shagger was hiding in the crystal until I toyed with it and now it's possessed me."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, that's that this bloke said to me when I was sucked through my own eyeball into the dark places of the inside."
"What bloke?"
"Dickhead."
"Steady on, mate!"
"Not you, him. Called himself Dickhead."
"Oh I forgot to tell you mate. Clive gave me the crystal, but he swears blind it won't cause any giant spiders to turn up."
"Any evil alien snake ghosts?"
"Yeah, but that one's called Dhukka, not Dickhead."
They laugh dirtily.
"Besides, if it WAS an alien mind parasite, you'd be all evil!"
"Oh yeah. So I would. Unless, you know, all the beer is somehow stopping the metabolic change... ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE!" Gary suddenly rasps, growing fangs and his eyes blazing red. He swigs the beer and returns to normal. "Did you just drop one?"
Tony narrows his eyes in concentration. "I think it was Kylie. Should we change her nappy?"
"Nah, Dorothy'll be home in another six hours. It'll be fine."
Deep within the walls of the house, the entity soaks up the energy... feeling closer to the higher existance of matter... or just matter that happens to be really high at the moment.
It soaks into Tony, briefly taking control of his mind. "I could use a greek salad with some hummus right now!"
"Some homos?" asks Gary, baffled.
"I've got to get out of here!" Tony moans. "I miss the sights and sounds of Cambridge! Enjoying a drink in the Mermaid Wine Bar! Absinthe! Oh, this beer doesn't satisfy me!"
"Tony, you all right?"
"I can see things for how they really are!" Tony raves. "Everyone's just using you, Gary! You give people the complete run of your flat, let them live off your food and you just don't seem bothered!"
Gary stares at him.
"Has Tony even been a major asset to you in investigations? Or is it his ass you want to investigate?"
"Tony... have you been possessed by one of those sentient gas monsters again?"
"Why do you put up with the likes of inferior life forms?! The likes of Tony don't think in any other terms other than searching out easy meal-tickets, the manipulative swines!"
Gary crumples his beer can. "I dunno what's taken over your body, Tony, but it's a complete shithole..."
"Why am I even trying to help you? Fine, let him text his pals to come round and raid your bar area! Have his criminal mates round for a drugs party and trash the place! You common scum are beyond saving!"
Gary's eyes glow red. "I AM THE MARA - NOW FUCK OFF YOU CLASSIST SLUT!"
"YOU ARE UNWORTHY OF MY LOVE!" Tony screams back at him and then they both fall back onto the sofa as the respective alien intelligences disperse.
"What happened then?" asks Tony with a frown.
"Not sure, mate. Anyway, Top Five Alien Lesbians - what have you got?"
On the corner of the street, the TARDIS materializes and the Doctor, Abby and Donna emerge. "This is what you're so worked up about?" grunts Donna as she closes the police box doors behind her.
"It's Coronation Street!"
"The soap opera?" asks Abby baffled.
"No!" the Doctor retorts, annoyed. "It's NAMED after the soap opera, but this is the most happening part of Manchester - anyone who's anyone will be hanging around here!"
The Doctor turns for a moment and sees a figure in a sharp blue suit leaning beside a car as Bowie plays over the radio. "Ah! Morning!"
The figure turns around and is then floored by a passing lorry and lies twitching on the ground. Immediately figures in 1970s casual clothes emerge from all sides and rush over to the body and start to strip it.
"Uh, what's going on?" asks Abby of a passing git with a porn star moustache.
"Just an initiation ceremony for the snobs from Hyde," he replies, chewing gum. "We knock them out, give them some LSD and convince them they're in a coma dreaming of being here in 1973."
"Isn't that a bit extreme?" Donna asks.
"Well, not much else to do in Manchester apart from wait for Corrie to come on," he shrugs and walks off singing 'Life on Mars' to himself.
"He's right, you know," says a voice behind them and the trio turn to see Tom Wallace leaning against the TARDIS. "This place is so dead no wonder people are starting to see ghosts."
"Ghosts?" asks Abby, worried. "You mean the supernatural phenomenon of intangible humanoid outlines who just happened turn into five billion Cybermen?"
"Nah, love," Tom says, lighting up. "Doubt it can be them. Ain't their style."
"They don't have style," the Doctor replies darkly. "Nothing can break through the dimensions now. Lord knows I've tried." His manner changes instantly. "Sorry, I'm the Doctor, that's Donna and this is Abby."
"Call me Tom," the newcomer offers, shaking their hands.
"If they're not Cybermen, what are they? The ghosts I mean?" asks Donna.
"No idea, but whatever they are, they're hanging around Manchester like a bad smell. Mysterious innit?" Tom grins. "I love mysteries, especially when I solve them. You lot down here to investigate an all?"
"Oh yeah," the Doctor says in an unconvincingly casual manner. "Professional ghost hunters, that's us. Er, where exactly have the, er, main sightings been reported to have been, um, seen?"
"Factory on the corner," Tom lies.
"Yes, of course. Come on, ladies, let's see what trouble's at mill?"
Donna elbows him in the ribs for the cliched stereotyping and the trio head off, the Time Lord bitching that they should have met him before the face lift when his Manc accent could strip the paint off the walls.
"Bleeding amateurs," says Tom, stubbing out his ciggie against the wall then dropping it in a bin. "Bad as Touchwood." He tugs a tabloid from his jacket saying GHOST SPOTTED IN ROSAMUND STREET - NOWHERE ELSE!!
"Now, if I saw a ghost, I'd need a stiff drink," Tom decides. "So if I saw a ghost, I'd go straight to the pub and confide in the barman. Or maybe the devil-may-care handsome rogue with the pool cue. Brutal."
Assembling a pool cue from pieces secreted about his person, Tom wanders down the street. As he walks he hears a horrible throaty voice whispering...
what a run down dump
Frowning, Tom stops and looks around.
its certainly pretty grim
"Hello?" Tom asks quietly.
manchester... pah!
Tom peers through the drizzle, but seems to be alone in the street. "Is that you, Ghost?"
as far as im concerned the north of england is just somewhere you have to pass through on your way to holidays in scotland
"Maybe it's those hash brownies I had this morning," Tom wanders and heads for the nearest door and knocks on it politely. As he waits for it to be answered, he does not see the air thicken and twist behind him.
The door is answered by a short gerbil-like man and an incredibly sweet-looking blonde in overalls and Wellington boots. "Morning there!" says the man cheerfully.
"Mornin," Tom replies, trying to keep his eyes off the man's missus. "I'm new to the area, I was wondering..."
"Oh, don't worry about us, young man," he replies. "We're quite polite and friendly. And we're entirely self-sufficient."
"Yes," the missus replies. "We haven't had to deal with a Krynoid infestation for two months now."
"Ever since we started using MEAPS genetically modified crops, not a Vaaga nor a Vervoid has grown from our cabbage patch," the man continues proudly. "Where are my manners? My name's Tom Good and this is my wife, Barbara."
"Fancy that! My name's Tom and all, Thomas St John Wallace."
"What a coincidence!" Tom Good marvels. "You know nothing like this has happened before. There was that time those alien avocados caused the customers to explode in gore, but that's peanuts compared to this, meeting someone with the same name. Does that happen to you a lot?"
Tom is staring at Barbara lustily. "Huh?"
"Meet a lot of Toms?"
"You implying I like prostitutes?!" Tom Wallace snaps, rounding on the little man.
Before this conversation can go any further there is the distinctive sound of smashing furniture and breaking glass. Barbara sighs. "Oh no, not again."
"What's that?" asks Tom Wallace.
"Those bleeding hooligans, I'll be bound," Tom Good grumbles. "They smash the place up, spray obscene graffiti everywhere and try to destroy our garden."
"Yeah, well, not today, mate," Tom Wallace replies and, wielding the pool cue strides past the Goods into the house. There follows a brief but violent fight and Tom strides back with a battered and bleeding ginger-haired punk in denim.
"Oh my god!" Barbara explains. "He's our next door neighbor!"
"Yes!" Tom Good marvels. "Such a nice polite chap, coming round every day to borrow a cup of sugar."
"Yes, when ARE we going to get our cups back?"
Tom Wallace throws the bloodied punk to the floor. "More to the point, Syd Vicious, why the hell are you trashing their place?"
"It's because we've got no valuables, isn't it?" Tom Good accuses. "Just because we're self-sufficient and the rest of you are stuck in the rat race you take it out on us!"
"That's not it at all!" shrieks the punk getting to his feet.
"Then what is it, metalhead?" Tom Wallace challenges.
"It's because you're so bloody nice!! Bloody bloody bloody!! I hate it!! You's so bloody nice! Barbara 'Treacle' Good and Tom 'Sugar-Flavored-Snot' Good!! You're just a couple of reactionary stereotypes, confirming the myth that everyone in Britain is a lovable, middle-class eccentric - and I - HATE - THAT!!"
"Fair enough then," Tom Good sighs.
At that moment they notice the featureless shape standing in the doorway, sharpening and solidifying into a humanoid form. "Oh, not another one of these tin bastards!" the punk complains.
oh cobbles how quaint
Tom and Barbara Good scream and slam the door shut, leaving Tom and the punk to watch the shape slowly dissolve once more.
"Oh well, might as get back to tormenting the Blessed Virgin," the punk sighs. "I loved the way you gave me three compound fractures with your pool cue. Don't suppose you could give my tips, I'm a medical student, you see."
"Well, maybe later. Hey, where's the nearest pub?"
"The Lamb and Flag, on the corner. Just follow your nose and try not to be sick."
Tom shakes his hand. "Thanks. Tom Wallace."
"Vyvyan Basterd," the punk grins, vigorously shaking Tom's hand in return. "You're the first interesting person to move into the area ever since the Cybermen invaded! In fact, that sounds like the perfect cue for a Family Guy style flashback cutaway!"
[Cut to: the living room where Vyvyan and his flatmates Neil Pye and Rick Pratt are sitting in front of the TV set as Vyvyan flips channels.]
VYVYAN: Boring! It’s the same bloody thing on every channel! "The Army of Ghost have become indestructible metal terrorists throughout the world’s major cities" and "reports of innocent people being upgraded from flesh to steel"! Rubbish!
NEIL: Y’know, Vyvyan, maybe we should pay attention to what the newscasters are saying. I mean, if it’s not so important then why are all the channels showing it?
RICK: Because they’re fascists! They want us to watch these so-called reports of aggression and violence so they can scare us into not leaving our homes! They want to rule the country behind our backs while we’re sitting at home, sipping cognac by the fireplace and listening to out of date Glenn Frey cassettes!
NEIL: But, Rick, we don’t have a fireplace.
RICK: Shut up!
[Mike Thecoolperson enters.]
MIKE: Evening gents. I tell ya, it’s horrible out there. People running along the streets, screaming and breaking windows... like it’s doomsday or something.
NEIL: Really? What’s going on?
MIKE: Doomsday, Neil. I wish you’d pay attention. What I have to say just might save your life. And if it doesn’t, I’ll learn from my mistake and save my life. Word on the street is that some coats down in the labs let loose an alien invasion of cyborgs who will turn us all into machines like them.
NEIL: What? You mean like ex-freak corporate sell outs?
MIKE: Sort of. Only a lot less scarier but a lot more meaner and a stronger case of the xeno-consumptive imperative. They're after our brains to put them in robot bodies.
RICK: No! Not my brain! [Clutches head] I need that brain! It’s what sets me apart from the rest of you lot!
VYVYAN: How’d you figure that out, then?
RICK: Well for one thing, I’m a whole lot smarter than you!
VYVYAN: Ha! Smarter!? You!? There’s a whole list of who’s smart and who’s not! We’re at the top of the list, by “we” I mean Mike and myself, with Neil coming after a packet of crisps, then a sack of dirty laundry, a one-eyed monkey, a syphilitic gym teacher with a botched lobotomy, a pile of dog poo and then you!
[The front door burts open, as the landlord Jerzy Balowski, waddles in.]
RICK: Mr. Balowski! What are you doing, scaring us half to death like that!?
BALOWSKI: It’s okay, Mr. Prick! It’s only your friend Jerzy! See me? Here!
[There is an explosion in the distance, interspersed with screams of pain and horror. Balowski worriedly closes the door then relaxes as the noises are muffled.]
BALOWSKI: Ah! Much better! That fine double glazing really blots out the sounds of the oncoming Cyberman apocalypse! That's British craftmanship, and I know because I am English British person - we are completely safe.
[A steel fist punches through the window of the front door.]
CYBERMAN: YOU BELONG TO US! YOU WILL BECOME LIKE US!
[Vyvyan, Mike and Neil manage to shove the sofa in front of the front door.]
MIKE: There. That should hold ‘em.
NEIL: Hey, Mike? Suppose they find another way to get in?
MIKE: Oh yeah? Like what?
[Another Cyberman smashes through the windows facing the garden.]
MIKE: Huh. Didn’t think about that.
CYBERMAN: YOU WILL BE UPGRADED!
NEIL: Oh, wow man! This is the end! The whole house is surrounded!
RICK: They’re here! They’ve come to convert my bottom!
MIKE: All right, nobody panic! Cybermen can smell fear. They like it when their prey jitters like a man with Parkinson’s riding a mechanical bull.
VYVYAN: Uh, Mike? You’re shaking.
MIKE: Good observation, Vyv. I’ll depend on you when the time comes to sacrifice one of our own.
NEIL: That’s a brilliant idea, Mike! One of us will have to go out there and sacrifice ourselves to keep ‘em busy while the rest of us come up with a way to get out of here!
BALOWSKI: Da! Now who is it to be getting upgraded? I vote Neil!
MIKE: I second that.
[At that moment a Cyberman smashes through the front windows and stands before the others. Vyvyan hurls Neil at them.]
VYVYAN: Right, off you go!
NEIL: Wait a minute, don’t I get a say in all this!?
RICK: You know what your problem is, Neal!? You’re too damn selfish to do the right thing and protect the only people who ever cared about you!
NEIL: When have you ever cared for me, Rick?
[The Cyberman strides out, dragging Neil with it.]
NEIL: Well what’s the point, really? I’m going to get converted into a cybernetic killing machine sooner or later!
[Another Cyberman enters and advances on the group.]
RICK: Aah! Neil’s been captured! He’s going to become one of them! He’ll be after my bottom next!
VYVYAN: Come on, you girlies! I’m not afraid of some snotty-faced wankers of steel!
[He smashes its head off with a handy medieval axe.]
VYVYAN: I say we beat them to the punch and convert ourselves!
MIKE: That’s an idea, I suppose. Why don’t you give it a try, Vyv, and tell us how it turns out?
VYVYAN: [Salutes] Will do, Michael!
BALOWSKI: Yes! We’re gonna die! Is good fun, right? Yeah! All right! High fives for everyone! Come on! Up top! Everyone except Rick!
RICK: Oh, ha ha! Very funny!
[The Cybermen grab Balowksi and carry him away.]
BALOWSKI: Hey, stop that! I am getting to be dizzy and whatnots, eh?
[Rick is dragged through a window.]
RICK: Let’s all poke fun at Rick when he’s about to meet his maker!
CYBERMAN: CONVERT THAT FLESHMAN!
MIKE: That's it baby, treat me rough!
[Mike is lifted up by the neck and carried away. Vyv is now surrounded by Cybermen.]
VYVYAN: What about me!
CYBERMAN: YOU ARE TOO FILTHY FOR THE CONVERSION MACHINERY TO FUNCTION!
VYVYAN: Bastards! You don’t know what’s good for ya!
CYBERMAN: YOU WILL BE DELETED! DELETE! DELETE! DELE - OH SHIT!
[All the Cybermen are violently sucked out of the room into the Void.]
VYVYAN: Poofs.
"Tough break," Tom says as we cut back to the main narrative.
"Not really, I didn't really like them. Might see you down the pub, Tom."
"Not if I see you first," Tom grins and slams the pool cue over Vyvyan's head.
Vyvyvan still can't see properly as he returns to the house. "I met an absolutely fascinating person today, unlike the rest of you tinfoil jobbies..."
"DON'T BRING ME DOWN AND HASSLE ME, VYVYAN," moans one of the Cybermen sitting on the sofa. "MY EMOTIONAL INHIBITOR'S PLAYING UP AGAIN. I'M FEELING REALLY CONFUSED."
"Oh shut it, Neil," Vyvyan spits at him. "I wasted all my bling trying to get you useless bastards to die of your gold allergies."
"HONESTLY, VYVYAN," sneers another, marked with anarchy symbols. "INFERIOR FLESHMEN LIKE YOU ARE ALL THE SAME! WE DON'T NEED TO FOLLOW YOUR VALUES AND PRINCIPLES, WE'VE GOT OUR OWN OUTLOOK ON LIFE NOW! AFTER ALL, WE ARE THE IMMORTAL ONES - "
"RICK," sighs the remaining Cyberman downloading porn off youtube, "I DON'T WANT TO IMPLY YOU'RE AN INCREDIBLY POMPOUS, TALENTLESS UNFUNNY SCUMBAG, BUT NEV FOUNTAIN THINKS YOU'RE LAYING IT ON UNECESSARILY THICK."
"I COULD TELL A REALLY GOOD JOKE RIGHT ABOUT, ABOUT 'LAYING IT ON UNECESSARILY THICK', COULDN'T I?"
"Not unless you want me to turn you into a replacement hatstand, you Cybus-branded tool!" Vyvyan snarls, smashing open the door to the microwave and then switching the microwave on, causing the CyberRick to start convulsing and making a noise not entirely unlike Donald Duck making an obscene phone call.
Tom is passing two rather odd competing bookstores when he sees a shambling figure in black and a short, long-haired bearded troll-like figure conspiring in a diabolical manner. "Lighter?" rasps the Irishman.
"Check," replies the troll.
"Fuel?"
"Check."
"Masks?"
"Check."
"What else?"
"Uhh. Nothing. Let's go."
"No! I'd like to say a few words first. Goliath Books first drove me away with incessant noise, forcing me to flee my shop for a holiday first in a plane and then in a reform clinic for drunk-driving; and THEN it took my customers and money from me with their new books and fancy coffee and perky service."
well id certainly frequent their bookshop rather than yours
"WHO SAID THAT?!" screams the Irishman.
"It's just another disembodied voice, Bernard."
"ANOTHER ONE?! Manny, call that priest, tell him those stupid Gelth fuckers are back... and anyway, my non-corporeal bastard interrupting me, I was here first! Not Goliath! And I WILL stake my claim again! Now I shall have my revenge!"
"You done?" asks Manny after a moment.
"Yes. Now we burn down Goliath Books and bring back our customers!!"
excuse me now pack that in
"Manny, the voices in my head are trying to take me to task!"
look seeing as this shop goliath books i think you said appeals to a proper clientelle and you clearly dont its only natural that your customers choose to lavish more attention on him than you
"Ah hah, who are you judge? Do you walk this mortal plain you intangible parasite?
deal with it
"Look, who asked your opinion?" Manny demands, addressing the sky.
thankfully the day that i have to take advice from shop assistants with unsightly facial hair problems has not yet arrived
"DON'T TALK TO MY TRAINED MONKEY LIKE THAT!" roars Bernard.
"I think it's gone, Bernard."
"Has it? Yes. Good. Where we we? Oh yes. Pyromania time! Burn it all! Burn it down!"
Tom finally enters The Lamb & Flag, just as a blond man in a beige trenchcoat and a bespectacled man in an overcoat and a hat arrive. "What was so important we couldn't just stay at the flat?" groans the loon with the glasses.
"Because Eddie when you have heard my brilliant plan, you'll want to buy me a drink!"
"Why am I not so enthusiastic."
"Eddie, this plan is the most fantastic bit of genius you'll ever hear!"
Eddie looks hopeful. "You're gonna kill yourself?"
"Wha? Noooo!"
"Richie, don't be put off by a few stupid people telling you life is worth living. Trust me, I'm your best friend - you're a fat, lonely, stinking tosser with no redeeming features whatsoever. End it all, and watch out for that thing lurking in the darkness beyond."
"What? The Bad Wolf?"
"Is that who it is? I thought it was Harry 'I'll Do Anything For A Pint' Grundy with a sheet over his head."
"Eddie, listen, my plan is brilliant! All we have to do is find one of those strange gaseous aliens hanging around the place, inhale, and we'll become walking aphrodisiacs! Imagine all the panting sex-crazed bitches hurling themselves at us! What could possibly go wrong?"
"Don't those alien gasses tend to make their human hosts explode after a few days?"
"Do they? Uh, no, no, Eddie, no. The other alien gasses."
"You means the ones that just kill you outright and steal your body?"
"Oh, god!" Richie wails miserable. "GOD LIFE'S HORRIBLE! Why does nothing good ever happen to me? Stuck in a squallid bedsit in a nowhere part of town with no hint of any kind of social nobility and privelige which isn't mine by right! AND I STILL CAN'T GET A SHAG!"
are you smoothe?
Eddie and Richie look up and around. "What was that?"
you will do as well as any other
Tom, who is setting up the pool table, looks up as an amorphous grey shape forms around Richie and then engulfs him. Richie gurns and makes that strange "Er-huh-er-huh-ERRRR!" noise before becoming sedate and moderately firm.
"Richie?" asks Eddie, mildly concerned. "Richie Richie Richie?" No reply. "Wanker?"
Eyes rolling up in his head, Richie lurches to his feet. Legs seeming to fall asleep he staggers, moaning around the room and finally sinks to his knees before the bar. The landlord Dick Hedd frowns and looks down at Richie in digust.
"I've told you before - sexual favors won't reduce your bar tab."
"Hello," gargles Richie. "I'd like two absinthes please!"
"Yer what? Absinthe?" Dick sneers.
"Er. Yes. Absinthe. Is there a problem? Officer?"
"I told you before, Richard, we don't sell that here. Try The Dog & Handgun?"
"The Dog & Hand Gun?"
"The gay pub down the road. All we've got is pernod!"
Richie's head rotates 478 degrees to address the pub. "Talk about mutton dressed as lamb!"
"I heard that tosser. Anymore of that and you're barred!"
Richie raises to his feet and sways uncertainly. "What's this?" he demands and is silence for a full three minutes. "I'll tell you what that is. It's me not rising to it. Do you have any idea who I am?"
"A sad act with incredible small genitals?"
"Don't be so disgusting!" Richie foams at the mouth. "I AM THE GOD OF ALL SMOOTHENESS!"
Tom, Eddie and Dick stare in horror at the possessed Richie.
"And I bring youuuuuuu... CULTURE!!"
Suddenly Richie lets out an earthquake fart and and the entity abandons him entirely before dispersing in a huge cloud of light. "What the fuck was that?" he asks, terrified, wringing unspeakable matter from his trouser legs. "What was it, what did you see?"
"That gas thing turned into an incredibly hot bird!" Eddie stammers, aroused.
"Well? What did she look like? Give us some detail!"
"She was blonde, and had fantastic jugs!"
"Oh for pity's sake, can't you give me any more detail than that?" Richie wails. "Her clothing for instance? Was she wearing any pants?"
"You'd only mess your trousers AGAIN, Richie."
Tom approaches the pair. "Does this sort of thing happen often?"
"Quite a bit, mate," Eddie sighs. "His bowel control has always been a bit underdeveloped..."
"No, I mean the ghosts taking possession of people?"
"Oh that?" Eddie shrugs. "Not really. It gets used as a defense in court when anyone has too much to drink, but it's all bollocks."
Tom muses. "Fancy a game of pool?" he asks.
"Don't mind if I do!" Eddie grins.
"Fine," Richie grumbles. "I'll just lie here in my own waste."
"No you won't," replies Hedd the landlord, whacking him with a broom. "Get off the floor before it stains! Go on! Get out!"
"God, life's horrible!" Richie wails as he is forced out of the pub.
Meanwhile, the Doctor, Abby and Donna are stalking the streets. "There's no factory," Donna complains. "It's been shut down for years and no ghosts anyway."
"Why did that guy lie to us?" Abby asks, hurt.
"He sent us on a wild goose chase," the Doctor broods. "We didn't actually make contact, did we? He might have been a ghost himself!"
"Uh, Doctor?" Donna points out. "We shook his hand."
"Oh yes. So we did. There goes that theory."
"Where are we off to now?" asks Abby.
"The local pub. Ghosts cause gossip and the one place there's gossip is..."
"An internet chat room?"
"Yes, Abby, but we'll try the pub first."
"Can we have something apart from soft drinks this time?" asks Donna.
"Oh, no, Donna. You're not fooling me that easily."
"Yeah," Abby chips in. "Last time you got completely drunk and ran around the place covered in tomato ketchup screaming you were the Queen of the Rachnoss."
"And do you have ANY idea how difficult it is to get respect from a Cetene Overlord when your aide de camp is chewing the furniture? Literally?"
Donna kicks an abandoned coke can. "I'm not camp," she mutters to herself.
"Excuse me gentlemen, can you tell me where the nearest pub is?" the Doctor asks Frank and Col as they leave their appartment with a guitar.
"Oh, sure thing!" says Frank happily, giving them two thumbs up. "We're going there ourselves."
"Yes," says Col in what he assumes is a seductive voice, "we're musicians, you know."
"Really?" asks Donna, eyes lighting up.
"Oh no, not again," Abby sighs. "This'll be like Woodstock all over again."
"As long as you don't buy any mints we should be all right," Donna throws back.
They then pass Richie squelching past them. "Oh, afternoon, Richie," Frank calls.
Richie turns and shouts over the flies buzzing. "It's SIR Richard, actually."
"You seem to have had a bit of a trouser accident, Sir Richard," Abby observes.
"It's that bastard alien ghost thing!" Richie sobs. "It violated me - and not in a good way, either! Bastard!"
"What ghost alien thing?" asks Donna.
"The thing in the pub! Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find some industrial solvents!"
Back at The Lamb & Flag, Eddie and Tom are playing pool. "So how long has that voice been hanging around the place?"
Eddie looks up from his pint. "What voice?"
this glass of wine is awful just some cheap red with no depth to it
"That voice."
"Oh, THAT voice. A week or so. When you drink enough, disembodied spectral voices don't really register."
"So, is the voice part of the ghost problem or something separate?" Tom muses.
what a drab little pub
"OI! Only tangible three-dimensional beings in here!" Hedd shouts. "Get out!
fine i will leave
"Good!" Eddie shouts over his shoulder.
you offer hot pots on the menu i dread to think what they are although by the looks of you people it involves black pudding coal tar and spit
"Oh piss off!" Hedd shouts.
Meanwhile a bus marked CHAV TRANSPORTER is just moving out of Rosamund Street. As it turns to enter Coronation Street, a figure materializes in the middle of the road. Suddenly an eerie green vomit emenates from the figure's mouth and the bus bursts into flames. The passangers scream in agony as they burn to death, hammering on the glass windows as they turn red, then black, their hair sizzling.
The ghostly figure turns to face the rest of the street.
this is serious you chavs
"Well, for you, that's insightful social commentary," the Doctor says icily.
i am the one true god
"You know this shouty vomity traffic accident causy thing?!" asks Col disbelievingly.
i am your lord and master
"Yes, we do," Donna whispers.
i am ben chatham
Cue dramatic close up on David Tennant.
AND I HAVE A DEGREE
"Everyone, back away VERY slowly," the Doctor advises as the sounds of approaching ambulances can be heard.
"Is it the end of the world?" asks Frank nervously.
"Nah," Abby assures him. "There's always SOMETHING left."
my soul has been cleansed of chav corruption
The ghostly form of Britney Chatham floats ethereally towards the group.
my body has perished for me to be reborn
Behind them a car pulls up and Gene Hunt and Sam Tyler emerge. They stare at the translucent ghost floating above the the burning ruins of the bus.
out of my physical repulsion a truly spiritual being has arrived
"Pub?" Gene asks Sam.
"Pub," Sam agrees.
Gene nods his head, satisfied. "Pub."
now i will tell you of a mystery
The ghost looks in front of the Doctor and hisses in his face
you are ALL to be CHANGED
"Plan A," the Doctor shouts to the others. "RUUUNNNN!"
The group sprint after the Tough 1970s Coppers into The Lamb & Flag.
i curse you doctor i curse your blood to turn to ice in your veins and will all die within the next financial year so as i speak so mote it be
The ghost hangs there for a second.
YOU ARE ALL UNWORTHY OF MY LOVE!
Inside the pub, the Doctor, Donna and Abby are locking the door and sealing them with sonic screwdrivers he built for his companions cause they are actually smart enough to use them. Plus they kind of sulked until he handed some over.
"What the hell is that thing, Doctor?" Donna asks.
"It can't be Ben Chatham, can it? I mean, not really?" asks Abby nervously.
The Doctor doesn't answer but turns to realize the pub is full of people - Gary and Tony, Tim and Daisy, Vyvyan and his Cyber-bastards, Gene Hunt and Sam, as well Eddie and Tom playing pool as Frank and Col set up on the stage.
"Ah."
"What's wrong?"
"Well, basically, this is the worst thing that could happen..."
"How so?"
"Well," the Doctor grimaces, awkwardly scratching his ear...
Outside, a soot-stained Bernard and Manny are stumbling tipsily along the cobbles as the pass the smouldering remains of the bus. "What do you think happened there?" asks Manny, blinking owlishly at the ruins.
"Some kind of traffic accident. How am I supposed to now? I was busy committing arson. Now come on, Manny. Down to the pub."
"You hate the pub."
"No, I hate the people who work there and drink there and look at it from behind their fancy curtains. The pub ITSELF I have no problem with..."
you look like the sort of anal gossips who could be of use to us
"What did you say?" Bernard demands.
"It's that ghost thing, Bernard," Manny grumbles.
you shall both be changed
"Now hold on a minute, I'm not going to stand here and be insulted by something existing entirely of ectoplasm and absinthe..." Bernard's eyes bulge open. "Absinthe? Perfect! We can drink you?"
what what the no don't
Bernard and Manny shoulder-charge the ghost and inhale deeply.
no get off me i forgive your tactless associates all i like is to use your corrupted flesh for my grand design so stop drinking me before i lose my seductive arms to put on your shoulders oooooh agh
The Ghost of Chatham dissipates as Bernard and Manny straighten up giddily.
"Once again, rampant alcoholism saves an otherwise pointless day," Bernard tells a lamppost. "I wonder who the ghost was?"
"Some particularly violent person who has lived on this street and is now deceased?" Manny suggests to his own shoulder.
"Oh yes. Come on, pub! PUB! PUB!"
Suddenly they both convulse and their eyes glow green.
"Thank you," Bernard says icily.
Manny replies in kind. "Your forms may be of great help."
The Doctor, Donna and Abby are sitting in a corner sipping various non alcholic soft drinks and pretending not to notice Donna adding a shot of tequila to her lemonade, as the Time Lord explains. "Back in Sherwood, the TARDIS shunted all the paradoxes into new time streams, out with all the bad rubbish and everything back into its own point in the continuum? Right?"
"Right," Donna and Abby reply.
"But there were two Ben Chathams - she'd gone back on his own personal timeline and caused even more paradoxes. Right?"
"Right."
"Now, Ben Chatham had a destiny, to become Britney Chatham, so the TARDIS put him back to his own time line. Britney Chatham had no such future set in stone, and so she would have been scattered across the omni zone. Right?"
"Right?"
"But somehow, some echo or trace of her has survived - probably at the outer reaches of the solar system. It's not quite in tune with this dimension, so Ben, for want of a better word..."
Donna and Abby open their mouths.
"NO suggestions, ladies! Now, Ben has been probing this dimension, permeating this entire town. Donna, stop sniggering. Ben is feeding off emotions, specific emotions that resonate with her - drunkenness, racism, snobbery, self-pity..."
"No wonder she chose this place," Abby mutters into her drink.
"And she's absorbed enough energy to form plasmatomic bodies for brief periods."
"The ghosts?" asks Donna, wide-eyed.
The Doctor surreptitiously swaps their drinks. "Yes, Donna. She might even be trying to possess individuals - any higher anthropoid heavily introxicated could do. Luckily Ben's so rubbish she keeps losing grip and letting go."
"So what happens next?"
"After being shattered across the time lines, I doubt she has any sanity left. She's focussing herself into an apex manifestation, making herself as aggressive and violent as possible, and then she'll destroy everything she can."
"You mean, all this has made her stronger?" asks Donna, horrified.
The Doctor spits out "his" drink in disgust and wretches. "Only humans!" he chokes.
"Doctor," Abby presses on. "How are we going to stop her?"
"I don't know," the Doctor admits. "It's only her godlike stupdity that's stopped her from engulfing humanity before now."
"Ah, hey everyone," says Col. "I know it's kinda like the end of the world what with all the ghosts of Britney Spears causing people to burst into flames, so we'd like to lighten the mood a bit."
"Yeah, and that's why we dedicated our song to the guy who inspired it," agrees Frank. "The man who was so nice to us when we arrived - Mister Chopper Hitler!"
The bald loon at the pool table takes a bow as the music starts...
"My hair never grows so I don't have to get it cut!
I can swap it with a friend when I'm feeling in a rut!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!
I use it to wash myself when I'm in the shower!
I can use it as an oven mitt or a pot scourer!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!"
Vyvyan starts laughing hysterically.
"HONESTLY, VYVYAN, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO CAUSE A SCENE?" Cyber-Rick complains.
"Stop laughing, you ginger-haired cunt!" Eddie roars at Vyvyan.
"Make me, baldo!" Vyvan retorts, flipping Eddie two V-signs.
A pub brawl begins.
"When I go to Scotland and I'm feeling a bit foreign
I can whip it off my head and wear it as a sporran!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!
I use it to replace a divot when I'm playing golf!
If I put it on my chin you'd swear I look like Rolf!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!"
"You could write an article on this," Tim tells Daisy.
"Maybe do an interview with Tyres," Diasy jokes, and then they both duck as furniture hurtles over their heads.
"When I go out, I can put it on a footy and sit it on the couch
So when a robber looks in the window, he thinks someone's in the house!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!
When I find an injured bird, it makes a great nest!
I use it as a puppet when I'm entertaining guests!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!"
"This pub just isn't the same as the Crown," Gary complains to Tony.
"Yeah. Pity it turned out Ken was really a Slitheen and the whole place got bombed by the Absorbaloff Worker's Union, eh?"
"Thank God we live in a democracy, that's all I can say..."
"I put a pocket in it, with a little zip!
And I put my pyjamas in it, when I take a little trip!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!
I check it with my hand to see if I'm well-groomed!
When I die, I'll pass it on...
IT'S A FAMILY HAIR-LOOM!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee! Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!"
Completely ignoring the massive fight involving two characters played by Adrian Edmonsen, three Cybermen, Tom Wallace, Dick Edd, Gene Hunt, Sam Tyler and a bunch of extras (one of which looks just like Ricky Gervais), the band winds up the song.
"It doesn't take much to twig
That the thing on my head is a wig
But I spent a lot of money on
This thing on my head, this thing on my scone
So I'm gonna use it! So I'm gonna use it!
Toupee! Toupee! Toupee!"
"Utter crap," Gene Hunt dismisses, before slamming Cyber-Rick and Cyber-Neil's heads together, causing them to topple over and squash the other rioting members of the public.
Two children are playing in the park as Bernard and Manny stalk into view. Light beams emerge from their vacant eyes and engulf the children, causing them to burst into flames and die screaming and smouldering.
"OH MY GOD! JESUS H CORBETT!" screams Richie as he sees the senseless slaughter. "What the hell did you do that for?!"
its high time parents in the UK especially twenty-somethings faced up to the fact that children need to be set bounderies and dealt with if they behave badly
"You just incinerated them?!" Richie screams at the voice booming around them.
the little angels culture where parents wont discipline kids is just as bad as the chav parenting of hurling foul-mouthed abuse at children for nothing both lead to out of control vodka-swigging louts who intimidate others in towns and often end up on drugs
"But you just murdered two children in cold blood!"
i enjoyed their terror
Richie scrambles and turns to run away, but Bernard and Manny grab him.
less understanding from liberal ms social worker and more good old fashioned fear is needed
"Crikey oh blimy! SOMEONE HELP ME!"
what a selfish boring cunt you have turned out to be not even interestingly devious but drab morose and concience-striken deviousness
"Bugger off you methylated spirit!" Richie shouts.
know the will of chatham
Richie struggles as cascading colours envelop his mind.
know the power of the foxs glacier mints
"Why is life so horrible to me?" Richie wails. "I always knew that people living outside the M25 were ignorant, devil-worshipping hicks! I bet none of the shameless publicity hacks even notice I've been ritualistically murdered! BASTARDS! I'll die without even doing with a girl! Or even a hot amateur archaeologist with a smoothe chest!" he sobs not realizing his brain is being restructured by the all-encompassing force. "Why don't they respect me?! I HAVE A DEGREE!!"
Richie is released by Bernad and Manny, and falls into march with them.
"The Army of Light will destroy the Chavs," chants Richie.
"The Army of Light will set the standards," agrees Manny.
"The Army of Light tells it like it is!" Bernard shouts.
the vengeance of chatham starts here
The possessed losers march out of the park down the main road, not realizing that they are being watched by two vagrants. One of them, wearing a ragged tweed overcoat, fingerless gloves and a deerstalker hat turns to his companion. "Did you see that, Ginger? My nemesis, Some Bastard Who Is Presumably Responsible, is using crude black magic to create an army of mindless soldiers to pursue us!"
"Er... yeah. I think we best stay out of this as they do tend to set fire to small children and let them burn to death. It seems dangerous."
"What sort of dogsbody are you, Ginger? This is not dangerous, merely another... SURPRISING ADVENTURE OF SIR DIGBY CHICKEN-CEASER-SALAD!"
The two tramps scurry after the zombies, tunelessly humming melodramatic 1930s cinema chase music to themselves as they do so........
But the Army of Light hear them and turn around. Our deluded and in denial trampy heroes are instantly swallowed up into the collective consciousness and jerkily join the zombies who march off again. Throwing her head back, Ben shoots out bolts of lightning in all directions, setting fire to the houses.
Back inside The Lamb & Flag, the Doctor scrambles onto the bar and screams at the throng of fighting characters. "LISTEN TO ME!" he shouts. "You hear that noise out there? That is the sound of death and it's coming straight for this pub and there is not a single thing ANY of you can do about it!"
"OH, NO, NOT AGAIN!" a Cyberman moans, clutching its head.
"You people, you stupid, lonely people are causing all this!" the Doctor rants. "You come here, get drunk and miserable and fight and that self-pity is fueling an apex manifestation! YOU'RE DIGGING YOUR OWN GRAVES!"
"Well, what can we do to stop it?" asks Daisy as she holds the baby not called Luke.
"Ah," the Doctor replies, losing some of his momentum. "I'd like to hand over this meeting to my good friend Donna Noble - who would like me to assure everyone she is completely single."
"Eh? Why me? Why do I have to control a rioting mob."
"Because you're rubbish at dealing with psychotic energy manifestations!"
"... fair enough." Donna climbs onto the bar. "Arright you lot! Listen up!"
The Doctor hops down to his remaining companion. "Come on, Abby, we're going upstairs!"
Abby grins. "Thought you'd never ask!"
"Stop it!" he snaps and bundles her out of the door.
"Right, since the thing out there is getting the power out of all of you," Donna decides. "The best thing to do, is for all of you to knock yourselves unconscious."
"I'd much rather drink myself unconscious," Gary mutters, and there is a murmur of assent. "Lot easier."
"All right! Drinks on the house! EVERYONE GET WASTED!"
With a cheer, the mob rushes the bar. Dick Hedd struggles to stop Col and Frank from manning the beer taps, but Donna headbutts him comatose. "One down!" she cries, and the mob cheer again as the booze is passed around.
The Doctor and Abby scramble onto the roof. "So, we just climb down to the TARDIS, hurry inside and press some buttons on the console to disperse Ben?" she surmises.
"Pretty much," the Doctor replies.
"That seems a bit anticlimatic."
"Needs must. Thank goodness she hasn't tried multiple possession or else..."
There is a clap of thunder as, glowing brightly, the shape of Ben Chatham floats up to the rooftop, laughing insanely.
EVER GET THE FEELING YOU'VE BEEN CHEATED?
Downstairs, Eddie, the Young Ones, Tom Wallace, Daisy and Tim, Col and Frank and the 1973 cops are all pissed out of their heads when the doors to the pub are smashed down to reveal the Army of Light: Richie, Manny, Bernard, the Goods, DI Fowler and his team, all possessed by the ungoldly powers of Chatham. The drunken figures struggle to lift their heads as the Army speaks with the voice of evil:
LOOK UPON MY SEDUCTIVE RADIANT SMILE AND TOAST MY MAGNIFICENCE WITH A 1963 CHATEAU DE COMBAIRE RED WHICH NO DOUBT THESE PEOPLE HAVE NEVER TASTED PREFERRING SWILL LIKE VODKA AND LIME...
Suddenly beams of light emenate out of their cold, vacant eyes, and bits of the pub start to explode in flames.
On the roof, the ghostly transparent Ben Chatham grows to the size of a giant, looming over The Lamb & Flag.
OUT OF YOUR CORRUPTION SPIRITUAL BEINGS WILL ARISE FOR ONLY AS SPIRITUAL BEINGS CAN WE COMBAT THE FORCES OF MIND-BOGGLINGLY SELF-INDULGENT CHAV SCUM THAT PLAGUE THE WORLD
"We've already heard about your delluded utopia!" the Doctor shouts up at her. "No need to spin us that yarn! No one's impressed! And keep the noise down!"
look you obvious learning difficulties case i want to become a full time member of the tardis crew
"Oh, why do you want to come aboard the TARDIS?"
why WHY
"Yes, WHY!"
why is the unanswerable question
"Are you saying you can't answer a question? I thought you had a degree!"
what cheek
"I'm serious!" the Doctor continues. "You don't want to travel anywhere except England in the present! You don't want to visit other worlds because you hate aliens, you don't want to visit the past because you hate being uncomfortable - you don't even like saving people's lives or defeating monsters! So WHY in the name of all that is holy do you want to come with me?!"
Silence.
Downstairs, the Army of Light closes in on the drunken patrons...
SCHOOLS SHALL BE GIVEN OAK-PANELLED WALLS LEAFY GROUNDS AND THE HEADMASTER WILL KNOW THE NAME OF EVERY PUPIL AND THE ONWARD MARCH OF DIMNESS OF 16-18 YEAR OLDS WILL BE ENDED AS THOSE WHO ARE COMPLETELY UNABLE TO READ BOOKS ARE CULLED EN MASSE AND EVERYONE WILL GO ON HOLIDAY IN AUTUMN BECAUSE A COLD WET AND DARK SEASON IS NO TIME OF YEAR TO BE WORKING OBESE WOMEN IN SKIN TIGHT LEGGING SHALL BE RITUALLY CIRCUMCIZED MY INSIGHTS ARE BEYOND REPROACH AND ANYONE WHO HAS THE CHEEK TO CHALLENGE ME WILL DIE IN UTTER AGONY!
"Ere, do you mind?" Sam shouts. "Private function. No zombie armies here."
MY NAME IS BEN CHATHAM THE BEN CHATHAM
"Never heard of you. Sling your bleedin hook," Gene advises.
and now at last it is time for SMOOTHENESS
"Not now, sunshine, and not ever!" Donna shouts, kicking the juke box and the Sex Pistol's Pretty Vacant explodes out of the sound system. "Smash the state! Are you gonna let this ponce tell you wide-eyed nutters how to live your life! We're inda-bloody-viduals and you can't fool us!"
A huge barroom brawl begins between the Army of Light and the Army of Random Light Entertainment Characters The Author Thought Up Totally At Random With No Idea Of How To Resolve A Plot: Bernard Black is kicked unconscious by Tom and Barbara Good; Richie is taken roughly from behind by three Cyberman; Sam Tyler drop kicks Sir Digby; Tom Wallace meanwhile attacks everyone else who isn't already attacking someone else.
Up on the roof, the ghostly Ben Chatham screams in fury:
you cannot stop me i was transformed into a woman and then flung into the white heart of the time vortex and i have emerged stronger for it
"Maybe but you're still a loser with no common sense!" the Doctor sneers. "You've no idea how to control the energy flow! And by the distinctive sounds of a rioting pub clientelle, Donna's cutting off your supply of morbid selfish introspection!"
huh
"Your bucket's being kicked, Benji!" Abby translates.
oh abby your presence in this world has been a source of constant agony to me you stole my place aboard the tardis left me a penniless woman mistaken for britney spears for two long years
"You can't blame your shitty life on me!" Abby shouts.
oh but i can and i will have my vengeance on you you romantic idiot
Downstairs, Donna confronts the few standing Cult TV characters - by curious coincidence Tim, Tom and Tony - and headbutts them all unconscious.
The ethereal glow around Ben fluctuates and sparks. "Good girl, Donna!" the Doctor cheers. "She's cut your supply off and you're running out of gas!"
never mind all this i understand that i have enough energy left
"Left for what?" the Doctor asks with a frown.
to create a bolt of green energy dissipation catalyst ions like so
Ben closes her eyes, sagging, blurring, distorting, expanding outwards into a strange intangible haze of coloured light that swoops over and engulfs Abby, bathing her in the strange, shimmering glow. She starts screaming.
i expect its a fair while that someone fondled your breasts with such passion
The glow suffusing Abby which intensifies as a thick gooey mesh of threads began to spread over her skin.
"Let her go!" the Doctor screams. "I ORDER YOU TO LET HER GO!"
Abby's hair grows longer, lightening to blonde, her shimmering body shortening and stomach swelling. Abby's agonized and unnerving screams are swallowed up as her eyes widen and and change colour as her skin loosens around her skull and her face changes beyond all recognition...
"ABBY!" the Doctor screams as the energy finally dissolves.
Standing there before him in Abby's incredibly ill-fitting clothes is what appears to be a heavily pregnant Britney Spears.
"Her existence has come to an end," Benita Chatham laughs with glassy-eyed insanity. "...now that neural synaptic fusion is complete!"
"You turned her into a new host for you," the Doctor gapes.
"Body and soul, as befits one like myself who has a degree from Cambridge!" Ben laughs. "She's dead and there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it."
"She didn't just die," the Doctor shouts, "you KILLED her!"
"Your moral standards don't impress me, Doctor," Ben sneers. "Now how many more of your companions do I have to destroy before you take me back?"
"You KILLED my friend! She had a life and you..."
"Life? Don't talk to me about life," Ben retorts. "What WORTH is there in the platry existence of a useless female like her, a pointless, simpering ovary-brood-slut who did nothing more than occupy space and look good on my arm?"
The Doctor advances on her quietly. "Keep talking, Benjamin James Sebastian James Chatham. Keep talking. Because I want to remember you just as you are, an arrogant, elistist, merciless parasite that doesn't deserve a second chance."
"You wouldn't dare harm me," Ben sniffs. "I am the most popular character ever. And my powers could cancel you out of reality like that!" She tries to snap her fingers, but can't quite manage it.
"You used the last of your energy," the Doctor whispers. "You're stuck as a mortal now. And guess what you look like."
Ben looks down. And grimaces. "Oh, no, not again!" Upset, she turns round...
...to face Donna, who headbutts her unconscious.
She and the Doctor stare at the body on the roof...
Downstairs, Tom groans and gets to his feet, looking out at the unconscious locals like some copyright-breaching Where's Wally. Snatching up his pool cue, he stumbles out the doors of the pub, still dazed from a patented Noble headbut.
A moment later the Doctor and Donna stagger into view, but their unsteadiness is caused by the awesome weight of gravid Ben Chatham, who is incoherently moaning "I Breathe Again" to herself as consciousness flirts cruelly with her.
"You have got to be wrong," Donna grunts. "She can't be gone!"
"You think I'd say something like that if I wasn't sure?" the Doctor snaps. "There's one chance to get her back, but we need the TARDIS. And some very special equipment!"
"The TARDIS won't work, remember! Not with Britney here!" Donna protests as they stagger out of the pub and down the street.
"Oh, the old girl can cope. Just needs a bit of percussive maintenance!"
"You mean, bang the console till it works?"
"Donna, we can discuss TARDIS 101 later! For God's sake, my spine's telescoping! Come on!" he cries as they manage to shuffle into the TARDIS and close the doors after them.
The two of them dump Ben on the pilot's seat, which promptly collapses under the weight of it all. "Well done, Ben," Donna spits angrilly. "I hope you didn't break anything before I get a chance to."
The Doctor is busy operating controls. "Reign in that vigilante justice, Donna, that's really Abby under those stretch marks, breast implants and cellulite!"
"But we can get her back?" Donna asks as the time rotor starts to piston up and down.
"Donna, for the last time, I..." the Doctor trails off. "What?"
Standing on the other side of the console, looking around in shock, with blood from his temple after Donna headbutted him, is Tom Wallace.
"What?!" Donna exclaims.
"WHAT?!?" Tom replies irritably, tearing his gaze from the console.
..... to be continued in
"BRISTOL"
Elsewhere in Emmerdale, wheelchair bound megalomaniac Chris Tate muses over his new genetic screening technique:
"Let us do evil that good may come... If I created a virus in my laboratory, something cantagious and infectious that killed on contact... a virus that would destroy all life forms, should I allow its use? It is an interesting conjecture, a fascinating idea. The only thing thing, a microscopic organism ruling supreme. But would I do it? Yes, to hold in my hand a capsule containing such power. To know that life and death on such a scale was MY choice. To know that the tiny pressure of my thumb, enough to break the glass, would end EVERYTHING. Yes. I would do it. That power would set me up above God... STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS BEFORE!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAAH!"
(Note: this is an honest-to-God scene from Emmerdale in the early 1990s, which actually happened and was shown on TV and everything - and they even nicked the music from Genesis of the Daleks for it. Yes, I was amazed too...)
or
Unlike Sparacus, all comments will not be ignored. Voting closes on 8/8/08 or sooner if I get bored.
SMS Touchwood today!!
So far, there have been three votes against Brit, and one for her. The only serious contenders for the next incarnation are Adam Rickitt (again!) and Warwick Capper.
And if anyone's interested, I've decided to archive these BC parodies with my other DW parodies, under "10th Doctor Extras" here. Just the synopsis in text format, plus a few paragraphs on Spara's war on humanity...
CHATHAMHOOD
