The Curious Case Of The Pointless Scooters

(OR, A POINTLESS SCENE FROM THE RUNAWAY BRIDE RE-EDITED TO IMPROVE IT AND WITHOUT ALL THE POINTLESS GURNING AND LAUGHING)

'Oi, Doctah, oo says there ain't enuff scootahs in the new series?'

'I'm sorry Donna, I can't understand your poor syntax and cockernee shouting. You wouldn't catch me talking like that, no sir. What was that you were saying about scooters?'

'No, I said, Doctor Who says there ain't enuff scootahs in the new series!'

'I did? When did I say that?'

'You got cloth ears or summink? That's the new gimmick for next season! Mark E. Smith is gonna be riding around on a scootah! It'll be a time scootah! Time and relative dimension in scootahs! It's wot all the cool kids are doing nowadays!'

'Oh my giddy aunt, Donna. I fear you have failed to prefigure that crashing revelation about the new series with a loud cloister bell of a spoiler alert. However will the ming-mongs react to such a shocking alteration of the target demographic?'

'Wot you 'arping on abaht??? All I was saying woz that there was definitely going to be scootahs next year! Will you just give it a rest, Mr. Spock?'

'Oh. I fear I realise what has happened. You seem to have temporarily slipped into another timey-wimey paradox and like Nostradamus getting everything twisted accidentally seen an episode of Remembrance of the Daleks where I think Ace had a skateboard. What an unfortunate misunderstanding.'

'Phew. Strike a light Mary Poppins. That's a bleedin' relief. At least no-one's done anyfink bleedin' stoopid like cast a 26-year old as the new Doctahh or nuffink.'

'Oh dear. Donna, I fear I have some very bad news for you...'

'Wot, that I'm going to turn into a time lady or summink or nuffink, and then lose my mind and forget all abaaht yer, or summink?'

'No, Donna - that'll probably never happen either since that would be hugely ridiculous. It's just that... well as a prefiguring of the next entry by our master blogger, I felt it would perhaps be apposite to raise the subject of this new young whippersnapper who will in nary a year be taking over from me as the Best Actor In The World. And just to keep things fresh and all-shook-up, he'll be doing the whole thing with a Scottish accent. Everybody absolutely loved it the last time that happened!'

'I ain't got a f%^*ing clue wot you're goin on abaaht, Doctah. What a f%^&ing liberty! How very dare you! I wasn't anyfink like my other characters! THAT'S WHY THEY KILLED ME OFF!!!'

'Hang on. Am I on very strong drugs? What am I doing trapped in this existential nightmare? I'm going down this improbably green corridor on a scooter thing and I'm about to get killed by a giant over-acting spider woman who doesn't do stairs. When will this madness cease?????

And is there any need for this blogger chap to say anything further about the Runaway Bride and its skilful co-opting of scooters other than what has already been stated above?????'

'Yes. And no, you’re quite right, Other Bloke - your being on very strong hallucinogens - or at least some form of incorrectly prescribed medication - must be the only explanation for why a child’s scooter is now talking to you in a slightly condescending manner. F%^& knows what I’ve got to do with any of this. I’m only a f%^&ing scooter for f%^&’s sake.

Get a grip, man… didn’t you read the leaflet? Do not operate heavy machinery! Or ride scooters through secret underground facilites in sub-standard Christmas specials revolving around the introduction of irritating comedy companions in wedding dresses! You’ve only got yourself to blame! Now drink some water and go and lie down for an hour or so. Maybe then you’ll realise that this whole experience has just been a terrible chemical-induced nightmare.

Haha only kidding, you spanner! You’re still going to get horribly killed by that scary spider woman! It’s all real! You’re totally f%^&ed! This is just like the last episode of the Prisoner! Only more mad and with a talking scooter.'

THANK SUTEKH THAT'S OVER

Christ. This is like something out of Naked Lunch! We’re fast approaching literature! Unlike Nu-Who!

Credit goes to http://time-and-space.co.uk/ for the screencaps. They've got millions of pics from Who just waiting for idiots like me to caption them and rewrite the new series so that, in a parallel dimension, it will all be so much better. There will be more. Be very afraid.

Come back next time around for some astute discussion regarding professional pop binnman Mark E. Smith out of the Fall getting the job of being the new Doctor. Yes-uh, I am-uh, a Time-uh Lord-uh...

A Friendly Greeting From David Tennant

Hey there everybody. My name is David Tennant - woops, sorry - James Nesbitt.

Shit! No - actually I'm Paterson Joseph. I'm secretly in disguise now because my private life has been made into a living hell by all those screaming fangirls who keep chasing me down the street and wanting to rub my hair before demanding I recite them some of the more rude bits out of Hamlet in my genuine actual Bathgate accent. Can't a bloke get some peace? It's not like I'm famous or anything!

So in order to protect my identity I must assure you all at this point that I really am definitely Robert Carlyle. He can't be me, he's Scottish!

Or maybe Chiwetel Ejiofor if you squint a bit and can spell his name, which I can't cos I had to look it up on the internet which it took me ages to find since like I said how am I supposed to find out how his name's spelt if I can't type it in? The world is a difficult and confusing place sometimes. Sigh.

All of this means that I'm definitely not the Doctor or anything. Or at least, I won't be by the time anyone gets around to reading any of this. So by that point I'll definitely be safe from exploding teenage girls and those creepy and slightly older men who occasionally chase me around Cardiff sceaming all kinds of unpleasant things about how I've totally ruined something, or killed it forever... some TV programme I've been involved with, not sure which one. Might've been Blackpool.

I'm a proper actor, you know. I can do accents and everything. (Cor blimey love a duck! That's one.) Now that I’ve been set free from Russell T. Davies’s Big Contractual Torture Dungeon (where I spent a punishing four years being hung over a custom-built cliff by Russell himself, since he had been a bit upset that there weren't enough actual cliffhangers for the Doctor in Nu-Who and had to physically enact them himself in order to feel truly satisfied and content in his life) I'm doing a little moonlighting as a TV detective and professional opener of blogs that specialize in mainly ripping the piss out of anything to do with Doctor Who.

So in my capacity as that then, I'd like to invite you all to stick your eyes right into this here thing called televisionoff. Go on. Stick them right in till they're bleeding! STICK THEM IN!!! You can even take them out of your head if you want.

Hang on - televisionoff? Just a minute, let me just type that in... Nope. I've tried searching for it and I can't f$%^ing find anything! What a waste of time! If I were you I think you'd be better off reading Angry Who Fan instead. At least that's funny.

Anyway, cheerio for now - I'm off to sneak into a hospital, put on a white coat, try and pass myself off as a bumbling but loveable medical professional and hopefully solve a murder or two.
I bet it was that loud, bespectacled, award-winning Welsh television producer who really killed the Doctor! Arrest him, Steve!

(note for readers - this is an elaborate and quite probably pointless joke referring to Diagnosis Murder. It may or may not return in the future. Or in the past seeing as how this is Doctor Who. You have been warned).