Sunday, 2 November 2008

Weekend Wrap-up: Parte Due

So, back again with ye olde weekend wrap-up, entitled "In which I expound on the Dr. Who Debacle" and other not-so-important stuff.

Yes, folks, after months of rumours, David Tennant finally made the dreaded announcement that he will be leaving Dr. Who (and there was much tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth throughout the Who-niverse).

Which brings me to the obvious question - who will be the next Doctor? That is the topic of many forum discussions and I would like to contribute to the debate right here with the obvious, hands-down choice for someone who could really take charge of all the chaos in the Who-niverse. Wait for it...drum roll...cue Terminator music...Gordon Ramsay!

(the rest of this scenario provided by Ded/Dilemma Productions)

Think about it, Dr. Ramsay's Time/Space Nightmares. Davros and the Daleks have soundly been defeated and sequestered somewhere on the spiral arm of galaxy M87 where they are now being rehabilitated in order to fit in with the general population. Of course, their task is to set up and run a successful restaurant that will pass muster when Dr. Ramsay comes to inspect.

Picture the TARDIS appearing in the parking lot which is, of course, nearly empty. Dr. Ramsay observes..."hmmm...good location with the space lanes nearby. Not sure about the name of the place, though. Gastronimate??? Might be sending the wrong f*cking message."

Dr. Ramsay enters the restaurant, daleks bustling around, running into each other, patrons cowering at their tables, wondering if each bite might be their last. The tension is high as Dr. R approaches the maitre d' and is greeted by a surly Davros.

"I am Davros! You will obey me!"

"F*ck me, I don't think so. I'm the Doctor and I'm here to take a look at your establishment. Since there are so few customers here now, I believe I'll seat myself and take a look at your menu."

The Doctor easily finds a vacant table and notices wide aisles, allowing easy access for the Imperial dalek waiters. Unfortunately, this limits the seating capacity drastically. One of the bulky mutants glides to Dr. Ramsay's table, a well-worn menu clutched in its claw. The formerly-white cloth draped over its mechanical arm looks none the worse for wear. The dalek turns quickly toward the Doctor, nearly taking off his head with the menu, and loudly (and electronically) yells, "You will tell me your order now!"

Perusing the menu, the Doctor wonders aloud, "What the f*ck is this shit they are serving? I think I'd better start with the Tarqeq salad and the asteroid-dried Bebhionn rangoon as an appetizer. At least I don't think anybody can f*ck that up."

The waiter glides away, nearly colliding with another dalek-server that is precariously balancing a tray at the end of its specially-modified-for-restaurant-work claw. Glancing around the room, the Doctor wonders just how many patrons actually come in of their free will.

Sounds erupt from the kitchen and Ramsay easily overhears Davros yelling, "You will be punished for this! I am your creator!" There is a crashing of plates, pots, pans, and whatnot and two of the more squeamish customers quickly sneak out the side door.

Time elapses, the Doctor barely makes it through his meal and the scene cuts to the kitchen where he is confronting head chef Davros, who is functioning as maitre d', chief cook, and bottle washer mainly due to the fact that he is the only employee with real arms.

A shouting match begins as the kitchen staff begin to try to escape the confrontation, knocking each other over in the mad dash to the back door and relative freedom.
"You, Davros. What the f*ck were you thinking, putting Akihikotago seeds in the South Synopian BonBon Cherry Chipes? No wonder the locals aren't eating here! And this shit - I wouldn't serve it to the Cult of Skaro!" Pointing to something obviously rotting, Ramsay explodes. "That is not going anywhere except in the f*cking rubbish bin! Are you f*cking blind? Are you trying to poison these patrons?"

Suddenly, it dawns on the Doctor - that is indeed what Davros was intending. He wasn't interested in rehabilitation. No wonder the name of the restaurant is...

"Gastronimate! Gastronimate!" Davros' voice rises above the Doctor's. "I will teach you the power of your words, Doctor. I will destroy you! This is not the end; it is only the beginning! This time we will triumph!"


I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see where this will go. The BBC is totally missing the boat on this one if they don't run with this idea.

1 comment:

Paul F. McDonald said...

So sorry I haven't had a chance to reply.

This is probably the greatest blog that's ever been blogged in the whole of the blogosphere.