Doctor Who Raped My Eye Sockets With A Sandpaper Condom

I’ll tell you who’s a menace to society. Doctor Who. That’s who. That’s what I’ve induced after watching however many episodes of this fancy new regenerated version of the show as it’s possible to cram into a few short hours.

Yes I’ve only just got round to watching this apparent saviour to British TV. This could be seen as having something to do with the slight weariness I felt towards a show which I remember from childhood as being a Philadelphia Light slice of schlock BBC science fiction entertainment mainly involving men in rubber suits for it’s emotional connection and a complete lack of fancy computer graphics to make things shiny, but then again I was three at the time so maybe this new one deserved a chance.

Or maybe it was the fact that the few new episodes I had chanced were seamless continuations along this theme, the only differences being half the rubber, double, maybe even triple, the CGI budget and bungled attempts to hack at the heartstrings.

Doctor Who afficionados assure me this is because of some timey-wimy slip up which meant I only sat down in front of the idiot lantern when a particularly piss poor episode was on, like a diver who keeps missing the pool and landing in a bloody and smashed heap on the pool edge time after time.

I reckon it was probably because I always had a nagging suspicion it wouldn’t live up to Whedon.

Whatever the reason, I’m like a moth to an atom bomb when it comes to revision distractions and I’d watched that episode set in Pompeii a few weeks back and it caused a reaction inside me. It felt like… happiness? Through the television the Doctor reached me and changed my robot brain and circuitry into real flesh, filling me with these things you humans call… emotions.

You might suspect that this is a lie, or exaggeration of the truth if you’re feeling morally dubious, and you’d be right. But if I were in a Doctor Who episode that’s the kind of thing that would happen. And the Doctor would heal another rift in the time/space insertrandompieceofbadsciencejargonhere, while simultaneously decapitating bad guys with laid back witticisms and getting off on the sexual frustration of young girls. Then next thing you know he’s only bloomin’ well teleported halfway round the sodding multi-layered, multi-dimensional, persistent jelly that is Time to do the exact same thing again.

What seems to be pretty constant with this Doctor fella is that shit follows him around like a fly follows shit. Or vice versa. Personally I reckons it’s the versa. This is a Time Lord who can travel anywhere in time and space, bending and changing whatever he deems fit. And what does he spend the majority of time doing? Pursuing his favourite pastime of sticking his feet up and watching millions of humans die at a time until stepping in at the last minute when he could quite easily have prevented the whole thing in 30 seconds.

Honestly, all he has to do is nip in the TARDIS, hop back to a point where whichever nemesis threatening reality itself is a gamete, or whatever these alien types use to reproduce, give ol’ Poppa Nutballs a swift kick in the groin/sensitive reproductive nano-plunger and relax after a job well done on a sunny beach with the intergalactic equivalent of a rum and coke.

But no. There are Rules. Rules that must be obeyed if it means doing anything apart from letting things get to their very worst before stepping in like some Hero of the Hour prick and solving everything, preferably while hefting a bloody big sledge hammer into the porcelain display case of Time. Just to show that if you really want to you can stick two fingers up to the fabric of reality if it makes your life more exciting. Git.

Oh sure, when the shit really hits the fan he tries to justify it all by healing everything up and making it like it was before, but whenever he knows that he can adopt an Etch-a-Sketch Time Policy, where everything reverts to how it was before, the body count always seems to be suspiciously higher than when he can’t. Almost as if he values the deaths of these people less, feels like he can watch these people die if he can make it all like it never happened… he likes to draw it out to feature lengths if he can, just so he can watch humankind come close to obliteration time and time again.

At least that’s what I used to think. Then I realised that the Doctor’s actually quite sincere in his repeated attempts to stop us crazy apes from letting ourselves get wiped out yet again. He’s just a patsy. For the very most evilest (and I don’t use hyperbole lightly) mind in the entire Multiverse, that sonofawhore TARDIS. The Doctor’s not a bad pilot, the TARDIS just loves dumping him wherever he knows the Doctor’s gonna be drowning in Shit Creek, especially if it means he has to choose to wipe out a people.

Right, right… the TARDIS just happened to travel to the end of the Universe, find the dormant Master, help re-awaken him and bring him back to wipe out half of humankind? It just happened to fall into a parallel world where it knew Rose would be compelled to get involved and risk everyone’s lives. The TARDIS just happened, by sheer coincidence, to butcher every last creature in the galaxy, using the time vortex to create eternal torture for every living thing, spending an eternity laughing at Creation’s destruction by its hand. (I must admit that last storyline is taken from a bit of personal fanfiction).

This would be fine, happy coincidence, if it weren’t for the fact that the TARDIS is alive. Yet it never thinks to travel to a time where solving the problem would be simple. Never does anything to prevent itself getting nicked, breaking down at just the wrong point, or being generally impotent whenever it would be a really useful ‘Get Out of Certain Death Free’ card.

The TARDIS is either fixated with watching the Doctor die, or suicidal. Maybe it misses all the other TARDISsssss in the world, I don’t know. I’m not a TARDIS. What I do know is that this thing’s a damn menace and the sooner the Doctor can realise this the sooner the TARDIS and the Doctor can duke it out in a Fantabulous Christmas Special Extravaganza.

One final note. I realise that I have probably made a million mistakes, contradictions and outright lies that would see me hung in a Doctor Who court. Thankfully we don’t have one of these because the fans are yet to take over the world, but if you do want to bring out a few Doctor facts to cripple my well-researched, thought-out and planned babble, as it seems some fans are desperate to do, then feel free. Just so I know who to… as a Doctor Who villain would say with the irony still dripping … ‘thank’ later.

Meaning I’m going to process your body and turn you into a mindless slave. Probably with metal bits attached. It’ll definitely be an evil plan anyway.