Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2008-08-28 12:06 am
ptahrrific) wrote2008-08-28 12:06 am
Entry tags:
Fake News/Doctor Who: How Many Time Lords Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?, part 1
Title: Truthiness And Relative Dimensions In Space: How Many Time Lords Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb? (1/8)
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S4 is fair game.
Summary: Four, Stephen, and Sarah Jane land on a planet-sized mall in search of a fix for the TARDIS' lighting system. What they find is more Time Lords than you can shake a stick at.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
How Many Time Lords Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?
Part One
Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
"Hey, Sarah Jane?"
"Hm?"
"Have you ever seen one of the other versions of the Doctor?"
"Oh, yes. I've been traveling with two of him by now. In fact, I was with him the last time he regenerated."
"Really? What was the last one like?"
"Well . . . different. But sort of the same, too."
"You know, I can see why you're a journalist," said Stephen cheerfully. "What with those stellar observational skills of yours."
"Oh, shut up," replied Sarah Jane, but with affection.
"No! I still have questions!"
"All right, all right. Shoot."
Stephen carefully considered the subtle and thought-provoking queries he might pose about the nature of space, time, and reality, then settled on one. "Does the TARDIS change its appearance too? Or has it always looked like it does now?"
As an afterthought, he added, "I mean when the lights are on, of course. Right now it looks the same either way."
Aside from the flashlight in the Doctor's hand, pointed at the innards of the console while the other hand jiggered with wires and bolts, the room was pitch dark.
It had been like this for a while now, prompting Stephen to start plying Sarah Jane with questions. It wasn't like he didn't know plenty about the Doctor already, what with Stephen's vast prior experience at time travel and all. It was just, well, this Doctor was so different. Not quite his Doctor. And, truth be told, it was throwing him off a little.
Sarah Jane's answer to this one was short and simple. "It's always looked the same when I've been here. Is it going to look different, then, when your younger self shows up?"
"Yeah. A lot more orange. And twisty. Maybe it isn't the same ship at all. Maybe it's a new one with the same layout, and all the same stuff."
"I guess that depends on whether this one had finally crashed for good," remarked Sarah Jane dryly. "Doctor! Is she going to be all right?"
"Oh, the TARDIS is fine," said the Doctor, his head now stuck in the hole where a floor panel had been. "It's just the lights that are out."
"You mean the computers are okay?"
"Never better!" The Doctor tugged at a wire. "But I'm not about to fly her blind!"
"No, no, you shouldn't try to fly. But we could do some scans, find out where we've landed, see if it's safe to explore."
"We've landed on the fourth planet of the Ahnooie system, in the century when the entire planetary surface is taken up by a worldwide mall. You can explore all you like."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" demanded Stephen.
"You never asked," said the Doctor matter-of-factly, holding up a handful of wire and pointing the flashlight gloomily at the frayed bits of copper poking from its loose end. "Oh dear."
"Was that important?" asked Sarah Jane.
"Oh, extremely."
"Can we help?"
"Not in the least."
"Then we're going exploring," Stephen declared.
"Of course! You have a key, Sarah Jane?"
"I've got mine," volunteered Stephen.
The Doctor shone the flashlight in his face. "Really? I didn't think I'd given you one yet."
"You didn't," said Stephen, holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare. "I remembered where you kept one of the spares, so I borrowed it. I knew you would want me to have one."
"I suppose it can't hurt," said the Doctor with a sigh. "Well, this isn't going to be fixed any time soon. You'd best get a head start on that exploring. Off you go!"
⇔
"You're from 2008, right?" asked Sarah Jane, as they strolled past the picture window of a shop which seemed to be exclusively in the business of selling helmets. "What's it like?"
"You're in the middle of a far-future alien mall, and you want to know what Earth's going to be like in thirty years?" said Stephen. "God, you're boring. Ooh!" A creature that looked sort of like a blue ferret with antennae was chittering at them from a shop window, and he stopped to lean against the glass. "Whoozagoodboy? Who? You are! You—ahhhh!"
"I take it there aren't many things with unexpectedly large teeth where you come from," remarked Sarah Jane as she pulled the quivering Stephen away from the snarling thing in the pet shop. "You all right?"
"Sure! Fine! Never better! So, 2008!" Stephen squeaked. "What do you want to know?"
"Oh, I don't know. What's going on in the world? What's changed since 1980?"
"I don't even know where to start," said Stephen, his voice settling back into a normal register as he warmed to his subject. "I guess the most important thing is me. I went from a charming, beloved, popular teenager to a charming, beloved, popular television host with an audience of millions. Oh, and the Cold War ended and the Internet was invented. But I'm pretty sure I've had the most impact."
"Have you?"
"Well, naturally! You can't fully appreciate the importance of my show to society until you've seen it for yourself. The world is so different, back in your day. John McCain is still in the Navy . . . David Letterman only has a poorly-rated morning comedy show . . . Jon Stewart is still in college . . . Paris Hilton is still an embryo." He paused to consider this. "I guess it wasn't all bad."
"And who are all these people?"
"Let's see." Stephen started ticking them off on his fingers. "McCain is the Republican nominee for President. He may be behind in the polls, but in my gut, he's already won. Letterman does a late-night comedy show, and the latest Harris Poll had him tied with me on the Most Popular TV Personality list, which means there must be somebody out there who still watches him. Jon Stewart is a hack so-called newsman who pushes his radical liberal agenda in the time slot right before mine, and, sure, we have lunch all the time, but that's only because he produces my show and I need to make nice. Paris Hilton is . . . I don't actually know what she is, but whatever it is, she's famous for it."
Dodging a group of aliens that looked kind of like blue centaurs with eyestalks, he added, "Oh, and you're Prime Minister."
Sarah Jane nearly tripped over her own feet. "I'm what?"
When she looked up at Stephen, he was grinning mischievously. "Had you going there, didn't I?"
⇔
"Mommy, Mommy, I want ice cream!"
"Later, Susie. Mommy has to check some things out first, okay?"
"That kid has the right idea," remarked Stephen as the little dark-haired humanoid bounced past, chanting a self-composed ditty about various ice cream flavors. "Where's the food court?"
"Keep your eye out for a directory," replied Sarah Jane. "I think we already passed one, but it was a while back."
"Really? What did it look like?"
"Big, black, shiny touch screen with a map you could zoom in on, logo shaped like an apple on the base. The kind of sleek-but-powerful thing you'd expect this far in the future."
"Is that one of them?" asked Stephen, pointing.
"That's it, yeah!"
"Looks like a giant iPhone."
"A what?"
"Tell you later."
Stopping in front of the map, Sarah Jane started scrolling through options, looking for a food court within half a mile of the You Are Here arrow.
"Hey, speaking of phones," Stephen added nonchalantly, "you should call me when you get back to Earth. Wait a year, though, because I didn't get picked up by the Doctor until August of '81. But after that, call me. Not that I was lonely and desperate for someone to talk to about it afterward, or anything like that! I had hundreds of friends! Just, you know, if you want to talk."
"Do you ever remember me doing that?" asked Sarah Jane.
". . . no."
"Then I guess I'm not going to. If I even go back in the first place. Aha! Ardala Memorial Food Court is two levels down and a couple of blocks that way."
"Let's go, then. I'm starving. What do you mean, 'if' you go back?"
Sarah Jane shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as they boarded an escalator between a spiky red miniature humanoid and a couple of giant four-eyed bats. "I sort of think I might want to go on traveling with the Doctor for a long time. Maybe for the rest of my life. That's all."
"You weren't on the TARDIS when I was there. I mean, you won't be when I will be. I mean, you won't have been when I will be being . . . ."
"I said the rest of my life," interrupted Sarah Jane. "Not the rest of his."
"Oh."
They stepped off of the escalator and started walking alongside a huge opening that had been carved out of the floor to make room for a giant statue on the level below. Sarah Jane leaned over the railing to see the whole display. Stephen paused automatically beside her, but seemed too lost in thought to appreciate the artwork.
"Isn't that kind of sad, though?" he asked at last.
"I suppose. But we've all got to die some day—even he will run out of regenerations eventually. And can you imagine any better way to spend your life? I mean, look at this!"
She flung out her arms to encompass the statue. It was all in gold, depicting a cross-looking humanoid in suit and coat with curly hair and an umbrella in one hand; but the really dazzling part was the decorative alien plants that surrounded it. Rather than sitting demurely around the base and looking tasteful, they had crawled up the sides and sprouted flowers of all colors: some blooming from the statue's surface, some hanging on tendrils that sprouted from the sides, many of them waving gently in defiance of the total lack of wind.
"This is absolutely fantastic! And it's only a generic mall display. And there's a whole universe full of this stuff, just waiting to be explored! Can you honestly tell me you didn't miss it? Even a little bit?"
Stephen didn't answer. Glancing over at him, Sarah Jane realized with a start that his eyes were shining.
He's not crying, is he? Oh, I hope not. He'd never forgive me if I saw him cry.
And then the moment was gone. "Are we getting food or not?" demanded Stephen, glaring impatiently at her. "I'm hungry."
⇔
"I can't believe it," said Sarah Jane when she returned to their table, having finally secured a drink and a styrofoam cup of hot stew. "You have a whole alien buffet available here, and you go for the franchise that got its start on Earth."
"You can't believe it?" exclaimed Stephen. "I can't believe they've forgotten how to make a proper triple-shot latte with whole milk and extra cinnamon! I rely on Starbucks to give me consistency! How dare they change the recipe after only seventeen hundred years?"
"It's good to try new things," replied Sarah Jane philosophically. "You want a bite of sneg stew?"
"What's a sneg?"
"Kind of like a hairy salamander."
Stephen made a face. "I'll pass."
"Are you sure? It tastes like chicken curry."
"You finish it. If you're not dead in half an hour, maybe I'll order one."
With a shrug, Sarah Jane went at the stew, while Stephen attempted to swallow his unacceptable coffee. The effort was clearly paining him.
Amusing though it was to watch him suffer, Sarah Jane finally took pity. "There's another shop in here that's human-founded, if you want to give them a try. Their specialty is beef slushies."
Stephen's eyes went wide. "That sounds like the most amazing thing ever," he intoned, looking around the circle of restaurant fronts. "Where are—whoa!"
"What? What is it?"
"That human. Right there."
Sarah Jane followed his line of sight dubiously, spotting two or three humanoids at a quick glance. "They probably just look like humans. Lots of alien species do. It's a pretty common evolutionary template."
"I'll ignore that reference to evolution," said Stephen testily as he got to his feet, "because we have more important things to deal with. Look closer at the guy in the brown suit with his back to us. That's not just a humanoid, that's a human. Or at least, he's been in the 20th century very recently."
"How can you be sure?"
"Sarah Jane, I know my suits!"
"Maybe he just likes old-fashioned clothing! Stephen!" With a groan, Sarah Jane pushed back her chair and followed Stephen as he elbowed his way through the tightly packed plastic tables.
"It's not just the suit. I know who he is!"
"You think you know who he is! It's a big universe! You can't just go accosting every being who looks vaguely like someone you—"
It was no use; Stephen had already reached the figure, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around, revealing a friendly face with round glasses and curly brown hair.
"Hello, stranger!" said the accosted man cheerfully. "What can I do you for?"
"Stephen!" Sarah Jane grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry, sir, my friend here is a little confused—"
"David Letterman?" interrupted Stephen. "Are you a Time Lord?"
Rating: PG
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything through New Who S4 is fair game.
Summary: Four, Stephen, and Sarah Jane land on a planet-sized mall in search of a fix for the TARDIS' lighting system. What they find is more Time Lords than you can shake a stick at.
Table of contents, and footnotes, here.
How Many Time Lords Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?
Part One
Ahnooie-4: 3792.
The Doctor is in his fourth incarnation. Stephen Colbert is 44. Sarah Jane Smith is 29.
"Hey, Sarah Jane?"
"Hm?"
"Have you ever seen one of the other versions of the Doctor?"
"Oh, yes. I've been traveling with two of him by now. In fact, I was with him the last time he regenerated."
"Really? What was the last one like?"
"Well . . . different. But sort of the same, too."
"You know, I can see why you're a journalist," said Stephen cheerfully. "What with those stellar observational skills of yours."
"Oh, shut up," replied Sarah Jane, but with affection.
"No! I still have questions!"
"All right, all right. Shoot."
Stephen carefully considered the subtle and thought-provoking queries he might pose about the nature of space, time, and reality, then settled on one. "Does the TARDIS change its appearance too? Or has it always looked like it does now?"
As an afterthought, he added, "I mean when the lights are on, of course. Right now it looks the same either way."
Aside from the flashlight in the Doctor's hand, pointed at the innards of the console while the other hand jiggered with wires and bolts, the room was pitch dark.
It had been like this for a while now, prompting Stephen to start plying Sarah Jane with questions. It wasn't like he didn't know plenty about the Doctor already, what with Stephen's vast prior experience at time travel and all. It was just, well, this Doctor was so different. Not quite his Doctor. And, truth be told, it was throwing him off a little.
Sarah Jane's answer to this one was short and simple. "It's always looked the same when I've been here. Is it going to look different, then, when your younger self shows up?"
"Yeah. A lot more orange. And twisty. Maybe it isn't the same ship at all. Maybe it's a new one with the same layout, and all the same stuff."
"I guess that depends on whether this one had finally crashed for good," remarked Sarah Jane dryly. "Doctor! Is she going to be all right?"
"Oh, the TARDIS is fine," said the Doctor, his head now stuck in the hole where a floor panel had been. "It's just the lights that are out."
"You mean the computers are okay?"
"Never better!" The Doctor tugged at a wire. "But I'm not about to fly her blind!"
"No, no, you shouldn't try to fly. But we could do some scans, find out where we've landed, see if it's safe to explore."
"We've landed on the fourth planet of the Ahnooie system, in the century when the entire planetary surface is taken up by a worldwide mall. You can explore all you like."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" demanded Stephen.
"You never asked," said the Doctor matter-of-factly, holding up a handful of wire and pointing the flashlight gloomily at the frayed bits of copper poking from its loose end. "Oh dear."
"Was that important?" asked Sarah Jane.
"Oh, extremely."
"Can we help?"
"Not in the least."
"Then we're going exploring," Stephen declared.
"Of course! You have a key, Sarah Jane?"
"I've got mine," volunteered Stephen.
The Doctor shone the flashlight in his face. "Really? I didn't think I'd given you one yet."
"You didn't," said Stephen, holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare. "I remembered where you kept one of the spares, so I borrowed it. I knew you would want me to have one."
"I suppose it can't hurt," said the Doctor with a sigh. "Well, this isn't going to be fixed any time soon. You'd best get a head start on that exploring. Off you go!"
"You're from 2008, right?" asked Sarah Jane, as they strolled past the picture window of a shop which seemed to be exclusively in the business of selling helmets. "What's it like?"
"You're in the middle of a far-future alien mall, and you want to know what Earth's going to be like in thirty years?" said Stephen. "God, you're boring. Ooh!" A creature that looked sort of like a blue ferret with antennae was chittering at them from a shop window, and he stopped to lean against the glass. "Whoozagoodboy? Who? You are! You—ahhhh!"
"I take it there aren't many things with unexpectedly large teeth where you come from," remarked Sarah Jane as she pulled the quivering Stephen away from the snarling thing in the pet shop. "You all right?"
"Sure! Fine! Never better! So, 2008!" Stephen squeaked. "What do you want to know?"
"Oh, I don't know. What's going on in the world? What's changed since 1980?"
"I don't even know where to start," said Stephen, his voice settling back into a normal register as he warmed to his subject. "I guess the most important thing is me. I went from a charming, beloved, popular teenager to a charming, beloved, popular television host with an audience of millions. Oh, and the Cold War ended and the Internet was invented. But I'm pretty sure I've had the most impact."
"Have you?"
"Well, naturally! You can't fully appreciate the importance of my show to society until you've seen it for yourself. The world is so different, back in your day. John McCain is still in the Navy . . . David Letterman only has a poorly-rated morning comedy show . . . Jon Stewart is still in college . . . Paris Hilton is still an embryo." He paused to consider this. "I guess it wasn't all bad."
"And who are all these people?"
"Let's see." Stephen started ticking them off on his fingers. "McCain is the Republican nominee for President. He may be behind in the polls, but in my gut, he's already won. Letterman does a late-night comedy show, and the latest Harris Poll had him tied with me on the Most Popular TV Personality list, which means there must be somebody out there who still watches him. Jon Stewart is a hack so-called newsman who pushes his radical liberal agenda in the time slot right before mine, and, sure, we have lunch all the time, but that's only because he produces my show and I need to make nice. Paris Hilton is . . . I don't actually know what she is, but whatever it is, she's famous for it."
Dodging a group of aliens that looked kind of like blue centaurs with eyestalks, he added, "Oh, and you're Prime Minister."
Sarah Jane nearly tripped over her own feet. "I'm what?"
When she looked up at Stephen, he was grinning mischievously. "Had you going there, didn't I?"
"Mommy, Mommy, I want ice cream!"
"Later, Susie. Mommy has to check some things out first, okay?"
"That kid has the right idea," remarked Stephen as the little dark-haired humanoid bounced past, chanting a self-composed ditty about various ice cream flavors. "Where's the food court?"
"Keep your eye out for a directory," replied Sarah Jane. "I think we already passed one, but it was a while back."
"Really? What did it look like?"
"Big, black, shiny touch screen with a map you could zoom in on, logo shaped like an apple on the base. The kind of sleek-but-powerful thing you'd expect this far in the future."
"Is that one of them?" asked Stephen, pointing.
"That's it, yeah!"
"Looks like a giant iPhone."
"A what?"
"Tell you later."
Stopping in front of the map, Sarah Jane started scrolling through options, looking for a food court within half a mile of the You Are Here arrow.
"Hey, speaking of phones," Stephen added nonchalantly, "you should call me when you get back to Earth. Wait a year, though, because I didn't get picked up by the Doctor until August of '81. But after that, call me. Not that I was lonely and desperate for someone to talk to about it afterward, or anything like that! I had hundreds of friends! Just, you know, if you want to talk."
"Do you ever remember me doing that?" asked Sarah Jane.
". . . no."
"Then I guess I'm not going to. If I even go back in the first place. Aha! Ardala Memorial Food Court is two levels down and a couple of blocks that way."
"Let's go, then. I'm starving. What do you mean, 'if' you go back?"
Sarah Jane shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as they boarded an escalator between a spiky red miniature humanoid and a couple of giant four-eyed bats. "I sort of think I might want to go on traveling with the Doctor for a long time. Maybe for the rest of my life. That's all."
"You weren't on the TARDIS when I was there. I mean, you won't be when I will be. I mean, you won't have been when I will be being . . . ."
"I said the rest of my life," interrupted Sarah Jane. "Not the rest of his."
"Oh."
They stepped off of the escalator and started walking alongside a huge opening that had been carved out of the floor to make room for a giant statue on the level below. Sarah Jane leaned over the railing to see the whole display. Stephen paused automatically beside her, but seemed too lost in thought to appreciate the artwork.
"Isn't that kind of sad, though?" he asked at last.
"I suppose. But we've all got to die some day—even he will run out of regenerations eventually. And can you imagine any better way to spend your life? I mean, look at this!"
She flung out her arms to encompass the statue. It was all in gold, depicting a cross-looking humanoid in suit and coat with curly hair and an umbrella in one hand; but the really dazzling part was the decorative alien plants that surrounded it. Rather than sitting demurely around the base and looking tasteful, they had crawled up the sides and sprouted flowers of all colors: some blooming from the statue's surface, some hanging on tendrils that sprouted from the sides, many of them waving gently in defiance of the total lack of wind.
"This is absolutely fantastic! And it's only a generic mall display. And there's a whole universe full of this stuff, just waiting to be explored! Can you honestly tell me you didn't miss it? Even a little bit?"
Stephen didn't answer. Glancing over at him, Sarah Jane realized with a start that his eyes were shining.
He's not crying, is he? Oh, I hope not. He'd never forgive me if I saw him cry.
And then the moment was gone. "Are we getting food or not?" demanded Stephen, glaring impatiently at her. "I'm hungry."
"I can't believe it," said Sarah Jane when she returned to their table, having finally secured a drink and a styrofoam cup of hot stew. "You have a whole alien buffet available here, and you go for the franchise that got its start on Earth."
"You can't believe it?" exclaimed Stephen. "I can't believe they've forgotten how to make a proper triple-shot latte with whole milk and extra cinnamon! I rely on Starbucks to give me consistency! How dare they change the recipe after only seventeen hundred years?"
"It's good to try new things," replied Sarah Jane philosophically. "You want a bite of sneg stew?"
"What's a sneg?"
"Kind of like a hairy salamander."
Stephen made a face. "I'll pass."
"Are you sure? It tastes like chicken curry."
"You finish it. If you're not dead in half an hour, maybe I'll order one."
With a shrug, Sarah Jane went at the stew, while Stephen attempted to swallow his unacceptable coffee. The effort was clearly paining him.
Amusing though it was to watch him suffer, Sarah Jane finally took pity. "There's another shop in here that's human-founded, if you want to give them a try. Their specialty is beef slushies."
Stephen's eyes went wide. "That sounds like the most amazing thing ever," he intoned, looking around the circle of restaurant fronts. "Where are—whoa!"
"What? What is it?"
"That human. Right there."
Sarah Jane followed his line of sight dubiously, spotting two or three humanoids at a quick glance. "They probably just look like humans. Lots of alien species do. It's a pretty common evolutionary template."
"I'll ignore that reference to evolution," said Stephen testily as he got to his feet, "because we have more important things to deal with. Look closer at the guy in the brown suit with his back to us. That's not just a humanoid, that's a human. Or at least, he's been in the 20th century very recently."
"How can you be sure?"
"Sarah Jane, I know my suits!"
"Maybe he just likes old-fashioned clothing! Stephen!" With a groan, Sarah Jane pushed back her chair and followed Stephen as he elbowed his way through the tightly packed plastic tables.
"It's not just the suit. I know who he is!"
"You think you know who he is! It's a big universe! You can't just go accosting every being who looks vaguely like someone you—"
It was no use; Stephen had already reached the figure, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around, revealing a friendly face with round glasses and curly brown hair.
"Hello, stranger!" said the accosted man cheerfully. "What can I do you for?"
"Stephen!" Sarah Jane grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry, sir, my friend here is a little confused—"
"David Letterman?" interrupted Stephen. "Are you a Time Lord?"
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ANDALITE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Sorry, my long-dormant Animorphs fangirl just had a massive spasm. *coaxes her back into hibernation*
ANYWAY. I finally got to catch up on this and I must say HUZZAH! This is hella tight. And David Letterman, Timelord. Word. And, as I said before, I love you for using Four. He gets WAY too little love in my opinion. Yay!
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(Oh, man, you've got one too? They just don't quit.)
Four deserves all the love he can get, I say. Glad you like!
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Stephen's eyes went wide. "That sounds like the most amazing thing ever," he intoned, looking around the circle of restaurant fronts.
...ewwww. Stephen, you are so weird. (Haha, and Jon in my head is Disapproving. =P)
David Letterman as a Time Lord makes more sense than it really should.
I'm developing a girlcrush on Sarah Jane. She's pretty awesome, especially with how she deals with Stephen. It takes a certain talent to handle him, I feel. =P
Love.
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cake.Sarah Jane is wonderful. I'm only glad I can do her justice.
♥
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Beef slushies sound disgusting :-P
Aww, poor teenaged Stephen, dropped off at home with no one to talk to. That's just sad :-( And Sarah Jane talking about wanting to stay with the Doctor ... that's kind of sad, too.
I have NO idea what's going on with Letterman. Can't wait to find out!
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Never had one myself, so I couldn't say =3
Stephen had/will have a rough time of it at that age. But things got/will get better, as you can/will see.
You could actually figure it out with some epic Google-fu, or the right bit of Who fandom trivia from about eighteen years ago. Barring that, stick around!
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(Anonymous) 2008-08-28 09:03 pm (UTC)(link)"Oh, extremely."
"Can we help?"
"Not in the least."
heh, he was quite the banterer even back then.
David Letterman is a Time Lord?
and go you for updating so soon; you are impressively prolific.
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Letterman is . . . well, you'll see!
I tried to write far enough ahead that I can update this on a regular basis. Makes up for the poor stories I negect for months between updates ^_^;
Thank you!
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... Not that I have room to talk or anything. ;D
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Are the Time Lords after Four for something-or-other again? Ohnoez!
(Missing a word? "This is absolutely ! And it's only a generic mall display.)
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Someone's after Four, I'll say that much!
(Fixed, thanks!)
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...You are officially my hero. (Although, seriously, there aren't nearly enough Animorphs/Doctor Who crossover fics. What gives?)
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(I have no idea. But I'm sure it would hit major nostalgia buttons for a lot of people...)
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Awesome.
"Paris Hilton is . . . I don't actually know what she is, but whatever it is, she's famous for it."
I have the HARDEST TIME trying to figure out what the hell Paris Hilton is. My guess? Alien.
"Big, black, shiny touch screen with a map you could zoom in on, logo shaped like an apple on the base. The kind of sleek-but-powerful thing you'd expect this far in the future."
Lawlz.
Wow, I totally forgot about my Animorphs obsession. this seems to be a common theme.
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