Doctor Who and the Wankermen of Shoevius

1


The Blue Police Box had landed...

"Well, you can't tell me now, dear Petty," the beautiful woman-like humanoid was saying as she emerged, "that these high healed hiking boots wouldn't come in handy sooner or later."

"Yes - but you didn't have to buy seven pairs - or buy all those other shoes," answered her companion, a Sean Connery lookalike who spoke in a rather mild and sanitized Scottish brogue. "We wasted six hours in that shop!"

"Tush! One never wastes time in a shoe shop. And seven colours for seven pairs. Who knows what the decor will be on any given planet, irrespective of which dimension you're in."

The man who looked like Sean Connery exhaled a mighty sigh. "If you say so, Doctor. If you say so."

The handsome Fjordianlandian hiding in the frondy bushes of the planet was amazed. "The Doctor is a woman!" he exclaimed. "Well, whatever next?"

"Who said that?" the Sean Connery lookalike wanted to know, tensed and alert.

The Fjordianlandian strutted from the bushes looking rather fetching in his Fjordianlandian Elite Uniform, his thighs pulsing manily.

"Is that a doublywoober?" the beautiful woman-like Doctor wanted to know. "My gawd! If it's not Captain Ringo of that show I was watchuing on palantir last night. What was it? Oh yes: The Space Ark Lollipop. Great show, but it ended a bit abruptly... Wonderful doublywoober though... Twenty five thousandth century or thereabouts I believe."

"I am Captain Ringo," the handsome Fjordianlandian answered, lowering the fugelportal of his doublywoober and taking his finger off the depressaremitterator switch. "Are you really a new Doctor?"

"Yes, I'm a beautiful red headed Doctor with my Scottish Companion," the beautiful woman-like Doctor told him primly. "Funny, but I thought you were just a character in a wonderful Wholesome Tale palantir tale, but - of course! - palantir's don't play fictional tales... I should have known better. My Companion is Petty."

"Strange," Ringo mused. "You two look like two of the crew of the Space Ark Lollipop. Blown up by a surface to space missile..."

"And just as well those two are gone," the Doctor said. "I didn't really like them. I prefer this version of me. Wise, clever and beautiful, and not too alien, I hope. Even Petty is better here - with his mild Scottish brogue."

"Aye!" Petty had to agree.

"So, let me see," said the Doctor. "We're on a planet you guys just discovered. Your shuttle and space liner have been destroyed. And Amarie, your Leader, and Nora and Blue are in a cave. You're out scouting... It all comes back... You're stranded on a planet light years away from home. Poor baby. No wonder you look tense, Ringo."

Ringo brightened. "Perhaps you can whizz us back to Earth, Doctor. Maybe that's why you have so conveniently arrived on this remote and alien planet?"

"No, no, I wouldn't think so," the Doctor said. "That would be too easy, and even Ol' Anon isn't that lazy that he would finish a Doctor Who tale in one chapter. No, there will be more than that... Mind, you, with Ol' Anon anything is possible - especially if it's predictable...."

"Probably Cybermen," Petty said, hopefully. "This could yet be a proper Doctor Who episode. One can never know..."

"Yes one can," the Doctor informed him sagely. "Knowing Ol' Anon it'll be something completely ridiculous like Wankermen, or something."

"Wankermen?" Petty scoffed. "Not even Ol' Anon could stoop that low."

But, as usual, Pettty was wrong.

Suddenly, out of the frondly hot jungle around them burst a troop of Wankermen (of the worst kind).

"Drop that doublywoober!" their blue skinned leader cried authoritively as he trained his ejectorgun at the handsome Fjordianlandian. "Drop it or I'll ejectorate!"

Ringo was no coward though, and he swung his doublywoober in the Wankermen's general direction.

"Ejection!" the Wankermen yelled. "Ejection!"

"Oh my gawd!" the Doctor cried and ducked....

Gawd I dont know whether to laugh or....... go for a long walk & think about it !

Yeah, yours is the better one Eldo

Yours is quite appropriate for a number of Forumshire tales too, though!

2


Fortunately, for the two intrepid SpaceTime Travellers and the cute and curvaceous Fjordianlandian, the Wankermen's ejector guns were set for slime. Just the same, the viscous substance smothered them and dried quickly to a mortar like substance, both immobilising them and offending their sensibilities.

The leader of the Wankhemen approached, stroking his trusty ejector gun affectionately. "You know, if this had been 1975, we would have had to use confetti, which, of course, is next to useless, except at weddings."

Lying in the alien mould of the planetary surface, the Doctor managed to look at him standing over her in spread legged cockiness, his blue hue seeming to gleam in the ethereal planetary light of evening.

"That's a damn big ejector gun," the Doctor proclaimed admiringly. "The ones in 1975 were much smaller I seem to remember, though I think I preferred the confetti."

"Only, Doctor, because it was easier for Patrick Troughton to defeat us in that long lost episode: Doctor Who and the Confetti Ejectors of Planet X. Our evil genealologist has had a few Millenia to improve things. Notice how he has engineered us so that our ejector guns are actually part of our bodies."

"Yes, we noticed that. I do suppose you'd have to be careful at the urinal. Could be inconvenient, what with plumbers being so hard to find nowadays...."

"Ha! That's where you're wrong, Doctor. We do have safety switches. Furthermore, it leaves our hands free for Kung Fu fighting. We're the complete package now thanks to our evil genealologist."

"Evil genealologist?"

"He probably meant, evil genius..." Petty offered.

"Or maybe: geneticist..." Ringo lent the conversation.

"No, no," the Wankerman said. "Our evil creator is the mad genealologist Banksorwello the Blue. Has always had a desperate desire to know who his father was. He insists, of course, that it could never have been a 'C' grade porn star, so if you ever go to the Zoomer Galaxy where he apparently lives nowadays, please don't bring it up, it only makes him angry. He swears that if anyone else ever makes that allegation again he'll re-introduce waterboarding. Quick now, Wankermen. Grab 'em and we'll be on our way to Banksorwello's Mount and a meeting with the Great Leadrer."

"Banksorwello's Mount?" The Doctor mused. "Sounds familiar. Now where...? Oh yes, we must be on Shoevius, a planet no one's ever heard of. The birthplace of both Wankermen and the intergalactic Shoemakers Guild. Strange coincidence really actually. You know, both my most favourite and least favourite organisations given birth on the same planet."

Petty groaned.

{{I find this offensive on at least six different levels, distasteful on six more and there is a whole subset of crabbit having to deal with the fact its also so bloody funny, thanks Anon! }}}

3

"Luckily I'm not a human," the Doctor said after more than a month being carried through the jungles of Shoevius. "We've been carried through this jungle for more than a month and I'm not hungry and don't need to go to the bathroom. I'd like to powder my nose, I can tell you that, Petty, but I don't need to. Not for another week or so. We Timelords can go for ages without going, or eating. How are you going by the way?"

"Well, I'm lucky too, 'cause if you don't eat and drink for a month or so, you don't need to go, and I am a Scot, so going without food and drink for a month is common practice, especially ever since Bonnie Prince Charlie got whipped at Culloden, or Glencoe. Can't quite remember where he hot whipped, me being a fictionalised Petty and not the real one. How fair you, Ringo?"

"We elite Fjordianlandian soldiers are trained since birth to eat only three times a year. I do admit, however, I could just about eat a whale just now."

"Be quiet!" Instructed the Wankerman captain. "We are at the HQ of our leader."

They passed through some exotic planetary fronds and found themselves in a clearing at the base of a medium to large hillock. And who should be there to meet them but the leader of the Wankermen himself, to judge by his giant ejectorater.

"That ejectorater has been surgically enlarged," the Doctor sniffed unimpressed.

"It actually looks like plastic," Petty opined.

"Enough!" The leader cried importantly. "I am Orwellbeinzamorn, the Great Leader. And who have we here if not the mercurial and many faceted Doctor. Well, well, well."

"No," the Doctor sniffed again. "That's my companion, Petty McCracken, the well meaning and twice orificed. I am the Doctor."

The Great Leader of the Wankerman looked perplexed. "But you're a woman."

"Strictly speaking I'm not a woman at all, I'm a Timelord. Admittedly, I am currently in the body of a beautiful, intelligent and violently tempered woman, so enough with the 'but you're a woman' crap. Now, kindly remove this ejector-gluey-stuff. It's been a month and it still smells of turtles."

"Alright, but don't try anything tricky, or I'll order my Wankers to give you a double ejectoration, okay?"

"As you wish'" the Doctor said, trickilly.

"And me," said Petty.

"And I," said Ringo.

"No tricks," the Great Leader warned them.

Five minutes later, with the gluey stuff removed with wire brushes, the three intrepid adventurers were free of Wankerman ejectoration.

They were then marched unceremoniously into a tunnel that went not quite straight into the side of the mountain with a lot of well apportioned sitting rooms on the left with windows looking down over green alien pastures to a rather fetching stream of water, and on the right were less well apportioned rooms, and just down the back, a cell for the Doctor, Petty and Ringo.

Clang!

A heavy door clanged behind them.

"What now?" Petty whispered. "So trickery to escape?"

"Don't know frankly," the Doctor whispered back. "Ol' Anon is only just getting back into this and as usual will have no idea what to write next."

"I only hope we don't have to wait another month for the next instalment," Ringo said.

"Careful what you wish for, Mister Cuteythighs," the Doctor cautioned him, for she was wise in the way of these things.

Ooh, delicious stuff.

4

"Let me try to think," the Doctor said to her fellow prisoners trying to think. "I assume there is a plot to this adventure, so a brainy Timelord like me should be able to work out what's going on."

"A plot?" Petty retorted and snorted snidely. "This must be the fifth Ol' Anon Doctor Who travesty and I'm still waiting for a plot."

"Yes, but I suddenly had an intuition that this tale has a plot. Admitedly, my intuition tells me Ol' Anon has only just come up with it. Which, being only the fourth chapter, is quite clever of him - clever by Ol' Anon standards that is. But what is the plot?"

"Ahhhh!" drawled a mysterious American voice from a dark corner of the cell. "The plot might surprise you, dearies. Yesss, my dearies, surprise you, yessss."

"Oh gawd!" Petty cried. "It's Gollum and Ol' Anon has gone back to his Doctor Who and the Trolls crossover trope! I didn't think much of it the first time..."

"No, no," said the mysterious American voice. "Never mind me, I was trying to sound exotic not Smeagolee." And out of the shadows who should scuttle but that Hero of the Left Wing, Bernie Sanders.

"Oh, how topical!" The Doctor exclaimed. "Doctor Who gets political."

"Not exactly," Bernie drawled ruefully. "I'm only here because of one Ol' Anon's sudden.  whims. He has a lot of them. Whims that is. Some think him very whimmy." And Bernie looked quite wistful then. No one knows why. "Anyway, do you want to know what the plot is?"

"Not really," Petty sighed. "My intuition tells me it will be a disappointment."

"Don't be too sure," Bernie grinned mischievously and sidled up to Petty in that fashion Left Wingers sidle. "It's about shoes and a cunning plan to buy the universe..."

"Shoes!" The Doctor squealed and clapped her hands. "I knew it. And about bloody time too," she added giving Petty a reproachful look as if it was his fault that it had never been shoes up until now.

"Yes," Bernie continued, his voice becoming hushed and conspiratorial. "As you know, the Green Goobians of Shoevius invented shoes..."

"What!" Petty expostulated. "Invented shoes!"

"Stylish shoes," Bernie corrected himself as he now irritably addressed the handsome Scot. "The most trendy shoes in the multiverse to be exact!"

"Tell us more," the Doctor said, concentrating carefully, her mind wild with wonderful and varied speculations about what those shoes might look like and if they would be in the shops any time soon.

"Well, those shoes are so attractive and interesting and edgy, while remaining incredibly feminine, not being men's shoes, well, not men's shoes like this Scots fellow probably wears, I dare say he has the look of someone who has absolutely no idea what an irrisistable shoe is, or pair of shoes to be precise..." And Bernie sniffed petulantly, like he was talking to Hillary Clinton about social justice. "Well, Orwellinthamorn plans to sell so many shoes he will, in about three financial years from now, have enough wealth to buy the entire universe, one planet at a time!"

"A truly cunning plan," the Doctor mused, instantly applying her great intellect to the subject of stopping the Great Leader of the Wankerman in his tracks, and possibly getting a pair of those shoes (a blue pair to go with her favourite little black dress) whichever came first.

"The only way you can stop him," Bernie said portentously, "is to destroy his shoe factory."

"That seems a harsh solution," the Doctor averred severely. "Perhaps we could just destroy half of the factory and at least that way osave half the universe..."

"Can I get out of this story," Petty said glumly.

"I feel a bit the same way," Ringo agreed. "You know, Petty, there are never  ever any truly stylish men's shoes in science fiction; just look at my boots, sure, they're serviceable, but you wouldn't wear them anywhere except on duty."

5

"Having sat on the cell floor thoughtfully for a few moments," the Doctor said suddenly, "I've decided I smell a rat."

"Surely not on Shoevius," Ringo said. "Maybe some kind of life form that fills a similar role in a similar niche except on a planet that is not earth but a completely different planet with it's own unique biosphere and life form variations."

"I was speaking metaphysically," the Doctor smiled kindly. "Of course, I would expect nothing less than black and white from a brawny majestic-thighed soldier like yourself, Ringo... Now, this Orwellinthamorn seems unduly familiar to me somehow. And this alleged Creator of the Wankermen, Banksorwello, the so called great genealogist... The names Orwell and Banks seem prominent somehow, don't you know, folks."

"Good Gawd, you're right!" Petty exclaimed in a shrill Scottish tone. "Banks! Orwell! The names flare up like rather embarrassing embers blowing in the wind... So, Orwellinthamorn is really Orwell, our near nemesis in Doctor Who and the Newark Cult!"

"I've heard of him," Ringo cried. "As deep an admirer of Herring thighs as any Herring... And not to be trusted, especially in Fjordianlandian saunas! Fancy him turning out to be a Wankerman!"

"He my be a wanker," the Doctor averred, 'but hardly a Wankerman. I thought his ejectorater was too good to be true, all shiny and polished and bigger than any other ejectorator I saw hanging pendulously from his troops when not activated.  And surely not anyone who could plan such  a wonderful woman's shoe campaign to conquer the universe with."

"The Mistress!" Petty cried, slapping his forehead. "It's so obvious when you know and when you don't know you'd never guess it. What a dullard I am."

"True," the Doctor said, "but go on."

"Don't you see, Doctor. Who but the most evil Mistress in the universe could design such shoes to die for. Who but the gorgeous but evil Amarie!"

"Ooh," cooed Ringo. "Do you mean the equisitely intelligent exquisitely beautiful exquisitely evil Amarie Cougarlicious, née Fruitenloopen;  who some say is Morgoth's favourite librarian and maritime engineer, while others say she's not."

"None other," the Doctor nodded solemnly. "Shame she didn't use her great intellect to make stylish but good shoes instead of stylish shoes of such evil all-pervading potentiality."

Bernie sighed somewhat bitterly. "You know, the minute I asked her if we should not really conquer the universe for the betterment of all it's creatures, instead of conquering it so she could torture whoever she wanted to with whips and racks and corkscrews and make them work in her lingerie factories, she karate kicked me off the sofa and had me locked up here."

"Lingerie factories?" The Doctor queried.

"Do you honestly think for a second she'll stop at shoes!" Bernie laughed, somewhat hysterically. "Doctor, fancy you being so naive!"

"Watch it, sonny, or I'll karate kick you up the arse," the Doctor snapped testily.

But she knew Bernie was right. Amarie was obviously at least one well healed step ahead of her, and probably two.

6

"There is something I need to have made crystal clear,"  the Doctor mused aloud while getting her intellectual juices juicing. "Amarie is behind everything, but Orwell is making out like he is the Great Wanker."

"The Great Wankerman, you mean," Petty said, trying to be involved.

"I know what I said. The question is: where is Amarie?  I certainly can now smell her presence, but she could be anywhere... what are you doing, Ringo, may I ask?"

Ringo lowered his nose and gave the Doctor a slightly bewildered look. "I was trying to smell Amarie's presence..."

"Oh you sweet militarist dumbbell, I was just being metaphysical again."

"I see," Ringo said, though the Doctor wasn't totally sure he did see, as his nose had only been half lowered. "Anyway, I don't know that we will need metaphysics to find her - not saying metaphysics has it's place, possibly in a war against antiphysics or megaphysics - because I know where she is, trusting there is only one Amarie in the universe."

"Only one worth knowing," the Doctor said with a touch of Sisterhood loyalty.

"Well, that's settled, she's hiding in a cave about a month or so's foot journey from here. She was on a scouting trip with me and a junior soldier called Nora and a rather slightly less junior soldier by name Blue - your admin type, if you know what I mean. We all got stranded when the Space Ark Lollipop got blasted by that surface to space missile. Strange, but she was on board the Ark for seventy thousand years or so, including quite a few lengthy spacetime hibernations... No, maybe there is more than one Amarie... This ones a Captain of the Fjordianlandan Elite Troopers. Mind you, I wouldn't mind at all if she was my Mistress..."

"Ahh!" The Doctor aahed aahingly. "That's how she pulled all this off, no doubt to pull the wool over my eyes. Yes, it is all crystal clear now. You see, she must have used her Tardis to come forward in time, set up this evil shoe plan, then went back in time, became an elite Fjordianlandian Trooper, and joined the expedition, no doubt having, one night - probably when the look out on board the Space Ark Lollipop was asleep on duty - snuck onto the bridge wearing lambswool slippers and set the ship's coordinates for Shoevius, thus no one was ever the  wiser. Cunning. Yes, it all smells of Amarie's Timelordy cunning... Will you please put your nose down, Ringo!"

"Err.. Metaphysics again...? I must look up what it means. I don't think it's in my Fjordianlandian Combat Manual, else I'd know it. I've read it many times. It's my favourite after The Hobbit, you know."

"Yes, and bully for you, Mister Thighcurvy. The thing to consider at the moment is what will she be up to? In a cave, you say? Surely she will have to come out sooner or later, presuming she has a reason for all the clever subterfuge. What's she up to? Why has she planned it this way? So many questions."

"Or it could be Ol' Anon just making it up as he goes along and trying to tie up loose threads because he's just making it up as he goes along."

"You are such a cynic, Petty McCracken. Maybe Ol' Anon has an overarching plan after all."

Of course, dear reader, I wouldn't bet on it.  

Who knew plot could be so much fun?

Sometimes I think the morals of this forum just fly out the window where else would have the words..wanker...etc ? Im sure this place started off with good intentions

azriel wrote:Im sure this place started off with good intentions

Well the first member (other than Ady) was GB and given the direction his writing has taken I dunno...

7

"I have to complain," Petty complained. "The thing is, I can't think what possible advantage Amarie has derived from using her Tardis to go forward seventy thousand years, build a shoe factory, then go back seventy thousand years, then join an intergalactic exploration crew and turn up on Shoevius seventy thousand years later, and then go and spend more than a month in a cave without doing anything else."

"In fairness," Ringo contributed. "Amarie was quite busy decorating our cave when I left to do some scouting. You know, she had some excellent decor and design ideas too, and Nora was putting in her two cents worth of arty fatty stuff, and Blue was making cunning plans and jotting them down in his diary to judge from his sniggers."

"The fact is," the Doctor rebuked Petty. "Doctor Who has always been full of timey wimey stuff, and I have had a suspicion that it only ever happens when the plots are making no sense. Ol' Anon is only following in the Doctor Who tradition."

"You mean, making it up as he goes along."

"You must learn to let some things go, Petty dear. You'll end up with ulcers. Now, to more important things. How do we escape this cell?"

"You can use your sonic screwdriver thing," Bernie offered, he being a Lefty and so fully aware of the Doctor Who series, believing it to be a documentary, of course, like all Lefties do.

"Good idea," the Doctor smiled. And in a trice, possibly a twice short of a thrice, the cell door was open.

But their plan to escape was thwarted immediately because right then down the passage came an exotic looking personage of indeterminate age. Her hair was black and her skin was blue, at least, her face and arms were because the rest of her amply proportioned body was clothed in what they soon realized was a slinky Wankerwoman suit.

"Ha! Appears I've arrived just in time to thwart you escaping," this personage commented triumphantly.

"And who are you?" The Doctor asked petulantly, not happy at all their escape had been thwarted.

"I am the Great Leaders aide de camp - which doesn't translate from the French as assistant lesbian, no matter what Ol' Anon might adduce. I am also Chief Wankerwoman. You can call me Azriel."

"Wankerwoman?" Petty frowned.

"No point looking for my ejectorator, mister roving-eyes, I haven't got one. I am a Wankerwoman, think it out dickhead; but don't think I can't ejectorate - double barrelled in fact. Well, expressorate is probably a better description... Yes, that's right, we Wankerwoman shoot from the chest... Now, I need to ask you three, where do you want to spend your enslavement? There are three choices. One: the shoe factory. Two: the lingerie factory. Three: Orwellinthamorn's harem."

"Orwellinthamorn's harem?" The Doctor queried querously.

"Sorry, that option's only open to these gents."

"I'm not going into any Wankerman's harem!" Petty growled defiantly. "Err... I guess the lingerie factory sounds a lesser evil..." Petty added, trying no to sound too eager. "You know, but only if I'm forced..."

"The shoe factory sounds okay, I guess..." Ringo said, also trying not to sound too eager.

"I've heard you tend to have a lot of time on your hands in harems; you know, to chat and think and have opinionated idealistic conversations," Bernie mused aloud. "Especially, if there are lots of other haremites: and I can't imagine I'd be a favourite, not at my age... I wonder if there is a library?"

"Hey! Not so fast!" The Doctor grumbled grumbingly. "What say we three just overpower you, Azriel - Bernie being a pacifist and all - and then still we can make our escape."

Azriel smiled smugly and her double breasted suit-top instantly sprung open on silent springs. "Just try it, I dare you to!" she dared them daringly.

The Doctor hissed, foiled again, and Petty and Ringo's mouths dropped open like they were codfish...

My God, you dont get any better do you

On balance, I guess it's hard to imagine Ol' Anon getting worse either.