DOCTOR WHO: THE PREQUEL OF THE DOCTOR - by Sam Richard Bentley
SFX: Alien/Sci-Fi bleeps.
SFX: The Satirical Doctor knocks on glass.
THE DOCTOR: Hello? Hello! Is this thing working? Hello!
SFX: Static.
THE DOCTOR: Oh, why won’t you work? Last time I buy a Message Transmitting System off some bloke, who knows a bloke, who sells them in the Intergalactic Black Market! Hello?
SFX: Static, again.
SFX: Sonic Screwdriver buzz
SFX: Beep.
THE DOCTOR: Ah, okay! Brilliant, now you work! Sort of. Right, well hello everyone! How are you? Good. Good. I’m good, thanks for asking. Now listen, I’m trying to send a message, to anyone that can hear me! And if you’re a Dalek, please slowly walk away from the device you are using to listen to this message. Well, Daleks don’t walk, stupid Doctor. Just, just go away! Anyway, hello non-Daleks! My name is the Doctor. And I think I might need your help.
TITLE SEQUENCE
THE DOCTOR: A bit about me, before I force you into something that you didn’t plan. I’m over 2500 years old, but I don’t know how much older. I just picked a number. I’m a time-traveller. No, I don’t have a DeLorean, before you ask. I have a machine that looks like a police telephone box – and no, Bill and Ted copied me. I promise. I’m in a bit of a pickle right now. I’m being attacked by a few hundred Daleks. They want me to give them all my knowledge on Earth, and its culture. I won’t tell them about Gangnam Style of course. That would not end well. If anyone out there can give me a hand, I’d be surely grateful. I’m practically useless at the moment; all I have is a paper bag, three tea-spoons, a Terry’s Chocolate Orange – and my Sonic Screwdriver.
SFX: Sonic Screwdriver buzz.
DALEK: The Doc-tor, he has been located. We must exter-min-ate him. Or take him prisoner. Whichever sounds more plausible!
THE DOCTOR: Oh for god’s sakes, give me a minute! I’m talking to my box thing-y! No? No. Fine. Wish me luck! Hello, Daleks of Skaro, is that planet blown up or not by the way? Make up your minds! Anyway, how are you? Care to dance?
End
SFX: Alien/Sci-Fi bleeps.
SFX: The Satirical Doctor knocks on glass.
THE DOCTOR: Hello? Hello! Is this thing working? Hello!
SFX: Static.
THE DOCTOR: Oh, why won’t you work? Last time I buy a Message Transmitting System off some bloke, who knows a bloke, who sells them in the Intergalactic Black Market! Hello?
SFX: Static, again.
SFX: Sonic Screwdriver buzz
SFX: Beep.
THE DOCTOR: Ah, okay! Brilliant, now you work! Sort of. Right, well hello everyone! How are you? Good. Good. I’m good, thanks for asking. Now listen, I’m trying to send a message, to anyone that can hear me! And if you’re a Dalek, please slowly walk away from the device you are using to listen to this message. Well, Daleks don’t walk, stupid Doctor. Just, just go away! Anyway, hello non-Daleks! My name is the Doctor. And I think I might need your help.
TITLE SEQUENCE
THE DOCTOR: A bit about me, before I force you into something that you didn’t plan. I’m over 2500 years old, but I don’t know how much older. I just picked a number. I’m a time-traveller. No, I don’t have a DeLorean, before you ask. I have a machine that looks like a police telephone box – and no, Bill and Ted copied me. I promise. I’m in a bit of a pickle right now. I’m being attacked by a few hundred Daleks. They want me to give them all my knowledge on Earth, and its culture. I won’t tell them about Gangnam Style of course. That would not end well. If anyone out there can give me a hand, I’d be surely grateful. I’m practically useless at the moment; all I have is a paper bag, three tea-spoons, a Terry’s Chocolate Orange – and my Sonic Screwdriver.
SFX: Sonic Screwdriver buzz.
DALEK: The Doc-tor, he has been located. We must exter-min-ate him. Or take him prisoner. Whichever sounds more plausible!
THE DOCTOR: Oh for god’s sakes, give me a minute! I’m talking to my box thing-y! No? No. Fine. Wish me luck! Hello, Daleks of Skaro, is that planet blown up or not by the way? Make up your minds! Anyway, how are you? Care to dance?
End