Naff! Armpit! Hello!

Good evening, fellow nerdsnotters, and welcome to Doctorin' the Naff Armpit Terrence Dicks.
The name is Naff Armpit Terrence Dicks, as you are all well aware. Hopefully. I am infamously known as the 'least controversial' controversial Doctor Who fan in... Newcastle, and I don't actually live there anymore. I was banned from the official site in a record 5 seconds, don't you know. I like to call myself controversial, gives me a feeling of self-importance. Smugness. Sexiness. Instead of staring rapturously at my autographed VHS of The War Machines, living my uninspiring life in abject loneliness.
Why did I get banned? Well, I wanted to unleash myself onto the Who forum with a post that would really break the ice, an entrance that would be remembered. Infamy or fame, I was willing to take either one. Basically, as a joke (I stress that it was a joke, and I'm sure those I named would've found it amusing), I put on the average Whovian persona and requested slash material. Here is the post:

Subject: Let's face it, we need some Jon Blum/Kate Orman slash

I got banned from Outpost for suggesting this, but let's be realistic, Outpost dudes are too conservative when it comes to EDA fetish. Considering the rampantly sexual minds of fan fiction writers, I can't believe that no-one has considered writing a saucy scene between two of Who's most delicious authors. I'm beside myself with disbelief.

Hold that thought, here are a few ideas that spring to mind:

Moffat does Miles - Moffat proves why he's Who's token straight, and Miles proves why he's better. What an odd Coupling! Perhaps it should be called 'Faggot Paradox'.

Paul Cornell and his Raging Libido - Paul Cornell bonks every woman involved in Who, including Gary Russell.

It's only a thought, but one that has much potential. I expect to come back in a few days to find a goldmine of adolescent squee ripe for the picking.

Some of the Faction Paradox forum users (lovely people, I posted the thread there soon after being banned) contributed the following fantasies:

"Now, I'm not really up on Evil Renegade fandom, but aren't Blum and Orman actually a couple, and if so, where would the fun of slash be? But yeah: Miles/Moffat would have, as the young people say, teh hottz0rs, but not nearly as much as Miles/Gatiss. Real love-hate relationship going on there."

"The thought of Faction Pornadox is ... intriguing. Justine/Eliza seems the most plausible avenue for it to me.""Godfather Morlock/Chris Cwej fiction would be interesting..."

And towards the end of the fanatical steampile I replied:

"Here's a thought: Yrcanos (from Trial of a Time Lord) slashing it out verbally with Colin Baker, with some additional orgasmic shouting from Mel. Also, I agree about the Cwejen slash, that's quite an innovative and original idea. I heard that Lars Pearson was once planning to make a fan-written Book of the War, it'd be great if instead he published a volume of Faction Paradox/EDA/NA erotica."

The ban reason was 'BEYOND OFFENSIVE'. Is it really that offensive? I reckon the authors I named would've laughed, I didn't write it with the intention of offending people. Speaking of which, Kate Orman of Seeing I fame left me a lovely message on my old blog, I only found it today (I might add that my old blog is rubbish, bar maybe the Aphex Twin as the Doctor post. I'll repost that soon) concerning a post I made, a Who themed parody of Martin Luther King's 'I Had a Dream' speech. A reworked version will be posted here later, I'm sure. Anyway, in response to your comment (which I appreciated, it was quite an honour), I'd fuck Billie Piper too.

Anyway, being as I opened my short lived doctorwhoforum.com account with an ice-breaking post, I figured I'd do the same here. Here goes.

Something extremely odd happened to me recently. A few weeks ago. There was a university party going on as per usual. I haven't been going to that many due to the amount of assignment work I've had, but since most of my friends were heading out I thought I'd tag along. The majority of students went to the uni bar, the main source of the shindig (the hub of the hump, if you will), but I was invited to attend a more reclusive, private party a few kilometres away from my house. Located in a dingy, seemingly abandoned lot of apartments. The street lights flickered eerily as I walked down the street with a group of friends, avoiding the drug-addled yells from occupied flats and steering clear of the gangs lurking in the shadows, iron bars in hand.

It was a fancy dress party. The theme? Horror films! As I suspected, I saw numerous attempts at Freddy Kruger and Alex DeLarge. As a fan of The Exorcist I intended on going as Regan McNeil, but I realised how cliched an idea it was. So I ended up going to the party as Regan McNeil's shaking mattress. Lugging a gigantic mattress strapped to my body, I shook it accordingly as I passed the gangs and drunkards. Shaking my booty, as it were. Frightening stuff. It was either going to be the shaking mattress or Rosemary's newly born baby, complete with upside-down cross, pram and Mia Farrow. Couldn't find the Mia Farrow.

Speaking of The Exorcist, I can do a gobsmacking impression of Captain Howdy:


In fact, I'm also convincing as the album cover for Mogwai's Come on Die Young:



Err, back on track. We arrived at the party a few minutes after. Proverbial fratters sat in the corner, drinking, discussing football and making fart jokes. The Krugers of the party. Fratty Kruger, one could say, complete with the backwards cap and the Wu Tang Clan oversized shirt. Scantily-clad girls stumbled around drunkenly, all wearing Scream masks. I'm not a fan of Kruger at all, so naturally I shook my way over to the Screamers in the next room. Eventually after a bit of chinwagging, they did something that surprised me. They lifted a box off one of the shelves and plonked it onto the table, knocking over a can of Jim Beam onto the carpet. Opening the box, I stared inside. A dusty, battered ouija board lay there. The girls set up the board, sitting me down in front of it gracefully. It was such a creepy situation, the Scream girls were extremely robotic in their speech and movement, often doing things in perfect synchronisation (drunk? you decide).

'This is the ouija,' a girl hissed. 'His name is Lucius. Treat him with respect.'
'Hi, Lucius!' I exclaimed jovially. I received a hard slap on the hand for my insolence.
'Pay your respects! He has granted you an audience. You must speak with him now, he wishes to know what you want.'
'Err, okay. What do I do?'
'Place your hands on the board, and speak to him. Do not ask your question aloud.'
I did so, closing my eyes. The candles flickered. 'Dear Lucius,' I began, 'Who are you?'
The slider vibrated a bit, but did nothing more. It was a stupid question anyway. I put more pressure on the board and started again.
'Dear Lucius...' I paused, feeling the alcohol kick in, flicking the misogyny switch (I call this behaviour the misogyny switch, where you relentlessly hit on the opposite sex without any intention of offending them. That momentary lapse of self confidence, y'know). 'Lucius, we're at a uni party. I'm 18. Bit lacking in the GF department, so to speak. Needing to get busy with the fizzy? In out? Anyway Lucius, I am expressing my desire to seduce, to claw. Mingle more than regulations allow. You get my drift?'
The slider vibrated.
'Right. In that case Lucius, I would like you to pair me up with someone tonight. Not to be picky, but it'd be nice if this person had similar interests. What do you say?'
Lucius vibrated, and slowly creaked along the board. My grip grew tighter.
'S... J... S...'
It stopped. 'Sjjjss?' I spat out, trying to pronounce the word. 'Sounds like gibberish,' one of the Scream girls said, seemingly normal now (sobriety? you decide). 'Maybe SJS stands for something?' another offered.
Feeling bitterly disappointed, I shoved Lucius aside and grabbed the nearest drink, downing it in an instant. Cracking my neck, I decided to prowl by myself. Who needs the help of an ouija board? Certainly not I.
Anyway a few drinks later I was sloshed and bladdered, meandering about in a semi-conscious state. I met a girl in another room, equally as blotto as I. Another Screamer. After a few minutes of discussion she randomly threw herself onto my lap and began kissing me hard. It wasn't even kissing, it felt like she was banging her face against mine. But yeah, I was really bit panicked at first, it looked as if she was yanked over against her will by an invisible force. But I soon ignored this and reciprocated, tongue-in-cheek and also quite firmly in tonsil. After this vicious bout of smooching she calmed down and collapsed back on the couch. I was wide eyed and panting hard, my face stained red (lipstick? you decide). It was a bit like Frank from Blue Velvet, I didn't look at her for fear of being punched in the face. She began laughing. 'I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.'
'Oh, I'm Liam. It was rude of me not to introduce myself. And what is your name?'
'I'm Sarah Jane.'
My eyes nearly bulged out of my geeky sockets. 'I beg your pardon?'
'Sarah Jane.'
'Hoo boy, alright. I don't suppose your surname is Smith?'
'How did you know?'
Sarah Jane Smith. As you'd know, a companion from Doctor Who, one of my favourite things ever. Well, there's the similar interest. But what spooked me out and sent me running into the cold night were her initials: S... J... S.
Looks like someone down there likes me.
G'nite, all. Hope you enjoyed the first post, here's to many more. Have a naffing armpitting night.