The Day of the Mouse
Hello fans!!!

It’s me again, your super smexy BRAND NEW Doctor Skagra!

As you all know, I have regenerated and am now female.

Full story here!

www.b3ta.com/questions/neardeathexperiences2/post2287114

As you know from reading that, I had to chuck in my old job as there was simply no way of carrying on with it after the regeneration. My erstwhile employers would simply not be able to believe the truth! Unlike you, my fine, festive, felchsome fans. Oh how you all love me! I often spend idle moments thinking of how you must look forward to reading my stories each week; it gives me a warm glow in my small (but firm) breasts.

Anyhoooo, obviously I was not sacked from that job, I left of my own accord – but I HAVE been sacked from a job once, many baldmoons ago.

It was shortly after I breached the omnivoox and ended up on your planet. I was in my seventh incarnation, the one before my last one. It was rather an unstable incarnation, truth be told I was a bit mental – like some of the people on here! Onlyyy joking, fans! I love you all! XXX!!!!!

That incarnation was a wiry, gangly thing with a mass of ginger curls and boggling blue eyes, that looked a bit like Gene Wilder crossed with John Lydon with a bit of Angus McAdder thrown in to the mix. My journey through the omnivoox had confused and disorientated me and was the reason why I was a bit mixed up back then. I was living hand to mouth to arse, taking odd jobs here and there whilst I got my head together and worked out where, and when, and indeed who, I was.

At the time of the story I was working in Burger King in Piccadilly Circus – though it might have been a Wimpy, or a McDonalds, and it might have been the Bull Ring in Birmingham. Or Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow, or somewhere else again. I told you I was a bit confused! Wherever it was, it was a good job. I enjoyed serving the customers - vile, ignorant scum though they were to a man - and of course there was plenty of free food and I would gorge daily on Whoppers or Big Macs or Spicy Beanburgers or whatever they were and the… matter… that passed for chips, or ‘fries’, as they were called back then, and, indeed, are now.

It was a good time, an oasis of calm in a sea of confobulation – but it couldn’t, and didn’t, last.

Whilst preparing the customers’ food, I used to add my own relish. One of my colleagues had shown me how to do this, and the idea had caught on. It added a frisson of excitement to the working day and, of course, did no harm to the customers, whom I really had nothing against, worthless bags of SHITTT though they all were. Bogeys and earwax mixed in with the BBQ sauce, gob in the Cola, semen in the mayonnaise, lumps of oily smegma smeared on the burgers – I gather this will surprise none of you, fans, as it is now standard practice in fast food joints to garnish the dishes in this way. Back then, though, it seemed like a daring, rebellious thing to do. None of the customers ever noticed – not even when I mixed some cat diarrhoea in with the chocolate milkshake – until one day, when I went Too Far.

On the way to work one morning, I found a dead mouse beside some bins – freshly killed, still warm, but missing its head which had clearly been chewed off by something, probably a cat or a rat. Struck by inspiration, I took out my hanky and carefully gathered up the still-bleeding rodent carcass. I then made my way to work with a big stupid grin on my big stupid face.

When I got in I discussed with my colleagues the best way to deploy the dead mouse in order to maximise our hilarity. In the end, after some abortive ideas about mincing it up and making it into a burger, we decided to place the mouse corpse at the bottom of a bag of fries. We imagined the poor customer eating half the contents before discovering the grisly treat, and giggled like the gits that we were. And so, that morning, this plan was put into operation.

Now, my fine fescennine fans, you may be thinking that this little prank was the reason why I got sacked. And it does have something to do with it, but it is not the full story...

One of our regular customers, Martin, was rather ‘special.’ I don’t know what his particular brand of retardation was, but it was strangely fascinating. It caused him to have abnormally big ears, and a prodigious nose, either side of which tiny, confused little eyes blinked in perpetual bafflement. His thin yellowy hair receded above a permanently sweaty forehead. He always seemed to wear the same pair of blue jeans, trainers, Mickey Mouse T-shirt and filthy blue anorak, and was always carrying a bag full of comics. There are people like him everywhere on your planet, I came to realise – they’re even on the telly now, as anyone who has watched my good friend Richard Gervase’s show ‘Derek’ will know.

I have nothing against such ‘people’ as individuals – not at all. Obviously, en masse they should be slaughtered to provide food for the physically and mentally fit among you, but it’s your planet, and it’s up to you (but seriously, mince the tards – it’ll solve SO many of this planet’s problems – though it might mean this site might have to close down. OOOH! Edgy humour there fans!!!)

Now I think you can see where this is going, fans – Martin ends up with the mousy fries, and indeed he does, but there is something ELSE you need to know. Quite apart from being all tarded up, there was something else about Martin: he seemed familiar to me, as if I had met him before, somewhere, somewhen else. As you know my mind was a bit scrambled by my passage through the omnivoox, and it kept throwing up odd shards of memory here and there. And one of these concerned Martin. I was sure I had encountered him before, on some distant world, in some distant time, a long time ago in a galaxy etc, but when? And where?

This all came to a head on the Day of the Mouse.

An atmosphere of excitement prevailed amongst us after we had deployed the mouse, as we wondered which of the lucky customers would discover it. Maybe, we thought, they wouldn’t even notice and scoff it down with their fries – this of course made us giggle even more like the gitsome gastards that we were!

Of course, the inevitable happened. I’d noticed that Martin had come in at about noon, but we were crazy busy and I didn’t serve him or see who had served him, but shortly after there was a hubbub going round that the mouse had been deployed. We waited with bated breaths for the impending shrieks of disgust. The manager, Richard, was oblivious to all this, as he looked down his nose at us, and regarded us as mere plebs and peons, which, in fact we were. He therefore ignored all our gigglings and furklings as long as the work got done.

I’d just served a customer (a bloated pug-eyed bint and her two dribbling snotlets) and so the next customer stepped forward. It was Martin. I smiled but the troubling thoughts of familiarity began to bubble up in my brain once more. *Where had I seen this sweaty big-eared big-nosed stumblebum before?!*

Martin gazed mournfully at me with his tiny tarded eyes. ‘There’s sumfink in my chips not right,’ he spluttered in his gurgling spazmoid voice, spraying me with spittle.

‘Really? Well I’m sorry to…’ I began, and then tailed off. As I gazed at his sweating, blinking, mongoloid face my mind floated far away in space and time to another scene…

The bridge of an Oabex battle cruiser. Badly damaged. Port engine out. Half the crew dead, the others safely away in lifepods. Just me and the Oabex commander. We were plunging through the dense atmosphere of Mengoxtra Prime, the ship shuddering and convulsing around us. The commander was injured, its forelimbs crushed – it could have escaped, but it didn’t want to leave its beloved ship. Such loyalty. I was manning the controls, screaming my hate and rage as I gunned what was left of the starboard engine. I was aiming for Mengoxtra City itself, hoping to fly the wrecked ship smack into the Royal Palace and take out the Mengoxtran leadership. Death or glory! Death *and* glory, more like; and although I knew I would regenerate, all I could think about was killing the hated Mengoxtran supreme commander. The forward viewscreen showed a tumult of billowing clouds. The screaming of the overworked engines merged with my exultant yells of defiance and hatred. Suddenly the clouds cleared – and there it was, Mengoxtra City, laid out like a big plate of chips - sorry, fries - before us. I zeroed in on the Royal Palace – but then a squad of Mengoxtran fighters swooped in out of nowhere and zapped us, zapped us hard, real hard. The ship seemed to fall away beneath my feet and then we were in free fall, engines dead, spinning down and down towards the rocky plains outside Mengoxtra City. I screamed again, my throat raw, in anger and rage and defiance and pain (I’d stubbed my toe against a support strut). And then – and then – and then an incoming transmission. I sent it to the forward viewscreen. It was an image of the Mengoxtran leader’s face, his laughing face! ‘Ha ha ha!’ he crowed. ‘Aaah ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Aaah ha ha ha haaaaa!’ – his face lit up with demoniacal glee, his hated face with its protuberant nose, massive ears and beady little eyes -

My mind snapped back into the here and now. I stared at Martin. He stared at me. He blinked. He dribbled.

In one convulsive movement I leapt right over the counter. ‘Wooolwee!’ I shriddled (my ancient Gallifreyan clan battle cry). ‘Woooolweeeeeeeeeeaaaaa!’

I landed right in front of Martin and immediately grabbed hold of his ears, bearing him to the floor. Chips and bits of dead mouse scattered in all directions. ‘Woooolweaaaaaaaaaaa!’ I yelled. ‘YOU ARE THE FEAG MENGOXTRA! Supreme Commander of the Mengoxtran Stratocracy! Woooolweeeee! I must DESTROY you! I must. I MUUUUUUUST DESTROOOOOY!’

Eventually my co-workers managed to wrestle me off the protesting mong (who was not, of course, the Feag Mengoxtra – it was just my omnivoox-addled brain playing tricks on me). Martin was escorted gibbering and stinking (he’d shat himself) from the premises and I was manhandled into the back room.

‘Get off me! GET OFF MEEEE!’ I cried. ‘I must destroy the Feag Mengoxtra before his bluxagrotron beams reduce this planet to radioactive dust!’

I broke free and stood facing them, panting. Something about the way Richard was looking at me stopped me from running after the ‘Feag Mengoxtra’. Some semblance of reality began to return to my omnivooxed brain.

‘I’m sacked, aren’t I?’ I muttered.

‘Yes! You fucking well are!’ shouted Martin. ‘Now get the fuck out of here and don’t ever come back!’

I drew myself up to my full height (which wasn’t much in that incarnation). ‘DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?’ I screamed.

‘No, and I don’t fucking care!’ Richard and two of his cronies began to manhandle me off the premises.

‘I AM DOCTOR SKAGRA!’ I shrieked as I was dragged away. ‘I am as superior to you humans as the Toddlebongs of Gwiffeem are to the lowly Scrunge Worms of Phobios Beta! Argh! AIEEEE! I have travelled through coruscating infinities of multiverses! I have danced naked in the screaming heart of a supernova! AAAA! AAAAAAA! I have pissed into the deepest black holes, shitted the most royal mattresses, and wanked into the finest bone china cups in the entire history of time and space! Piss! Wank! Ass! Turdy toss balls, hog anus! Unhand me you cunts! How dare you treat me like this! I, Doctor Skagra, who has beaten Davros himself at arm-wrestling, who has drunk an entire battalion of ten million Sontarans under the table, who has made even the fucking Cybermen piss themselves in fear, how DARE you, you feculent TURDS!’

So saying I was shoved into the street. I hammered on the door for a good ten minutes before they came out and gave me a ruddy good kicking.

Then I wandered off into the town, whichever one it was, and spent a year or so totally off my Time Lord face on booze and drugs, and I think I was a drummer in The Fall for a bit.

So there you go sweeties, the tale of how I once got sacked!

Laters!

MMMMWAH

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Sun 1 Jun 2014, 22:26, 23 replies)

not this week

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 8:31, closed)

Aww sweetie!
What's wrong?!

Have a hug (((((((((((((((((((((()))))))))))))))))))))))))))
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:16, closed)

Can you post a real story one day?
That'd make a nice change.
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 12:01, closed)

Aw bless!
My stories ARE real!

XXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:19, closed)

i don't get the point of you

( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 17:40, closed)

I think it's to give a small glimmer of hope to the qftw tragics
no matter how shit and pointless they are, they can always think to themselves 'well at least I'm not that cunt who writes doctor who erotic fanfic'.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:04, closed)

Hello other doctor S!
How is life?

I am glad uou find my stories 'erotic', though they are not fictional!

All real, every word, my boy!

XXXXXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:26, closed)

nobody had ever read them, you poor prick

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:28, closed)

Oh sweetie
you and I both know that's not true, you jealous boy!

XXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:33, closed)

EVERYBODY reads them
and everybody LOVES them!

Even - no, ESPESHULLY - YOU, Doctor Shamo!

Oh gosh I have so many fine fettled fans it makes me fizz at the bunghole!!!

MMMWAAAH!
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:39, closed)

Never mind dear
You know there's no point to anything ever, you know.

Especially me!

XXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:19, closed)

Does
anyone read this shit? You're worse than the delusion cunt that posts it.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 18:42, closed)

I think you must mean
delusionAL cunt.

HTH!

BTW I am not delusional, my post regen trauma has cleared up now sweetie!

XXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 2 Jun 2014, 19:18, closed)

Must admit, I normally read these stories
This one had me bored halfway through, so I gave up. Too Loooong.
(IHateSprouts is baking a huge pie shaped like an enormous pie, Tue 3 Jun 2014, 18:30, closed)

Ooh never mind dear
thanks for trying!

XXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Tue 3 Jun 2014, 18:57, closed)

You Time Lords
and your infinite capacity for pretension!
(An Alien sneezed on Bill Oddies binoculars, Tue 3 Jun 2014, 20:17, closed)

Oaaahhhh
*SOMEONE* understands!

And, WHAT DO YOU KNOW, they're an alien, not one of you silly human billies!

So, An Alien, what are you? Kastrian? Bandril? Chelonian? Gelth? Sensorite? Lakertyan? Kroton? Jocondan? Hath? Draconian? Terileptil? Zygon?

Vinvocci?
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Tue 3 Jun 2014, 21:54, closed)

Vinvocci?
You wish!
(An Alien sneezed on Bill Oddies binoculars, Wed 4 Jun 2014, 8:19, closed)

Vervoid?

(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 4 Jun 2014, 18:42, closed)

I thought your mate killed them all?
No, we have in fact been many of the species you have guessed so far - we are a Noble Rutan. Our shape-shifting prowess is far greater than that of the plebbier classes - no false skin colour or zombie-like behaviour - so we blend in very well.

We have recently returned from a holiday on Alpha Centauri - the voice is irritating, but oh! The wanks really are tremendous!
(An Alien sneezed on Bill Oddies binoculars, Wed 4 Jun 2014, 20:42, closed)

OF COURSE
I should have known!

My regards to the Rutan Host, and best wishes for a swift conclusion to that pesky war with the Sontarans (like that's ever gonna happen).

XXXXXX
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 4 Jun 2014, 21:45, closed)