For Seamus

It Goes Without Saying

The debate was getting lively and from inside the mind Mr. Quote was ready to leave his house. He was fully prepared for the flight. He had been training for it all his life. His wife Chatty was waiting for him at the door. As he kissed her good bye,she was talking incessantly while he remained his stoic self. Noticing his nerves, she softly said "Oscar, don't worry. You'll be well received. We all know you're popular. Weren't you named after Oscar Wilde?" The walk from the Mind to the Mouth was a short enough one. However he wanted to take a steady stride and not rush out. So many thoughts and words stream out too soon. This business was all about the timing. He looked upon a nice neighbourhood in the Larynx. Chatty and he had once thought about getting a rent controlled Statement in that area but he wasn't sure about the area. He was quite vocal about the place failing to strike a chord with him. Stopping to freshen up in a recites-room he took a look at his own inflection and felt good. Confident. He was Wildean and people love Oscar Wilde quotes. He was lucky he was born into such a well respected family.  A piece of food, an obvious out-of-frowner, which had been staying in Lodges, (lodged inside a tooth actually) stopped him asking for directions to the Esophagus. Some people in the Mind and Mouth mistreated such foreign substances in their area but nothing bothered Oscar more than facial tensions so he was only too happy to help. "Follow the path you were on and keep to the cleft, past that Orifice building there and you should be fine!" Oscar then found himself staring at the tooth fields he'd have to navigate across. Lucky for him a breath stop was nearby. Waiting for the next strong Breath he amused himself by reading a newspaper, Tonsil Today which was a publication that was floundering after one of the founding partners had been removed. An editorial touched on the subject. It read: While we will of course miss one of our esteemed editors and wish him well in these troubled times all is still speechy keen here at the paper. We needed to collectively clear our throat as it were, and this was felt to have been the path(ogen) of least resistance. Don't reach for any lymphoid tissues as of yet however, the palate cleanser that we have planned in this issue will not only be a mouthful but shall be quite cheeky in places!

It was obvious this was them paying mere Lip-Service to a disgraced colleague. Oscar sneaked a quick peek at his favourite comic strip Jawbone as the 214 Breath arrived. It was lucky for him too as a saliva shower was just starting. The Breath drove next to Timbre fences and vocal tracts could be seen out in the fields. He heard a Lisp behind him remark, "I'd get the breath more often if the frequency of them improved." They reached the tongue and Oscar prepared himself for his flight. If successful, his Quote would soar in the debate and punctuate some fundamental point that could win the day. He'd hang in the air, having made his mark and would eventually seep back into the mind and be back home before his absence was noted by the Mention family down the street. The tongue launched Oscar and some other Phrases into the air but as they were just getting shy of the mouth, the engine and the speaker stuttered. Oscar felt his body being mangled and distorted as only half of his being was uttered. He was mumbled beyond recognition and as he fell from the argument into the seas of obscurity he thought about Chatty and how she should have married her talkative ex-boyfriend Luke-Quacious. Wildean quips couldn't save him now and due to his now misspoken nature he was wit-out hope as he plummeted to his fate. It was then his panic subsided for a moment and his training kicked in. He quickly looked under his phonetic seating and discovered something that would save him. Placing an item on his back he let his body relax like a slurred sentence. He pulled the string on his Para-phrase and it slowed his descent into the forgotten remarks below.

A Character design for Magnus the Owl, a character from The Moon Fox, illustrated by Marie Denham. check out her tumblr here: http://mariedenham.tumblr.com/

Having your Phil of a Bad Day

  One day when I was out at my job, trying to bring home the Francis Bacon, I realised I forgot the key to my existence and was John Locked out of my house. Needless to say I was Episted.

Trying to ponder my way out of this situation I decided to sit in my Kierkegaarden until a solution presented itself. I should have as-humed something like this would happen. I had checked my horoscope earlier in the day, I’m an Aqunias and it didn’t bode well. However when it comes to that sort of stuff I’m a total doubting Thomas.

Thing is, I had remembered every thing else, my shopping nihi-lists were all present, though truth be told I had Bentham a little in my pocket. They were just a list of Utilities needed but it was when I didn’t hear the usual Bertrand Russell-ing of my keys in my pocket did I realise I was up shit creek in a Camus without a paddle.

My friend Plato, who was out getting some tonics, would be home soon and he always had a spare insight into my woes and would surely be able to help. Not that he didn’t love to Socrates me over my personal views. The Imman Kant let anything go.

The Sun Tzu was shining brightly over head as I sat there trying to see if there was another way into my house. There was a window into my soul up high but to squeeze in there would be against the laws of metaphysics and I couldn't stop thinking how I wished I had left the doors of perception unlocked that day. Not to hit on a Søren spot it's the only way to keep certain bad elements out. When dealing with philosophical quandaries so many people have their own Hobbes stories and Buddha, I mean Buddy, I don’t need that.

 It was then I realised that Plato had a cave he was always going on about. Maybe I could stay there til I find the key to my life. As I walked off leaving the area I thought my life is what I make it, I have Descartes Blanche to do with it as I please. I think I am Happy, Therefore I am. So everything was looking up but little did I know, fate had other plans and I was none the Schweitzer.

It Sartred to rain. 

Ad verse effects

A friend of mine once told me that "poetry makes him feel ill". Some of the more common conditions like influe-stanza and Janedice or Poe-mentation of the skin are well known but here is a selection of some poetic ailments and injuries that really meter to people.

Tennyson Elbow- 

Byron any further injury, this should sort itself out in no time. Kipling Arthritis- A Rud-Yard stick for every other condition one might face Ben(t) Jonson- It can happen to every man and not in his humerus. Will...em...Shakes Appear?- Carry a medical Bard on your person at all times

Robert Frost-bite - The Road Not Prescribed.

Walt Whiplash- Mobility is the soul of Whit

Plath feet When feet get Hughes and swollen.

Auden-iometry trouble W.H.at are you saying to me??

Severe Back Twain

When life gives you Clemens, make lemonade. 

 Conrad Aching

It's a Pulmonary Symbolism.

214- An Azealia Banks Parody

In Cork City, I get the 214 Bus. It is notoriously late and the drivers are very often rude. Combining that with an Azealia Banks parody I wrote ages ago. Hey, you can't be the driver I'm ready to pay, but you put the price up And the timetable you just slice up you can see I've been stuck here reading the paper And that curb careless driving, you're gonna scrape her Don't want to be the customer a-bitchin' We got to resolve this sit-uation. this bus should be main streetin' I'm running late for that fucking meeting But my point of view you don't give a look in Maybe a taxi, i should be be booking Guess that cunt shouldn't be drivin' that bus should be arriving that bus should be arriving that bus should be arriving waiting on the 214 On the sarsfield road forevermore fucking bus route never gonna make it in, that's the fucking truth But what the fuck you gonna do I mean the bus service isn't just for little old you But the rude staff in bus aras couldn't even make it to the fucking chorus every stop on the way in I feel like i need to be sayin push the button to beep let the driver know in case He's falling asleep that's my stop yo, just chill bro if i need some time to work my change don't be giving a wigga a look that strange coins are hard to sift thru don't need no conductor giving short shrift too I'm going to complain you cunt I'm going to complain you cunt I'm going to complain you cunt Replay O, Replay O I heard Azelia was a one hit wonder (wonder) Tell em you heard where she ended up Say I'm parodying but I aint complaining about her The label will drop you, drop you, soon the bus will never be on time, time, time, time What you gone do when the bus isn't here? When that fails to appear Bitch at the end of the phone line to a peer this never on time, time What you gone do when you're running late who are you gonna berate (berate) this shit is whine, whine,  Bitch Im waiting on the 214 it's as unreliable as urban folklore for fuckin' sure Patrick's street is off this bus tour Got my ipod on shuffle, it lands on the mighty Cure Fuck you gonna do what's your mp3 player like what music you into? see a bus on a wider view what does the number on that look like to you? if it's 216, I'm going to blow a fuse getting no kicks out of this bus-terfuge if it's 219, I'm going to bust a cap into the bus drivers ticket machine trap You think I give a crap im the fly in this fucking ointment so i'm late for another appointment Now i don't have the correct amount, no struggling with shrapnel and im running out of time to count though It's going to cause, a fuss I'm a ruin you bus What you going to do when the bus appear When it finally gets its shit into gear This shit aint worth a dime, dime What you going to do when the bus stop clears an answers to our prayers this shit's been whine, whine.

In-Jokes

The Rabbi was late. So I was drafted in. The change of pace was nice since I'm usually behind closed doors. My job description is as the eternal knocker.  I guess my girlfriend is right, it's a dead end job, the stalest set up in joke circles. But I have mouths and...well Lines to feed. Knock, knock. My knuckles are so damn blistered after so many years. I wait for the inevitable first question. Then my hands fumble over the card I've been given. Always a different word.  They ask their second question. I deliver the punchline. The whole world groans. We are the necessary evil of the humour community. It could be worse though. The guys in the physical comedy building bend over backwards, both literally and metaphorically for their laughs. They have to slapstick it out. The poor bastards. Today however I'm spreading my wings. I'm going anecdotal. Posing as a Rabbi and hoping everything is legit. Because outside of a joke context, impersonation of a religious figure might be illegal. Hmmm, maybe I should look into this. I signed my contract or Gag-order as they say in the biz, so I should be covered.

My Vicar co-star isn't being too welcoming but I recognise him from other marquee jokes. He thinks he's so hot under the collar but I know he had some trouble a few years ago, linked to some pretty sexist jokes that dogged his career for a while and if rumours are to be believed...well... let's just say this guy will never be the straight man in a double act if you get my meaning... "Welcome to the team," The Priest extends his hand to me. "You're our Rabbi, yes?" "Yeah, I guess the original Rabbi, well He-brew us off" I laugh, trying to fit in but I'm met with a stony silence from my colleagues. I chide myself for my attempts at a pun. Leave that to the Word Players Union. They are well e-quip-ped for all that. The Vicar chimes in. "He called in sick. Even though he could still work like that. There's a market for sick jokes but I don't want anything to do with that. We're artists." He looks me over and continues.  "Listen Man, I just want this over and done with as quickly as possible. I have a satirical job to get to in about an hour and I have to travel across the funny pages in Read-Hour traffic. So can we just get this done?" I choose to ignore the display of arrogance as I really can't stand folks like that. I can see their punchlines coming a mile off. Conceited, laughing all the way to the Prank. Looking around the bar, I'm trying to find something to talk about. It's then I notice a door marked PRIVATE. I am intrigued and say to the Priest, "What goes on in that room over there?" "Oh that. That's a Private Joke. For V.I.P.s only I'm afraid." A little deflated, I motion over to the Barman, our most significant foil. "Who is performing this joke, if I may ask?" "A real Stand Up guy" comes the response.  I wait for Tongue, the notoriously slippery producer, to usher in the director, a Mr. F. Bone. I've heard about him, Funny Guy, he and his wife are hotly tibiaed to be huge. He addresses the crowd. "Listen everyone, I'm easily tickled. But that doesn't mean I don't want 100% from everyone here. Let's give 'em a good ol' belly laugh!" As the set up begins, I think about my darling Taboo and how I have to nail this for her. This joke will literally open doors for me. No more damn knocking.

A Salute to the King of the Tribes

When the spirit had form

the time the muse danced

it traced its steps

using the faint light in the storytellers eyes

they thrived in a furnace

where the kindred slept

embers giving rise to the warmth of song

the blanketing of a voice

the stars flung so far into the eternal ink

One could weakly grasp  and clutch only the trail

of a moment

the passing laugh, the hushed hello

the stillness of the quiet beat after the performance

this peace should only be disturbed

with the diviner of memory

the precious pause of the last few years

The King is ageless

his spectre pure in its remembrance

the King lives on in the shadowy brethren

the King illuminates and is in turn illuminated

by the ever lasting song

the gathering of the like minded

the tidal pull of the inevitable encore

A salute then for the man, the King

his endless energy, hemmed in by no earthly shore

Pre-Nups and the Pope- A Poem for Exit Strategy

A little while ago the talented duo Leah Hearne and Eszter Nemethi asked me to contribute a poem to their excellent genre-straddling piece of work entitled "Exit Strategy". It deals with the theme of people having escape plans from situations and aspects of their lives.  Given the title "Pre-Nups and the Pope" and a loose idea of what the play was about I went to create something flippant and word play heavy. I tried to structure it a little like a song, even though I know that some of the phrasing would make that next to impossible but it's why I added a  "chorus" of sorts and a "bridge part"! It was also to see if I could find enough rhymes for "Pre-nups". The poem, alas, did not make the play but I'm proud enough of it, so I present it here instead.

While some people like to see how things will play out, Others even at beginnings always have  a way out, Despite a strong mind or any designations, People are resigned to their many resignations People will risk some damaged cred to escape from this, their marriage bed

But when it comes to leaving others get on their box of soap We all live in a world of half filled cups and those who mope a world of pre-nups and the Pope. You think half way through surgery the Doctor skips out? Or that a sea captain is in a hurry to leave his vessel once it ships out? It is a truism to sing that a winner would never quit Truer wisdom is something to which you must fully commit If people are ready to try and opt out Couldn't that be just nothing more than a cop out?

But when it comes to an exit some people just say "Well nope", We all live in a world of hang ups and those who can't cope a world of pre nups and the Pope.

When you make a promise you stick with it to the bitter end, If you're honest you shouldn't be quick with it to run out my friend Despite a Holy and divine Edict He was still able to resign that Benedict You think if Jesus had said "Anyone instead of me!" He would have been waiting around in the Garden of Gethsemane!

Of the human condition this is but a recurring trope Everything is a potential prison and we all look beyond our scope to see whats what's up in this kaleidoscope in this world of pre nups and the Pope

(Bridge part)

Following a Crowd, before ducking out A situation that is probably sucking out your time and your very own space When you were a kid, did you ever leave a race?

There should always been a safety net But bravery usually means "not safe yet" You're turning your back on faith, well that's just atheism You're running out on your country, where's your patriotism? It doesn't matter if you're a fool or a prodigy Everyone is after their very own exit stratey.

And we all in our various ways go through this type of thing in these precarious days We all walk the tightrope Don't look down at the sheer drops or the steep slope Oh dear, the pre nups and the Pope! Authors Note: Exit Strategy have set up a fundit to take their production to Dublin. Support it if you can here: http://www.fundit.ie/project/exit-strategy-to-dublin-fringe-festival

Meanwhile in the North Pole...

The mistle has gone and stubbed its toe while 3 "wise" men criticise the late late toy show Wine is mulling over his choices there in the corner Frankin isn't making lots of Sense but still getting away with myrrh-der. The music has changed this year in the Workshop The wrapping has lost its "W" and now it's gone all hip hop But the Elves are so sick of carols that they are embracing this unseasonal but totally reasonable musical "about facing". Saint Nick is busy in his office with his most important silent partner, if we were to use business vernacular to describe this unholy alliance between Father Christmas  and a shady business man named "Secular". The meeting is concerned with the fall in demand for Christmas Crackers "If the market doesn't pick up, we could easily lose our most lucrative backers!" Nick sits back in his chair remembering the good old days of sleigh bells and sleet Now he has to employ an elf to write whatever it is St. Nick is meant to Tweet "Things have changed in the North Pole", he says before an ominous pause "I think Father Time is biding himself til he makes a move on Mrs. Claus!!" "Frosty the Snowman is nowhere to be found Some Sunny boy has said he saw him go to ground after he was busted last year for some "snow" at one of his usual gigs When he was questioned by the police he gave up his dealer, the mysterious 'R. Briggs'!" Blitzen through his Christmas card writing, so Donner can begin his splurging Vixen makes the joke that as reindeer go she's hardly like the holy Virgin Comet's streaking through the place, with Dasher swift in pursuit Rudolph is a bit of brown/red noser so he's re-examining the Christmas route Dancer has four left feet so he's nervous about Cupids advances While the final reindeer is mincing around, yep, cause he's the one that prances Noel, the newest elf intern isn't feeling very festive Holly and Jolly the twins in Accounting, didn't like him being so suggestive he got in to this job on his J(olly)1 Visa But now he'd rather have post "St. Stephens day Amenisa"! Mrs. Claus just shrugs at the state of the place saying "Tis the season" While she makes a shoddy jumper for her husband in act of passive aggression "Jack Frost is a cool customer but I must remember I'm not single! And thinking about it, it's not bad at all being Mrs. Kris Kringle" Next year they'll all be more organised and I think  they'll rediscover the joys of it But til then all my well wishes can be summarised in  Nollaig Shona Duit!

Bonded Universe

The Aston Martin was bigger on the inside as James Bond was crawling towards it. The door was stiff but a quick flash of his Sonic Q-driver was enough and it dutifully popped open. His whole body glowed in a mass of swirling energy.  He was regenerating. This wasn't the first time. In fact he had been through this twice before. The bland and stilted features of the second Agent, Lazenby morphed into the debonair figure of the 3rd Spy. He was James Bond once again. There were still so many mysteries to solve from his last adventure, like the origin of the oldest game in the universe, 'I-Spy'. He felt the top of his head.  "Hair? Check." He placed a hand on his throat, "Suave, urbane voice?" Check. He raised his eyebrow knowingly with a distinct hint of camp. "Eyebrow? Check. I can raise my eyebrow now. Eyebrows are cool."

MoneyPondy was still amazed at the dimensional impossibility of the vehicle. "An amazing car, this!" She rasped in her Scottish accent, scowling a little as she always did. James sighed. "It's pronounced Cardis, Pond." "What? Are we in Cardiff...again?!" she asked.   James shooed away the question.  "Hardly, we can go anywhere on the planet which has a secret underground base or nefarious organisations. But that's most places as you can see." James' movement became erratic as further regeneration energy was still being expelled. "Woah, something is definitely off with this one. I haven't had this difficult a change, in what feels like an EON." He looked at his watch which caused him further pain. He lunged forward and balanced himself on his Cardis steering wheel. Another huge flash of energy started to build up but this was the start of  an even more unusual effect. James began to scream in pain as a distinct figure seemed to splinter off from his own. Bond slumped down again as this new being got its bearings. It was a man whose face was not that dissimilar to an Easter Island statue. There stood the more traditional 11th Doctor.  "Hello everyone!". He looked at MoneyPondy. "Is that you Amy? You're dressed like a secretary. You're not a kissogram again are you?" James Bond thumbed his Walter PPK, eyeing up the intruder. "And you are old sport?" "I'm the Doctor. Call me 0011 if it makes you more comfortable. I'm guessing you're...." Mondypondy laughed. "Hush, he lives to say it." "Bond, James Bond. You can trust me. I'm the Spy. But how did you...come out of..well..me?" "A-ha! I'm the Doctor. I'm bigger than any story. Actually I'm just being facetious. When I realised what was going on and that I would be subsumed into your being, I took a Rolex and fashioned it  into a crude Fob watch.  I used it to store my personality and in a feat of extraordinary metaphysical engineering I tied it directly into the Tardis or Cardis data core to rematerialise me at a certain point. Like an alarm. The next time you checked your watch, the core would pull me apart from you and restore my memories. I'm like the radio that turns on with the alarm." The Doctor trudged around the room in a panic. "Fusion! Franchise Fusion. Of course! The Tardis is trying to import or graft itself on to something else.." Noting Bonds tuxedo attire he paused for a second, "Nice bowtie." "What are you going on about 11?" Bond was confused while the Doctor was in one of his trademark frantic rants. "Usually I'm good with explanations. No, wait. Scratch that. I'm terrible. My two hearts aren't in it when I'm explaining stuff for too long. I'm from another universe. Well, not exactly. Parts of my universe are here." He pointed to his left. "Like I definitely recognise that chair." MoneyPondy grimaced further. "Can you slow down? You're not giving me a chance to insert the right amount of innuendo." James chimed it. "You can always insert my.." The Doctor was exasperated. "Right, right. Ok. You two want to be all humanly with each other. That's great. Put up a balloon. We have bigger things to worry about. Like the end of our two universes." Bond adjusted his cuff links. "To be honest I don't know what to make of any of this. The last time the universe was in danger, I dealt with it, with no small amount of style it must be said. Ernst Davros Blofeld had a giant infinity bomb and..." The Doctor interrupted him. "Look back where I'm from. This girl called River has done a thing and that's caused another thing and basically that whole universe is dying.  So the Tardis has tried to plug the holes of the universe with anything it could find. Every adventure we ever had, as separate beings are being forced together in a total event collage." "An event collage?" MoneyPondy sneered. "Why would that happen?" "Isn't it obvious? Well to anyone 900 years plus, it should be. The Tardis scanned any nearby stimuli to find elements to incorporate into the broken universe. Rory had a James Bond Box Set. In a multi-verse of infinite possibilities a universe where this piece of fiction actually exists must be out there. The Tardis would automatically seek out some sort of commonality. Although we're not that alike are we Mr.Bond?" "Well from what I know Doctor. We both have impeccable style. We are both British Institutions, we go through many female...ahem...assistants and we both..." "Regenerate. We become new people but remain constant! YES! That's it. Oh I am going to bloody kill River..." Bond dropped his wry tone for a moment. "River? I know a River. I mean I knew her. She...passed away. River Lynd. My first great passion." The Doctor smirked and slyly remarked. "First great passion huh? She'd love that..." Suddenly another woman walked into the Cardis front seat room. "James my love...?" MoneyPondy was incensed. "WHO IS THAT?" "That's Ms. Moans. A Ms. Martha Moans." This caused the Doctor to spin off into another tizzy. "NO! No! No! Can't you see what's happening? The deterioration is already beginning. Martha Moans?! That's not even a clever innuendo name!" Bond replied. "I assure you Doctor. Her name is entirely apt." The Doctor exhaled. "Oh Bond. I'm a fan of you as an idea but I can't say I agree with everything about your character. I met your creator once actually. Ian Fleming. Nice fella. Stubborn though. Got angry with me when I told him he shouldn't name that story 'Quantum of Solace'.." "Doctor, we'll head back to M(offat) Branch and await our orders. Brigadier Boothroyd Lethbridge Quebert could be a great asset here..."

Pond mumbled. "That name is quite a mouthful." Bond couldn't resist adding. "I'll tell you what else is a mouthful.." The Doctor was starting to get frustrated at the repartee. "STOP IT! We need to find a way to disentangle our universes. The internal logic of this place isn't strong enough to handle such an awkward amalgamation. Any slight unbalance and we could lose it all." The crackle of a vortex manipulator was heard and Martha was joined  by a shadowy figure. She addressed the visitor. "You're right. They're BOTH here." A maniacal laughter began to sound and the figure stepped slowly into the light. "GoldMaster!" exclaimed Bond. "Oh yes. Fun! Fun! The Doctor and the Spy. From Gallifrey to Skyfall. It's all been leading us to this moment. I've retained my memories of both universes and I have to say this awkward fusion is my kind of world." He held a key with a central locking control and pressed it. The door of the Aston Martin slid open and two Gold-plated Daleks entered the Cardis. The Doctor looked at Martha. "Why are you working for him?" Bond interjected. "It's classic for my universe old chap. There's always a good girl and a bad one. No use in "moan"-ing about it now." Martha taunted her ex lover. "Bet you haven't been this disappointed since Bad Jaws Bay." What happened there?" The Doctor asked. "My..wife Tracy Tyler got trapped in an alternate universe with my Connery incarnation. These things happen." The Doctor nodded knowingly. "Enough of this talk. Doctor, you are going to steer this Cardis back to the creation of the universe. I mean this universe is fine.." He looked around as he continued. "But I think it could use...a Midas touch." "You expect me to do that?" 11 snapped back. "No Doctor I expect you to die! Oh and keep coming back and dying again. I never get tired of that. Now come on. You know what they say 'No guts, no McClory!'" A Gold Dalek fired a beam that knocked MoneyPondy back towards the wall.  "Now drive this Cardis for me or the next time...I'll give her a proper Gold Star." The Spy cradled the wounded MoneyPondy. "You'll be ok." She could barely speak but whispered. "Promise me, I'll be ok. Promise me on something that matters." Bond thought for a second. "I promise on Albert Broccoli and Custard." She gave little smile before falling into unconsciousness. Angered Bond whipped out his gun and aimed it at GoldMaster. "Now there are two things I never miss. A golden opportunity or what I target with this gun. In this case they're the same thing." A serious expression appeared on GoldMaster's face. "None of you understand it. What I go through every day. The music. I hear it all the time. This cacophony of brass and drums. Over and Over again. 'Ba-da ba-da ba ba da dahhh bahhh ba-da bum..' It haunts me." "Welcome to the 'Theme'" came another unseen voice behind GoldMaster and Martha They were were both struck with a sonic lipstick blast.  "Solitaire Jane Smith, to the rescue!" She stood there confident with a robotic dog next to her. The markings on him read MI-6.  He blasted the two daleks. Delighted to see her Bond quipped. "You always were a master of the 'kiss off'." She approached Bond. "Solitaire is tired of playing a lonely game..." "Well Ms. Smith I always did find you...dalek-table." They embraced and began to kiss passionately.  The Doctor ran over to the Cardis controls. "Ok. I have an idea of how to dislodge us but...it's risky." Bond and Solitaire joined him at the controls. "The mistake my Tardis made..,"The Doctor explained, "is that she tried to mix the elements in such a way that they made a bit of sense. And now she's stirring it all in a big pot of narrative nonsense. Our only hope is to drive this Cardis back into our first moments. The opening adventures. The nexus point from where our legends began." He pushed a number of buttons and pulled on several levers. "We're going back to 'An Unearthly Casino'. The shock of us landing right back where it all started should be enough to shake us loose." "So what you're saying Doctor is that this shared universe of ours is a bit like a martini. It must be..." The Doctor and Bond spoke in unison. "SHAKEN NOT STIRRED!!" Bond and the Doctor smiled at one another.  "Geronimo!", they both said at the same time. And with that a flash of light and The Doctor awoke back on the Tardis. He could overhear Amy and Rory arguing about James Bond. "C'mon Amy, we'll just watch one. 'The Spy who Loved me.' It's a good one! Moore is fantastic in it" "Rory, we are in a spaceship that can go anywhere in space and time. Isn't that enough escapism for you? Do we really have to watch Bond?" "You're Scottish. You should love it." The Doctor appeared. "Alright Kids. I'm dropping you guys home for a bit. I have something I have to do." "Can't we help?" Amy inquired.  "Afraid not Pond."  Rory spoke up. "You're saying No, to us Doctor?" "Indeed. you should call me Doctor No!" ****************************************************************************************** River was lying on a bed in her cell at Stormcage when the familiar sound of the Tardis stirred her. "Hello Professor Song." "Doctor," she beamed back at him. "What would you say River, if I called you 'dalek-table'?" River was unimpressed. "What are you on about?" "Ha." The Doctor walked towards her. "I saved the universe again. You messed it up but you don't remember." "I'll take your word for it sweetie. So where are we off to tonight?" He took Rivers hand in his own. "I was thinking we'd stay in tonight." "You realise this is a cell right? I'm not much of a hostess." "Ha yes, but after saving the universe, paying my respects to an iconic character and having to put up with many groan inducing double entendres I was thinking...Isn't it about time I, just to cool off now...I...dove into my nearest River?" He took her in his arms. "Ohhh Doctor..." The Doctor and James Bond will return in... "From Rassilon, With Love"