Doctor Who-Silver Nemesis

Silver Nemesis


The whole point of fanediting is to do something a bit different, even if it is just a bit. So I thought a nice pre-credits sequence was in order, starting with the Jazz session and climaxing when Seven and Ace are knocked into the water by the Cybernized thugs. I also decided to leave the whys and hows of Lady Peintforte and Richard arriving in the present up in the air and leave you wondering how they came there, it gives them a more enigmatic presence, as mysterious in their ways as The Doctor is portrayed in the Cartmel era.



Mighty Morphin Power Rangers-The Ninja Encounter

I put the first version of this edit together after I read a scathing review of The Ninja Encounter in it’s original three-part format. The edit seemed to go down well and was favorably reviewed, but I realized upon numerous re-viewings that it was quite patchy in some places and had some plot holes. So I went ahead and redid it.

Edit clocks in at a tidy 35 minutes. Stuff missing include all the jetting, the splitting up of the teams, and the Hatchasauros side-plot


WWE-The Imperfect Grind



The dreamer can daydream for so long before the sands finish slipping through the hour glass, and the dream is over.

The dream had seemingly passed, but he knew the opportunities had not yet ceased to settle

As he stormed into Vince McMahon’s office, the dreamer focused on adjusting his vision, fixated on the road signs that led to the grand event known as Wrestlemania, and the prize at the end of the rope.

He had champions in his corner, a slew of Youtube vloggers who had made their case for what was due him. He would plead his case to the Authority. He felt certain that this time were more clear on who they wanted to headline the grand stage against the beast incarnate Brock Lesnar

All they needed to hear were the voices of the disenchanted. Of the people.

Those in attendance in Philadelphia had made their voices heard too. They had rejected the sultan of ‘suffering succotash’, the man who could make even a crowd deeply entrenched in appreciation of wrestling lore boo a run-in and endorsement by the People’s Champion. The crowd had rejected Roman Reigns, and would hopefully continue to reject him

He opened the doors of Vince’s office. He was met with cold, dead stares. There was a creative meeting in place. Some demanded to know what the dreamer was doing here unannounced.

Some burst into fits of laughter, knowing exactly why the dreamer was doing here.

“This is no laughing matter” said the dreamer. “No matter what you and some opposed to me on the internet may believe, to most of those who pay good money and indulge in great appreciation for this art form, I am professional wrestling, I was cheated out of the rumble, the people all know it, they want me dead centre in the main event of Wrestlemania, I just know it”

“Curtis, do you remember the “genesis” speech you cut on NXT years ago? That alone makes Roman look like Edgar Allan Poe in terms of precision promos”

“But…I…was an intercontinental champion, I have beaten the likes of Wade Barret and The Miz”

“Barret loses every week and Miz is a loser every year”

“I teamed with Ryback”

“And he’s barely recovered from THAT” pointed out a writer.

“I was a Heyman guy”

“Paul E is the kiss of death for anyone who isn’t Lesnar, just ask Cesaro”

“These are all credentials you can’t diminish with a few minor ‘buts’ in the details” replied Curtis

“We can dismiss them when we see how many butts in the seats those accolades generated, ZERO” snapped back Michael Hayes

“My point I was unjustly denied my Rumble entrance by Eric Rowan, I have a legal right to the championship, this has happened before and been approved”

“Oh yeah?” said a writer, “Who else?”

Curtis twiddled his fingers apprehensively, “Maven” he said.

The uproar of laughter was enough to send the dreamer well on his way out of the door

Curtis Axel, the dreamer, thought back on his career, and how much he had gone up against the day to day politicking of the professional wrestling world

How much of it could he still take?

He took a photograph out from his jeans and looked on it fondly.

He looked to his blood. He looked to his family, and to his father.

His perfect father.

“How did you manage it Dad?” Curtis asked the kind hearted soul in the photo.

Curtis Axel, a Henning, lifted up his head and walked back down the corridors, and thought ahead to another day. Be it another edition of Main Event, be it another outing on Superstars, he would work against the Imperfect Grind, he would be the canary in the coal mine, and he would make as few butts in the seats as possible marvel at the diamond detail he would craft in the ring.

He would earn his respect. If not from the writers, if not from Vince, if not from fans, then for himself and his own family

And that would be enough

Spider-Girl-Delicate Strings




Note: Well, as any fan of Mayday knows, ASM#8 sees her return to the printed page as part of the Spider-Verse comics event. Alas, it seems Dan Slott has chosen to put her and her family through the emotional wringer. I know some of you are probably upset by this, but hey, look on the bright side, this could easily be retconned down the road as one of many similar alternate realitys.

Relax. It’s comics. The continuous positive and negative of this business is this:

Everything is temporary.

DC’s Helena Wayne was killed off in Crisis on Infinite Earths, and she’s currently active as Huntress again. Hell, all of Earth-2 was destroyed once in the same event, and has since been restored/rebooted

So here’s a little story to keep some fresh hope alive until the day Marvel gives Mayday stability again. There’s no true despair without it!


Disclaimer: Mayday and the MC2 Universe are owned and trademarked by Marvel Comics.

My name is May Parker, I am the daughter of Spider-Man, and I’m not allowed to take strange things home with me.

That’s the rule.

It’s occasionally bent when push comes to shove, but anything that could pose a true danger to the family need not be invited so readily into the Parker household.

This is a tad different. It poses no danger. At least not to anyone staring inside the window, looking within the worlds on offer like they were a snow globe

No, this is something that affects only the mind.

In my hand I hold the Quantum Bolt. Recovered from the Neither Prisms by a contingent of Spider-Men led by a version of my father that had been seasoned in multi-dimensional experience. That and a few other hang-ups.

He told me my mom was made out of H20 in his universe. Very weird.

He also told me to take this to my dad, he said he’d understand. He had helped recover the bolt once before from the Frightful Four.

It is said it can create and sustain a whole multi-verse. Not just one world or two, but a vast infinite realm of possibility.

Most of the time the bolt was used to channel positive messages, and as a result it created worlds with positive outcomes. But then it became corrupted by the High Evolutionary of the Counter-Earth once visited by the Spider-Man that had seemingly seen the unlimited scope of every possible reality. The bolt was injected with a type-A disruptive pathogen forged from the blood of a cloned chaos demon. The Quantum Bolt began corrupting and disrupting the otherwise perfectly stable realitys, infecting the thoughts and feelings of the people inhabiting it’s network of parallel worlds, causing them to act out-of-character.

I recall the strange dreams I had not too long ago, nightmares of a brand new day that invited big time change, only to lead to less than superior heartbreak.

My mom told me we Parkers would never break like that in real life.

The nightmares continued even after that. I dreamt a whole plethora of hunters called “Inheritors” came looking for my family seeking to feast on something called Totem energy, they broke into our house and burned it to the ground. Nobody was safe. Not Mom, not Dad. Not even Wes.

Wes. I have to keep him safe from the strange, strange things I bring home to us.

So many responsibilities.

I took a peek inside the bolt, a small triangular orb held aloft within a glass hexagon prism, tiny nebulas dancing around each other, nested together like bees in a hive.

It was like looking through a kaleidoscope. The bolt sensed it was being observed, and it opened it’s realms to the splinter of my eye. I saw the corruption first hand, the inversions, the axis, the avenged and the x in the equation, disassembling, reassembling, I saw the Other, I saw the totem, I saw the Silk, I saw the turn of the cat, I saw…


Utter. Nonsense.

My mom would turn and mock the strange let alone face it. The High-Evolutionary had sacrificed consistency of character for inane stunts that flew in the face of how the heroes of my world, the heroes of many reality’s, acted. This was an anti-verse, a nexus of improbable decision making and poor choices.

What manner of evolution do you call this?

Of course, I realized this was the counter-Earth Evolutionary, so it would make sense out of how counter-productive this all was.

And worse, I glimpsed worlds where my nightmares had come true.

The bolt’s nature remains a mystery, it contains within a fragment of space and time, what if every creeping thought, every fear, every weakness, had been channelled into the bolt like a conduit? What if the bolt in turn channelled it out?

Chicken and the egg syndrome. What passed through first?

The strings that bind this web of life together are delicate, and it surprises me that we Parkers can be made to look as fragile as butter in these worlds of negative consequences

I need to bring the strange homeward. I need to tell my dad, and we need to fulfil a promise.

No matter who ore what comes looking for the Quantum Bolt, we Parkers will not scatter, we will not flee.

We will fight.

We will endure.

And we will survive.

That is the only possibility I will tolerate.

As for why the bolt is within my hands, what my dad needs to know, these questions are best left to the future.

And there’s a good possibility my dad will ground me for bending the rule in that forthcoming future.


Doctor Who-Deep Breath

Deep Breath CD


A 48-minute trim of Peter Capaldi’s debut story as the Twelfth Doctor, with no cameo from Missy, also cut from the episode are the more slapstick moments (yes, that includes Clara getting clobbered by the Times), shortening Capladi’s flapping about with the dinosaur, and an all new pre-credits sequence, putting the murderous affairs of Half-Face Man to the forefront of viewer’s attention.


Doctor Who-The Name of The Doctor

The Name of the Doctor


If there’s one thing I can’t stress enough as a writer and as a viewer, is that you should not have the big surprise spoiled minutes in advance of your episode. Second, what is WITH the whole “Clara tells Bill which ship to take” when it was clearly established in “The Doctor’s Wife” the TARDIS picked Bill and not the other way around. Time can be rewritten? Well episodes can be re-edited, so the whole pre-credits bollocks gets replaced pretty soundly with “Clarence and the Whispermen” and the original sequence is bumped up to the episode’s climax. Yowza!


The Simpsons-The Simplicity of Second Nature




Disclaimer: The Simpsons and all trademarked characters are licensed by Matt Groening and FOX respectively

NOTE: A little late on this one, but here is my tribute fic to Marcia Wallace, the voice of the irreplaceable and loved Edna Krandell…I mean, Krabappel (“oh, I’ve been making an idiot out of myself”-Homer)

It was another glorious Saturday afternoon in the bright and blistering embrace of summer. School was out and the playfulness of the youth was in. Bart Simpson was outside looking for a means to simmer down. He found it by finding the nearby watering hose. He turned on the faucet, letting the water wash over his face.

As he began humming a loud little tune to himself, he was soon joined in by someone humming as well. Bart walked over to the source of the humming to find Ned Flanders’s new bride, and his school teacher, Edna Krabappel, lying down on the soft green grass dressed in dark blue shorts and a light green t-shirt with Duffman plastered on the front holding holy scripture in one hand and a keg of beer in another, with the words “What Would Jesus Brew?” engraved in a speech bubble.

Edna and Bart hummed in tune a bit longer, making eye contact with one another. After finishing up, Edna smiled.

“Mrs. Krabappel, and how are you this ever sizzling Saturday?” Bart said as he greeted her

“Waiting for Ned, and whenever or not his lord and master decides to call time on this wonderful forecast” she said, “He promised he’d try to stock up on some candles for one of our friends Hanukah celebrations. That’s what I love in a man, someone who’s always willing to hand you a light”

“Speaking of that, are you still smoking?” Bart asked

“If you’re referring to my body language you can zip it Woody” Edna replied

Bart was taken aback.

“What did you say?” Bart asked, leaning over the fence

“Oh come on ‘Woodrow’, it’s been a while now, you can drop all feigning of ignorance on the matter…” Edna said.

It had been such a warm and rosy day, but all of a sudden a slight breeze picked up and the sudden jolt of an unnerving chill ran up Bart’s back. He felt awkward and uncertain. This was a conversation he had never dreamt of imagining. He and his family had taken great care in attempting to avoid it.

It had been so long since the time he believed he had tricked Edna into thinking he was ‘Woodrow’, a charming romantic dreamer full of wit and zest, whose features bore more than a passing resemblance to NHL star Gordie Howe.

“But…how did you…” Bart said.

“HA! Bart I always knew it was you, your handwriting was unmistakable, except for that last letter I got, and you think I’m completely ignorant as to who Gordie Howe is? What do you think this is? A cheap comedy?”

Bart tried to cut back with some kind of wise-crack response, but feeling too ashamed to.

“Hey, don’t think you’re the only one feeling the strain of stress over this, I was the one who sent you that photograph of me in my, to quote Neddy, ‘Sunday Best'”

“Yeah…if you knew it was me the whole time, why did you do that? Is’nt that…you know…a little…inappropriate?” Bart said, slightly aggravated

“Bart, you have the mentality of a good and proper sigil occultist, but on many an occasion you display a wisdom above your station, it’s second nature to you, and I was at my wit’s end as a hopeless romantic, so I figured if you were trying to troll me in that state of mind, I’d take the bait and see how far you would push if you got the envelope shoved a little too far down the letter box. I was expecting you to back off, but you didn’t. Finally, I figured that if you were basking in the simplicity of your second nature whilst being motivated mainly by your mischievous first, and since it was making me feel so much better about myself, I’d bask in my first nature and teach you a bit of a bittersweet lesson when the prank had reached it’s climax.

I took it on chin and attempted to meet up with you at the restaurant, but of course you didn’t show up. Which was worse for me, as I was prepared to laugh off your gag and just enjoy a nice dinner whilst detailing just how much homework you would be forced to sit through throughout the next school holiday session as penance for your prank. Part of me relished anticipating the payback portion of the game…but you were smart enough to avoid that confrontation entirely. You robbed me of a kindly sort of revenge. As that sank in, I just broke down. It wasn’t that you had fooled me at all, but that I had actually let myself be touched by your letters and that you seemed to care enough to put real thought, compassion, and energy into them…and then indulge your bad side even in spite of all of that. I even tried to tell you when I saw you in class sometime later when I said you were the closest thing to a man I’d had in life at that point, but I think it went clean over your head”

“It didn’t go over my head, but Mom always said the truth would humiliate you” Bart said, “I couldn’t tell you even if I really wanted to”

“Bart, ‘humiliation’ is when you’re forced to crawl back to your ex-husband to have your car pumped with gas rather than be pumped full of his other goods”

“Careful now ma’am, you’re with the Lord’s herd now” Bart joked

“Yeah, well if he ever learned about this I’d be the black sheep of the family”

“Well he won’t…will he?” Bart said

Edna took out a packet of smokes, took out a cigarette and lit it up, “Of course not, I have my first and second natures to adhere to…to teach and to nurture, not to taint and cheapen the experiences I have with Ned and the boys. Another reason for me to stay attached to them, they follow a good principal in life, and any principal not named Skinner is all the better for me”

“So when you were dating Seymour and told me to keep quiet about it…that was when you exacted your revenge wasn’t it?”

“Oh totally” Edna replied, “Besides, I did it just to show you my sensitive side, as a reward for putting yours on such display in the letters, and in a way that wouldn’t harm you emotionally”

Bart, not knowing what else to add, began whistling again, Edna joined in

“Hey, you carry a good tune” Bart said.

“It’s a skill I’ve practised time after time with the kind of timing and love that echoes through the ages” Edna replied

“Just a note…my dad came up with that one in the last letter” Bart said, “You can also thank him for the ‘butt that won’t quit’ line”

“Figures, there’s always a chunk of Homer Simpson in all our thoughts…I’d rather do with just a bit” Edna replied

“I guess you’ll be wanting your photo back now” Bart said

“I reckon I ought to, it sort of blights the meaningful conversation we’ve just had…besides, I think I can use it to play a rather heavenly round of teasing ol’ Neddy” Edna joked.

Bart turned to go to the house and rummage through his room for the photograph, but as he did, a thought came over him, and he walked back over to Edna.

“Mrs. Krabappel, all this jibber-jabber about simplicity and second nature…I wouldn’t be so comfortable in mine if I didn’t feel so secure in your class, I can be anything, a clown, an anarchist, a listener, an author, I’m a human yo-yo where you’re concerned, I go in all kinds of directions, but I always absorb everything that goes on, and everything you say, good, bad, ever so slightly abusive, grows on me. The best teachers always come across as the parents we never had, and with your level of tolerance, you’re a prize candidate in any aspiring mother’s handbook. Rodd and Todd have much to look forward to”

“I don’t know if I should be dreading the next term…or relishing it with you around” Edna replied

“Hey, life is meant to be relished, after all you never know when you’re going to hear exit music” Bart said. Leaving those words to linger, Bart recommenced humming and wandered back inside his house

Edna didn’t join in as he left this time, she took the time to study her cigarette, she looked at the packet also. Her face hardened, a small tear ran down her cheek, and with the slight press of her finger, she crushed the cigarette. She then grabbed the packet and also crushed it with the full weight of her hand before getting up and disposing of it in the trash can at the front of the house.

Only then did she permit herself to hum with all the skill and love that would echo throughout her ages spent on this planet.