The Way of the Doctor

For what follows, I can only offer this explanation: I was up late last night, watching Doctor Who.

* * *

So I noticed there’s this American organization called “the Way of the Master”, Kirk Cameron and Ray Comfort and people; I think I heard about them over at Pharyngula or someplace like that.

Now, I am not a silly person, so I immediately recognized what this Way was about: innocent human beings being duped into worshipping a rogue megalomaniac Time Lord.

It is grindingly obvious: This “Master” wants to rule your life, wants a tithe, promises vague good things in an “afterlife” nobody has come back from; the pictures of him show an (Anglo) Saxon but he has many faces — look, it was obviously-evil shite like this that led to the cancellation of the original Doctor Who. All that’s missing is a shiny Cyberman conversion center where people go for the “afterlife”; or maybe there are plans to parlay this TV show of theirs into an Archangel network of mind-control satellites?

As if modern people are stupid enough to fall for an obvious ruse such as this!

Also, “Ray (of) Comfort”, the most obviously spontaneously made-up alias ever. What, was “Ladies Washrum” taken? This time the evil genius of Gallifrey isn’t even trying to be subtle.


A desert, two thousand years ago. A smug man in a white robe is facing a capering demon in a way too colourful suit.

“So”, the capering demon says, “so, so, so! A holy man? A miracle worker? Great! Absolutely superb — fabulous — all the things you humans come up with! How about a sampler?”

“Do not tempt me, o devil out of time”, the man in white mutters.

“Ah, come on!” the demon yells, gesticulating wildly. “Just a small miracle!” He waves a short metal stick with a light in one end, and a stone flies off the ground and to his hand. “Here, make this into something else. Bread, maybe. I’m hungry.”

“Do not—”

“Ooh! I am hungry! Desperately! Very! Hungry! It would be a good deed! And you are hungry too, aren’t you, mega super duper hungry—”

The man in white frowns. “One does not live by bread alone.”

“Ooh, wine too then! And bananas! Apples! No! Apples are rubbish! Bana—”


The dandy demon dances a step backwards. “Well then no, uh, let’s find some high place and, er, you jump down and — wait, no, a really bad idea, best if we don’t. Maybe if we just—” and suddenly he lunges, stabs with the glowstick, and with a great chittering sound the white robe melts away and reveals a goatee’d, grim-faced man in black.

“Aha!” the capering demon yells, “chameleon circuitry in a jacket! Extra-ordinary!”

“Bah”, the man formerly in white, the Master, growls, “do you expect me to grovel before your cleverness, Doctor? Your discovery has only hastened your doom! Even now, time grows short and the fixed point approaches!”

“No!” the demon says, suddenly deadly serious. “No, Master, wait, you really must not do this! The Romans are more advanced than you or I—”

“Do not tempt me!” the Master screams, and vanishes in a puff of teleportation-sublimated water vapor. (Or vapour, rather.)

“—ever expected.” the demon finishes, and sighs. “They will really kill you… not that a Time Lord would not rise again.” He scratches his head and frowns. “Oh, Master, Master, Master, I really don’t know what you really hope to achieve this time. Not like getting killed as this dime-dozen preacher would leave any lasting…”

He trails off, then lifts a cell phone to his ear and says: “Hello? Martha? A quick question. Could you find a history professor and ask if he knows anything about a Jewish prophet called” — he mutters a name, waits, then proclaims he is a completely non-jokey person who is not joking in any way — and then slowly pales.

“I knew the name was familiar!”

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