What follows is one of three pieces of fan fiction dealing with Doctor Who that I have written. It is also the only one of the three that will see the light of internet. Trust me. The other two are just too terrible to share.

This was written sometime in the late 1980s after watching who knows which Dalek story of classic Doctor Who. It was definitely written before I ever saw that Sylvester McCoy story where the Daleks started to hover.

So... enjoy...

Dave Ross Catering

Take my advice: Never ever invite Daleks to a party. They'll just ruin the whole affair. I should know... I had it happen to me.

It was about a year ago. I was throwing a birthday party for my friend Guillaume. As I was searching the yellow pages for caterers a few weeks before the party, I came across an ad for a new caterer in town. “Try Dave Ross Catering,” it said, “for the latest in robotic waiters. Lots of fun. Low rates.” So I figured, what the heck, and called the number in the ad. Little did I know that an hour into the party that seventeen of my friends would be dead or seriously wounded or that Guillaume would never speak to me again.

I should have known something was wrong when Dave Ross showed up on my doorstep with his robotic waiters. Well, they weren't exactly on my doorstop, but on the sidewalk. Somehow they couldn't get up the stairs... they rolled. This Ross guy was really bizarre. He was sort of blue and bald. He had no eyes and only one arm worked. He also spoke in a sort of electronic monotone. He was not happy at all when he found steps. I had to lay boards down all over my house so he and his waiters could roll around. That really pissed me off because the boards left indentations in my brand new one hundred dollar a square yard carpeting... anyways, it took almost an hour just to find the boards.

Well, when Ross and his waiters got everything into the living room and started setting up that tables, the next thing they found unsatisfactory was the kitchen sink. I am proud of that sink. I did most of the remodeling myself. I chose a quaint old-fashioned style of faucet for the sink – what, with oak handles and brass trim and all. Anyways, Ross said his Daleks (that's what he called the waiters) wouldn't be able to wash dishes. I showed him the dishwasher and that made him happy for a minute or two.

Ross was happy until the band arrived. I hired the primo band of the year for music: The Inane Eggmen. When Zippo started to warm up, the Daleks went berserk. Ross was fit to be tied and refused to do any work until Zippo and the gang stopped playing. Zippo was so totally hacked that refused to play and left, taking my $500 deposit with him. The rest of the Eggmen followed soon after.

So now I was left with irritable caterers, no band, and Guillaume and everyone else about to arrive. This party was not going to be the social event of the century after all, but I was determined not to let a few minor setbacks get the best of me – or my party.

Guillaume and the rest of the entourage arrived at precisely eight o'clock. Everything went smoothly until that weasel Larry decided to try to have fun by trying to disrupt the frequency the Daleks used to move. Most people thought he wanted to break the ice. I thought he just wanted the attention – he always did. It wouldn't have been quite so bad if he hadn't gutted my $2500 surround sound system to do it. Once the music began, the Daleks went berserk again. Guillaume and I screamed at Larry to stop, but he never heard us. Just as You Make My Heart Stop Dead in My Chest by the Geeks started up, the Daleks all dropped their trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres and began shooting.

Of course, all hell broke loose. Guillaume and I took refuge behind the smoking remains of my entertainment unit. The mayhem continued unabated until someone managed to unplug the stereo. Then the sirens started and I could hear Ross yelling at his Daleks to leave while they could. Neither Guillaume nor I moved until the smoke had cleared.

The police took our statements at the hospital along with those of the other survivors. That's the last I saw or heard of Guillaume. Well, the last until the other day when I got a letter from him. He said the stitches have been out for a couple months and the scar is hardly visible and no one can tell he has a limp anymore. He also said he's having a little get-together at his place. I called and asked about the caterers, and he said he wasn't getting that maniac Ross. Instead he found a new robotic caterer by the name of Cy Berman. Well, we'll see when I get there....