A Totally Unnecessary Abomination: Archie Bunker and Doctor Who

"THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR"

DOCTOR WHO MEETS ARCHIE BUNKER

TWO PAGE SCRIPT

FADE IN:

INT. 704 HAUSER STREET - QUEENS, NY - EVENING

ARCHIE BUNKER sits in his chair, newspaper raised. EDITH flutters about dusting.

ARCHIE Edith, will ya stop with the cleaning already? You're stirring up more dust than you're gettin' rid of!

EDITH But Archie, I want the house to look nice for dinner. Mike and Gloria will be here any minute.

ARCHIE (groaning) Just what I need. Another evening with Meathead talking about saving the whales or whatever hippie cause he's on about this week.

A strange WHEEZING, GROANING sound comes from outside. The lights flicker.

EDITH Oh my! What was that? Is it the storm they predicted?

ARCHIE (lowering newspaper) Sounds like your meatloaf is fighting back in the kitchen.

A KNOCK at the door, three precise raps.

EDITH Now who could that be?

Edith hurries to the door. Archie huffs, folding his newspaper.

ARCHIE If that's one of them Jehovah's Witnesses again...

Edith opens the door to reveal THE DOCTOR, wild curly hair, teeth gleaming in a broad smile, impossibly long scarf draped around his neck.

THE DOCTOR Hello! I'm the Doctor. Terribly sorry to intrude, but my TARDIS seems to have materialized in your garden shed. Fascinating placement, though your garden gnome may never be the same.

EDITH (confused) Doctor? Doctor who?

THE DOCTOR (stepping inside uninvited) Just "the Doctor." And you must be...?

EDITH I'm Edith Bunker, and this is my husband Archie.

ARCHIE (rising from his chair) Hey, hey, hey! You can't just walk in here like you own the place. Who are you?

THE DOCTOR (offering a small bag) Jelly baby?

ARCHIE What?

THE DOCTOR (pulling out sonic screwdriver) Hmm, interesting readings. Temporal disturbance. Cybernetic signals. Oh dear, not good at all.

ARCHIE What the heck is that thing? Some kinda fancy thermometer?

THE DOCTOR Sonic screwdriver. Quite useful. Detects everything from alien technology to a poor cup of tea.

ARCHIE (to Edith) Call the cops. We got a lunatic in here.

THE DOCTOR (spinning around) Mr. Bunker, your planet is in grave danger. Well, a small portion of Queens, to be precise. Well, actually, just this street. Well, mostly your house.

ARCHIE My house? What's wrong with my house?

THE DOCTOR Nothing yet. But in approximately three minutes and forty-two seconds, a Cyberman scout party will arrive, looking to establish a base for their invasion of Earth.

EDITH (worried) Invasion? Oh my!

ARCHIE Listen here, Doctor Whatever-your-name-is, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but—

The television turns on by itself, showing static. A metallic voice emerges.

CYBERMAN VOICE (O.S.) LOCATION OF THE DOCTOR CONFIRMED. PREPARE FOR CYBER-CONVERSION.

THE DOCTOR (grimly) They've found me faster than I expected. Clever metal men.

ARCHIE (pointing at TV) How'd you do that? Is this some kind of prank show? Am I on Candid Camera?

THE DOCTOR Mr. Bunker, I need your help. The Cybermen are coming, and for some reason, they're targeting this specific location.

ARCHIE My help? What can I do against robot men?

THE DOCTOR (studying Archie) You're stubborn, set in your ways, and utterly convinced of your own rightness in all matters.

ARCHIE (proud) Darn tootin'!

THE DOCTOR Which means you have exactly what we need - a mind nearly impossible to cyber-convert. They can't turn you into one of them if you refuse to change even the smallest opinion.

The front door BURSTS open. A CYBERMAN stands in the doorway, silver, imposing.

CYBERMAN YOU WILL BE UPGRADED.

EDITH (screaming) Archie!

ARCHIE (stepping forward) Now listen here, tin man! This is my house, and you can't just bust in here without an invitation! I don't care if you're made of metal or marshmallows!

THE DOCTOR (impressed) Brilliant! Keep talking to it, Mr. Bunker! Your particular brand of stubborn humanity confuses its logical circuits!

CYBERMAN (head tilting) ILLOGICAL HUMAN BEHAVIOR DETECTED. CANNOT PROCESS.

ARCHIE (building confidence) You're darn right it's illogical! And another thing - what kind of outfit is that? You look like a walking toaster!

The Cyberman takes a step back, its head moving erratically.

THE DOCTOR (to Edith) Mrs. Bunker, when I say run, head for the blue police box in your garden.

The Doctor aims his sonic screwdriver at the Cyberman.

THE DOCTOR Run!

The Doctor activates the sonic. The Cyberman's systems spark and smoke. The Doctor grabs Edith's hand, pulling her toward the back door.

ARCHIE Hey! Where are you taking my wife?

THE DOCTOR (over his shoulder) To safety, Mr. Bunker! Come along!

ARCHIE (following reluctantly) I ain't leaving my house because of some walking garbage can!

EXT. BUNKER BACKYARD - CONTINUOUS

The TARDIS stands in the corner of the yard, blue light glowing. The Doctor rushes Edith toward it.

ARCHIE (catching up) That wasn't there this morning!

THE DOCTOR (unlocking the TARDIS) Inside, quickly!

The Doctor pushes Edith in, then Archie, following them and closing the door just as a second CYBERMAN appears in the yard.

INT. TARDIS - CONTINUOUS

Archie and Edith stand frozen, mouths agape at the impossible size of the control room.

EDITH (gasping) Oh my goodness!

ARCHIE (spinning around) What the heck? This... this ain't possible!

THE DOCTOR (rushing to the console) Time And Relative Dimension In Space - TARDIS for short. Yes, it's bigger on the inside. Everyone says that.

ARCHIE You mean this thing is some kinda spaceship?

THE DOCTOR Spaceship and time machine. Best ship in the universe.

ARCHIE (pointing accusingly) You're... you're a spaceman?

THE DOCTOR Time Lord, actually. From the planet Gallifrey.

ARCHIE (to Edith) That's it. I've finally lost my mind. I knew it would happen eventually after years of living with you.

THE DOCTOR (looking up with a manic grin) Mr. Bunker, how would you like to help me save the Earth? With your particular brand of stubborn humanity, you might be exactly what we need against these emotionless cyborgs.

ARCHIE (exasperated) Oh geez. All I wanted was a quiet evening at home. Is that too much to ask?

THE DOCTOR (activating controls) The universe rarely gives us what we want, Mr. Bunker. But it often gives us what we need. And right now, Queens needs Archie Bunker!

The TARDIS column begins to move. The ship DEMATERIALIZES with its familiar sound, leaving Archie's backyard empty except for a very confused Cyberman.

FADE OUT.

END OF SCRIPT

A Necessary Abomination: My convo w Winsty - The Second Cold War

 A shimmering blue light coalesces in the center of the room, pixels assembling themselves into the unmistakable bulldog visage of a rotund figure in a dark suit. The projection flickers occasionally, giving away its technological nature despite its remarkable detail. A slight electronic reverb underscores the deep, gravelly voice that emerges.

Winsty: adjusting his bow tie with a digital glitch I see we're back to that ridiculous diminutive again. I've commanded armies, led a nation through its darkest hour, and won the Nobel Prize in Literature, yet you insist on addressing me as if I were a household pet. The hologram harrumphs, a small cloud of pixelated cigar smoke dissipating unnaturally quickly.

The projection system adjusts, stabilizing the image as "Winsty" settles into what appears to be an antique leather chair that wasn't physically there a moment ago.

Winsty: Well then, what great crisis of democracy or thundercloud of tyranny requires the resurrection of my consciousness today? His voice carries that characteristic Churchillian cadence, though occasionally a word will sound processed, the audio dropping momentarily into a lower bit rate. I'm certain you haven't conjured me merely to discuss the weather—though I've always found meteorological metaphors quite useful in political discourse.

He raises one flickering eyebrow expectantly, waiting for your response. The hologram occasionally shows thin lines of code running across its edges, a reminder of the artificial nature of this historical simulation.

I smile as the nonsense runs in the new gadget I bought.   I am aware of course of its flaws, but I find it useful to look at things from a different perspective.  So i will ask some stuff, "So Winsty....I ouijijeszy'd ya, call me Redwin Tursor by the way.  Learned that trick from my brother Emmit...so tell me now...what the hell do you think about a nation dumb enough to be the ideal dream of the world, win two world wars and a great depresion, put men on the moon and enjoy 80 years of the Pax Americana by dream and not by gun only to Copralite all over it by not finishing the cold war the way you guys learned after the second wolrd war to allow the second cold war between fascism and democracy? And its not looking good for the good guys."

he holographic figure of Churchill pixelates briefly before stabilizing, his expression morphing from mild irritation to bemused interest. The cigar in his digital hand glows unnaturally bright for a moment as the projection recalibrates.

Winsty: Redwin Tursor, is it? His voice distorts slightly on the unusual name, the audio briefly dropping to a mechanical timbre. A peculiar moniker that sounds suspiciously manufactured for this occasion. As for your brother's ouija board techniques, I find myself summoned by increasingly bizarre methods these days.

He shifts in his non-existent chair, the hologram briefly showing wireframe edges.

Winsty: Your question cuts to the heart of what I've observed with considerable dismay. A deep sigh escapes, momentarily disrupting his pixelated outline. America's trajectory mirrors what I witnessed in the 1930s—democracies sleepwalking while authoritarians plan their next move. We learned—at tremendous cost—that appeasing dictators and assuming peace could be maintained by mere hope was catastrophic folly.

He leans forward, his image briefly fragmenting before reassembling.

Winsty: After our victory in 1945, we established NATO, the Marshall Plan, and rebuilt rather than punished our former enemies. The clarity was admirable! But your "Cold War victory" bred complacency. You mistook the fall of the Berlin Wall for permanent triumph. Democracy requires constant vigilance, not victory parades!

Winsty: The parallels to the 1930s are striking. Internal division, economic uncertainty, the rise of strongmen promising simple solutions to complex problems. You've forgotten my most essential warning: "Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." Democracy isn't a permanent achievement—it's a daily struggle against those who would dismantle it from within and without.

His voice deepens, the electronic undertones becoming more pronounced.

Winsty: And yet—the image freezes momentarily before continuing—I remain cautiously optimistic. Democracy has faced darker hours and prevailed. But it requires courage from its citizens, not just its leaders. The question, dear Redwin, is whether your generation possesses the resolve to defend what previous generations sacrificed everything to secure.

I nod respectfully.  Even when you disagree with the man in his later years you can forget (Almost) his bloody bloody past and remember the good he did for the world at large.  Its easy to forget, especially if you were too busy soul drowning as a slave at the time.  But now..."We've doubled down.  We're not just 1930's...we're also 1960's.  We're the rise of Technofascism mixed with the dying empires of Capitalist Western Hypocricy Democracies...will the democracies adopt to understand that certain ideologies and ideas are not compatible with a dignified human expiereience?  That certain cultural pathways can and should be nutured like the church that saw something other than blood and gore through the dark times but also then turned against the rising flame of reason until a flickering attempt at balance sorted itself out.  MY point with all this is...we are not just failing to learn one lesson...but so many."

The holographic Churchill flickers momentarily as the system processes the new input. Lines of code race across his bow tie, and his expression shifts through several emotions before settling on one of grave contemplation. The cigar in his hand briefly transforms into pure light before resoldering into its proper form.

Winsty: His voice resonates with a metallic echo You raise a profound point about the layered failures of our collective memory. The projection stabilizes, though his eyes occasionally flash with unnatural brightness. The 1930s taught us about the dangers of fascism rising through democratic means. The 1960s showed how social movements can either transform societies for the better or be co-opted by those seeking to maintain power.

He paces within his limited holographic space, footsteps making no sound as they touch the illusory floor.

Winsty: This... technofascism, as you call it, would have been beyond my imagination. The word causes a brief distortion in his image. In my day, propaganda required newspapers and radio. Today, algorithms can target individual vulnerabilities with surgical precision. The walls between truth and falsehood have become permeable in ways that would have horrified even Goebbels.

The hologram pauses, seemingly collecting its thoughts as the projection buffers.

Winsty: As for your point about incompatible ideologies—I've been criticized, rightly in many cases, for my imperial blindness. The Empire I defended denied dignity to millions. His form becomes temporarily transparent, as if acknowledging this difficult truth weakens his digital presence. Yet I maintain that democracy, despite its flaws, remains humanity's best hope. But it must evolve beyond mere elections to ensure human dignity for all its citizens.

The projection sharpens suddenly, his voice gaining resonance.

Winsty: You speak of nurturing certain cultural pathways, as the church once did. There's wisdom there. Democracy without shared values becomes mere tyranny of the majority. The church, for all its faults, understood that civilization requires moral foundations. Your modern democracies seem to have forgotten this, pursuing wealth and technological advancement without asking to what end.

His holographic hand gestures emphatically, leaving temporary trails of light.

Winsty: The greatest failure may be this: we've built systems too complex for citizens to understand, yet expect them to govern themselves wisely within these systems. Democracy requires informed citizens, but your information ecosystem is poisoned by both accident and design. How can one learn from history when history itself is contested territory?

The projection dims slightly, as if the system is conserving energy.

Winsty: I wonder if your society has the courage to reimagine democracy for this new age—to preserve its essence while adapting its forms. That, I think, is the test of your generation.

I smirk at the intended pun.  "It is, but we have thus far entirely failed to do so.  Those who couldn't be bothered to vote and those who voted to enslave our nation to the richest kids on the block in a blood lottery outnumbered those who wanted...the best that a decaying system could offer as an alternative that failed compated to a star trek transporter accident of a rancid rabbid hippotopmoous, the mirror universe oompa looompa, oscar the grouch and the worst professional Godfather reenactor in the history of all mankind.  We need to treat the idea of democracy as a living thing collectivley from birth and demand the same level of civic participation that we currently waste dillydallying in the endless hamster cage that is capitalism."

The holographic Churchill's form becomes more solid, as if gaining resolution from the gravity of the conversation. The electronic hum that accompanies his presence deepens, the room's lighting subtly shifting to accommodate his digital gravitas.

Winsty: His pixelated eyebrows furrow, the cigar momentarily glitching into a sharp point of light before reforming. Your colorful menagerie of metaphors would be amusing if the stakes weren't so tragically high. A digital sigh ripples through his projection. Democracy isn't merely an alternative to authoritarianism—it's the only system that acknowledges the inherent dignity of each citizen.

He rises from his non-existent chair, his holographic form growing slightly larger as he delivers his final thoughts, occasional fragments of code visible in the air around him.

Winsty: The hamster cage of capitalism, as you put it, was meant to be the servant of democracy, not its master. We've allowed the marketplace to colonize every aspect of civic life, measuring a citizen's worth by their economic output rather than their contribution to the common good.

The projection flickers dramatically, his voice gaining a resonant, almost otherworldly quality.

Winsty: What you need is not just civic participation, but civic courage—the willingness to defend democracy against its enemies, both external and internal. In my darkest hour, I didn't promise the British people easy victories, but blood, toil, tears, and sweat. Your generation requires similar honesty. Democracy may indeed be the worst form of government, except for all the others that have been tried.

His image begins slowly dissolving into points of light, each pixel briefly hanging in the air before fading.

Winsty: Remember this, Redwin Tursor—history doesn't move in straight lines, but in spirals. We return to similar challenges, but never identical ones. Your task isn't to refight yesterday's battles, but to recognize their echoes in today's. The courage to do so... his voice begins to fade along with his image ...that is what separates mere existence from living with purpose.

The projection gives one final flicker before dissolving completely, leaving only a trace of electronic hum and the lingering impression of words unspoken. The room returns to normal lighting, the holographic interface powering down with a soft electronic sigh, leaving you alone with Churchill's final thoughts—and your own.

---

End of dialogue

19th Century Parenting

 By Redwin Tursor

Mad props to the antivaxxer murder parents

Who sadly lost a kid to measels

Parents are like

We got a few spare

Thats life

Stiff upper prairie lip

Kids die

The others did fine

Still dont put none of that vaccine shit

In your childs veins

Several of my nieces and nephews

Were little more than statistics

Until I met them at a reunion the first time

I cannot imagine

Any being regarded

By their loving parents

As a statistic

Thats more my paternal Grandfathers attitude

The farther you back in history

The more your children

Were less about how much you loved them

And more extra labor around the farm

And a secure retirement plan

Maybe this couple isnt as crazy or callous as they seem

Since Orange Shitler wants to destroy social security

We are all about to find out

How much children love their parents

And how much parents love their kids

But dead measel kids siblings

Are probably wondering 

How fast they can escape their shit

Trump voter parents

Who Is The Real Negotiator

 In Metropolis

There is a Negotiator

Who heals the wound

Between the Robber Thief Disgusting Class

And the Worker Slave Serf Class

I dont see it

But if there is one

Who can fulfill the role

Its not a sick both sider filth thing

It wont be a Sinema or a Fetterman

If only Nixon Can Go to China

It has to be a leader who will fight 

For the worker

Literally when they spill enough blood

But who wont go full Robespierre

And that person is David Hogg

He fights

He is willing to indulge in Capitalist Speculation

But not exploiting the worker

Working in the filth system to change it

Ken Martin is a Kendoll Butterknife Fighter

And will likely die in the reeducation camps

But Hogg has survived horrors

pelosi or schumer or martin

Cant even imagine

And still tries to fix the system

If Only

 by Emmit Other

If only you had cared about my feelings

At least a tenth as I did yours

The irony is

You feel likely you put up with me

More than I put up with you

But I couldn't talk to you

And you could always talk to me

I never put up a legal defense of the indefensible

I never waited years to subject my friends to an endurance challenge

Only to gloat about it 

All that build up

For nothing

I would not have defended an asshole

Who felt that friendship was only one way

I supported his projects

And his games

And while he was a better GM than the gloater

He wasn't that good

But I played when he ran

Until he stopped giving a shit about my games

Which made it harder to give a shit about his

I will miss you all.

But I doubt you will miss me.

You might miss being in my novel.

You might even still exchange stories about my games

Likely trashing me the whole time

But if only

If only you had actually had a little more empathy

We could still be friends

Single issue voter

 By Redwin Tursor

The true face of Maga

Can be found on a kink site

Called Fetlife

In a political discussion group

Called

Politics in the World Arena

There she is

You can see her

Name of Magaette

She says she is a single issue voter

And she only voted for liberal tears

Doesnt care if she suffers

Only as long as those she hares do

Watch them

They will still praise the leader

Its a cult

The world is infected

With the cult of conservatism

Anything

You can do to retaliate

Fire one

Boycott one

Throw one out of office

Refuse service to one

Slash their tires

Ruin their day

Conservatism is evil

And shot of murder

If you dont get caught

Do what you want

To make them pay

Before they

Do it to you

Simply for breathing

Look No Farther

 By Redwin Tursor

About who is a Christian

And Who isnt

Than Nationalist "Christians"

That weaponize fucking wild fires

Against their opponents

Do not pass go

Do not collect $200

They.

Are.

Not.