Second Doctor Fandom: Jamie’s skirt! Zoe is smarter than you! quasi-plato-romantic asexual space bro/lovers!
Third Doctor Fandom: The Brig! OMG that mustache! *swoons* Three/Master 4ever!
Fourth Doctor Fandom: *crazy eyes…trips over their own scarf*
Fifth Doctor Fandom: Maths! Badric Radric! Actual golden retriever! Turlough’s sexy shorts of sexiness! Inept murder attempts ftw!
Sixth Doctor Fandom: ALL THE CATS! Porn Star Colins. Crocs!
Seventh Doctor Fandom: ACE! Cheetah Master! *beats Dalek with a bat*
Eighth Doctor Fandom: Companion deaths! Zagrues sits inside your head…eating bread…while you’re sleeping! Lucie Bleedin’ Miller. *runs away screaming at any mention of holding hands during a long walk*
Susan supports this post. Susan supports all memes. Susan created memes. Are you a memer? Susan is watching you. She is smiling.
The Eighth Doctor has no memory. Did they ever get it back? How? Or is it simply your amnesia that gives you no answers.
There are plants in the TARDIS. There are plants on the floor. Now they are growing up through your keyboard. No one knows how.
Have you seen three nimons today? Has anyone? Do Nimons exist? If you see one, it vanishes into the night. There is no way to be sure it ever existed.
There is a shitpost on your wall. You look to the window and there are shitposts in the streets. Children are crying. One of them speaks. I found a new shitpost generator, she cries.
Adric is fantadric. This is a fact of life. If you do not think this, he becomes madric, for you are badric. As is your dadric.
Faction Paradox. What? No, there is nothing there. Please. They will come for you. Quiet. Do not say those words!
Help me. It is a disembodied voice. Everyone falls to the floor. They know how this will end and they all beg to the heavens above that they will be spared.
Rassilon is here for you. You are the chair of Rassilon. Your husband is the red beard of Rassilon. Your child is the blanket of Rassilon. Everything belongs to Rassilon. Rassilon supports everything. Rassilon is almighty.
Someone mentions looms. A horde of angry shippers descend. They are locusts. They rip everything apart. But still. One voice will always remain. Looms, they whisper. Looms are canon.