Listen! This ain't another exploding patient you can sweep under your rug! Now look, when Renwick exploded it reopened the portal to hell and so we must close it before it's too late.
(The shovel he was holding has changed to a cup of coffee) Cool it, Sanchez, or you'll get a knuckle supper! Look, Dagless, you're an excellent doctor (cup is now the shovel again), but you're also a livewire maverick, who when he's not bucking the system, is biting the hand that feeds, which in your case, is this hand (he holds up his free hand, the camera slowly follows). Now I'm not about to tell the immediate family of the deceased that we're going to have to burn what remains of his body in order to close the portals to another dimension. I just won't do it. This hospital's got a reputation, which I intend to keep. I've yet to see any demons on the ward, and I'm particularly observant. So go back to your lab and make a pill that can cure madness, or I'll kick your arse so hard you'll be able to build a pool in the footprint. Understood?
Larry Renwick will be remembered for his wit, and laughing eyes. And for being above-all a good friend. I'm sure we all feel that he exploded too young, but, the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Sometimes, he'll come in at an angle. Other times, he can hover, then swoop. Sometimes he can even come in from beneath, like a worm, or mole. The Lord, it's his call how he chooses to manoeuvre.
(voice over) The doors of Darkplace were open. Not the literal doors of the building, most of which were closed. But evil doors. Dark doors. Doors, to the beyond. Doors that were hard to shut because they were abstract and didn't have handles. They were more like portals really. From this day on I'd have to fight these forces of darkness, and deal with the burden of day-to-day admin.
I do not believe that any form of life, be it human, animal, or plant, should be hurt in the making of a television programme. So I personally feel really bad about that cat we killed.
(sitting at his desk, reading from one of his novels: Slasher) Mike stared in disbelief as his hands fell off. From them rose millions of tiny maggots. Maggots!? Maggots. Maggots. Maggots. Maggots. (Checks line)...Maggots. All over the floor of the post office, in Leytonstone.
Greetings friend, I hope you're sitting uncomfortably. Be it on your sofa, armchair or beanbag if that's how you choose to live your life. I'm Garth Marenghi, horror writer. You know everyone has a special talent. Mine is being able to write, produce, direct, act, paint. Other people are good plumbers, that's their gift.
But nothing! Women like you are the reason this chicken's late in the first place. You'll be lucky if you get any of my lovely chicken if you keep up this kind of behaviour. (He turns, turns back to Liz and knocks her tray to the ground then walks back to the kitchen) Goddamn son-of-a-bitch! This is great chicken, getting nothing but flack. "Wah wah wah! When's the chicken?" Chicken's ready when I say it's ready. Ugh! Now I don't even know what I'm cooking I'm so angry. Seasoning. Hmm, now, what do I need, what do I need? Tarragon? Hmm maybe. Oregano, never heard it of it. Italian seasoning? Too vague. (Liz's PK abilities begin to move the ladle about) Old cloves, yes, bung some of them in. Sage? Nah, sage is for pork, ah I could do pork tomorrow, little bit of pork... (the ladle flies across the kitchen and knocks the chef down. Then a fork flies across into the chef) Son-of-a-bitch!
Look Dag, this temp was the personal recommendation of Won Ton's. He may look like he's just fallen off the back of a turnip truck, but he wouldn't run if his ass was on fire. He goes with you. And that's a deal breaker!
Now I've seen Garth bend a fork, so er, he knows what he's talking about. I mean we all have abilities. I mean I once learnt how to hypnotise women. But with that power, must come, responsibility.
