disclaimer: doctor who © bbc. I do not gain any money from this fiction.
notes: this is another translation and this is unbeta'd so yeah. grammar errors. i hate life.
.x.
He is born infant screaming. Pretty lame, actually, because the last time he regenerated from his ninth self to his tenth self, he wasn't screaming. He just said his fantastic last words, then regeneration energy burst out from his hands and his head, then suddenly he checked his teeth, which he had to admit it was pretty amazing.
Ah, yes. He has to check all his body parts.
He looks at his legs and he feels grateful because if his legs are not long and he has to stand beside a pretty, tall women, blimey, imagine how awkward he is going to be. Then he checks other things like arms (still got it), eyes (still got it), fingers (which he thinks he has a lot of fingers), nose (which seems normal according to his fingers), chin (blimey, so big), and hair (thank god, he's not a woman; adam's apple still on his throat, but damn it, he's still not ginger).
He taps his temples with his new fingers, tries to think what he has forgotten. Fireworks are flying over his head. His sexy TARDIS is spinning so fast his head hurts. The pillars are falling to the TARDIS floor, making a loud noise in the middle of explosion and smokes.
He grins widely, says that he has forgotten that he is falling to god knows where like it's his favorite trouble, almost forgot about he, who always says allons-y, didn't want to go, yet he did because his own body betrayed him. He died lonely.
But then there he is, gripping to the edge of the console while laughing maniacally and says his new catchphrase with a loud voice (because allons-y sounds so old and lonely now).
"Geronimo!"
He's ready.