Five More Minutes
Disclaimer: If I owned a sonic screwdriver, it'd make the sound AND light up. Not just light up. Unfortunately, I don't – I don't even have a light-up-noise-making pen that looks like it. Ergo, I couldn't possibly be the alien using the alias "Russel T. Davies."
A/N: I've been craving good chips for ages, all because of Doctor Who. I got pissed off at this one episode where they made a point of the fact that they had chips! And Jack, the 51st Century clearly-American-by-his-accent, got them too! I was pissed off.
Anyway, another drabble. On chips. (Prolly gonna write 'bout bananas next.)
Chapter 5: Chips (100 words)
"Mmm... I smell what smells like really amazing chips."
"I don't have any."
"I know."
"We still haven't left the TARDIS."
"I know."
"That's not even Earth out there."
"I know."
"That's Rox-Fom-5."
"I – no, wait, I didn't know that."
"They don't make chips."
"I'm not surprised." The teen paused, then breathed deeply.
"How can you smell chips, anyway?"
"I don't know, you smell the grease! And the oil, and the delicious– oh. I didn't mean chips like... crisps, I meant chips like... fries. Oh, eww. That word's awkward."
"What do you mean?"
"French fries aren't even French!"
A/N: :D I want good British chips now. And I feel like I should start capitalizing the word British.