Rose stared at him, her lip curved in utter scorn. "And that's it?"

"Uh, Rose?" The Doctor muttered but she ignored him in favour of glaring at the slimy beast with a crown and taser.

"That's your master plan?" She rattled her handcuffs at him and shook her head. "Pit of eternal fire? Indestructible crocodiles you ain't fed for a month and spikes at the bottom of the pool? Do I look like James Bond?"

"Rose?"

"As plans go its right up there with—whats-er-name- Yzma."

"Who?"

Rose rolled her eyes and affected a smart Russian accent. "'I'm going to turn him into a flea and then put that flea in a box. I'll put that box in another box and then I'll mail it to myself and when it arrives, I'll smash it with a hammer. Or to save on postage, I'll just poison him with this'."

The Doctor looked worriedly at her. "Did you hit your head, Rose?"

"No!" Rose pouted, getting angry. "I'm sick of this. Why do we always meet idiots with delusions of grandeur and plans of taking over the bleeding universe? I mean, for one, it ain't exactly original. Any dumbass with a white cat and black-clothes complex feels that it's his given right to control the whole universe…" she gave the beast a pitying look. "Have you even thought it through? Do you have any idea of all the hard work and paperwork involved? It's not all lay back and be worshipped, you know! Think about the … the … military strategies you'd have to organise and the fear you'd have to inspire. Being scary takes up time and effort you know. Then," Rose got on a roll, "then, you've got all those assassination attempts to deal with, not to mention being on guard 24 hours a day."

"Feppits have 38 hours a day," the Doctor said in an aside, totally captivated by what she was saying.

Rose nodded in triumph. "There ya go. 38 hours of non-stop looking over your shoulder, checking shadows and never being able to eat without worrying if someone gonna poison you. Breakfast won't ever be fun again and forget picking up cloud sugar at the fair. You'll never be sure if your wife is faithful or ready to betray you for the power and then you've got the never-ending stream of heroes who all think you should be killed who'll need dispatching in unique ways because lets face it, who wants to be known as the Crocodile guy? You've got to designing outfits for your security guards so they don't look like Nazi storm-troopers and give them shooting practice because—please!" She eyed the holes in the walls which had missed her and the Doctor by miles. "Any children you have will want to usurp you and doesn't that take the fun out of changing nappies? You've got to design a super-weapon and make blueprints for an un-escapable dungeon, make your ventilation shafts smaller and set up a self-destruct system. Evil laughter totally ruins the vocal chords and who wants to sound like an asthmatic for the rest of their life? All your allies will be totally untrustworthy, your minions will be out to kill you, enemies will want you dead and you'll even grow to be mistrustful of your advisors and that kind of constant negative feedback will cause a downward spiral of depression culminating in eventual suicide or psychosis. I mean, seriously." Rose smiled softly at him. "Who wants the hassle of the job? It's really not worth the benefits, now is it?"

An hour later the Doctor rubbed his aching wrists and stared at Rose.

Rose bit her lip. "Wasn't that nice? No running for our lives, no death, destruction or pain."

The Doctor shook his head. "I've been around a while, me and seen some very odd things. But watching that Dictator suddenly decide to let us go … not that is a first."

Rose smiled. "We both agreed, he'd make a much better gardener. Ruler of the universe is far too much like hard work."

The Doctor gaped. "Rose Tyler. You'll never cease to amaze me."