Red Dwarf, Series IV

Kryten:
Has anyone ever told you that the configuration and juxtaposition of your features is extraordinarily apposite?

Camille:
Wow, you really know all the lines, don't you?

Kryten:
Oh, spin my nipple nuts and send me to Alaska!

Cat:
What was it like being a hamster?

Lister:
It was better than being a chicken. Have you seen the size of an egg? Seen the size of a chicken's bum? That's what all the clucking was about. I was trying to say in chicken-talk "for God's sake, give me an epidural!"

Kryten:
[upon showing Lister a photo of his penis] Well?

Lister:
Well what?

Kryten:
Well, what do you think?

Lister:
I'm not quite with you here, Kryten, what am I supposed to say?

Kryten:
I want to know, is that normal?

Lister:
What, taking photographs of it and showing it to your mates? No, it's not!

Kryten:
Well, i-it's supposed to look like that?

Lister:
....well yeah.

Kryten:
But it's hideous! That's the best design they could come up with!? Are you seriously telling me there were choices and someone said "Ah. There. That's it. That's the shape we're looking for; the 'last-chicken-in-the-shop' look." Shakespeare had one. Einstein. Perry Como sang 'Memories Are Made of This' with one of those stashed in his slacks!?'

Lister:
Well yeah.

Kryten:
No wonder humans don't have a zoom mode!

Lister:
No vacuum cleaner should give a human being a double polaroid!

Kryten:
I've been a complete and total polaroid-head.

Lister:
Yeah, you've had your head right up your recharge socket.

Lister:
Of course, lager! The only thing that can kill a vindaloo!

[Lister looks at the stasis pod, while suffering from Space Mumps]

Lister:
So who is she, Holly?

Holly:
Says on the pod, Barbara Bellini

Lister:
Barbara Bellini, what a beautiful name. There's no justice, how can this happen to me? Maybe I can wear a turban and pretend I'm from India.

Cat:
Maybe you can stick a spike in your head and pretend you're the Taj Mahal!

[After sitting through 3 hours of a slideshow of Rimmer's holiday on the diesel decks]

Kryten:
Oh, sir, can we take a break for a while? It appears my intelligence circuits have melted.

Rimmer:
Kryten, we're not going to get through them all if we take a second break.

Kryten:
Sir, that's a gamble I'm willing to take!

Cat (spattered with vile yellow gunk):
I don't wanna live! Someone, please...shoot me in the head!

[Lister takes the witness stand]

Kryten:
Name?

Lister:
Dave Lister.

Kryten:
Occupation?

Lister:
[looks bewildered for a moment, then answers] Uh, bum.

Kryten:
Sir, would you describe the accused [Rimmer] as a friend?

Cat:
Take the Fifth!

Kryten:
Sir, please answer the question. Remember you are under polygraphic surveillance: Would you describe the accused as a friend?

Lister:
No, I'd describe the accused as a git.

Lister:
Look, I don't want any toast, and he doesn't want any toast. In fact, no-one around 'ere wants any toast!

Talkie Toaster:
How 'bout a muffin?

Lister:
Or muffins, we don't like muffins round 'ere! We don't want muffins, no toast, buns, baps, bagets or bagels, no croissants, no crumpets, no teacakes, no potato cakes and no hot cross buns! And definitely no smegging flapjacks!

Talkie Toaster (after a very brief pause):
Ah, so you're a waffle man!

Talkie Toaster:
I have a question. A sensible question. A question that will test the limits of your new IQ and stretch the sinews of your knowledge to bursting point!

Holly:
This is gonna be about waffles, isn't it?

Talkie Toaster (sounding hurt, as it's been caught out):
Certainly not. And I resent the implication that I'm a one-dimensional bread-obsessed electrical appliance!

Holly:
I apologise, Toaster, what's the question?

Talkie Toaster:
The question is this: given that God is infinite, and that the Universe is also infinite...would you like a toasted teacake?

[Realising she only has 3 minutes to live after having her IQ upgraded Holly decides to shut off all power, causing concern for the crew]]

Kryten:
Shh. Listen, can anyone hear anything?

Cat:
No

Kryten:
Exactly, no one can hear anything, and do you know why we can't hear anything?

Rimmer:
(annoyed) Why?

Kryten:
(in a spooky voice) Because there are no sounds to hear!

Rimmer:
Kryten, isn't it around this time that your head goes back to the lab for re-tuning?

[The crew are talking about how to go back to the bridge through closed doors.]

Cat:
I've got it. We laser our way through.

Kryten:
An excellent plan, with just two drawbacks: One, we don't have a power source for lasers; and Two, we don't have any lasers.

[after using Kryten's flat head for the job]

Lister:
You alright, man?

Kryten:
I'm fine, thank you, Susan.

Cat:
Come on, man, you gotta sacrifice your life. I'm not asking you to do anything I wouldn't do.

Rimmer:
You? You'd sacrifice your life for the good of the crew?

Cat:
No! I'd sacrifice your life for the good of the crew.

Lister:
Computer Senility. It's such a weird condition.

Kryten:
I know. I had a mechanoid friend once who suffered from the same affliction. His name was Gilbert, but he preferred it if people called him "Rameses Niblick the Third, Kerplunk Kerplunk, Whoops, Where's My Thribble?". A sad case.

Rimmer:
Well, if you ask me the eskimos had the right idea. They knew how to handle the elderly and the permanently baffled: middle of the night, they'd take them out into the blizzard, remove their pyjamas, and just leave them to it.

Kryten:
That's how eskimos cared for their old people?

Rimmer:
Absolutely. That's why there's no eskimo word for 'Eastbourne'.

Cat:
Great(!) Where does this leave us?!

Kryten:
It leaves us floating aimlessly in space with no navigation and a rapidly diminishing emergency power supply. It leaves us galloping up diarrhea drive without a saddle.

Lister:
I'm not going to get blasted Rimmer, just nicely drunk

Rimmer:
Define 'nicely drunk' as 'nicely drunk' horizontal or perpendicular.

Rimmer:
If you miss, we're going to get a planet in the face

Lister:
I'm not going to mish

Rimmer:
Mish?

Lister:
What?

Rimmer:
Mish, 'I'm not going to mish' you said. You've only had 4 cans and your steaming!

Lister:
Rimmer, will you relax. I know what i'm doing, i am not pished!

[walks into something off camera with a loud clatter]

Kryten:
You are the most obnoxious, trumped-up, farty little smeghead it has ever been my misfortune to encounter!

Ace:
Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast.

Rimmer:
You don't like Reggie Wilson? What? Not even "Pop Goes Delius" or "Funking Up Wagner"?

Lister:
I prefer something slightly more melodious, like the long, drawn-out death rattle of a man suffering from terminal flatulence.

Rimmer:
[in a scathing tone] I recognize you two. Weren't you two the double action centrefold in July's edition of "Big Boys in Boots"?

Rimmer:
Skipper?

Ace:
Thought he deserved a nickname, Skipper sounded good.

Rimmer:
Ace and Skipper? You sound like a kids TV series about a boy and his bush kangaroo.

Caligula:
Very well. Rasputin, bring in the bucket of soapy frogs and remove his trousers.

Cat:
What's it made of?

Lister:
Wood. IT's kind of an inverted L shape made of wood.

Cat:
Does it have a kind of rope motif?

LIster:
There is a kind of noosey theem to it, yeah!

Cat:
It's gallows! Look if it's gallows then say it's gallows! I can take it!

Lister:
Ok! It's gallows!

Cat:
Aah! They're building the gallows to hang us!

LISTER:
Look man, don't panic. We're gonna escape.

'CAT:
How?

LISTER:
Just...hijack the guards when they come in, nick their uniforms and stroll out.

CAT:
Are you insane? Do you seriously expect me to wear grey out of season? I'd rather hang.

LISTER:
Hang on, hang on. Something's happening. Some kind of parade or drill but...

CAT:
But what?

LISTER:
Hang on. These guys aren't Nazis...they're all wearing different period costumes. There's one looks like Al Capone, there's another like Mussolini, Richard III, Napoleon. Smeg, it's like all the worst people in history have been brought together in one place. Oh my God, there's James Last! I recognize him from Rimmer's record collection.

CAT:
What are they doing?.

LISTER:
Well, just lining up in ... in some kind of firing squad. Woah, Woah! Hang on, hang on. Someone's being brought out, they're tying him to a stake. It's Winnie the Pooh.

CAT:
What?

LISTER:
Winnie the Pooh, I swear! He's refusing the blindfold.

CAT:
They're tying Winnie the Pooh to a stake?

LISTER:
That's something no one should ever have to see.

[Rimmer tells Lister of his great "victory" leading the good droids against the fascist droids.]

Lister:
How many survived?

Rimmer:
Well, we haven't had time to make a full official estimate. But at a rough guess, and obviously this is subject to alteration pending information updates, roundabout: none of them.

Lister:
So you wiped out the entire population of this planet?

Rimmer:
You make it sound so negative, Lister. Don't you see? The deranged menace that once threatened this world is vanquished.

Lister:
No it isn't, pal. You're still here!

Cat:
He's a transvestite?

Lister:
Yeah!

Cat:
With those hips?!

Lister:
(Holding up a banana) Okay, let's try again. What is it?

Kryten:
It's a banana.

Lister:
No, it isn't. Try again. What is it?

Kryten:
It's a banana?

Lister:
(Exasperated) No, it isn't! What is it?

Kryten:
It's an orrrr....It's an orrrr....

Lister:
It's an orange! Go on, say it. It's an orange! This! Is! An orange!

Kryten:
It's an orrrr...It's an orrrr...It's a banana!

Lister:
So, if it's not Bellini in there, who is it?

Rimmer:
One of the prisoners. And considering the ship was transporting forty psychotic, half-crazed, mass-murdering, super-strong androids, we thought it prudent to find out who the smeg was in there before we woke them up.

Kryten:
With respect, sir, they're not androids. They're simulants.

Cat:
What's the difference?

Kryten:
Well, the basic difference is that an android would never rip off a human's head and spit down his neck.

Lister:
Can we stop it, Hol?

Holly:
What? Oh. No. One-way process.

Lister:
Can't we X-ray the pod?

Holly:
No. Lead lining. That's to survive in space, innit?

Lister:
There must be some way of finding out.

Holly:
Well, there is. All you 'ave to do is 'ang around 'ere for 24 hours. Then, if you find your limbs scattered across deep space and your neck full of saliva, you can take it as read it probably wasn't Babs.

Lister:
If you don't eat, like, 400 rounds of toast every hour, he throws a major wobbler. That's what caused the accident in the first place.

Kryten:
What accident?

Lister:
The accident involving me, the Toaster, the waste disposal and a 14-pound lump hammer!

Kryten:
That explains why he was down in the garbage hold in three thousand separate pieces.

Lister:
NO TOAST!

Toaster:
But I am a toaster. It is my raison d'etre. I toast, therefore I am. If you don't want any toast, why did you repair me, hm?

Lister:
Yeah, why did you repair him?

Kryten:
He's a guinea pig for a technique called "Intelligence Compression." His AI chips were very badly damaged in the accident.

Toaster:
But that was no accident! That was first-degree toastercide!

Lister:
Just shut your grill!

Kryten:
But there are fifty-three doors between here and the Science Room!

Lister:
They're only internal doors, they're only a light alloy. We could get through 'em if we had a battering ram. Something... I dunno... about six foot long, fairly sturdy, with a flat top.

[Everyone looks at Kryten]

Kryten:
53 doors?! You can't be serious!

[53 doors later]

Lister:
You alright, man?

Kryten:
I'm fine, thank you, Susan.

Lister:
Let me get this straight. Is she doing what I think she's doing?

Cat:
Why? What do you think she's doing?

Lister:
Playing pool with planets.

Rimmer:
Is that possible?

Lister:
Well, it's not going to work. It's completely insane. It's whacko. It's noodle-doodle.

Cat:
I'm with you, buddy.

Lister:
No, not the idea, the shot. There's not enough side.

Rimmer:
"Side?"

Lister:
Yeah, side-spin. It's a complete mis-cue.

Rimmer:
What are you drivelling about, Lister? We're talking about a computer with an IQ in excess of twelve thousand.

Lister:
Doesn't mean she can play pool. I can. Trust me. I know whereof I speak. Aigburth Arms on a Friday night, they used to call me Dave "Cinzano Bianco" Lister, 'cause once I was on the table, you couldn't get rid of me. This pool arm is as sound as a dollarpound, and I promise you that shot will not come off! She's topped it, that's what she's done, she's topped it! It's a felt-ripper! That planet is off the table and into somebody's pint of beer!

Rimmer:
You're going to drink an entire six-pack of wicked-strength lager?

Lister:
I'm not going to get plastered, Rimmer, just...just nicely drunk.

Rimmer:
Define 'nicely drunk', is 'nicely drunk' horizontal or perpendicular?

Lister:
Rimmer, I can handle it.

Kryten:
I'm not sure I can!

Mellie:
What are you doing at lunchtime?

Ace:
Not sure, why?

Mellie:
If you're interested, I'll be in my quarters, covered in maple syrup.

Ace:
I'm sorry, Mellie, I don't fraternise with the staff.

Mellie:
I resign.

Ace:
I'll be there at 13:00.

Mellie:
(breaks the fourth wall) What a guy!

Rimmer:
What is it about me? It's always been the same old story. It's not easy to look in that mirror and see a guy nobody likes.

Cat:
How do you think we feel? We gotta look at it all day!

Lister:
[lying] We just thought you wouldn't wanna come.

Rimmer:
I try to be liked, God knows I try. I regale you with amusing stories of my time in the Hammond Organ Owners' Society. You never laugh. I offer to talk you through my photo collection of 20th-century telegraph poles. You've always got some excuse. None of you like Morris dancing. Would that break your hearts, every once in a while, getting our knees in the air, the jingle of bells, the clonk of wood on wood? Every time I suggest it, you pretend to be ill.

Lister:
You've got it wrong, man. We just thought you wouldn't want to come. Now we know you do, great, you can come. The way you're going on about it, it's like some major conspiracy, we've been planning it for days. We haven't. (which of course is a lie)

Rimmer:
Really?

Lister:
Really.

Rimmer:
All right, then, I'll come. I'll just get changed. Holly?

Holly (Appears on the screen wearing a fishing cap):
Oh, who woke 'im up?!

Ace:
Skipper, I've decided I'm not going to stay.

Lister:
Why?

Ace:
Him and me. It would never work. I just can't stand to be near the man. To see myself so warped, so bitter, so weasely. The man's a maggot.

Lister:
So where're you going to go?

Ace:
Just out there. I can't go back. But there's a billion other realities to explore. A billion other Arnold Rimmers to meet. Maybe somewhere there's one who's more of a pain in the butt than him. But I doubt it.

Lister:
Well, good luck, man. And, look, don't be too hard on Rimmer. You got the break, he didn't. He's just bitter.

Ace:
D'you know what that break was? At the age of seven, one of us was kept back a year, the other one wasn't. (Gestures to knot on his arm stitches) Put your finger on that, would you, Skipper? (Tugs sharply on thread and breaks it)

Lister:
And that's the only difference? Rimmer went down a year, and you stayed up?

Ace (delivering the surprise):
No. I was the one who went down a year. By his terms, he got the break. But being kept down a year made me. The humiliation...being the tallest boy in the class by a clear foot. It changed me, made me buckle down, made me fight back. And I've been fighting back ever since.

Lister:
While he spent the rest of his life making excuses.

Ace:
Maybe he's right. Maybe I did get the lucky break.

Rimmer:
[in a squeaky voice, after Lister swallowed and then spat out his light bee] My God, that was disgusting!

Kryten:
Well, I suggest we start to run, sir. I suggest we ambulate as fast as the local gravity will allow.

Rimmer:
Why?

Kryten:
Because of them, sir.

Lister:
...That's something no one should ever have to see.

[Lister swallows Rimmer's light bee]

Kryten:
Sir! What are you thinking of?

Lister:
It's okay. He'll come out in a couple a days, and he'll have been through what he put us through. Does anyone fancy a vindaloo?