Rimmer: They’ve been naughty boys, haven’t they, Mr. Flibble?
Mr. Flibble: Yes.
Rimmer: What happens to naughty boys who’ve been naughty, Mr. Flibble?
Mr. Flibble: Uncle Arnie fries them alive with his Hex Vision.
Rimmer: That’s right, Mr. Flibble.
Lister: It’s just a box with “STOP” and “START” on it!
Holly: Fairly straightforward. If you want to start it, press “START.” You can work out the rest of the controls for yourself.
Rimmer: I had to get out of there. He’s driving me nuts. I cannot stand front-seat drivers.
Kristine Kochanski: I don’t know about this. I’ve never been seduced by Predeterminism Theory before.
(Lister and Cat are playing Scrabble. Cat lays down all seven letters across a triple-word score)
Lister: What? “JOZYXQE”? That’s not a word!
Cat: Sure it is! It’s a Cat word.
Lister: OK, what’s it mean?
Cat: It’s the sound you make when you have your sexual organs trapped in something…
Lister: Is it in the dictionary?
Cat: Well it could be, if you were reading in the nude and you close the book too fast!
mimes “close the dictionary” actionJOZZYYYXYXYXYYXAHSQukjrfQADS!!!
Holly: I just don’t know where we are. There’s no two ways about it: I flamingoed up.
Rimmer: What do you mean?
Holly: It’s like a cock-up, only much much bigger.
Lister: I prefer something slightly more melodious. Like the long, drawn-out death rattle of a man suffering from terminal flatulence.
Holly: Rude alert! Rude alert! An electrical fire has knocked out my voice recognition unicycle! Many Wurlitzers are missing from my database! Abandon shop! This is not a daffodil. Repeat: This is not a daffodil!
Rimmer: Well, thankfully Holly’s unaffected.
Kryten: At 0700 hours tomorrow morning my shutdown disc will be activated and all mental and physical operations will cease.
Lister: Then what?
Kryten: I don’t know… maybe I’ll get a job as a disc jockey!
Lister: What’s that mark on your face, Hol?
Holly: What face?
Rimmer: Ace and Skipper?! You sound like a kids’ TV series about a boy and his bush kangaroo!
Rimmer: Look, Lister, no point feeling sorry about Holly. It’s a kindness. Like a blind old incontinent sheepdog, he’s had his day. Take him out to the barn with a double-barreled shot-gun and blow the mother away. And I’m only saying that because I’m so fond of him.
Kryten: Step on board the ‘love express’, sir! Now, we get to his quarters through the air vents; I’ve paid off the guards. Then you make him look like the nerdiest slob in the entire universe: this is what you leave in his quarters — a half-eaten onion sandwich. That’s always a passion-killer.
Lister: Is it? I like those.
Kryten: Then there’s this: “Morris Dancer Monthly”. What a total dweebo, nerdmeister he’ll look with those!
Rimmer: They’re mine!
Kryten: And then there’s these: tragically unfashionable underpants.
Rimmer: They’re mine!
Kryten: And finally: Christian rock music. If that doesn’t scare her off, nothing will.
Rimmer: Have you been going through my things?
Holly: Engage drive. Drive engaged. Initialise ignition sequence. Ignition sequence initialised.
Rimmer: Get on with it!
Holly: Takes time, this. One slight error in any one of my 13 billion calculations, we’ll all be blown to smithereens. Here we go then. Ten… nine… eight… six… five… four…
Rimmer: You missed number seven!
Holly: Did I? I’ve always had a bit of a blind spot for sevens.
Rimmer: We’re going to die.
Holly: No problem. I’ll start lower down. One, blast off.
Rimmer: I’ve seen Westerns, I know how to speak cowboy. (to bartender) Dry white wine and Perrier please. And what about you two chaps?
Lister: Rimmer, what westerns have you seen? Butch Accountant and the Yuppie Kid?
Ace Rimmer: Smoke me a kipper, I’ll be back for breakfast.
Kryten: This is the inquisitor. He prunes away the wastrels,expunges the wretched, and deletes the worthless.
Rimmer: We’re in big trouble!
Arnold Rimmer: You’re disgusting! You’re only after me for one thing!
Arlene Rimmer: Why? How many have you got?
Lister: Hey, we did it!
Kryten: Indeed we did. All the ship’s chronometers indicate that this is August the 16th, in the year 1421, just one day out.
Rimmer: Give us visual. Let’s see what it’s like out there.
Lister: Okay, punching it up.
(The screen shows nothing but empty space.)
Lister: Again? We’re still where we were!
Kryten: Of course. We’re still in deep space, sir, only now we’re in deep space in the 15th century. Isn’t it wonderful?
Rimmer: We can’t afford to take any chances. Jump up to red alert.
Kryten: Are you sure, sir? It does mean changing the bulb.
Rimmer: Well, at least he gets 24 hours’ notice. That’s more than most of us get. All most of us get is ‘Mind that bus’, ‘What bus?’, splat! How’s he taking it?
Kryten: The only truly terrible thing is that as my adopted owner, you have to die with me.
Lister: You what?!
Krysten: Joke. Deadpan mode.
Cat: So what do we do?
Rimmer: Have we got any chance of winning?
Kryten: Their craft is greatly upgraded. We have no chance whatsoever.
Rimmer: Then I say fight!
Kryten: Mr. Rimmer?
Rimmer: Better dead than smeg!
Kryten: My goodness, I do believe I’m drunk. I suddenly feel the need to strut my funky stuff!
Lister: You see I try sir. I’m not an insubordinate man by nature. I try and respect and everything, but it’s not easy because he’s such a smeghead.
Rimmer: Did you hear that sir? Lister, do you have any conception of the penalty for describing a superior technician as a smeghead?
Todhunter: Oh Rimmer, you are a smeghead.