Rimmer: Yes, but Rimmer Directive 217 states just as clearly, “No chance you metal bastard.”
Lister: Put simply, by killing us they killed themselves, because once we were dead it was impossible for us to become them in the future, and return in time to kill ourselves in the past, even though it was the present.
Rimmer: I used to be with the Samaritans.
Lister: I know. For one morning.
Rimmer: Well I couldn’t take any more.
Lister: I don’t blame you. You spoke to five people and they all committed suicide. I wouldn’t mind but one was a wrong number. He only phoned up for the cricket scores.
Rimmer: It’s hardly my fault everyone chose that particular day to throw themselves off buildings. It made the papers, you know.
Rimmer: The world loves a bastard!
Rimmer: After intensive investigation, comma, of the markings on the alien pod, comma, it has become clear, comma, to me, comma, that we are dealing, comma, with a species of awesome intellect, colon.
Holly: Good. Perhaps they might be able to give you a hand with your punctuation.
Lister: Come with us back to Dallas, November 1963. Be a second gunman. The gunman behind the grassy knoll.
John F. Kennedy: You mean assassinate myself?
Lister: Yeah! It’ll drive the conspiracy nuts crazy, but they’ll never figure it out.
Rimmer: What are you talking about?
Lister: I’m talking about playing your self-hypnosis tapes all through the night. “Learn Esperanto While You Sleep.” “Learn Quantum Theory While You Sleep.”
Rimmer: We both got the same benefit.
Lister: Yeah, neither of us got any sleep.
Rimmer: Well, if you have any more problems with nothing or things that don’t matter, just scream out my name hysterically and I’ll come pelting down the corridor!
Rimmer: It’s not easy you know to come in every night, look in that mirror, and see a guy nobody likes.
Cat: How do you think we feel? We got to look at it all day.
Lister: I remember when my dad died you know. I was only six. I got loads of presents off everyone like it was Christmas. I remember wishing a couple more people would die so I could complete my Lego set. My grandma tried to explain you know. She said he’d gone away and he wasn’t coming back. So I wanted to know where like, you know. She said he was very happy and he’d gone to the same place as my goldfish. So I thought they’d flushed him down the bog. I thought he was just round the U bend you know. I used to stuff food down, you know, and magazines and that for him to read. They took me to a child psychologist in the end because they found me with my head down the bowl reading him the football results.
Rimmer: I never agreed with my parents’ religion but I wouldn’t dream of knocking it.
Lister: What were they?
Rimmer: Seventh Day Advent Hoppists. They believed that every Sunday should be spent hopping. They would hop to church, hop through the service and hop back home again.
Lister: What’s the idea behind that then?
Rimmer: Well, they took the Bible literally. Adam and Eve, the snake and the apple, everything. Took it word for word. Unfortunately their version had a misprint. It was all based on 1 Corinthians 13, where it says “faith, hop and charity, and the greatest of these is hop.” So that’s what they did every seventh day. I tell you, Sunday lunchtimes were a nightmare. Hopping around the table serving soup. We all had to wear sou’esters and asbestos underwear.
Rimmer: I’m organised, I’m dedicated to my career, I’ve always got a pen. Result? Total smeghead despised by everyone except the ship’s parrot. And that’s only because we haven’t got one.
Lister: Love is what separates us from the animals.
Rimmer: No, Lister, what separates us from animals is that we don’t use our tongues to clean our genitals.
Holly: This an SOS distress call from the mining ship Red Dwarf. The crew are dead, killed by a radiation leak. The only survivors were Dave Lister who was in suspended animation at the time of the disaster and his pregnant cat who was safely sealed in the hold. Revived three million years later, Lister’s only companions are a lifeform who evolved from his cat and Arnold Rimmer, a hologram simulation of one of the dead crew. We’ve got enough food to last three thousand years but we’ve only got one After Eight mint left and everyone’s too polite to take it.
Rimmer: He’s reached the pinnacle of evolution. He’s human.
Lister: What’s so big about being human?
Rimmer: Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Listy.
Rimmer: I just wanted to say that, over the years, I have come to regard you as … people I met.
Ace Rimmer: He’s looking so geeky he couldn’t even get into a science-fiction convention.
Kryten: I was just idly flicking through an electrical appliance catalogue. I came across the section on super deluxe vacuum cleaners, and suddenly my underpant elastic was catapulted across the Medical Bay.
Lister: You see, man? You’re neither one thing or the other. You shouldn’t be gettin’ erotic thoughts about electrical appliances.
Kryten: Er, it was a triple-bag, easy-glide vac, with turbo-suction and a self-emptying dustbag.
Lister: Kryte, I don’t care what model it was! No vacuum cleaner should give a human being a double polaroid!
Cat: Yeah, it’s awful, man, when a woman screws you up so bad you want to become a squirrel.
Rimmer: We’re not getting out of here in one piece, or if we do, it’ll be one big flat piece.
Lister: We’re on a mining ship, 3 million years into deep space. Can someone explain to me where the smeg I got this traffic cone?
Cat: Hey, it’s not a good night unless you get a traffic cone! It’s the policewoman’s helmet and the suspenders that I don’t understand!
Kryten: What would you say to a glass of drinking chocolate?
Kochanski: I’d say, “Glass of drinking chocolate, get me out of here!”
Rimmer: So Lister what are you telling us? You’re a closet squirrel? Behind closed doors you parade up and down with a strap-on bushy tail, calling yourself Nutkin?
Rimmer: Look, I think we’ve all got something to bring to this conversation, but I think that from now on what you should bring is silence.
Rimmer: Please rush me my portable walrus polishing kit. Four super brushes to tackle even the trickiest of sea-bound mammals. Yes, I am over 18, although my IQ isn’t.