Either Mr. Rimmer had the incredibly good fortune to land on a populated planet.... Or.....
...Or what?.
It's too hideous to contemplate!
Rimmerworld
This might sound like a bit of a corny line, but... I can't bring myself to say it.
Say what?
Take us to your leader.
Sir, how could you?
Dear lord, what has created such foulness? Is it the product of a marriage twixt woman and gerbil?
Enough of this heresy. At the stroke of dawn take them out and kill them. And when you've killed them, burn the bodies, then bring me the cold ashes on a silver plate with a glass of chilled sancerre.
This guy's an animal. Doesn't he know it's red wine with cold ashes?
Out of Time
It can't have gone unnoticed that morale is at an all-time low. We've lost all trace of Red Dwarf and supplies are low. So I have decided to appoint myself morale officer and set myself the task of raising morale all round. Now I thought it would productive if we all met once a week and had a coffee or a beer -- whatever's your poison -- and get any troubles we may have off our chests. Any objections? [the others mutter agreement.] Well, as it's week one, why don't I start? You know what it is about Lister that really makes me want to puke? That really makes me want to stab him in both eyes with an icepick? Everything, that's what. Especially his godawful chirpy gerbil-faced optimism. And as for the Cat -- what an unbelievable git. And Kryten -- if he doesn't change pronto, I swear I'll attach jump leads to his nipple nuts and fry him like a Cajun catfish. Well, that's cleared the air. I don't know about you, but I certainly feel better. Thank for your contributions gentlemen. See you at next week's morale meeting. Marvellous. [exits]
Good meeting.
[The Dwarfers acquire a time travel device, testing it out by sending the ship to the year 1421]
Give us visual. Let's see what it's like out there.
Okay, punching it up.
[They see nothing but empty space]
Hey, I don't get it! We're still where we were!
Of course. We're still in deep space, sir, only now we're in deep space in the 15th century. Isn't it wonderful?
So we're still three million years away from Earth?
[From the last scene not shown in the final cut]
They aren't margaritas, that's urine recyc!
[The Dwarfers acquire a time travel device, testing it out by sending the ship to the year 1421]
Give us visual. Let's see what it's like out there.
Okay, punching it up.
[They see nothing but empty space]
Hey, I don't get it! We're still where we were!
Of course. We're still in deep space, sir, only now we're in deep space in the 15th century. Isn't it wonderful?
So we're still three million years away from Earth?
Well, yes.
[sighs] Taking her back to the present.
Keyed in. Engage.
[They go forward in time]
So forgive me if I'm being thicker than the offspring of a village idiot and a TV weather girl, but what was the point of that little exercise? Fun though it was, drinking in the heady medieval atmosphere of pre-Renaissance deep space, the drive is next to useless, yes?
(After discovering Lister is now just a brain in a jar with fake dreadlocks)
Ohhhhhh dear!
What? Is he fat?
Far from it, he's lost a bit of weight, actually. In fact, he's lost quite a bit of everything.
So what do we do?
Have we got any chance of winning?
Their craft is greatly upgraded. We have no chance whatsoever.
Then I say fight! (dramatic chord of music)
Kryten (astounded): Mr. Rimmer?
Better dead than smeg!
Ye-es! Cat?
Better dead than sofa-size butt!
Kryten?
Better anything than that toupee!
But there may be...
[An explosion sends Kryten flying. Rimmer, now the sole survivor, goes towards him in shock]
Kryten...? Kryten?! There may be a what? A way out of this? Is that what you were gonna say? Sp... speak, Kryten! How can we change what's happening?
Tikka To Ride
Do you think it's because the subspace conduits have locked with the transponder calibrations and caused a major tachyon surge that has overloaded the time matrix?
Ah, no, sir. I've just been jabbing it too hard.
How come you need more memory? Over the years you've had more RAM than a field of sheep!
(after his guilt chip is removed) Just call me badass!
Stoke Me a Clipper
You can't judge a book by its cover.
And you can't confuse Rimmer with a book. For a start, a book's got a spine.
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