I sure am. My nasal hairs are quivering like an opera singer's bosom on the high notes.
- Halt, abomination! - Rimmer?
- Silence, travesty. - Rimmer?
Never have I seen such a hideously formed and unnaturally freakish deviant.
Rimmer?!
Silence, mutant! How dare you stand there and address a norm using that face!
It's a revolting insult against nature.
This might sound like a bit of a corny line, but... I can't even bring myself to say it.
Say what?
- Take us to your leader. - Oh, sir, how could you?
Let the Great One judge them.
Who disturbs our royal snooze?
- Rimmer? It's us. - Dear lord, what created such foulness?
Is this the product of a marriage 'twixt woman and gerbil?
Don't you remember, 600 years ago? We used to be your shipmates. We've come to save you.
We found them in the woods, Your Flared-Nostrilness
and have brought them here to be tried as travesties.
That ain't goalpost-head. He doesn't smell right.
Agreed, he scans as organic, not hologram.
The "H" is an affectation, possibly it has become a symbol of power.
These deformed monsters are no sight for my concubines.
My treasures of pulchritude, run along.
Avert your eyes from her great beauty.
(GRUNTS) Let the trial begin before my jacuzzi water grows tepid.
These three abominations stand charged on eight counts of gross deviancy.
Not content with not looking like The True Image, they flaunt freakish behaviour
such as charm, bravery, compassion and... honour.
Are there no signs of normalcy in these wretches?
No cowardice or pomposity? No snideyness or smarm?
Not even basic honest-to-goodness double-dealing two-facedness?
Sire, these creatures did not even attempt to sell each other out for their own freedom.
They lack even the most basic natural drives.
- How do you plead? - Sir, we wish to speak to the hologram known as Rimmer.
I am he!
Not so. We are seeking the creator of your race, the father of your people,
the first true Rimmer, the template for your species.
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?
- Rimmer? - Smell checks out.
That truly is old toilet-brush hair himself.
Of course! I remember.
Custer! Derek Custer!
Kit!
Titan!
What's happened to him, bud?
How long have you been in here, sir? In this god-forsaken dungeon pit from hell.
Speed count mode...
557 years?!
What, you've been stuck here in this cell all that time?
- What happened? - Can you imagine a society composed entirely of me?
I'm trying not to. The last time I did that, it took me a week to dry the mattress.
Thousands upon thousands of back-stabbing, treacherous, hypocritical, cowardly slime-mongering Judases.
They overthrew me. And when they found out they couldn't damage my hard light drive,
they locked me in here so I could never threaten their insane lust for power.
Look, bud, can understand them locking you up, but what have they got against me, Derek and Titan?
Anyone who deviates from the template is reviled.
The smallest physical flaw and they're banished from society.
Anyone who displays behaviour deemed "out of character" or "un-Rimmerlike" is punished by death.
Is that why no one on the planet is brave, sexy, noble or charming?
- All crimes here. - Man, I must be public enemy number 1, 2 and 3.
But sir, don't they realise the only way any society can evolve through mutations in the gene pool.
When there is no richness or variety, congenital disorders and inherited lunacy are commonplace.
Who can forget the famously insane European monarchies of the 19th and 20th centuries?
- Oh, what have I created? - Your very own personal hell.
Well, fun though it's been hearing about your 500 years of total misery,
shouldn't we be making skedaddle plans?
I, for one, could not bear the prospect of being burned alive. Flames and peach? Ooh, I'd rather die!
Have you tried escaping, Rimmer?
The whole planet is populated with back-stabbing slimeballs.
The minute I got out, I'd be sold back immediately.
There's got to be a way out. There hasn't been a prison built that can hold Derek Custer.
Why don't we scrape away this mortar here, slide one of these bricks out,
then using rope weaved from strands of this hessian, rig up a kind of pulley system,
so then when the guard comes in here, he sets off a trip wire,
gets laid out, then we put Rimmer in the guard's uniform,
he leads us out. We steal some swords, and fight our way back to the 'Bug?
Or we could use the teleporter.
Or, at a pinch, we could use the teleporter.
I've done it again! Two anomalies in one day.
I must have accidentally tapped into the previous calibration.
Sorry, about this, it's just we're escaping from Rimmerworld...
Don't tell them that. They don't want to know the future.
Poor old Rimmer doesn't want to know he's about to get persecuted for six centuries by a load of his own clones.
Careful, bud. For a minute there, I thought you were going to let slip
that he spends the next 557 years locked in a dungeon.
- Rimmerworld? - I'm saying nothing, man.
- Don't want to spoil the surprise. - Rimmerworld was weeks ago.
We're far more concerned at the moment about the quite hideous thing that's happened to Lister.
- He's right bud, where are you? - Yeah, where am I? I wanna know!
# It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere
# I'm all alone, more or less
# Let me fly far away from here
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun
# I want to lie, shipwrecked and comatose
# Drinking fresh mango juice
# Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun
# Fun, fun, fun
# In the sun, sun, sun #
Scene Timeline
Create your stills or GIFs the normal way and add to the timeline to build a scene. Click 'Make Scene GIF' to generate your new scene. Click 'Clear' to start fresh.