("RED DWARF" THEME)
Good morning, sir.
How about a little breakfast?
What would you say to a dozen grilled
winkles on a bed of curried Rice Krispies?
I'm not eating that spicy stuff any more.
Forgive me, sir, but the phenomena you not eating
spicy food is like a zebra not being stripy
or an old lady not sitting
on a park bench with her legs open.
- May I ask why?
- Well apart from anything else, it makes your breath smell
like a liftful of senile donkeys
returning from a garlic-eating contest.
- Well, that's never bothered you before, sir.
- Well, it bothers me now, OK?
It's because of her, isn't it?
She who must be drooled over.
- You mean Kris?
- Whatever my feelings, sir,
I will not be tempted into making
petty criticisms of fellow crew members.
There is of course the issue of the salad cream...
- The salad cream?
- I spent many months training everyone
to put the salad cream in the fridge.
Then she comes on board and - lo and
behold - it turns up back in the cupboard!
The first moon we come to, let's dump her!
And what about the extra laundry?
Now there are all kinds of extraordinary
items turning up in the dirty linen basket -
tights, bras, skimpy vests, little socks.
It's a massive extra workload. Frank is very upset.
- Frank?
- The washing machine.
I named him Frank, he
works better with an identity.
And what about the ironing?
I mean, how do you iron a bra?
Well, you gotta take it off first.
I spent years practising that.
I used to put my nan's bra around the armchair
until I could unhook it with me left hand.
Even now, everytime I see
a Parker Knoll, I get horny.
But have you ever tried to ironed a bra, sir?
The only way I've found is to stretch each
container over my head and iron it from there.
Believe me, on a hot cotton setting, it sends
my optical systems into leak overload.
- Cup.
- Sorry, sir?
- They're not called containers. They're called cups.
- Oh, you see? I even have to learn new terminology.
Special female terminology -
"cups", "potpourri", "depilatory cream".
- Oh! It's never-ending.
- How come you don't know what bras are?
- What about the women on the Nova 5?
- Well, when I cleaned out my cache files, sir,
I erased my lingerie database.
I didn't see there'd be much call for it unless we had a fancy dress party and you wanted to go as Hermann Goering.
Anyway you can relax, Kryten.
She programmed the scan probe last week and it's
returned the coordinates of the dimensional tear.
This time tomorrow,
she'll be back in her own dimension.
Well, you're surely not upset, sir?
Look, if you've got a problem
with her, say something to her.
Well, I think I will!
There's no point whinging
to me about it, say it to her!
- Hi, guys. How's it going?
- Ah, morning, Miss Kochanski ma'am! Sleep well?
- Coward.
- Hypocrite.
Erm, not great, actually.
I had this weird dream about a monkey
being stretched across a tennis court.
The noise was just unbearable.
Were you practising
the guitar again last night?
So, what's for breakfast?
Oh, what's this doing in here?
Hold me back! Hold me back!
Don't you see, sir? These deviations from established
Space Corps drill could put our lives in jeopardy.
She was only drying her tights
on the radiator!
That's the thin edge of the wedge,
sir, one day it's drying tights, the next,
we're spiralling out of control into the core of a newly-formed sun!
Er, sorry to interrupt, but we've got a couple of problems.
- All the hazard approach lights are flashing.
- All of them?
Yes, although on this ship, that can mean anything from
"we're under attack", to "the baked potatoes are burning".
Either way, it's serious.
Getting a reading.
There's something up ahead.
A shiny thing with a long silvery,
glimmery thing behind it.
It's a phasing comet, velocity 25,000 MPS.
- That's what I said!
- Kryten?
How am I supposed to concentrate on a phasing comet when as soon as my back's turned the salad cream gets warm?
Heading straight for its tail. Plotting avoidance course.
What's the problem with going
through it? It'll get you home quicker
Last time anyone did that,
the gyroscopic forces ripped the ship apart,
turning the crew into the
consistency of potato salad.
Is that the firm delicatessen board potato
salad or the squishy, gooey stuff in tins?
- Tins.
- Maybe we should go around.
We'll make it. We're a good crew.
We've been through a few things.
- Remember we met up with the Vidal Beast of Sharmutt 2?
- The one that nearly killed us?
- No, the other one! Look, we can make it, OK?
- Do you know what a comet is made of?!
- Are you suggesting that I don't know a comet's made of?
- (KRIS) Yes.
- Well I do.
- So what's it made of?
- (LISTER) What's it made of?
- Yes.
- You wanna know what it's made of?
- (KRIS) Yes, I do.
- Ma'am, he knows what it's made of.
- What?
Sir, tell her, for
goodness sake.
- (MOUTHS)
- (KRIS) So. What's it made of?
- I see, I see. Gas. Some kind of gas.
- Some kind of gas?!
Yeah, some gas! Dunno what it's called.
Some gassy type of gas.
- It's made of ice.
- Exactly. An icy type of gas. That's what I said. Ice. An ice gas.
I hate to interrupt, but this thing whatever the
hell it is, is gonna hit us in about 45 seconds.
I was only trying to save time so we
could get to the dimensional tear quicker
and you could get home
to your much better Lister.
And I'm just trying to prevent us from being scattered
all over the galaxy like some kind of cosmic seasoning!
- Here it comes!
- That wasn't 45 seconds!
Oh, sorry! I was reading the baked potato
timer by mistake!
Will people not leave it in here? It just makes us
look like we don't know what the hell we're doing!
Lateral trimmers not responding!
Like wrestling in treacle...
You hear that? Cat says the
trimmers are like wrestling in treacle!
No, I said they were down, then asked
if you like wrestling in... It can wait...
- Damage report, Kryten.
- Auxiliary flight modulator's short-circuited.
And the chocolate dispenser's ejected
all the Nuttyfruit snack bars onto the galley floor!
- What's happened to the stabilisers?
- Never mind the stabilisers! Where's the hair mousse?
- Stabilisers very unstable.
- Nuttyfruit bars sliding about!
I'm taking over control!
Hey! What did I tell you?
Come to Daddy, baby! I have control.
It's called a free-fall vacuum.
We're in between vapour streams.
With a bit of luck we can ride it
across to the other side of its tail.
(CRASH)
Or maybe not!
If we don't turn around and go back,
we'll disintegrate in two minutes!
- Kryten?
- That's a little pessimistic, sir.
I'd say more like three!
You know what, I think we should turn round.
Phew!
- Well, go on. Say it.
- Say what?
You know what
you wanna say. Say it.
- You want me to say it?
- Say it.
You really want me to say it?
- Go on, say it.
- All right.
- My Dave would never have endangered our crew like that.
- You had to say it, didn't you?
And will you stop calling
your boyfriend "Dave"? I'm Dave.
He's just an alternative version of me from
a parallel dimension. He's not Dave, he's the anti-Lister.
Well, whoever the hell he is,
I'm not going to get to see him.
By the time we fix this mess,
I'll have missed the linkway!
I could've got through that
if the thrusters had worked.
According to the syscomp, the thrusters never
worked because we're carrying too much weight.
It's Miss Kochanski's laundry.
Why will no one listen to me?
Those little frilly things
are heavier than they look.
Suppose we take a look in the cargo hold
and see what supplies can be jettisoned.
I'll go. I could do
with a breath of musty, fetid air.
Sir, you didn't deliberately damage the ship
so that Miss Kochanski had to stay behind, did you?
No! Of course not!
Look, I'm gonna check out the hold.
Rimmer, man, you coming?
Did I say...?
Why did I call you Rimmer?
I called you Rimmer, my God!
Cat! Are you gonna make yourself useful or
are you just gonna preen yourself all day?
- You mean I have a choice?
- Come on.
I can't believe I called you Rimmer.
Yes?
As it seems you may be with us for some time, ma'am, I was
wondering if I might go through a few 'rules of the ship'?
- Like what?
- Salad cream.
Salad cream belongs
in the fridge and not in the cupboard.
Two - pants belong in the pants drawer
and socks belong in the socks drawer.
Having discovered a
sock in your pants drawer,
this simple principle
obviously needs restating.
Talking of my clothes,
I'd like you to explain why my bras come back
from the laundry shaped like...like...
..your head?
- Three - the toilet seat fiasco...
- Kryten, I just don't want to hear this!
Mr Lister hasn't said anything,
but I can tell he's not happy.
Well, he's not the only one! Do you think I like
flying round space in this big skip with thrusters?
Do you think I even enjoy breathing in on this ship?!
And to cap it all I am faced with some neurotic droid
who's completely obsessed with my pants drawer!
You mean I'm not alone?
Oh, I see. You mean me.
Well just as long as we understand one another!
God! Welcome to hell.
Look at these. Rimmer's old shoe trees.
He had one for every pair of his shoes.
He gave them all names -
Monshoetree, Tueshoetree, Wedshoetree.
- What the hell for?
- So they all spent the same amount of time in his shoes.
- What a smeg-head.
- You know, he had lots of funny little habits.
- But now that he's gone I can see them for what they were.
- Cretinous.
No. Little human foibles that made
Rimmer... special. He was unique.
Yeah, irritating, awkward and unsightly -
he was the human equivalent of a visible panty line!
Well, we may as well start somewhere.
- These can go!
- No, no, you can't throw them out.
They're from when me and Rimmer
played golf on Traga 16. We had a lot of fun.
You had fun with Rimmer?
I'm afraid I only had room to build a nine-hole course, sir.
It is a very small planetoid.
Taking into consideration
the thinness of atmosphere, sir,
I've made this a 15-mile hole, par three.
Oh, good shot, sir!
(LISTER) Hey, watch this. Watch and weep.
- Oh, smeg!
- Ooh, I... I think it's gone into orbit, sir.
Tough luck, Listy. I'll just pot mine
and you owe me 50 big ones!
Look at him. In the right boots,
he could be marching into Poland.
Hey.
- It's Rimmer's ball, isn't it?
- It must have gone right around the planetoid, sir.
Heey, no point bothering him
about it, Krytie. Let's go.
It must be here somewhere.
I've been round the planetoid twice.
No ball, no bet, man. Keep looking.
Memories like that
are just too precious to throw away.
Hello there, sir. How's it going?
We're getting nowhere, bud.
He won't throw any of his stuff
away because it reminds him
of good times he had with Rimmer!
I must have blinked
and missed them.
You don't know what we used to do
back on Red Dwarf in the early days,
like when we played the locker room game.
We used to open up the lockers of all the dead
crew members and we got to keep whatever we found.
I don't trust you, Lister.
This game's rigged. Everytime we play it, you win.
Last time, you got a 30 carat gold wristwatch,
and all I got was one wellington boot and a box
of 100 assorted tampons that glow in the dark.
- Right, well, I'll go first this time.
- OK.
- No, you can go first.
- OK, I'll have 68.
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
- I'll have 68.
- Fine.
Uh... No, you can have it.
Why?
I know you've chosen that one because
you think that I think that you're cheating.
So I'll have it, and it'll be useless.
I'm not going to fall for that one, Listy. You can have it.
Too smart for me, man.
Hey, a gold necklace...
a bundle of cash...
and - hey! - a nude wrestling video!
"Baked Bean Bombshells Volume 12".
Right, well, I'll have that one.
- Number 58.
- OK.
What the hell was that?
There's a note.
"People who break into lockers
deserve everything they get,
"you cheap double-crossing slimeball."
Sounds like they know you.
See, we had fun. It
was great. It was fun.
I'll put the rubber room on standby, sir.
About time, Cat.
You're late, man. Where've you been?
Hello, Listy.
Rimmer! Smeggin' hell!
What are you doing here?
I got fed up with adventuring.
You know what it's like,
you save a couple of civilisations,
and it all gets a bit... samey.
- I thought I'd come and find the old team.
- It's good to see you. Are you real?
I'm as real as you can get, being a hologram.
- So.. where've you been?
- Argon 5.
I fought in the Belagosian War.
I was decorated...
and used as a Christmas tree in the town square where people
came and fed me cherry liqueur chocolates for the whole winter.
Really?
No, I'm only kidding.
Kidding? What do you know about kidding?
I just thought it was time I lightened up a bit.
Hey-hey!
Ahem...
So, er, what about you? How's it going?
Ah, y'know. Same old Starbug.
Same old travelling through space.
I, um... I hear you've got a new crew member?
Yeah, Kochanski.
What's she like?
Oh, she's OK, y'know...
Is she... as good as me?
Well, she's been here a few weeks and she
hasn't quoted one Space Corps Directive.
She's pretty attractive though, isn't she?
Is she? I hadn't really noticed.
She's the type you don't really notice.
You know when you eat soup and you spill some on
your shirt and you don't notice it? She's like that.
So she's... not as attractive as me, then?
Don't be daft.
She couldn't hold a candle to you, man.
- Nah, you're just saying that.
- No, I'm not.
I've, um... I missed you, man.
And I've missed you, too, Listy.
- Oh, Arnold, man.
- Dave!
- Don't ever leave us again!
- I won't, I won't!
- You promise?
- Oh, Listy!
Oh, Rimsy!
Yaaaaarrrggh!
No! Oh my God! Get off! Get off!
Oh, it was just a dream.
Thank God for that! Just a dream.
(INAUDIBLE)
...and another thing she does is,
she keeps her pants in her sock drawer.
Have you any idea how time
consuming that can be to sort out?
You mean you've seen her pants?
You're right, Kryten, I must be losing it
or I'd never be dreaming stuff like that.
Kissing Rimmer? I'd rather go bobbing for
apples in a communal latrine at the Reading Festival!
I'm sure this will help, sir.
I'll just insert my hypnotherapy disc.
Now, just relax.
(SHOUTS IN GERMAN)
- What the hell...?!
- Sorry, sir. Wrong disk.
That was my German language course.
An extract from Hitler's Nuremberg speech.
Definitely hypnotic, but not in the right way.
I'll just go and find the proper one.
- What are you doing in here?
- Just looking for something
to erase the memory
of everything I've ever experienced.
A couple of gallons
of medicinal alcohol should do it.
Listen, for what it's worth,
I'm sorry you missed getting back to Dave...
the hologrammatic hunk.
That's OK. I'm sure there'll be another
chance for you to cock it up again.
- I suppose you must be missing him?
- Yeah, I am a bit.
- I know what it's like to miss someone - the way they talk...
- Yeah...
the way they laugh...
- I know.
- The way their nostrils flare up
like two railway tunnels
leading into Snot Street Station.
No... you've lost me there.
So you're missing Rimmer?
I had a dream about him, but he was different,
all smiles and jokes and... and stuff.
I thought you guys didn't get on?
We didn't, that's what's so weird.
His tidiness drove me crazy.
The way he used to eat his food in alphabetical order,
the way he only ever used three pieces of toilet
paper - one up, one down and one to polish.
- Didn't he have any redeeming features?
- No.
Well, yeah - sometimes
he went out of the room.
So, how come Rimmer came to be around, anyway?
Well, Holly brought him back to keep me sane,
but he drove me mad!
So, now he's gone, maybe you feel guilty
because you realise he was trying to help you.
If he was trying to help me,
why didn't he lighten up a bit? Be happy?
Maybe he sacrificed his
happiness to keep you sane?
But when he appeared in your dream, he was
different, a carefree, fun-Loving Rimmer.
A Rimmer who didn't nag you into helping him
catalogue his cheese collection.
- You're saying I had him all wrong?
- It wasn't your fault.
You had to hate him. It was what kept you going.
I didn't know.
(PARPS)
You know what I should do? I should throw
everything away and make a new start.
Ah, sorry, Miss Kochanski, ma'am.
This is the medical bay, for sick people only.
Surely you haven't broken out
in a confusingly-filed-pants rash?
Kryten, do you know how to extract a warm bottle of
salad cream from a mechanoid's rectal cavity?
- Not off hand ma'am, but I could research it.
- I'd start right now if I were you.
- OK, sir, now. Just relax.
- It's all right, Kryten.
I talked things through with Kochanski.
- I feel a lot better.
- Well, that really takes the biscuit, doesn't it.
I turn my back for five minutes
and she waltzes in here and cures you!
- She was only trying to help.
- It's not the help I mind, sir.
It's the fact that she succeeded.
(PARPS)
OK, guys!
I now declare Games Night officially open.
Seeing as Kris is with us, you can have
the honour of choosing the first game.
And as you're a bit sensitive, we're not going to have any
games that involve dropping trousers and lighting stuff.
Well, that takes care of most of the repertoire!
Where's Kryten?
I dunno, he should be here.
OK, Kris... name your game.
All right! I choose "The Magic Flute"!
- What's that? Sort of musical chairs?
- No, it's an opera.
"The Magic Flute"?
OK, we each hum a section of an aria,
and the others have to guess
which character is singing.
- That's a game?
- It sounds more like medieval torture.
No, it's really good because you
can, like, throw each other off the scent.
Once Dave, my Dave, he sang "The Birdcatcher's Song"
in the German translation and it was hilarious!
- We all like totally fell about!
- You fell about?
- Yeah!
- Were you going through a meteor storm?
So what games do you play, then?
Match the body part to the crew member?
I always love that one!
Armpit Name That Tune'? 'Guess Whose Botty
Is Sticking Through A Hole In The Curtain'?
Shall I add that one to the slate, bud?
Games Night is cancelled.
If you'll all kindly follow me to the AR suite,
I have something I think might amuse.
(BLEEPING)
I believe this is the answer
to your dream, sir.
And something slightly more effective
than Miss Kochanski's psychobabble.
It's a museum to Mr Rimmer's memory.
I made it myself.
If anyone find they're missing him,
they can relive those great moments.
It's all in there -
the man, the memories, the personality.
- The ego.
- Yes, I had to scale that down quite a bit.
- How did you compile all the exhibits?
- Well, I recreated key events in his life from Mr Rimmer's diaries
He kept meticulous records
of life on board ship. Enjoy!
Welcome to The Rimmer Experience,
a place of wonder, excitement and... wonder.
You are about to witness some heroic events
which you may well find impossible
to attribute to any living person,
but then Arnold J Rimmer
was a deeply remarkable man.
Being the driving force
behind the Red Dwarf mission,
the fearless Rimmer had to
dice with death on a daily basis.
What?!
Sometimes, it needed a strong mind
and cool nerves to hold the crew together.
Asteroid belt up ahead, sir.
No, it isn't, Kryten,
you thick titanium plank.
Those are large broken fragments of a dying star which
have compressed together under enormous pressure,
causing them to compress
into large fragments.
You're quite right, sir... as usual. How could I
have made such an elementary mistake... as usual!
- It's at times like these that I get really scared!
- Me too!
Save us! Somebody save us before I wet me keks!
That never happened!
I swear that never happened!
- I feel sick!
- I'm sorry, sir, it is a bit bumpy.
Nah, it's what I'm seeing that's making me sick!
So you see, Cat? If you wear the green paisley shirt
with cavalry twill trousers,
you can be dignified and
fashionable at the same time.
Let me at him! I'm gonna kill him!
Cavalry twill? What does he think I am?
A woodwork teacher?
Say, Rimmer's a really great guy, isn't he?
I don't know what we'd do without him?
I owe my life to him.
- I can't stand this, get me out of here!
- Wait a minute. Here comes the best bit.
(MUSIC STARTS)
# If you're in trouble he will save the day
# He's brave and he's fearless come what may
# Without him the mission would go astray
# He's Arnold, Arnold, Arnold Rimmer
# Without him life would be much grimmer
# He's handsome, trim and no one's slimmer
# He will never need a Zimmer
# He's Arnold, Arnold, Arnold Rimmer
# More reliable than a garden strimmer
# He's never been mistaken for Yul Brynner
# He's not bald and his head doesn't glimmer
# Master of the wit and the repartee
# His command of Space Directives is uncanny
# How come he's such a genius? Don't ask me
# Ask Arnold, Arnold, Arnold Rimmer
# He's also a fantastic swimmer
# And if you play your cards right
# Then he just might come round
for dinner... #
I never wanna see or hear
from that scum-sucking, lying,
weasel-minded smegger in my entire life!
Sigmund Freud, eat your heart out!
# 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 #
