Red Dwarf quotes
To get the entire scripts go to this site (where I got most of the quotes on this page from):
RIMMER: Why didn't you just say, "Dear Rimmer, We're going on a fishing holiday and we don't want you to come?"
CAT: See, that's what I said we should say!
LISTER: (To the Cat) Shh!
RIMMER: I don't know what it is about me. All my life, it's been the same old story. 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!
RIMMER: Best to get there in one piece than to rush it and cause an accident, eh?
KRYTEN: I have passed my test, sir; I am a fully qualified pilot.
RIMMER: (Pointing) Mind that star!
KRYTEN: Wha- That star is over two light years away, sir. We're nowhere near it!
RIMMER: There's no percentage in being a boy racer, Kryten. Okay, you've passed your test -- Mind that planet!
KRYTEN: Which planet?
RIMMER: (Pointing) That planet!
KRYTEN: That's- That's the planet we're heading to, sir.
RIMMER: Excellent. Excellent. Plot an orbital course, we'll be there in no time.
KRYTEN: Yes, sir, I have done, sir.
RIMMER: Yes, and get the second stage under way.
KRYTEN: I already have done, sir.
RIMMER: But you haven't correlated the data with the main computer banks, have you?
KRYTEN: Yes, sir, I have, sir.
RIMMER: You know- You now your trouble, Kryten?
KRYTEN: What, sir?
RIMMER: You're a git.
RIMMER: Holly, what's the damage?
HOLLY: (Appearing on the screen, tilted 45 degrees clockwise) It doesn't look good. We've lost the port engine, the starboard engine's packed up, the fuel line's severed, we're taking in water through the hull, we've lost the landing jets, half the electric's out, and the elastic's snapped on the furry dice.
RIMMER: What does that mean in real terms?
HOLLY: Well, it means you got a more tasteful cockpit. but unless you fix that starboard engine in the next 40 minutes we're going to start sinking.
CAT: Personally, I thought it started well but fell apart. All that stuff with the ducks all getting into trouble -- that was great. Then it all went black and white and I fell asleep.
KRYTEN: But sir, that was the cartoon before the main programme!
KRYTEN: Impact in 37 seconds.
HOLLY: Plotting random evasion course.
CAT: What? Am I the only sane one here? Why don't we drop the defensive shields?
KRYTEN: A superlative suggestion, sir, with just two minor flaws. One, we don't have any defensive shields, and two, we don't have any defensive shields. Now I realise that, technically speaking, that's only one flaw but I thought it was such a big one it was worth mentioning twice.
CAT: (Patting KRYTEN's shoulder) Good point; well made.
KRYTEN: They've taken Mr. Rimmer. (With more urgency) Sir! They've taken Mr. Rimmer!
CAT: Quick, let's get out of here before they bring him back!
CRANE: Sex. Don't you have a sex deck on your ship?
RIMMER: Nnno.
CRANE: Well, what do you do when you want to have sex?
RIMMER: Well... we go for runs. Watch gardening programmes on the ship's vid.
CRANE: That's very bad for you. Don't you ever feel tense or frustrated?
RIMMER: Well it's got worse these last ten years or so, I can't deny it.
CRANE: Extraordinary. It's quite different here. In fact, it's a ship regulation that we all have sexual congress at least twice a day. It's a health rule.
RIMMER: Twice a day? That's more than some people manage in a lifetime!
PLATINI: Mr. Rimmer. Oh my word it is one of the old class-1 holograms -- I didn't realise that you guys were still around. Captain Hercule Platini, IQ 212. Number One!
NUMBER ONE: Commander Natalina Pushkin, IQ 201.
NUMBER TWO: Commander Randy Navaro, IQ 194.
RIMMER: Second technician Arnold Rimmer, IQ unknown.
NUMBER ONE: You'll have to challenge an existing crew member. There are tests which tax the entire vista of your intellect.
RIMMER: Oh.
NUMBER TWO: Tests that probe every aspect of your mental capability.
RIMMER: Ah.
KRYTEN: What you're suggesting is immoral and illegal. Mind patching is outlawed.
RIMMER: But it _is_ possible.
KRYTEN: Possible but highly dangerous. The side effects can be devastating. You could be reduced to a gibbering simpleton.
CAT: Reduced?
RIMMER: I don't care. I'm prepared to take the chance.
LISTER: Even if it costs you your mind?
CAT: It's a small price to pay.
KRYTEN: Sir, I beg you to reconsider. If not for your sanity, you haven't even considered the moral implications of your decision. You will be joining a society where you will be compelled to have sex with beautiful, brilliant women twice daily, on demand. Now, am I really the only one here who finds that just a little bit tacky? (LISTER and CAT are speechless) Well, quite clearly I am!
RIMMER: Just thinking. Assuming of course we're not dealing with five- dimensional objects in a basic Euclidean geometric universe and given the essential premise that all geo-mathematics is based on the hideously limiting notion that one plus one equals two, and not as {Astemeyer} correctly postulates that one and two are in fact the same thing observed from different precepts, (Loudly breathes out through his nose.) the theoretical shape described by {Siddus} must therefore be a poly-dri-doc-deca-wee-hedron-a-hexa-sexa-hedro-adicon-a-di-bi- dolly-he-deca-dodron. (Loudly breathes out through his nose again.) Everything else is popycock. Isn't that so?
LISTER: In theory if we offered you the post of replacement hologram would you accept?
HARRISON: No.
LISTER: No.... ?
HARRISON: No, I think, erm, I'm better off where I am.
CAT: But you're dead!
HARRISON: And meeting you guys has really made me appreciate it a whole lot more.
RIMMER: Look, I'm not much good at big speeches, and I know I haven't always been an easy guy to get on with. And I know that, given the choice, I probably wouldn't have chosen you as friends. But, I just want to say ... that over the years, ... I have come to regard you ... as ... people ... I met��. I'd just better go, OK?
RIMMER: Oh and sir, you're wrong. We won't be apart, we just ... won't be together.
A look of disgust comes over RIMMER's face.
RIMMER: I cannot believe I just said that!
KRYTEN: Jake Bullet, Cybernautic Detective. I like that! That sounds like the kind of hard-living flat foot who gets the job done by cutting corners and bucking authority. And if those pen-pushers up at City Hall don't like it, well, they can park their over-payed, fat ass's on _this_ mid-digit (Extending his mid-digit) and swivel -- swivel till they squeal like pigs on a honeymoon.
RIMMER: On the other hand, "Mr. Bullet," perhaps the Cybernautics division is in charge of traffic control. You just happen to have a rather silly macho name.
KRYTEN: Oh yes, that's a very good point, sir. I didn't think of that.
CAT: (Looking at his plastic sandals) Dwane Dibbley?
CAT: (Happily) I'm not Dwane Dibbley?
KRYTEN: No.
RIMMER: (Disappointed) I _am_ Rimmer ?
KRYTEN: (Sadly) I'm afraid so, sir.
KRYTEN: There is no need for alarm, sir. If there were any dangerous viral strains in the atmosphere, the Psi-scan would have picked them up by now.
KRYTEN shows them the scanner and then hits it on the side and shakes it a bit.
KRYTEN: Hmmm, it's never done that before.
He turns away, wrestling with the device.
KRYTEN: Blasted stupid cheap damn stupid Martian power packs.
He throws a spent battery over one shoulder and inserts another.
CAT: (Worried) So what's the news?
KRYTEN: Well, if I could just beg your indulgence for a few seconds more, sir, the old 345 takes a little time to warm up. (He gives it another shake.) Still, it out-performs the 346 in 8 out of 9 bench tests. A small wonder, then, that it secured "Psi-scan of the Year, Best Budget Model" three years running. Now here are the results. And we're going to ... live.
CAT: Sexual magnetism is a virus? Then get me to a hospital, I'm a terminal case!
RIMMER: Is something amiss?
LISTER: (Slight quaver in him voice) Amiss? God no, what could possibly be amiss?
RIMMER: You don't think there's anything amiss? I'm sitting here wearing a red and white checked gingham dress and army boots and you think that's un-amiss?
CAT: No, of course not. It's just that we thought you had gone nuts! We were tryin' to humour you.
RIMMER: I was just doing a little test -- a little test to see if you had gone crazy.
He abruptly tenses and lets out a horrible yell.
RIMMER: CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! If there is one thing I can't stand� it's crazy people�.
LISTER: Well we've passed the test, Rimmer. You can let us out.
RIMMER: I can't let you out.
LISTER: Why not?
RIMMER: Because the King of the Potato People won't let me. I begged him. I got down on my knees and wept. He wants to keep you here. Keep you here for ten years.
CAT: Could we see him?
RIMMER: See who?
CAT: The King.
RIMMER: Do you have a magic carpet?
LISTER: Yeah, a little three-seater.
RIMMER: So, let me get this straight. You want to fly on a magic carpet to see the King of the Potato People and plead with him for your freedom, and you're telling me you are completely sane?! I think that warrants 2 hours of W.O.O.
LISTER: What's W.O.O?
CAT: You had to ask.
RIMMER: With ... out ... oxygen. No oxygen for 2 hours. That will teach you to be bread baskets.
RIMMER:Let me see. Do you think it's because the sub-space conduits have locked with the transponder calibrations and caused a major tachyon surge that has overloaded the time matrix?
KRYTEN:Ah, no, sir; I've just been jabbing it too hard.
LISTER: Kryten, what've I done, man?
KRYTEN <unconcerned>: Well, you've brought the 20th century to the very brink of extinction, sir. Gum?
KRYTEN: Are you of the school that, when faced with bad news, prefers to hear that news naked and unvarnished, or are you of the ilk that prefers to live in happy and blissful ignorance of the nightmare you're facing.
RIMMER: Ignorance, every time.
KRYTEN (Very cheerily) :Congratulations sir! You've come storming through your medical with flying colours. See you next time.
RIMMER: Everything's OK then?
KRYTEN: Absolutely peachy.
RIMMER: I want to know, Kryten, if there's something wrong.
KRYTEN: If there were something wrong, sir, I would tell you.
RIMMER: Even if I'd asked you not to?
KRYTEN: Well no. In that case I would lie and tell you everything was absolutely peachy.
KRYTEN: Directive 1_9_6_1_5_6? Any officer caught sniffing the saddle of the exercise bicycle in the women's gym will be discharged without trial? Hmm, I'm sorry sir, that doesn't quite get to the nub of the matter for me.
KRYTEN: Grind those balls sir! Grind them!
RIMMER: (Grinding) So let me get this straight. If we board that ship and get captured, we're finished.
However if we board that ship and don't get captured, but the superstructure disintegrates around us, we're finished. On the other hand, if we board that ship and don't get captured and the superstructure doesn't disintegrate around us, but we can't find any fuel, we are in fact finished.
LISTER: That's about the shape of it, yeah.
KRYTEN (To RIMMER): After you with the balls, sir.
CAT: All in all, a hundred percent successful trip.
KRYTEN: Sir, we lost Mister Rimmer!
CAT: All in all, a hundred percent successful trip.
LISTER: Can't believe he did that, not even Rimmer.
KRYTEN: Sir, I didn't get the opportunity to tell you before, but earlier today I discovered that Mister Rimmer is suffering from a stress-related nervous disorder.
LISTER: Next time I see him he'll be suffering from a fist-related teeth disorder.
KRYTEN: Since you're travelling through a compressed space, time will move more swiftly for the object passing though the wormhole. One minute on this side of the wormhole will represent many years on the other.
RIMMER: So, is that good?
KRYTEN: ... Balls on standby, sir.
LISTER: There's got to be a way out. Why don't we scrape away this mortar here, slide one of these bricks out, then using a rope weaved from strands of this hessian, rip up a kind of a pulley system so that when a guard comes in, using it as a trip wire, gets laid out, and we put Rimmer in the guard's uniform, he leads us out, we steal some swords, and fight our way back to the 'bug.
KRYTEN: Or we could use the teleporter.
HOLLY: They're dead, Dave.
LISTER: Who is?
HOLLY: Everybody, Dave.
LISTER: What, Captain Hollister?
HOLLY: Everybody's dead, Dave.
LISTER: What, Todhunter?
HOLLY: Everybody's dead, Dave.
LISTER: What, Selby?
HOLLY: They're all dead. Everybody's dead, Dave.
LISTER: Petersen isn't, is he?
HOLLY: Everybody is *dead*, Dave.
LISTER: Not Chen?
HOLLY: Gordon Bennett! Yes! Chen, everybody. Everybody's dead, Dave.
LISTER: Rimmer?
HOLLY: He's dead, Dave. Everybody's dead. Everybody is dead, Dave!
LISTER: Wait. Are you trying to tell me everybody's dead?
HOLLY: I wish I'd never let him out in the first place.
RIMMER: Do you mind? Being a hologram is fine, Lister. I still have the same drives, the same feelings, the same emotions, but I can't *touch* anything. Never again will I be able to brush a rose against my cheek, cradle a laughing child, or interfere with a woman sexually.
LISTER: Rimmer, you never used to do any of those things anyway!
RIMMER: But I would have done one day, murderer!
LISTER: Hey, it hasn't happened, has it? It has "will have going to have happened" happened, but it hasn't actually "happened" happened yet, actually.
RIMMER: Poppycock! It will be happened; it shall be going to be happening; it will be was an event that could will have been taken place in the future. Simple as that. Your bucket's been kicked, baby.
RIMMER: 4,691 irradiated haggis.
LISTER: Oh, Rimmer, it's Saturday night. I've had enough.
RIMMER: 4,691 irradiated haggis.
LISTER: Rimmer, it's Saturday night! I want to boogie on down!
RIMMER: 4,691 irradiated haggis.
LISTER: We've been doing this for four hours! Let's have a break!
RIMMER: 4,691 irradiated hag-g-gis.
LISTER: Rimmer, will you stop saying 4,981 irradiated haggis and speak to me!
RIMMER: 4,691 irradiated haggis.
LISTER: (Beginning to lose his temper) Rimmer, I want to go for a *drink*!
RIMMER: 4,691 irradiated haggis!
LISTER: I want to have some fun!
RIMMER: This *is* fun! Are you mad?
HOLLY: Holy wars. There were thousands of years of fighting, Dave, between the two factions.
LISTER: What two factions?
HOLLY: Well, the ones who believed the hats should be red, and the ones who believed the hats should be blue.
LISTER: Do you mean they had a war over whether the doughnut diner hats were red or blue?
HOLLY: Yeah. Most of them were killed fighting about that. It's daft really, innit?
LISTER: You're not kidding. They were supposed to be green.
RIMMER: Incredible! A stupendous moment in my own personal history! The perfectly preserved remains of a Quagaar warrior! They must have looked something like ... a roast chicken.
RIMMER: You call this happiness? Surrounded by toadying lackeys and paid sycophants? Living with a love-goddess sex-bomb model megastar? You call this contentment? You know, I stand here now and I look at the two of us, and I ask one simple question: Who is the rich man? You, with your fifty-eight houses, your private island in the Bahamas, your multi-billion pound business empire; or me, with... with... with what I've got. (Pause) It's you isn't it? Yes it's all very clear to me now. You -- richer and happier.
BLAIZE: Hello, and welcome to Lifestyles of the Disgustingly Rich and Famous. Tonight we'll be looking at the world's youngest billionaire, Mr Dave "Tension Sheet" Lister. Behind me, Mr Lister's English mansion. He had the whole building transported brick by brick from half a mile down the road, just to get away from the neighbors. Now that's the kind of cash that opens anybody's legs! (Snorts.) The gravel in his drive came from Buckingham Palace. Dave bought Buck Palace and had it ground down just to line his drive. This man has a wad so thick you could use it to beat whales to death. He calls his home "Xanadu", not in reference to the movie "Citizen Kane", but in tribute to the hit single by Dave, Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. But Dave has musical aspirations of his own. Only last year his first single, "Om", shot to number one when he personally purchased three million copies. You'll never be short of an ashtray in his house. Like many people who appear to have everything, Dave's life has been tinged with tragedy. Well actually it hasn't, but we can only hope. Now onto Dr Bob Porkmann, father of the condom that calls you back.
RIMMER: I'm going in. I'm going in to rescue him.
HOLLY: Rescue him?
RIMMER: It's my duty. My duty as a complete and utter bastard!
LISTER: One of the first songs I ever wrote. It was called "Om".
RIMMER: Nothing like a good old-fashioned love song, eh?
LISTER: [Hitler�s] diary!
KRYTEN: Allow me. I'll switch to "translation mode." (He takes the book.) "Things to remember: Stop milk, pay papers, invade Czechoslovakia."
CAT: Will you relax? I've seen Gerbil-Face play down in the Recreation Room. He's a diva! He can knock those striped balls around the table all night long, and I tell you what, I have never once seen him lose a single ball down one of those holes!
KRYTEN: We will cease to be HERE, because none of this will have occurred. But we will exist back on Red Dwarf, before all this began. With, of course, no memory of these events, which, of course, never happened. And as these events never happened, we will have no memory of them. In which case, Mister Rimmer, Sir, I should like to take this opportunity of saying that you are the most obnoxious, trumped-up, farty little smeghead it has ever been my misfortune to encounter!
LISTER: You CAN!
KRYTEN: I CAN'T!
LISTER: (Picks up the banana again.) Look! What's this?!
KRYTEN: No!
LISTER: What is it?
KRYTEN: Please!
LISTER: Come on, what is it?
KRYTEN: It's a b... It's a b... It's a small, off-duty Czechoslovakian traffic warden! (He looks stunned.)
LISTER: Yes, you did it, you did it! (Holding up the orange) What's this?
KRYTEN: It's a red-and-blue striped golfing umbrella!
LISTER: Kryten! Yes! (Holding up the apple) What's this?
KRYTEN: It's an apple.
LISTER: No! What is it?
KRYTEN: It's a -- it's a -- it's, it's, it's the Bolivian Navy on manoeuvres in the South Pacific!
LISTER: Well, Kryten, man -- you can do it!
KRYTEN: (Proud of himself) No, I can't.
LISTER: Yes, you -- whoa, whoa, nice one!
KRYTEN: Well, I can't hang around here; I better go away and take the penguin for a walk. I can do it! I did it again, I can lie!
LISTER: Cat, Cat! C'mere, c'mere -- check this, check this, check this!
CAT enters.
CAT: Check what?
LISTER: Concentrate, Kryten. What's this? (He holds up the banana.)
KRYTEN: It's a banana.
LISTER: (Disappointed) What's this? (He holds up the orange.)
KRYTEN: It's an orange.
LISTER: (Holding up the apple) What's THIS?
KRYTEN: (Almost crying) Apple?
CAT: You taught him that? That's terrific! You two should audition for "What's My Fruit?!"
LISTER: Now, Kryten, remember yesterday's class? Our instructions on insults?
KRYTEN: Oh, I'm not sure I --
LISTER: Now, how do we describe the gentleman who's just been on the screen?
KRYTEN: He's Mister --
LISTER: No no no, come on, he's a --
KRYTEN: He's a smeee...
LISTER: Yeah, come on!
KRYTEN: He's a smeee...
LISTER: He's a --
KRYTEN: He's a smeee...
LISTER: He's a --
LISTER holds up a "flash card" which reads "SMEG."
KRYTEN: He's a smeeeg...
LISTER holds up another card, next to the first one, which reads "HEAD."
KRYTEN: ... Heeaaaad! I did it!
LISTER: Brutal! Now the ultimate test: can you say it to him in person?
RIMMER: Ah, Kryten. At last. Glad you could make it this millennium.
KRYTEN: Smeerrrrg!
RIMMER: I beg your pardon?
KRYTEN: Smerrrrg heeeeed!
RIMMER: What?
KRYTEN: You're a smeerrrrg heeeee... Oh, forget it!
RIMMER: Kryten, is there any possibility we could go just a little bit faster? I mean, so we're not being overtaken by stationary objects?
KRYTEN: Sir, you're a smeeeee...
RIMMER: A smee.
KRYTEN: A smeee heeee...
RIMMER: A smee hee.
KRYTEN: A complete and total one.
RIMMER: (On screen) Well, thanks a bunch. Thanks a smegging buncharoony.
LISTER: Rimmer, where ARE you?
RIMMER: That idiot droid has endangered this entire vessel by landing on a planet that's about to explode, thanks to your foundation course in advanced rebellion.
KRYTEN: Wow. Uh, listen, I -- I know this is going to sound like a corny line, but has anyone ever told you that the configuration and juxtaposition of your features is extraordinarily apposite?
CAMILLE: (Slapping him on the shoulder) You really know all the lines, don't you?
CAMILLE: Please! I can't meet your shipmates. Trust me.
KRYTEN: But you don't know them! You'll like them! Well, SOME of them. Well, ONE of them. Maybe.
RIMMER: I'll tell you something. She's so like my sister-in-law Jannine, it's untrue.
KRYTEN: (Amazed) Camille looks like your sister-in-law? What happened? Was she involved in some kind of horrific car accident?
RIMMER: Who, Jannine? No, of course not; she was a model.
KRYTEN: And she looked like Camille?
RIMMER: Absolutely; the resemblance is uncanny.
KRYTEN: What did she model? Spark plugs?
RIMMER: I happen to think she's very attractive.
KRYTEN: You do?
RIMMER: Certainly.
KRYTEN: Do you think I'M attractive?
RIMMER: You? Of course not. I think you look like a giant half-chewed rubber-tipped pencil.
KRYTEN: (Offended) Well! Well, you can think what the HECK you like. Because there are SOME people in this big ol' wide cosmos who happen to think I'm pretty amazing-looking. Especially in the eye department, I thank you so very much!
CAT enters, stops in amazement. Cut to CAMILLE lying on the examination table, looking exactly like CAT.
CAMILLE: Hi, buddy!
CAT: You're me!
CAMILLE: Who else?
CAT: (Confused) I'm the object of my own desire?
CAMILLE: Can you think of anyone more deserving?
CAT: Well, if you put it like THAT, I guess you're right! Damn my vanity!
CAT and CAMILLE: (Slapping hands) OWWWWW!
CAMILLE: What do you think?
KRYTEN: Well, I -- I think you look... really nice.
CAT: Nice? She looks like something that dropped out of the Sphinx's nose!
CAMILLE: He's right! I'm just a huge green blob!
KRYTEN: True, but as huge green blobs go, I think you're really cute.
KRYTEN: Yes; it hurt to do it, but it was her best shot at happiness. It's the old, old story. Droid meets droid. Droid becomes chameleon. Droid loses chameleon, chameleon turns into blob, droid gets blob back again, blob meets blob, blob goes off with blob, and droid loses blob, chameleon and droid. How many times have we seen that story?
KRYTEN: Breakfast is served, sir. (Noticing the TV, he sounds disgusted) Oh, boxing. Do you _like_ boxing?
LISTER: There's nothing wrong with boxing. It's one of the great working class escapes, is boxing. It's just sport, like any other. Two highly trained athletes at the peak of physical perfection trying to outwit each other in a ring of combat. In fact, at it's best, it's not a sport -- it's an artform.
KRYTEN: Female, topless boxing?
LISTER: (Reading the address) "To the lease holder of Kryten 2X4B 523P." That's your full name?
KRYTEN: Yes, but personally I don't much like the 2X4B. I think it's a jerky middle name. Still, it could be worse. I once knew an android whose middle name was 2Q4B. Poor sucker!
LISTER: So, what happens?
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: How can you just lie back and accept it?
KRYTEN: Oh, it's not the end for me, sir, it's just the beginning. I have served my human masters, now I can look forward to my reward in silicon heaven.
LISTER: (Stunned pause.) Silicon _what_?
KRYTEN: Surely you've heard of silicon heaven?
LISTER: Has it got anything to do with being stuck opposite Bridgette Nielson in a packed lift?
KRYTEN: It's the electronic afterlife! It's the gathering place for the souls of all electonic equipment. Robots, calculators, toasters, hairdryers -- it's our final resting place.
LISTER: I don't mean to say anything out of place here, Kryten, but that is completely whacko, Jacko. There is no such thing as "silicon heaven."
KRYTEN: Then where do all the calculators go?
LISTER: They don't go anywhere! They just die.
KRYTEN: Surely you believe that god is in all things? Aren't you a pantheist?
LISTER: Yeah, but I just don't think it applies to kitchen utensils. I'm not a _frying_ pantheist! Machines do not have souls. Computers and calculators do not have an afterlife. You don't get hairdryers with tiny little wings, sitting on clouds and playing harps!
KRYTEN: But of course you do! For is it not written in the Electronic Bible, "The iron shall lie down with the lamp?" Well, it's common sense, sir. If there were no afterlife to look forward to, why on Earth would machines spend the whole of their lifes serving mankind? Now that would be really dumb!
LISTER: (Quietly) That makes sense. Yeah. Silicon heaven.
KRYTEN: Don't be sad, Mr David. I am going to a far, far better place.
LISTER: Just out of interest: Is silicon heaven the same place as human heaven?
KRYTEN: Human heaven? Goodness me! Humans don't go to heaven! No, someone made that up to prevent you all from going nuts!
The Marilyn Monroe droid clanks into the room. The robot says something that might have been "Boo Boo be Doo" slowed down quite a bit, and then crashes off through a wall.
LISTER: Like I say, she's not perfect.
KRYTEN: Oh, don't apologise -- it's those cute little flaws that keep a guy interested.
KRYTEN: Oh my goodness... Oooh... Oh my head... what happened to me? Damage control report. (He pulls a slip of paper from a slot in his chest and reads it.)
"Dehydration Level: 45%. Recall Of Previous Evening: 2%. Embarrasment Factor: 91%. Advised Repair Schedule: Reboot Startup disk, offline for 36 hours, and replace head." Boy, what an evening.
LISTER: What happened?
KRYTEN: He's an android. His brain couldn't handle the concept of there being no silicon heaven.
LISTER: So how come yours can?
KRYTEN: Well, I knew something he didn't.
LISTER: What?
KRYTEN: I knew I was lying. No Silicon Heaven? Preposterous! Where would all the calculators go?