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Collection of Red Dwarf Quotes

KRYTEN: My goodness, I do believe I am drunk. I suddenly feel the need to strut my funky stuff.

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: You are a total, total… a word has yet to be invented to describe how totally whatever-it-is you are, but you are one. And a total, total one at that.

HOLLY: Additional. As the days go by, we face the increasing inevitability that we are alone in a godless, uninhabited, hostile and meaningless universe. Still, you’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?

RIMMER: Ah. You. Where have you been?
CAT: Investigating. Investigating this, investigating that. General investigation.

RIMMER: Mayday! Mayday! I wonder why it’s “Mayday.”
LISTER: Eh?
RIMMER: The distress call. Why d’you say “Mayday”? It’s only a bank holiday. Why not “Shrove Tuesday” or “Ascension Sunday”? Ascension Sunday! Ascension Sunday! The fifteenth Wednesday after Pentecost! The fifteenth Wednesday after Pentecost!

RIMMER: Uh, Kryten, take point. I’ve seen those movies. It’s always the guy in the lead who buys it first. You take the front.
KRYTEN: Well, if it’s movies we’re talking about, sir, in my experience it’s usually the poor fellow who’s bringing up the rear that gets picked off first, so the others aren’t aware that they’re under attack.
RIMMER: You’re right, you’re right. Can you take the front and the back, so I can go in the middle?
KRYTEN: I’ll do my best, sir.

RIMMER: Well, at least he gets twenty-four hours notice. That’s more than most of us get. All most of us get is, “Mind that bus!” “What bus?” Splat!

RIMMER: Holly, I’d like to send an internal memo. Black border. Begins, “To Dave Lister, Condolences on your passing away.” What’s that poem? “Now, weary traveller, rest your head; for just like me, you’re utterly dead.”

KRYTEN: Oh, it’s no good sir, I just can’t lie! I’m programmed always to tell the truth.
LISTER: Kryten, it’s easy! (holds up an apple) Look, an orange. (holds up an orange) A melon. (holds up a banana) A female aardvark.
KRYTEN: Oh! Oh, that is just so superb, sir! How do you do that? Especially calling a banana an aardvark? An aardvark isn’t even a fruit! It’s total genius!

RIMMER: Oh, yes, I expect they cured death the instant we left Earth. I expect doctors’ surgeries are packed with the dead. “Hello, Mrs Johnson, take one of these three times a day, you’ll soon be living again. Carol, next corpse, please.”

LISTER: “I write to -” I can’t read that. Oh, “I write to inform.” “I write to inform you that your father is dad.” Well, of course he is.

LISTER: “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!

CAT: You really think you can clone yourself from your own dandruff?
RIMMER: Why not? Dandruff has DNA in it. That machine has a clone facility.
CAT: But a man made from dandruff? It’s never going to work. The first time you take a shower with medicated shampoo, you’ll disappear.

TOASTER: You know the last time you had toast? Eighteen days ago. 11:36, Tuesday the third. Two rounds.
LISTER: Ssshhh!
TOASTER: I mean, what’s the point of buying a toaster with artificial intelligence if you don’t like toast?
LISTER: I do like toast.
TOASTER: I mean, this is my job! This is cruel! Just cruel!
LISTER: Look, I’m busy!
TOASTER: Oh, you’re not busy eating toast, are you?
LISTER: I don’t want any!
TOASTER: I mean, the whole purpose of my existence is to serve you with hot, buttered, scrummy toast. If you don’t want any, then my existence is meaningless.
LISTER: Good.
TOASTER: I toast, therefore I am.
LISTER: Will you shut up?!

LISTER: Everywhere I look reminds me of food. Look at these books. Charles Lamb, Herman Wok, the complete works of Sir Francis Bacon, Eric Van Lustbader…
RIMMER: Eric Van Lustbader? What’s he got to do with food?
LISTER: Van. Bread van, meat van, food!

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.

CAMILLE: Oh, I think you’re perfectly charming.
RIMMER: Do you? Well, thank you. No one’s ever said I was charming before. They’ve said, “Rimmer, you’re a total git.” But never charming, no.

RIMMER: And it turned Lister into a chicken.
KRYTEN: So it seems.
CAT: Question is, can we turn him back again?
RIMMER: Question is, do we want to?

CAT: You’d never get a cat to be a servant. You ever see a cat return a stick? “Hey, man! You threw the stick, you go get it, yourself! I’m busy! If you wanted the stick so bad, why’d you throw it away in the first place?”

LISTER: “Mr. Arnold” isn’t his name. His name’s “Rimmer.” Or “Smeghead,” or “Dinosaur Breath” or “Molecule Mind.” And on a really special occasion when you want to be really mega-polite to him, Kryten, we’re talking mega-polite, in those exceptional circumstances, you can call him “Ace-hole.”

HOLLY: Queen to Rook Eight. Checkmate.
QUEEG: That’s an illegal move.
HOLLY: Oh, sorry. Queens don’t move like that. I was thinking of Poker.

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?

HOLLY: Our biggest enemy is going space-crazy through loneliness. The only thing that helps me maintain my slender grip on reality is the friendship I share with my collection of singing potatoes.

RIMMER: Somehow we’ve lost the last four days.
CAT: Did you look behind the fridge? If you lose something it’s nearly always there.

RIMMER: Please rush me my portable walrus polishing kit. Four silver brushes that will clean even the trickiest of sea-bound mammals. Yes, I am over eighteen, although my IQ isn’t.

ARLENE: Mind you, we’ve got a pretty good conversation going on here.
RIMMER: Oh, yes, yes.
ARLENE: Absolutely.
RIMMER: Funny, really. I’m not normally good at talking to the opposite sex.
ARLENE: No, I’m not. I run out of things to say.
RIMMER (after a long pause): Me, too. (long pause) So, you’re a girl, then?
ARLENE: Yes.

HOLLY: I don’t want you to panic, Arn, but it does appear there’s a very tiny possibility that there may very well in all likelihood possibly be a non-human life form on board.
RIMMER: You mean like last time, when you got us all worked up and we went scooting off down to the cargo bay complete with bazookoids and backpacks, and it turned out to be one of Lister’s socks?
HOLLY: I didn’t recognize the genetic structure. Biologically speaking, they were a completely new life form.

RIMMER: What about the Rimmer Directive, which states, “Never tangle with anything that’s got with more teeth than the entire Osmond family”?

LISTER: Come on, Rimmer, look on the bright side.
RIMMER: The bright side? What bright side? I’m dead, I’m composed entirely of light, and I’m alone in space with a man who’d lose a battle of wits with a stuffed iguana. Where’s the bright side?

RIMMER: Up, up, up! That’s where I’m going!
LISTER: Not until you pass your engineer’s exam. And you won’t do that because you’ll just go in there and flunk again.
RIMMER: Lister, last time I only failed by the narrowest of narrow margins.
LISTER: You what? You walked in there, wrote, “I am a fish” four hundred times, did a funny little dance, and fainted.

RIMMER: He’s got mad droid disease. He kept waving a banana in front of me and calling it a female aardvark.

LISTER: What time is it?
RIMMER: Saturday.
LISTER: Is that the best you can do?
RIMMER: There are some numbers next to it, but they could be anything.

CAT: You can’t have my shiny thing. I found it, it’s my shiny thing.
RIMMER: What are you driveling about?
CAT (takes out a yo-yo): This is my shiny thing. And if you try and take it off me I may have to eat you.

RIMMER: Holly, this is Rimmer. Remember me? Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer. The – the poor goit you made look like Helen Shapiro! I’ll see you toast on the fires of hell for this!
TOASTER: Did someone say they wanted toast?
RIMMER: Shut up.

LISTER: You see, I try, sir. I’m not an insubordinate man by nature. I try and respect Rimmer and everything, but it’s not easy ’cause he’s such a smeghead!

CAT: Hey, this is mine. That’s mine. All this is mine. I’m claiming all this as mine. Except that bit. I don’t want that bit. But all the rest of this is mine.

LISTER: You okay, man?
KRYTEN: I’m fine, thank you, Susan.

LISTER: Oh, smeg! What the smegging smeg’s he smegging done? He’s smegging killed me!

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’re completely sane?

TOASTER: Given that God is infinite, and given that the Universe is also infinite… would you like a toasted tea cake?

RIMMER: I just want to say, over the years, I have come to regard you as… people I met.

KRYTEN: Well, Space Corps Directive 195 clearly states that in an emergency power situation, a hologrammatic crew member must lay down his life in order that the living crew members might survive.
RIMMER: Yes, but Rimmer Directive 271 states just as clearly, “No chance, you metal bastard.”

LISTER: Drop dead, Rimmer.
RIMMER: Already have done.
LISTER: Encore!

HOLLY: We have three realistic alternatives: One, sit here and get blown up. Two, stand here and get blown up. Three, jump up and down, shout at me for not being able to think of anything, then get blown up.

LISTER: Rimmer, real dumplings, proper dumplings, when they’re properly cooked to perfection, proper dumplings do not bounce!

RIMMER: This master character – and I acknowledge I may not want to know the full answer to this one – but why does he want me oiling particularly? Obviously whatever he has in mind is facilitated by my being slippery and pliant, yes?
WOMAN: He always likes his victims to be oiled. An oiled body is so much better for conducting the electricity.
RIMMER: Not the best news, but it could have been worse.

KRYTEN: A superlative suggestion sir, with only two minor drawbacks: one, we don’t have any defensive shields and two, we don’t have any defensive shields. I know that technically that’s only one drawback, but I thought it was such a big one it was worth mentioning twice.

HOLLY: Emergency. Emergency. There’s an emergency going on. It’s still going on. It’s still an emergency. This is an emergency announcement.

LISTER: We’re on a mining ship, three 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!

HOLLY: The most interesting event that happened recently was that Lister pretended he passed the chef’s exam, although really he failed. That gives you some idea of how truly exciting some days can be around here.

RIMMER: Holly, give me access to the crew’s confidential reports.
HOLLY: Those are for the Captain’s eyes only, Arnold.
RIMMER: Fine. Well, we’ll give him ten seconds to come back from the dead, and if he hasn’t managed it, we’ll presume I’m in charge.

LISTER: Can you be two things simultaneously?
KRYTEN: Take you, sir. In some ways, you’re bright, sensitive, and caring. In other ways, you’re an irresponsible, curry-obsessed moron.

HOLLY: Why I have to make these announcements when I’ve got an IQ of six thousand, I don’t know. It’s just so demeaning. I could’ve invented a new theory of quantum mechanics instead of saying that. It’s just not right. It really isn’t. Instead of saying that stuff about quantum mechanics just then , I could’ve rewritten Hamlet and made it really good. It’s just not right. It’s not right.

KRYTEN: Mr. Rimmer? Sir! They’ve taken Mr. Rimmer!
CAT: Quick, let’s get out of here before they bring him back!

RIMMER: Brace yourself for a bit of a shock, Lister, but I just saw you die!
LISTER: What?!
RIMMER: I did warn you to brace yourself.
LISTER: You didn’t give me much of a chance.
RIMMER: I gave you ample bracing time!
LISTER: No, you didn’t! You didn’t even pause!
RIMMER: Well, I’m sorry! I’ve just had a rather nasty experience! I have just seen someone I know very well die in the most hideous, hideous way!
LISTER: Yeah! Me!

KRYTEN: What on earth are we going to do?
CAT: Hey, I got it! We laser our way through!
KRYTEN: An excellent suggestion, sir, with just two minor drawbacks. One, we don’t have a power source for the lasers, and two, we don’t have any lasers.

KRYTEN: 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.

RIMMER: Step up to red alert.
KRYTEN: Sir, are you absolutely sure? It does mean changing the bulb.

CAT: All in all, a hundred percent successful trip!
KRYTEN: Sir, we lost Mr. Rimmer!
CAT: All in all, a hundred percent successful trip!

HOLLY: And the moral of the story is, appreciate what you’ve got, because basically, I’m fantastic.

TOASTER: Howdy doodly do! How’s it going? I’m Talkie, Talkie Toaster, your chirpy breakfast companion. Talkie’s the name, toasting’s the game. Anyone like any toast?
LISTER: Look, I don’t want any toast, and he doesn’t want any toast. In fact, no one around here wants any toast. Not now, not ever. No toast!
TOASTER: How ’bout a muffin?
LISTER: Or muffins! Or muffins! We don’t like muffins around here! We want no muffins, no toast, no teacakes, no buns, baps, baguettes or bagels, no croissants, no crumpets, no pancakes, no potato cakes, and no hot cross buns, and definitely no smegging flapjacks!
TOASTER: Ah, so you’re a waffle man!

LISTER: This is crazy. Why are we talking about going to bed with Wilma Flintstone?
CAT: You’re right. We’re nuts. This is an insane conversation.
LISTER: She’ll never leave Fred, and we know it.

RIMMER: So let me repeat what I think you’re saying. Arnold, that’s me, and Kochanski, that’s the woman, the really attractive one you saw earlier; me and her are in bed giving it rizz, when Lister, that’s the short dumpy one with the stupid haircut, walks in and shoots me through the head while I’m making love to Kochanski.
CASSANDRA: That is what’s going to happen.
RIMMER: Fantastic!

KRYTEN: Sir, a couple of brief points: firstly, you’re not a qualified service engineer, and, consequently, sawing me in two will invalidate my guarantee. Secondly, I wouldn’t trust you to open a can of sardines that was already open.

RIMMER: I’m disciplined, I’m organized, 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. Why? Why is that?

KRYTEN: Sir? May I recommend I load myself into the reverse-thrust tubes and you use my body as decoy-fodder? This will, of course, leave me splattered across deep space and unable to complete today’s laundry, for which I apologize in advance.
RIMMER: Kryten, stop your blathering and get in the damn tube.
LISTER: Kryten, sit down! I’m not doing my own smeggin’ ironing.

RIMMER: Look, Lister, no point feeling sorry about Holly. It’s a kindness. Like a blind old incontinent sheep dog, he’s had his day. Take him out to the barn with a double-barreled shotgun and blow the mother away. And I’m only saying that because I’m so fond of him.

CAT: You know, I wish I was someone else. Then I could kiss me.

RIMMER: You’re about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican.

LISTER: What are you? A man or a munchkin?
RIMMER: I’m off to see the wizard! The wonderful Wizard of Oz!

HOLLY: Rude alert! Rude alert! An electrical fire has knocked out my voice recognition unicycle! Many Wurlitzers are missing from my database! Abandon shop! This is not a daffodil. Repeat: this is not a daffodil!
RIMMER: Well, thankfully Holly’s unaffected.

KRYTEN: Kryten personal black box recording. Time: unknown. Location: unknown. Cause of accident: unknown. Should someone find this recording, perhaps it will shed light as to what happened here. My short-term memory has been erased. This, I ascribe to the proximity of the magnetic coils from Starbug’s rear engine. Secondly, due to the proximity of the magnetic coils, my short term memory appears to have been erased. This, combined with the erasure of my short-term memory, has left me a little disoriented… disoriented… disoriented…

RIMMER: There are always casualties in war, if there were no casualties it would just be a rather nasty argument with lots of pushing and shoving.

LISTER: Don’t give me any of that Star Trek crap. It’s too early in the morning.

RIMMER: We’re not getting out of here in one piece, or if we do, it’ll be one big flat piece.

KRYTEN: I remember Mr. Rimmer spotted an S3 planet on the scope, and wanted to claim it on behalf of the Space Corps. As usual, the ceremony consisted of planting the flag and singing all twenty-three stanzas of the Space Corps anthem. Then the planet started to erupt around us, which frankly came as something of a relief.

RIMMER: Was there any damage?
HOLLY: I don’t know. The damage report machine has been damaged.

CAT: See what you did to my blouson? Look at it. Plus, you almost killed me three times.

LISTER: What are you trying to say, Hol?
HOLLY: What I’m saying, Dave, is it’s better to have loved and lost than to listen to an album by Olivia Newton-John.
CAT: Why’s that?
HOLLY: Anything’s better than to listen to an album by Olivia Newton-John.

LISTER: Someone get behind me!
KRYTEN: I’m going to come around behind you now, sir.
LISTER: Okay, Kryten, take me by surprise!
KRYTEN: I’m coming around behind you to take you by surprise, sir.
LISTER: Get on with it, surprise me!
KRYTEN: You may get an unpleasant sensation of chloroform. Don’t be alarmed.
LISTER: Surprise me now!
KRYTEN: Here comes my surprise, sir.

RIMMER: I used to be in the Samaritans.
LISTER: I know. For one morning.
RIMMER: 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: What happened to my life? Career, prospects, friends. I had everything, and I threw it all away. It’s a tragedy.
LISTER: What are you on about? You had none of that stuff!
RIMMER: You’re right. I had none of that stuff. I had absolutely nothing and I threw it all away. It’s an even bigger tragedy!

LISTER: I’m not the lowest rank on this ship! What about the laboratory mice? I tell them to do something and they jump straight to it! “Yes, Mr. Lister, sir, eek, eek, eek!”

RIMMER: Gentlemen, history beckons! You’ll be famous. They’ll build your statues. They’ll even name towns after you. “Dorksville” springs instantly to mind.

© 2008 The Blog of an Egyptian Songbird.