Waiting for God

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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.

Holly (reading): David Lister, Technician, 3rd class. Captain's remarks: "Has requested sick leave due to diarrhea on no less than 500 occasions. Left his previous job as a supermarket trolley attendant after ten years because he didn't want to get tied down to a career. Promotion prospects: zero."
Rimmer: I always liked Captain Hollister. Such a great reader of men, was Captain Hollister. A marvellous, marvellous man and a tragic loss to us all. All right, Holly, give me ... give me mine.
Holly (reading): Arnold Rimmer, Technician, 2nd Class. Captain's remarks: "There's a saying amongst the officers: If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. If it's not worth doing, give it to Rimmer. He aches for responsibility but constantly fails the engineering exam."
Rimmer: Whoa, whoa, whoa, Holly, Holly. I want my report. Rimmer. Two M's, E, R.
Holly, continuing: "Astoundingly zealous. Possibly mad. Probably has more teeth than brain cells. Promotion prospects: comical."
Rimmer: No no no no no, Holly. I want Rimmer. That's two R's, one at the front, one at the back.
Holly: Arnold, this is your report.
Rimmer: I always hated that pus-head Hollister. He always resented my popularity. That's why he never put forward my proposal to reduce the minimum haircut length by an eighth of an inch. Small-minded, petty-thinking modo.

Toaster: You know the last time you had toast? 18 days ago. 11:36, Tuesday the 3rd. 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: Okay, Okay. What's Holly spotted?
Rimmer: An unidentified object.
Lister: You mean a rock.
Rimmer: It might not be.
Lister: They're always rocks.
Rimmer: Mostly they're rocks, I agree, but maybe this one's different.
Lister: Rimmer, there's nothing out there, you know. There's nobody out there. No alien monsters, no Zargon warships, no beautiful blondes with beehive hairdos who say, "Show me some more of this Earth thing called kissing." There's just you, me, the Cat, and a lot of floating smegging rocks. That's it. Finito.
Rimmer: Lister, if there's no one out there, what's the point in existence? Why are we here?
Toaster: Beats me. Do you want some toast?

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

Cat: Hey! You can't have my shiny thing! I found it. It's my shiny thing.
Rimmer: What are you dribbling about?
Cat, showing him a silver yo-yo: This is my shiny thing, and if you try and take it off me, I may have to eat you.
Rimmer: It's a yo-yo, you modo.
Cat: It does two amazing things. One, you have the shiny thing at the top, and the string down below, or, and this is the clever part, you have the string at the top, and the shiny thing down here where the string used to be.
Rimmer: Yeah ... woweeee! You haven't the slightest clue what it's for, do you?
Cat: Why sure I do, grease stain. You hold the shiny thing in one hand, and you go ... aaaooowww! The string's moving! Hey! Stop that thing! Catch that string! Aaaooowww!

Cat: Listen, you stupid monkey, Cloister's another name for ... for God!
Lister: That's what I'm saying! I am your God!
Cat: Okay. Turn this [bowl of cereal] into a woman.
Lister: I'm serious.
Cat: So am I!

Rimmer: Why do you never do what I tell you? Don't you think there's a shining good reason why I'm your superior?
Lister: Yeah. You've been with the company for 15 years -
Rimmer: No it's not.
Lister: - And I've been with them for eight months.
Rimmer: No it's not. It's because I'm better than you. Better trained, better equipped, better ... better! Just, just better.
Lister: That must mean the rest of the crew are better than you then.

Lister: It's one of our Red Dwarf garbage pods with, like, the writing burnt off in places. Why didn't you tell him?
Holly: Well, it's a laugh, innit?

Rimmer: After intensive investigation, comma, of the markings on the alien pod, comma, it has become clear, comma, to me, comma, that we are dealing, comma, with a species of awesome intellect, colon.
Holly: Good. Perhaps they might be able to give you a hand with your punctuation.

Lister: What makes you think these aliens exist?
Rimmer: They must do, Lister! There's so many things that are strange and odd. So many things we don't have any explanation for.
Lister: Like, um, why do intelligent people buy cinema hot dogs? Do you mean that sort of weird and mysterious thing?
Rimmer: No, Lister, I mean like the pyramids. How did they move such massive pieces of stone without the aid of modern technology?
Lister: They had massive whips, Rimmer. Massive, massive whips.
Rimmer: All right, then, the Bermuda Triangle. Go on, explain that one. You know all the answers.
Lister: No, I agree there. That is a genuine mystery. How did a song like that ever become a hit? It defies all reason.
Rimmer: I just don't know why I bother. I'd get more sense out of a squashed hedgehog. Lister, don't you ever stop and wonder, why are we here? What's the grand purpose?
Lister: Why does it have to be such a big deal? Why can't it be like, like, human beings are a planetary disease? Like the Earth's got German measles or facial herpes, right? And that's why all of the other planets give us such a wide berth. It's like, "Oh, don't go near Earth! It's got human beings on it, they're contagious!"
Rimmer: So you're saying, Lister, you're an intergalactic, pus-filled cold sore! At last, Lister, we agree on something.

Lister: Mankind hasn't even got the technology to create a toupee that doesn't get big laughs.

Holly: "And Cloister spake, "Lo, I shall lead you to Fyushal, and there we shall open a temple of food, wherein shall be sausages and doughnuts and all manner of bountiful things. Yea, even individual sachets of mustard. And those who serve shall have hats of great majesty, yea, though they be made of coloured cardboard and have humorous arrows through the top."
Lister: Does it say what happened to the rest of the Cats?
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.

Holly: "And Cloister gave to Frankenstein the sacred writing, saying, 'Those who have wisdom will know its meaning.' And it was written thus: 'Seven socks, one shirt -'"
Lister: That's me laundry list! I lined the cat's basket with me laundry list!
Holly: The Blue Hats thought it was a star chart leading to the promised land.

Lister: This is terrible. Holy wars. Killing. They're just using religion as an excuse to be extremely crappy to each other.
Toaster: So, what else is new?

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