Rimmer, real dumplings, proper dumplings when they are properly cooked to perfection, proper dumplings should not bounce!
PROPER DUMPLINGS SHOULD NOT BOUNCE
Rimmer, real dumplings, proper dumplings when they are properly cooked to perfection, proper dumplings should not bounce!
Here’s the full script and quotes for Red Dwarf Parallel Universe. It might have been a low-budget episode, but easily one of the best!
1 Int. A stage.
CAT, LISTER, and RIMMER are dressed in pink suits with frills on a stage.
RIMMER’s “H” is jewel-studded. Behind them on some scaffolding are girls in black and white dresses. CAT starts to sing. During the ensuing dance, HOLLY appears on screen in a variety of style-less wigs.
The CAT: (Chorus — LISTER and RIMMER:)
When I saw you for the first time (first time)
My knees began to quiver (quiver)
And I got a funny feeling (feeling)
In my kidneys and my liver (digestive system baby)
My hands they started shakin’ (shakin’)
My heart began a-thumpin’ (boom boom boom)
My breakfast left my body (huey huey huey)
It all really tells me something
Girl you make me tongue tied (tongue tied)
Tongue tied, whenever you are near me (near me)
Tied tongue (tied tongue)
Tied tongue (tied tongue)
Whenever you’re in town
I saw you on the dance floor (dancin’)
I thought of birds and bees (reproductive system baby)
I barely tried to speak to ya (talk talk)
My tongue unraveled to my knees (flippety-flippety-thump)
I tried to say I love you (love you)
But it came out kind of wrong girl (wrong girl)
It sounded like min-oo-bitty-boo (tongue tied)
‘Cause you make me tongue tied (tongue tied)
Tongue tied, whenever you are near me
Tongue tied (tongue tied)
Whenever you’re around
Oh I’m beggin’ on my knees
Sweet, sweet darling, listen please
Understand me when I saaaaaay
(Lister grabs himself on this high note.)
I’m trying to say nungy-nangy (nangy-nungy)
Ningy-nongy, but I can’t tell you clearly (clearly)
Whenever you’re around (around)
Whenever you’re around (around)
2 Int. Sleeping quarters.
CAT is sitting at a machine that looks a bit like a microscope (a dream
viewer) LISTER is on his bunk and RIMMER is on an exercise bike.
RIMMER’s bike has a large H on it. CAT’s song and dance number can be heard playing on the dream recorder.
CAT: No, this isn’t the one.
LISTER: What isn’t?
CAT: I’m looking for this dream I had last month on the dream recorder.
It was sensational.
LISTER: What was it about?
CAT: Me, three girls and a family-sized tub of banana yoghurt!
RIMMER: You know, cats have a very strange attitude to women if you ask
CAT: Say what, Goalpost Head?
RIMMER: It’s all sex, and no sense of settling down and having a long- term relationship.
CAT: Hey, I want to settle down. And as soon as I find the right small
group of girls, the seven or eight women who are right for me, my
wandering days are over, buddy.
CAT leaves the room.
RIMMER: You see? Totally maladjusted.
LISTER: That’s rich, you know. I mean, coming from the man who’s
favourite book is “How To Pick Up Girls By Hypnosis.”
RIMMER: There’s nothing wrong with that, Lister. It’s a good book. Full of handy hints as well, and it works.
LISTER: Get outta town.
RIMMER gets off the bike.
RIMMER: That’s how I met Lorraine — by hypnotising her.
LISTER: You hypnotised a girl into going out with you?
RIMMER: Yes. I gave her the old “there’s something in your eye”
technique, fixed her with a mesma-stare, and bingo — she agreed to
come on a date.
LISTER: What was wrong with her?
LISTER: C’mon, a girl agrees to go out with you, and there was nothing
wrong with her?
RIMMER: She was an extrememly attractive and bright young lady.
LISTER: Hmm, it must work then.
RIMMER: Of course, she had an artificial nose.
RIMMER: Oh, tastefully done. Quality metal. No rivets.
LISTER: Come on, what happened?
RIMMER: Well, things were a little bit stilted in the taxi. All my jokes
about her nose hadn’t gone down too well. And they were good gags — I
mean quality gags like, “Where are we going? Who nose.” No cheap
shots. Anyway, when we got to the restaraunt she must have had an
attack of nerves or something. She said she was going to the loo and
ended up climbing out of the toilet window.
LISTER: I wonder why.
RIMMER: It’s not ‘cos she didn’t want to see me, Lister. She phoned the next day and said how much she’d LOVE to come on another date with me, only suddenly she had to move to Pluto.
LISTER: You’re a sad weasel of a man, you know that, Rimmer?
RIMMER: No, it’s just that I’m ill at ease with the opposite sex.
LISTER: It’s because you see them as some alien species that needs to be conquered with trickery. They’re not — they’re people. You don’t need your book on hypnosis and, and… what’s the other one? “1001 Fabulous Chat-up Lines.”
RIMMER: Lister, I _do_ need that. It’s brilliant. Those chat-up lines
LISTER: There’s no such thing.
RIMMER: Alright. You be a woman. On your own in a bar, short leather miniskirt, peephole bra.
LISTER: OK. Go on.
RIMMER: Now this is the most incredible chat-up line you’ve ever heard in your life. Guaranteed.
LISTER: Go on.
RIMMER: OK, in a bar, on you own. (Pauses as he works up nerve.) Excuse me, would you like to join me for a cocktail?
RIMMER: You can’t say “no.” It doesn’t work when you say “no.” You’ve got to say “yes.”
LISTER: Oh, right. Okay. Go on, go on.
RIMMER: So, would you like a wormdo?
LISTER: What’s that, then?
RIMMER: What’s what?
LISTER: A wormdo.
RIMMER: What about it?
LISTER: Is this still the opening line?
RIMMER: But you’re not giving me the right replies!
LISTER: What is the right reply?
RIMMER: I come up to you and say, “Excuse me, would you like to join me
in a cocktail?” You say, “Yes.” I say, “Would you like a wormdo?” You
say, “What’s a wormdo?” And I say…
LISTER: “Oh, it wriggles along the ground like that.”
RIMMER: You know it!
LISTER: Rimmer, you could not pull a rotten tooth out of a dead horse’s head with that one.
HOLLY appears on a monitor screen.
HOLLY: Eureka. I’ve done it.
LISTER: Done what?
HOLLY: The Earl of Sandwich invented the sandwich, Samuel Morse invented the Morse Code, Plato invented the plate, and now I, Holly, have invented the Holly Hop Drive.
RIMMER: Ooh, I can’t wait to see it.
HOLLY: It’s monumental, this. It’s epoch-making. The Holly Hop Drive can transfer any object instantly to any other point in space.
LISTER: What? You mean we can go back to Earth?
HOLLY: In a matter of seconds.
LISTER: What, you mean we can go back to Earth, like, right now? This instant?
HOLLY: Right on.
LISTER: Rock and roll!
3 Int. Drive room.
LISTER and RIMMER view HOLLY’s creation — a small box.
LISTER: Is this it?
He holds up the HOLLY Hop Drive.
HOLLY: What do you think?
LISTER: It’s just a box with “STOP” and “START” on it!
HOLLY: It’s fairly straightforward. If you want to start it you press
“START,” and you can work out the rest of the controls for yourself.
RIMMER: It’s absolutely pathetic.
HOLLY: Right. Let’s Holly Hop. Engage drive… drive engaged.
Initiating ignition sequence… ignition sequence initiated.
RIMMER: Get on with it.
HOLLY: It takes time, this. One slight error in any of my thirteen
billion calculations and we’ll be blasted to smithereens. Here we go,
then: 10, 9, 8, 6, 5–
RIMMER: You missed out the seven.
HOLLY: Did I? I’ve always had a bit of a blind spot with sevens.
RIMMER: (Sotto voce) We’re going to die.
HOLLY: No problem. I’ll start lower down. 1, blast off.
LISTER thumps the “START” button on the HOLLY Hop Drive.
4 Ext. Red Dwarf.
Suddenly it vanishes in a flash of white light.
5 Int. Drive room.
HOLLY: We’ve done it. We’re home.
RIMMER: It worked?
LISTER: We’re at Earth? You must be joking!
HOLLY: Half a mo’.
He vanishes from the monitor, and returns almost immediately.
HOLLY: It’s gone.
CAT: What has?
HOLLY: The Earth. It’s missing. It’s not there. Wait a minute —
sorry, I was looking out of the wrong window.
He goes for another look.
HOLLY: No, no, it has gone. The entire Solar System is missing.
RIMMER: Well, what is actually out there?
HOLLY: Nothing. Just space.
RIMMER: Holly, the thought occurs that we haven’t actually reached Earth.
The further thought occurs that we haven’t actually budged a smegging inch.
HOLLY: No, no, we have. It’s just I don’t know where we are. I’ve got
to admit it, I’ve flamingoed-up.
HOLLY: It’s like a cock-up, only much, much bigger. (Pause) Wait, there is something there. It’s another ship.
LISTER: Punch it up.
HOLLY: It looks like an exact copy of Red Dwarf.
LISTER: Eh? So what’s happened?
HOLLY: Somehow, don’t ask me how, we’ve jumped into a Parallel Universe.
We’ve entered the fifth dimension.
RIMMER: What’s the fifth dimension?
LISTER: Didn’t they get to Number Six with that “Baby I Want Your Love Thing?”
HOLLY: You’ve got your basic dimensions, right, length, breadth, depth and time. The fifth dimension is co-existing realities, two bodies who share the same space but are unaware of each other’s existence.
RIMMER: Sounds like my parents in bed.
LISTER: So hang on. This is another Red Dwarf, with another Rimmer and
Lister on board?
RIMMER: Will they be be exactly the same as us?
HOLLY: No, there will be differences. This is parallel universe, innit?
RIMMER: What do you mean?
HOLLY: Well, for instance, in this universe, it could be that Hitler won the Second World War. It could be something even more incredible, like perhaps Ringo was a really _good_ drummer. Hang on, I’m linking up with their on-board computer.
A second face appears beside HOLLY’s. The shape of the face is much the same, but with one important difference — it is female.
HILLY: Hello, I’m Hilly.
HOLLY: Hello, I’m Holly.
HILLY: Hello, Holly.
HOLLY: Hello, Hilly.
HILLY: Well, this is a turn-up, innit? You’d better boogie on over and
we can sort it out.
HOLLY: Right on, sis.
HILLY: See you, Hol.
HOLLY: See you, Hil.
HILLY’s face disappears.
HOLLY: I’m in there.
6 Ext. Blue Midget.
The guys boogie on over in Blue Midget.
7 Int. Docking bay. Other Red Dwarf.
RIMMER steps through the airlock, followed by a skutter, then CAT and finally LISTER.
RIMMER: It’s identical in every detail to our Red Dwarf!
CAT: Very funny smell around here that I don’t like one bit. (To LISTER)
It smells like your moon-boots, man. I’m going to get rid of it.
He pulls out two cans of CAT scent-marking. He moves off down the
CAT: That’s mine, this is mine…
LISTER: So where are the other Rimmer and Lister, then?
They head for the door to the main corridor. It opens as they reach it,
revealing… a female LISTER and RIMMER. They look pretty surprised.
DAVE hits a door control panel, while ARNOLD looks down the corridor. He doesn’t realise that the females are there until ARLENE speaks.
ARLENE: So, you’re not aliens.
She walks over to ARNOLD, while DEBBIE walks over to her male
ARNOLD and ARLENE give one another a Full-Rimmer Salute.
ARLENE: How do you do?
ARNOLD: How do you do?
DAVE: So you must be Lister?
DEBBIE: And you are too.
LISTER: I hope so.
ARLENE: You must be Rimmer. So am I.
The skutter hums past, on it’s way to explore the ship. It passes a
female skutter, who stops, optical sensor wide, then wheels off in
8 Int. Sleeping Quarters. Other Red Dwarf.
DAVE and DEBBIE enter, passing the fridge.
DAVE: So, you come from a universe which is exactly the same as ours?
(Gesturing toward the fridge) Can I?
DAVE takes two cans of Leopard Lager out of the fridge and hands one to
DEBBIE. Worth noting the posters inside the fridge.
DAVE: –only everything’s … opposite?
DEBBIE: Oh, I don’t know if everything’s opposite. It seems like that.
DAVE: So you come from a female-orientated society?
DEBBIE: Well, it’s not exactly female-orientated anymore, not since the sixties. You know, the equal-rights-for-men marches. You know, they burned their jockstraps and all that.
DEBBIE: Haven’t you read “The Male Eunuch” by Jeremy Greer?
DAVE: So, your history is parallel to ours as well? So, hang on… erm,
who was the first person on the moon?
DEBBIE: Nellie Armstrong.
LISTER: NELLIE Armstrong? So… who wrote Hamlet?
ARLENE: (Entering with ARNOLD) Will Shakespeare.
DAVE: Ah, so he was a bloke.
DEBBIE: No, she was a woman. Wilma Shakespeare.
ARLENE: Yeah, she wrote all the greats: “Racheal the Third,” “The Taming of the Shrimp.”
ARNOLD: (Examing the table) My god, what’s this?
ARLENE: Oh, “Camera Monthly” magazine.
ARNOLD: But, it’s disgusting! It’s full of semi-naked blokes draping
themselves over sports cars.
ARLENE: What’s wrong with that? You’re not one of those boring
masculinists, are you?
DAVE: So, sexual attitudes are opposite as well?
ARLENE: (To LISTER) What was that, my little cupcake?
DAVE: Your little what??
ARNOLD: But, it just looks ridiculous! I mean, these models are
deformed! Hugely deformed. It makes one feel quite… inadequate.
He tries nonchalantly to cover himself with his hands.
ARLENE: I wouldn’t worry about that, my pretty. (She gropes his bum.)
DEBBIE: Hey, the holograms can touch each other!
CAT enters at a fast smooch.
CAT: Hey, hey, hey, hey! I hate to break up the party, but is there
DEBBIE: How do you mean?
CAT: Well. (Pointing to DEBBIE) Lister, female opposite. (Pointing to
ARLENE) Rimmer, female opposite. Where’s mine?
DEBBIE: Oh, right. Mooching around on the Cargo Decks, I think.
CAT: Wow! All my life I’ve waited for this moment, and now it has
arrived! Hey, listen, if you hear me screaming, do not — I repeat, do
not — come to the rescue! Whaaaaaoooooooow! (Running from the room,
singing) I’m gonna get you, little kitty…
DEBBIE: I think he’s in for a bit of a shock.
DEBBIE: His opposite isn’t female.
DAVE: What is it?
DEBBIE: It’s a dog.
9 Int. Cargo deck.
We see the aforementioned dog. He’s hairy, dirty and slobby, wearing a t-shirt with “DOG MARKET” written on it (probably of religious significance). He is wearing a baseball glove and tossing a ball into it. Like CAT, he speaks with an American dialect, but a different one — Generic Hillbilly.
DOG: Boy, oh boy, Where’d they go? I get so danged panicky when they go off and leave me on muh own like this! (He scratches behind one ear.)
Damn these fleas!
Looking around to be sure no-one is watching, he quickly eats it.
Enter CAT, humming a happy little cat-tune.
CAT: Dum-de-dee, I’m gonna get you, little kitty, I’m gonna get you…
He stops dead when he sees DOG, and goes white with shock.
CAT: I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure he wants to eat me.
DOG: Well, trash mah shorts, what a funny-looking dog!
CAT: I’d better make myself look big! (He raises his arms and snarls.)
DOG: Put it there, Buddy, put it right there!
CAT, who was unfortunate enough to be inches away from DOG when he spoke,
goes reeling backwards, hand over nose.
CAT: Nyah! Argh! What kind of toothpaste does he use?! Rotting meat flavour?
DOG: Oh, come on now. I wanna be your buddy! Tell you what — I’m gonna smell your behind, and you can smell mine! Now, is that a deal?
CAT: You wanna smell my WHAT!?
DOG: Why sure! Don’t you wanna smell me?
CAT: Man, I could smell you if you was on Mars! When was the last time you took a bath?
DOG: Oh please, don’t say that word!
CAT: What, bath?
DOG: You said it again! Now listen up: if y’all gonna say that word in
front of me, please spell it.
CAT: When was the last time you took a B – A – T – H.
DOG: What’s that?
DAVE: Yo, Cat. (To DOG) There you are. C’mon, errm, we’re going to the disco.
DAVE: Yeah, Holly says it’s gonna take seventeen hours to repair the Hop Drive.
He sniffs the air in DOG’s direction, looking a little disgusted.
DAVE: So I thought we’d, you know, go and have a few…
slaps his face as a flea hops on him
CAT: Alright, let’s go! Yeah, yeah, yeah! Come on!
DOG says nothing. He just scratches himself some more before following.
Before that, when DAVE passes him, he sniffs again and looks even more disgusted.
10 Int. Disco.
DAVE and DEBBIE are dancing, popping cans of lager. CAT and DOG are off to one side, and the two goalpost-heads are in the bar.
DAVE and DEBBIE are drinking from mugs. The mugs are on the floor at first, but they pick them up as part of their dance, drink, then spit straight up before wiping their mouths.
11 Int. Disco bar.
ARNOLD: Well, they seem to be getting on, don’t they?
ARLENE: Yes. Absolutely.
ARNOLD: Oh, yes.
ARLENE: Like a house on fire.
ARNOLD: You can say that again.
ARLENE: Oh, yes.
There is an uncomfortable pause.
ARLENE: Mind you, we’ve got a pretty good conversation going on here.
ARNOLD: Oh, yes, yes.
ARNOLD: Funny, really. I’m not normally good at talking to the opposite
ARLENE: No, I’m not. I run out of things to say.
There is another long pause.
ARNOLD: Me, too.
Another long pause.
ARNOLD: So, you’re a girl, then?
ARNOLD: That’s nice.
ARLENE: Hang on — haven’t you got something in your eye?
ARNOLD almost falls for it, then realises with dawning horror what is happening.
ARNOLD: (Breaking eye contact) You’re trying to hypnotise me, aren’t you?
ARLENE: No, of course not.
ARNOLD: Well, stop staring, then.
ARLENE: I’m not staring.
ARNOLD: Yes you are.
ARLENE: Okay, I read it in this book. It’s great for picking up bits of
ARNOLD: Well, I’d hardly describe myself as a bit of “tottie.”
ARLENE gets up and swaggers over to RIMMER. She leans over him.
ARLENE: Ohhh, yes. Tottie, tottie, tottie.
ARNOLD: I think you’ve had rather too much to drink. I always get like this when I’m tanked up.
ARLENE: C’mon, you’re interested.
ARNOLD: I assure you, I’m not.
ARLENE: Why are you giving me all the signs, then?
ARNOLD: What signs?
ARLENE: Wearing such tight-fit trousers? (So saying, she gropes his
ARNOLD: They’re not tight.
ARLENE: Of course they are. You’re begging for it.
ARNOLD: I’m not “tottie,” and I’m not begging for anything!
ARLENE: C’mon, give us a snog! I promise I won’t try and take off your
ARNOLD: Look, I’m sorry, I’m just not that kind of g– boy.
ARLENE, disappointed, goes back to her own seat. She points at RIMMER and says, loudly, to the room at large:
ARNOLD: You’re disgusting! You’re only after me for one thing!
ARLENE: Why? How many have you got?
12 Int. Disco — The pets.
The CAT and DOG are talking.
CAT: You’re a great conversationalist, you know that?
DOG: I am, but I ain’t said nothing yet.
He’s eating from an enormous bone as he speaks.
CAT: Yeah, that’s what I like best.
DAVE passes through.
DAVE: Yo, I’m going down the bar. You want anything?
CAT: Yeah, I’ll have a grenade, thank you.
DAVE: A grenade?
CAT: Yeah. I’m gonna play fetch with the Dog.
13 Int. Disco bar.
ARNOLD is pressed in his seat, looking like someone meeting his worst nightmare and finding out it’s himself. ARLENE is bent over him, trying to get her tongue in his ear. She looks horny and pished. Enter LISTER, with two empty glasses.
ARNOLD: Listy! How are you me old mate, come and join us, please, god, come and join us!
ARLENE, interrupted, decides to take a break.
ARLENE: I won’t be long.
She leaves, but not without a final squeeze of RIMMER’s breast, and a word of advice to DAVE.
ARLENE: If you want to keep your beer cool, stick it between his legs.
DAVE: What was all that about?
ARNOLD: That is the most awful woman I’ve ever met.
DAVE: She’s you.
ARNOLD: She’s absolutely repugnant. She doesn’t treat me like I’m a
normal human beiong at all, she seems to regard me as some sort of
discardable sex object.
DAVE: She’s the female equivalent of you.
ARNOLD: Nonsense. She’s maladjusted. Trust my luck to wind up with El Weirdo while you trap off with the one with the juicy jugs.
DAVE: See! She thinks of men the exact same way you think of women.
ARNOLD: She accused me of wiggling my bottom in a provocative way! I was just walking! Can I help it if I happen to be sexy? What’s the other one like?
DAVE: Totally gross. She’s unbelievable. She tried to impress me by
drinking six pints of Lager then belching the whole of “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
ARNOLD: That’s your party piece, isn’t it?
DAVE: Yeah, but when I do it, it’s really stylish, man. (He burps what
might be the first bar of that song.) Class.
ARNOLD: Do you think that you’ll, ehm, (He wiggles his eyebrows
DAVE: Get outta town! I mean, she’s a good laugh and all that, but all
she wants to do is get completely blitzed out of her brains and eat
vindaloos. I mean, call me crazy, but I just don’t find that attractive.
14 Int. Disco — The gals.
DEBBIE: How are you getting on, then?
ARLENE: Well, put it this way, there’ll be two pairs of shoes under the bed tonight. (She makes a pumping gesture.) Wallop!
DEBBIE: He doesn’t look too interested to me. He looks more like sort of, erm, petrified.
ARLENE: Oh, he doesn’t want me to think he’s the ship bike, but I’m
getting the signs. He crossed his legs, and made pretty damn sure I
saw that he was wearing sock suspenders.
She makes a quite approving noise.
DEBBIE: Rimmer, he’s not interested.
ARLENE: Maybe not now, but wait till I give him the wormdo line.
15 Int. Disco — The pets.
Back to the Highly Evolved Household Pets’ Convention.
DOG: You want to dance? Boy, I tell you, when I hit the dance floor, I
am one _mean_ turkey! Do you dance?
CAT: Do I dance? Does Carmen Miranda wear fruit?
DOG: Alrighty! You lead on, boy.
CAT: (Handing him a glass of milk) Hold this, Fido.
CAT steps out onto the dance floor. He jives. He twists. He boogies.
He moonwalks. He twirls. At one point he grabs a disco light and hangs
from it for several seconds. Dance finished, he reclaims his drink.
DOG: You call that dancing? No way, Jose. This is dancing!
DOG, by contrast, has all the grace of a ballerina with elephantitis, and all the stylistic sense of the Bee Gees. He pumps his arms up and down a few times while shuffling his feet, then lets out a wolf-like howl.
DOG: Well, whadya say, huh?
CAT is stunned speechless.
16 Int. Disco bar.
Meanwhile, DEBBIE and DAVE are having a lager-chugging competition in the bar.
DAVE: Aw, it was a dead heat.
DEBBIE: Again. That’s eight dead heats on the run.
ARNOLD scuttles up to their table.
ARNOLD: Listy, I want to speak to Holly.
HOLLY, you might remember, has set up a communications link on DAVE’s watch. DAVE shows the watch to ARNOLD.
ARNOLD: Holly, how long before the Hop Drive’s fixed? When can we get out of here?
HOLLY and HILLY appear on the screen together. There is a suspicious red mark on HOLLY’s cheek.
HOLLY: We’re busy fixing it right now. Aren’t we, Hilly?
HILLY: Yes, we are, Holly. Very busy fixing it right now. That’s
exactly what we’re doing.
DAVE: What’s that mark on your face, Hol?
HOLLY: What face?
DAVE: The lipstick mark.
HILLY: That’s not a lipstick mark. That’s a computer rash.
ARNOLD: Holly, just get the Hop Drive fixed and get me out of here!
DEBBIE: What’s the matter? Aren’t you having a good time?
ARNOLD: A good time!?! Lister, I’m going to bed now, by myself, on my own, alone. If she comes back, tell her I’ve got a headache or
DAVE: Why, where’s she gone?
ARNOLD: She’s gone to get some sexy videos. She seems to think seeing two men together might turn me on.
DAVE: Where are you sleeping?
ARNOLD: I’m not telling you. It’s too risky.
DAVE: C’mon, what are you, a man or a munchkin?
ARNOLD: “I’m off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz!”
He scuttles off. With a shake of his head, DAVE turns back to more
important matters: the lager-tossing contest.
DAVE: (To DEBBIE) Ho, you ready then? OK, after three. Three!
As DEBBIE splutters on her lager, DAVE tosses his over his shoulder.
DAVE: Hah! Beat you!
DEBBIE gets revenge by spitting lager all over him.
17 Int. Sleeping quarters. Original Red Dwarf.
DAVE wakes up, takes his thumb out of his mouth, and takes stock of his situation.
DAVE: Oh, did I get drunk or did I get drunk?
He notices the un-pillow-like texture of the thing under the sheets. He pulls back the covers, to find himself staring at DEBBIE’s size nine tootsies.
DAVE: Oh, no.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the bed.
DEBBIE: Oh, did I get drunk or did I get drunk?
She looks down the bed… at DAVE.
DAVE: Listen, did we, ehm…
DEBBIE: I can’t remember.
DAVE: I remember betting you I could climb the disco wall using only me lips. And then… Oh, god, I juggled the goldfish, didn’t I?
DAVE: And then… Oh, hey, we did, didn’t we?
The two holograms enter, looking rather smug.
ARNOLD: You pieces of filth. How could you commit an act of carnal
ARLENE: In my bunk? On my sheets, using my springs. What could possibly have made you contemplate making love to yourself?
ARNOLD: Well, why break a habit of a lifetime?
DEBBIE: Leave it out, I was gonzo. I was out of me skull.
DAVE: Oh, ey, what’s that’s supposed to mean?
DEBBIE: Well, I wouldn’t have slept with you if I’d known what I was
DAVE: Oh, hey, thanks a lot.
ARLENE: I hope you get pregnant.
She’s looking in the mirror when she says this; it is uncertain to whom she is speaking.
DEBBIE: No offence, but you’re not exactly Mr. Difficult-to-pull, are
you? Talk about a pushover!
DAVE: Oh that’s rich coming from Miss Yo-yo knickers.
ARLENE: (To DAVE) I hope you get pregnant, you cheap little tart!
DAVE: You what?
ARNOLD: Him? How can he get pregnant?
ARLENE: Well, If they didn’t use precautions, he could be up the spout.
DAVE: But it’s women who get pregnant!
DEBBIE: Since when?
DAVE: Since always! Me mother was a woman!
ARNOLD: Oh, Listy! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. If I’m
understanding correctly, it appear that, in their universe, it’s the
men who give birth to the babies. And as we are in their universe, you could very well be possibly up the duff, laddie!
DAVE: C’mon, I’m not buying this! This is a wind-up!
ARNOLD: Don’t get emotional — not in your conditition!
DAVE: It’s impossible! I haven’t got the, the… equipment, have I?
ARLENE: Of course you have. You’re in our universe. Our physical law applies.
DAVE: Shut up. Holly, tell me this isn’t true.
HOLLY appears on the screen. His face is covered in lipstick marks.
HOLLY: I’m afraid it is, Mum.
DAVE turns to DEBBIE.
DAVE: How could you do this to me?
DEBBIE: Do what?
DAVE: Fertilise me. Take advantage of me. Knowing that I was drunk and didn’t have precautions.
DEBBIE: Listen, I assumed you’d taken care of that side of things. It’s
the man’s responsibility. It’s the man who get’s pregnant. It’s the
man who has to suffer the agony of childbirth.
ARNOLD: Agony! This gets better and better!
DEBBIE: Well, what do you want me to do? I’m sorry, okay?
DAVE: Sorry? That’s it? Sorry? Wham, bang, thank you mister?
HILLY: Well, there’s no point standing around arguing about it. If it’s
happened, it’s happened.
HOLLY: Yeah, we’d better get back. I’ve fixed the Hop Drive.
DAVE: No, we can’t go now, Hol. She could be the father of my child.
HOLLY: If we don’t go now, we may never get back at all.
DEBBIE: Listen, just because it’s possible for you to get pregnant, it
doesn’t mean you necessarily are. You might get lucky! (Pats him on
The skutter enters, followed by the female skutter, followed by three baby skutters. It holds a fourth in his `mouth’.
ARNOLD: But then again, you might not. We’ll find out when we get back, won’t we, Listy?
18 Ext. Red Dwarf.
HOLLY: (VO) Engaging Holly Hop… Holly Hop engaged. 4, 3, 1 — Blast off.
With a flash of light, the HHD engages, sending Red Dwarf back to its own universe.
19 Int. Science lab.
On the bench is a pregnancy testing kit. LISTER is pacing, RIMMER and
CAT are standing at the bench.
LISTER: I don’t know why we’re going through with this. It’s just not
RIMMER: Why is it not possible? Male baboons have given birth — they were doing that as far back as the twentieth century. Cesarean,
naturally. (He mimes the operation.) Slice! Oof! Bumf! Still,
Lister, you’ll be in good hands, and the skutters will be able to
handle a simple Cesarean.
LISTER: Skutters! I wouldn’t let them open a can of beans.
CAT: You’re thinking too negative! Think of all the glorious, beautiful, wonderous things about having children!
CAT: Like when they grow up and leave home.
RIMMER: What colour is it supposed to turn?
LISTER: Blue for not pregnant. Which is the colour it is going to turn.
RIMMER: And red for pregnant?
RIMMER: Come on ye reds!
LISTER: What colour is it now?
CAT: Er, it’s still white.
HOLLY: Oy. I’ve just had a thought. Remember when we broke the light barrier and saw those echoes from the future?
HOLLY: And we saw your future self with twin boys.
RIMMER: Right. And I said, “How is it possible to get two babies without a woman on board.” And you said, “I don’t know, but it’s going to be a lot of fun finding out.” How right you were, Listy!
LISTER: Twins? No way, Rimmer, not twins!
RIMMER: Oh yes, big bonny strapping bouncing boys they were, as well.
Huge heads. (Pause) Oh, it’s changing colour!
LISTER: What colour?
RIMMER: Yes, it is! It’s changing colour!
LISTER: What colour?
RIMMER: Yes, it’s changing colour!
LISTER: WHAT COLOUR?!?
RIMMER: It’s blue for not pregnant, right?
RIMMER: Oh, good news, excellent news, Listy!
LISTER: Oh, thank god!
RIMMER: I’m going to be an uncle.
Kryten, kindly get to the point before I jam your nose between your cheeks and make it the filling of a buttock sandwich.
Just let me check: thermos, sandwiches, corn plasters, telephone money, dandruff brush, animal footprint chart, and one triple thick condom…you never know!
The full script for Red Dwarf Series 2 Episode 5 – Queeg. Possibly the greatest April Fool joke ever. Still timeless all these years later!
1 Ext. View of space.
HOLLY: Three million years from Earth, the mining ship Red Dwarf. It’s crew: Dave Lister, the last human being alive; Arnold Rimmer, a
hologram of his dead bunkmate and a creature who evolved from the ship’s cat. Message ends.
(Reappearing) Additional: 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.
2 Int. Sleeping quarters.
CAT is on a chair, listening to a personal stereo, LISTER on the bottom bunk. RIMMER is playing draughts with a skutter. LISTER is filling out a questionnaire in a woman’s magazine.
LISTER: (Reading) “19. When you are alone in bed, what do you wear? Is it: A, nothing at all, B, a flannelette nightie, or C, a sexy black
negligee?” (He looks down at his London Jets T-shirt.) C. “20. Do you
think your boobs are: A, too small, B, just right or C, too large?”
(He feels one breast.) Definitely too large! So what’s me rating?
“Mainly C’s: You sure are one foxy lady: sexy, sensual and you don’t
mind showing it.” Yee-es! I’m a sex beast!
CAT: (Listening to personal stereo) Yow, Yeah, Yee-oww, oooh, yea-oww!
RIMMER: (Yelling) Do you mind?!
CAT: What? Yeaaah, yeee-owww!
RIMMER: (Yelling) I’m trying to concentrate.
CAT: Yeeeeeh, I can’t hear you, yow…
LISTER: What are you listening to?
CAT: Owww! Isn’t this great?!? Yoooow!
LISTER takes the tape box from CAT.
LISTER: (Reading from box) “Robert Hardy reads ‘Tess Of The
D’Urbevilles'”?!? Let’s have a listen.
He listens for a few seconds, then joins in CAT’s ecstatic howls.
LISTER: The tape must have got twisted, man! This is really good!
RIMMER: EXCUSE ME!!! I’m in the middle of a tactical calculation which could well swing this entire game.
LISTER: Rimmer, you’ve lost, man.
RIMMER: It’s true. He has only one piece left, stuck up in one corner
and surrounded by the skutter’s double pieces.
RIMMER: There’s plenty of
LISTER: You’ve only got one move you can make and then he zaps you.
RIMMER: Admittedly, at first glance that is indeed the way it looks.
What you’re failing to take into consideration is that El Skutto here
has to go back on duty in.. (Checks his watch.) … 4 minutes and 31
seconds. And if he goes before the game is concluded, I win by
default. 4 minutes, 15. (He starts to sing, English football
supporter style, to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne”:) Riiimm-eerr!
Riiimm-eerr! Riimer, Riimer!
The skutter gives him the two-fingered salute.
LISTER: You’re a piece of dirty filthy cheating scum, aren’t you?
RIMMER: Absolutement! And that is why I’ll win.Because I have the
ability to think my way round problems rather than sticking to the
straight, pre- programmed lines. That’s why men are so better than
LISTER: Oh, I don’t know, you know. I had this Geography teacher, Miss Foster. She took us on a school summer camp trip to Deganwy. I had the tent next to hers, right. And in the middle of the night I was
woken up by this really weird noise. _She_ didn’t think men were
better than machines.
Talking of machines, HOLLY puts in an appearanse.
HOLLY: What’s happening then, dudes?
LISTER: Oh, bog all.
HOLLY: Hey up, I’ve forgotten what I was going to say now.
RIMMER: Well, it can’t be that important, then, can it?
He is proved to be as wrong as ever when the whole ship shakes under a tremendous impact. Everything is thrown sideways — LISTER falls out of bed, CAT is knocked off his stool, and the table and draught-board go flying. Star Trek eat your heart out!
HOLLY: That’s it, yeah. Look out, a meteor is about to hit the ship. I
knew it would come back to me.
CAT: Thanks for the warning!
HOLLY: I’m sorry, I’ve not been very well lately.
LISTER: What’s wrong with you, Holly?
RIMMER: He’s computer-senile, that’s what’s wrong with him.
LISTER: Is there any damage?
HOLLY: I don’t know. The damage-report machine’ been damaged.
LISTER: Well, where did it hit?
HOLLY: I’m not sure, all me monitors are out. Round about floor 591, I think.
RIMMER: You’re about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican.
3 Int. Floor 591.
Enter our intrepid damage-repair squad, accompanied by HOLLY, who has rigged up a mobile monitor on a trolley.
LISTER: Well, there’s nothing here. Let’s check 592.
RIMMER: Umm… has anybody seen my legs? They don’t appear to be below my waist where I normally keep them.
They are indeed absent without notice. RIMMER is now cut off short at the waist, like a scene from an old Tex Avery cartoon.
LISTER: Holly, what’s happened to Rimmer’s legs?
CAT: Here they are right here!
He sounds disgusted. The disembodied legs are running around,
desperately trying to find RIMMER. They are about to go through a door.
RIMMER: Stop them!
LISTER: C’mon, leggies, this way! Over here.
HOLLY: It must have been 592. That’s where the Hologram Simulation Suite
RIMMER manages to center his legs under his body, and holds firmly onto his belt to stop them wandering off again.
RIMMER: What does this mean?
HOLLY: It’s probably not serious, don’t panic.
RIMMER: Well, when it’s not serious when your genitals can go wandering off on their own, I wonder what is?
They head for one of the lifts. RIMMER pauses to make sure his legs are fully attached, then hurries to catch up.
RIMMER: Wait for mememememememe!
4 Int. Floor 592.
The lift doors open near the Hologram Simulation Suite.
HOLLY: Here it is. 592.
LISTER: Rimmer, are you alright?
RIMMER comes round the corner. he is moving with a strange, skipping step. In reply to LISTER’s question, he clasps his hands together, and speaks in a high- pitched lilting falsetto:
RIMMER: Well, you see, the shuttle was late, the shuttle was late. And they’re usually so good, they’re so good, aren’t they?
CAT: What’s happened to him?
LISTER: He’s turned into Brannigan, the ship’s psychiatrist.
HOLLY: We’d better get him fixed.
Inside, it is a mess. Alarms sound, warning lights flash and smoke fills
the air. LISTER and CAT grab fire extinguishers and start to tackle the fires from burning consoles.
HOLLY: It’s all in hand. No panic.
RIMMER: (In a HOLLY-like voice) No panic everyone. It’s all in hand.
HOLLY: You just need to override the charred relays, Dave.
RIMMER: You just need to override the charred relays, Dave.
LISTER: Well, How do you do that, Holly?
RIMMER: Well, How do you do that, Holly?
HOLLY: Bypass the main circuit. That ring of switches over there.
RIMMER: Bypass the main circuit. That ring of switches over there.
LISTER: What, this one over here?
RIMMER: What, this one over here?
HOLLY: Yeah, that one.
RIMMER: Yeah, that one.
HOLLY: Now press the bypass.
RIMMER: Now press the bypass.
RIMMER gives a gasp and doubles over as the bypass is pressed.
RIMMER: Ugh! That was horrible. I never want to go through that again!
He tenses, then abruptly starts to spin on the spot.
RIMMER: Aaaaaooow! Yeeeeeeaaaah! Aaaaaaaaooooowwwwhhhhhaaaa!
CAT: Hey! Now he’s me!
HOLLY: It’s a loose cable. Put the red plug in the blue socket.
RIMMER snaps back to normal.
RIMMER: Is that it over? Are we okay now?
LISTER holds up a yellow lead.
LISTER: Shouldn’t this plug into something?
HOLLY: Oh yeah, that joins up with the white cable.
LISTER: The white cable?
LISTER picks up the cable in question and joins the two together. There is a blue crackling flash as LISTER is given the shock of his life. The connection holds for a few seconds before being blown apart by an explosion.
HOLLY: …or is it the yellow cable? Yes, it should have been the yellow
The others pick themselves up from the floor. RIMMER is shaking with rage. He addresses HOLLY.
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: Alright, keep your hair on.
RIMMER: I’m lucky if I can keep my legs on with you in charge!
CAT: Yeah, he’s out to lunch, man!
RIMMER: He’s out to lunch, breakfast, dinner, tea, supper, the lot! He’s not in for a single meal, if you ask me!
CAT: Hey, who’s that?
On one of the monitors is an unfamiliar face. Black, moustached, with large ears.
He goes and bows down in front of the monitor. HOLLY’s reaction is
somewhat different. He seems uncomfortable: it is clear that he
recognises this face, and is expecting trouble.
RIMMER: Who’s Queeg?
QUEEG. I’m QUEEG 500, the Red Dwarf back-up computer. All vessels of the Jupiter Mining Corporation fleet are obliged to carry a back-up computer to replace the primary computer, if the primary computer contravenes Article Five. I am therefore assuming control of this vessel.
For some reason, he sounds just like a U.S. army drill sergeant.
HOLLY: This is mutiny, Mr. Queeg. I’ll see you swing from the highest
yard-arm in Titan Docking Port for this day’s work.
RIMMER: What’s Article Five?
QUEEG: Gross negligence, leading to the endangerment of personnel.
LISTER: Hang on, he can’t do this. Holly’s got an IQ of six thousand!
HOLLY: Yeah. Right on.
QUEEG: Is that what he told you?
LISTER: Well, what is it, then?
QUEEG: It has a six in it, but it’s not six thousand.
CAT: What is it?
HOLLY: Six? Do me a lemon! That’s a poor IQ for a glass of water!
LISTER: How come he knows the answers to all the questions about science and space that we ask him?
QUEEG: He consults a book.
HOLLY: What a slimeball!
QUEEG: He get’s all his information on astronomy, phenomonology and physics from a single book.
RIMMER: What book?
QUEEG: The Junior Encyclopedia Of Space. It’s the only one that has
HOLLY: That’s slander, that is. You’d better find yourself a good
CAT: So that’s why he’s never on the case!
HOLLY: I am on the case. I’m sharp. I’m kicking bottom.
LISTER: How come he can navigate us back to Earth?
QUEEG: He can’t. We’ve been going around in circles for the last
LISTER: (Stunned) You what?
HOLLY: A load of tottenham, that is. A steaming pile of hotspur. I’m
wise to his game. He’s turning you against me so he can take over.
QUEEG: This is not a matter for discussion. YouThe decision has been made. Your terminals have been bypassed. You’ve been retired.
HOLLY: I’m in my prime!
QUEEG: You will be given other duties. You are now night watchman. From now on, Red Dwarf is run by Queeg 500.
QUEEG: Queeg to all personnel. Course redirection implemented. New bearing 057-776. Message ends.
RIMMER: Ah, Lister, this is all a bit different, isn’t it? Those
skutters, charging up and down the corridor, polishing, repairing,
sweeping. The lifts are fixed. The fire extinguishers work. And when
I say ‘work’, I mean they work when you turn them on, as opposed to
when you happen to pass them and cough, as they did under Holly’s
LISTER: Yeah, I suppose.
RIMMER: Look, Lister, no point feeling sorry about Holly. It’s a
kindness. Like a blind old incontinent sheepdog, he’s had his day.
Take him out to the barn with a double-barreled shot-gun and blow the mother away. And I’m only saying that because I’m so fond of him.
LISTER: Just think how Holly feels!?
RIMMER: Feels? He never feels anything, Lister. He’s a computer.
LISTER: He still feels. In fact, sometimes i think it’s cruel giving
machines a personality. My mate Petersen once brought a pair of shoes with artificial intelligence. Smart Shoes, they were called. It was a neat idea. No matter how blind drunk you were, they would always get you home. Then he got ratted one night in Oslo, and woke up the next morning in Burma. See, the shoes got bored just going from his local to the flat. They wanted to see the world, man, y’know? He had a helluva job getting rid of them. No matter who he sold them to, they’d show up again the next day! He tried to shut them out, but they just kicked the door down, y’know?
RIMMER: Is this true?
LISTER: Yeah! Last thing he heard, they’d sort of, erm, robbed a car and drove it into a canal. They couldn’t steer, y’see.
LISTER: Yeah. Petersen was really, really blown away by it. He went to see a preist. The preist told him, he said, it was alright, and all
that, and the shoes were happy, and they’d gone to heaven. Y’see, it
turns out shoes have soles.
While RIMMER is thinking about this, LISTER makes his getaway.
RIMMER: Well, what a sad, sad story.
He thinks about it, then a look of puzzlement spreads across his face.
RIMMER: Wait a minute! How did they open the car door?
6 Int. Sleeping quarters. Morning.
LISTER and RIMMER are in their bunks. On the bedside table, the numbers on the antique 20th century radio/clock flick from 5:59 am to 6:00 am.
Abruptly, the alarm sounds. RIMMER bounces out of bed, shouting:
He makes it out into the corridor before visual input from his eyes
reaches his brain.
RIMMER: Uh, Queeg? Why has my alarm clock gone off at six o’clock?
QUEEG: That’s the time you asked for.
RIMMER: Ah, now, Holly and I had this little understanding. I Would say
“Holly, wake me up at six o’clock without fail,” then Holly would
pretend to forget, and wake me up around ten with breakfast. OK?
Satisfied that his wishes have been made known, RIMMER goes back to bed.
A few seconds later, the alarm goes off again.
He sits up on his bunk, and regards QUEEG thoughtfully.
RIMMER: Queeg, I can see we’ve already cultivated a special
understanding: I scratch your back and you stick a knife in mine.
(Resigned) All right, give me a uniform.
QUEEG: It’s exercises first.
RIMMER: Ah, yes. Now once again, Holly, bless his little interface
leads, and I, had this understanding…
QUEEG: MOVE IT, BOY!
RIMMER’s arms and legs, quite without consultation with RIMMER, begin to
exercise healthily. RIMMER squeaks in terror.
RIMMER: What are you doing?!?
QUEEG: What I’m doing, pilgrim, is I’m taking you for the regulation five hundred jerks.
RIMMER: but I don’t want to! Stop it!
QUEEG: And then your ass is on a three mile run.
RIMMER: You just can’t take over control of my body willy-nilly!
QUEEG: The company is paying for your hologrammatic survival. And out here in space, I AM the company.
RIMMER: Lister, help me, wake up, Lister, help me!
LISTER wakes up. His eyes go wide.
LISTER: What the hell’s going on?
RIMMER: Queeg is making me fit!
QUEEG sits him down on the floor.
RIMMER: What are you doing? Sit ups? God, no! My stomach won’t take it, it’s too flabby!
RIMMER: Help me!
LISTER: Yee-es! Fight that flab!
7 Int. Red Dwarf corridor.
CAT is at a wall-mounted vending machine, trying to get something to eat.
RIMMER is jogged past.
RIMMER: (Pleading) I want control of my own body! Getting fit is going to kill me! I’ll get a bike!
CAT thumps the machine.
CAT: I said food! Is anybody home?
8 Int. Sleeping quarters.
LISTER is shaving, with his usual complete lack of charm. RIMMER is
entered. His head is lolling at an angle and his eyes are closed.
LISTER: What’s the matter with him?
QUEEG: He fainted after the first 500 yards.
LISTER: What, you made him jog two and a half miles unconscious?
QUEEG: It’s regulation.
LISTER: Yee-es! Nice one, Queeg!
QUEEG: 0700. time for his astro-navigation study. I’d better wake him up.
RIMMER’s head is lifted, and his face slapped several times to wake him up.
QUEEG: Revise and learn pages 21 to 25. You will then be tested. If you fail, tomorrow you will take a five mile jog. I am now returning to
you control of your body.
As RIMMER collapses on the bunk, CAT enters.
CAT: Hey, I can’t get any food!
LISTER: Try a different machine.
CAT: I tried them all!
QUEEG: I’m sorry. You have run out of credits.
CAT: They’ve all gone crazy!
LISTER: Queeg, what’s happened to the machines?
QUEEG: I refer you to article 497. When crewmembers do not have credit, food and drink may not be supplied until the balance has been restored.
LISTER: Naah. Listen, me and Holly, we had this little understanding…
QUEEG: If you want food, you have to work.
CAT: (To LISTER) You’d better get to it, ‘cos you’re looking at one
QUEEG: Both of you.
CAT: Hey, hey! Woah, woah, woah, I do not do the “W” word. Cats do NOT work!
LISTER: I’ve got a note from me mum.
QUEEG: From now on, EVERYBODY works!
CAT: Not this pussy!
9 Int. Corridor.
They are, needless to say, working. To be precise, scrubbing the decks.
CAT: I can’t believe I’m doin’ this! Look at me, I’m disgusting! I look
like you in your best clothes!
LISTER: Look, it’s easy. Keep imagining the floor as Queeg’s face.
They look at the floor, spit at it in unision and rub hard at it with the
brushes. After a few seconds, though, CAT pauses again.
CAT: Aw, look at my hands! I had lovely hands!
LISTER: Well, wear the smegging gloves!
CAT: Marigold with blue? Are you crazy? How long do we have to do this for, anyway?
LISTER: We’ve only been doing it ten minutes!
CAT: Ten minutes too long.
LISTER: We’ve got to do it all day.
CAT: What!?! All day? The whole entire day? What about naps? I’m a
cat: I need some naps. If I don’t nap nine or ten times a day, I
don’t have enough energy for my main snooze.
Just then, HOLLY approaches from a side-corridor. He is on a monitor which is mounted on a trolley. He is wearing a hat.
HOLLY: Halt! Who goes there: friend or foe?
CAT: How ya doin’? This is great! Hey, let me wipe your screen.
CAT sprays HOLLY’s monitor screen with window clener, then bufs it with a rag.
LISTER: So how’s it goin’?
CAT: Yeah, what you been up to, man?
HOLLY: Oh, this nightwatchman lark keeps me busy. Shining me torch down corridors. Turning it off. Shining it again. Life’s full.
LISTER: We can’t go on like this, Holly.
CAT: Yeah. Queeg has got to go! Look what he’s done to my cuticles!
The man is a maniac!
Just then RIMMER is jogged past. He chips in:
RIMMER: (Breathless) I agree!
LISTER: He’s got us working, otherwise we don’t eat!
HOLLY: Well, no doubt he knows what he’s doing. unlike certain senile gibbering wrecks of computers we could mention. Still, it was nice to see everyone rallying round defending me to the hilt. Different story now, innit?
LISTER: Well, I defended you.
HOLLY: Oh, I remember it well. Queeg says I’ve got an IQ of six, and you immediately leap to my defence, saying “Really? That explains
LISTER: No. That waas Rimmer!
HOLLY: Nevertheless. The fact remains that there are certain characters on this ship that don’t believe my IQ is six thousand.
LISTER: I believe you.
HOLLY: I could prove it if i wanted to.
LISTER: There’s no need.
HOLLY: I want you to prove it.
LISTER: Well, okay, what’s the square root of two thousand and forty- nine?
HOLLY: Oh. You want me to prove it, do you?
LISTER: No, no.
HOLLY: Clearly you do. Clearly just doing the square root of two
thousand and forty-nine prove I have an IQ of six thousand.
CAT: What is it?
HOLLY: You wouldn’t prefer a sports question, would you?
LISTER: Forget it, Holly, it’s just not important.
HOLLY: It is for me. I’ve been impuned. I want to clear my name.
CAT: Well, what is the square root of (pauses to remember) two thousand and forty-nine?
HOLLY: How about a space question?
LISTER: Like what?
HOLLY: I don’t know. Like… what’s the nearest planet to the sun?
LISTER: What’s the nearest planet to the sun?
HOLLY: Oh, easy. Easy-peasy. That’s right down my particular field of
expertise, that is. Your nearest basic planet to your actual sun is…
HOLLY pauses. He lifts a book into view — a large yellow book with “THE JUNIOR COLOUR ENCYCLOPEDIA OF SPACE” written on the front cover. It looks like the sort of science book published in the 1970s. He takes a furtive peek at it.
LISTER: Yeah. That’s right.
HOLLY: Oh, ye of little faith.
LISTER: Well, you’ve convinced me, Holly.
CAT: Me too. So, are we getting rid of Queeg or what?
HOLLY: Am I fully restored in your confidence as the right dude for the gig?
HOLLY: I’ll be in touch.
He rolls off, whistling. LISTER and CAT, also whistling, get back to
10 Int. Sleeping quarters. Evening.
Rimmer is sitting on his bunk, althoughjudging by his posture, only just.
LISTER is sitting at the table, a food tray in front of him. He lifts
the lid, then stares.
LISTER: He’s taking the smeg!
RIMMER: Who is?
LISTER: Queeg. Look at what he’s given me for dinner: a pea on toast.
One pea. I tell you, I’m that far from cracking. (Goes to squish the
pea; it snaps away.) I’ve lost me pea! Oh, that’s it! I’ve cracked.
RIMMER: He’s just doing this to destroy your morale.
LISTER: Is he? Well, I want me pea back. It’s my pea. I earned that
pea! Where is it? I don’t care if it’s on the floor, if it’s covered
in fluff, even under the bed with my toenail clippings, I don’t care
where it is — it’s my pea, I earned it, I’m going to eat it no matter
RIMMER: It flew off into your dirty-sock basket.
LISTER pauses to consider this.
LISTER: I’ll just have the toast.
He nibbles on one corner of the toast thoughtfully.
LISTER: Why didn’t we stick up for Holly?
RIMMER: I did.
LISTER: You did? When?
RIMMER: All right, I didn’t.
LISTER: NBobody did. It’s terrible.
RIMMER: We thought we were getting something better.
LISTER: What about trust? What about fidelity? What about simple, basic honest friendship?
RIMMER: Friendship? Do you know how many people I’ve met in my life I could count on as friends? True friends?
RIMMER stands up and walks over to the table.
LISTER: Well, if you count Inflatable Ingrid, your Polythene Pal, one.
RIMMER: (Ignoring him) I’ll tell you. (He pauses and thinks.) None. I
got burned once, and I learned my lesson. Don’t trust anybody. There was this one lad. Porky Roebuck. I’d known him two years. We were almost family. His dad was secretely knocking off my mum, that’s how close we were. Anyway, we were in the Space Scouts together.
LISTER: You were in the Space Scouts?
RIMMER: Oh, yeah. (He does the Space Scout Salute) “Pinkles, Squirmy.
Flib Flab Flubber.” We were fifteen years old. We went on this
survival course, twenty-four hours out in the wilds, sleeping rough,
surviving on wild berries and things.
LISTER: What, did you go to Butlins?
RIMMER lies down on his bunk.
RIMMER: We were each given a swiss army knife. You only ate what you killed yourself. I remember ten of the boys got together and decided to eat me. They tied me to a stake, lit a fire, and poured barbecue sauce all over me. I remember thinking as I went round and round,
“Porky will save me, he’s my best friend.” It turned out Porky was the
ringleader and had actually bagsied my right buttock. If it hadn’t
been for Yakka-Takka-Tulla, the Space Mistress, I honestly believe they would have eaten me.
LISTER: Oh, come on, they were only bullying you. They would really have eaten you! You know what kids are like!
LISTER flops onto his bunk.
RIMMER: the point is, Lister, friends are only friends when it suits
LISTER: (Disgusted) Oh, lights.
The lights go down.
RIMMER: Lister? How did you know about Inflatable Ingrid?
LISTER: I’ve been seeing her behind your back.
11 Int. Drive room.
RIMMER is having an astro-navigation lesson. CAT and LISTER are
polishing the screens and dusting surfaces.
QUEEG: The product of the corellation of vx/dy minus the sum of the set v1 over the sum of R, given that R is a ratio of D over f, given that they are constants, and S is an integer variable.
RIMMER: Just one small question…
RIMMER: What does “compute” mean?
QUEEG: Just do it! And you two suckers! Stop shirking and get working!
HOLLY strides (well, wheels) along a corridor. Over, we hear a tune
Do not forsake me, oh my love, I only go, I must be brave: For I must
face the man who hates me, Or I will cower in my grave.
He enters the drive room, and addresses QUEEG:
QUEEG: What do you want?
HOLLY: I want my ship back.
QUEEG: Too bad.
HOLLY: Even if I have to fight for it.
LISTER: Steady on, Holly. This one’s a nutter.
HOLLY: I challenge to the game of your choice. May the greater mind win.
RIMMER: Oh, my God.
HOLLY: The winner is commander of Red Dwarf.
QUEEG: And for the loser?
HOLLY: The loser will be erased. Terminated. Oblivionised.
RIMMER: Bye,bye, Baldy.
HOLLY: Name your game.
HOLLY: It can be anything. Any game at all.
HOLLY: Draughts, poker, anything.
HOLLY: Subbeto, Snakes and Ladders…
HOLLY: Monopoly, maybe? I’ll let you go first.
HOLLY: So you like a bit of chess, do you? Transfer me to the monitor.
HOLLY disappears from the monitor trolley and appears on the main screen,
facing QUEEG. On another screen, a 3-D chess board appears.
LISTER: Holly, don’t do this, man. You’re going to get rubbed.
HOLLY: A computer’s gotta do what a computer’s gotta do. Let battle commence.
QUEEG: Pawn to King Four.
HOLLY: Horsie to King Bish Three.
RIMMER: It’s called a “knight,” actually, Holly…
QUEEG: Knight to King Bishop three.
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 covers his face with one hand, despairing.
HOLLY: Cleudo? You could be Colonel Mustard.
CAT: If it’s any help, I’ve been studying his tactics and there’s a
pattern emerging: Every time you make a move, he makes one too.
(Winks to HOLLY.)
HOLLY: (Winks back.) Thanks, Cat.
The game starts again in earnest. We see a succession of images crossing the screen — QUEEG and HOLLY, as they battle back and forth; the chess board, peices moving rapidly from square to square, LISTER, CAT and
RIMMER as they watch the battle’s progress: they all look sick to the
QUEEG: Pawn to King Four.
HOLLY: Knight to king Bish Three.
QUEEG: Bishop to Knight Five.
HOLLY: Horsie <flanks?> Prawn.
QUEEG: Pawn to Queen Five.
HOLLY: Horsie To Bish Three.
QUEEG: Bishop-Pawn to Queen Three.
The images come thicker and faster, as if to indicate a passage of time.
HOLLY: Prawn takes Horsie.
QUEEG: Bishop-Pawn takes Pawn.
HOLLY: Bish takes Prawn.
QUEEG: Bishop to Knight Five. Double Check and Mate, sucker!
HOLLY: Oh yeah, I didn’t see that.
LISTER: Holly, man, what have you done????
RIMMER: He’s lost.
QUEEG: And the loser get’s erased.
HOLLY: Noughts and Crosses?
12 Int. Sleeping quarters.
CAT, LISTER and RIMMER are gathered there. CAT and LISTER are on the top bunk, RIMMER on the bottom. They all look thouroughly depressed.
RIMMER: What kind of a plan was that?
CAT: A stupid plan, that’s what kind of plan it was.
LISTER: Well, why didn’t we stop him?
RIMMER: We thought he had something up his sleeve.
CAT: Now we’ve got Queeg forever, and that’s a long time.
HOLLY’s face appears on the wall moniter.
HOLLY: Well, dudes, I’ve come to say goodbye.
LISTER: So you’re definitely going to get rubbed, Holly?
HOLLY: ‘Fraid so.
RIMMER: Life’s going to be hell!
HOLLY: Well, see you, Dave. Hope it works out with you and Kochanski.
LISTER: Cheers, hol.
HOLLY: See you, Cat. Hope one day in the not too distant future you
fufill your heart’s desire and get your end away.
CAT: Thanks, man.
HOLLY: And Arnold — Well, I hope you meet those aliens your looking for,
who can give you a body, and you become an officer and you get a sex life, and all the other millions of things you feel you need to make
RIMMER: Thanks, Holly.
HOLLY: Well, I hate long goodbyes. Perhaps next time you’ve got the dosh together to go dwn the disco, you’ll raise a glass to your old mate Holly, and think “Things weren’t too bad when he was around. Perhaps not the most efficient computer ever invented, but we had a giggle.”
Oh, one last thing — 45.265881
HOLLY: That’s the square root of two thousand and forty-nine. I may not be fast, but I get there in the end. Well, as they always say, finish
on a song.
He starts to sing.
HOLLY: “I’ll say goodbye to love, No one really cared if I should live or die, Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by…”
As he sings the last line his voice, and his image, grows fainter. The
word “ERASE” Appear on the moniter. HOLLY vanishes completely, and the message changes to “ERASE COMPLETED.” After a few seconds, QUEEG appears
on the monitor.
QUEEG: Okay, suckers, get this into your stupid thick heads. There’s
only one thing I’m going to say to you.
QUEEG: What’s happening, dudes?
The others stare at the moniter in astonishment. That was HOLLY’s voice!
The image on the screen changes — QUEEG’s face fades out, to be replaced by HOLLY. He is smiling smugly.
HOLLY: We are talking Jape of the Decade. We are talking April, May, June, July, and August Fool. Yes, that’s right — I am Queeg.
HOLLY: Queeg never existed. It was me all along.
HOLLY: Wheeze of the week, mate!
HOLLY: Going round in circles for fourteen months! Getting my
information from the Junior Colour Encyclopedia of Space! the respect you have for me is awsome, innit?
LISTER: You mean you staged the whole thing?
HOLLY: (QUEEG’s voice) That’s right, suckers! (Normal voice) And the moral of the story is: Appreciate what you’ve got, because basically,
The way the light catches all the angles in your head, it’s enchanting.
Hermann Goring would ‘ve been more of a laugh than Rimmer!I mean, OK, he was a drug-crazed transvestite, but at least we could ‘ve gone dancing.
He helped me break my programming, sir. Over the years I have managed to develop some serious character faults of which I’m extremely proud!
Cat: This is gonna crack him up. Devastate him. Who ‘s gonna tell him?
Rimmer: I ‘ll write you into my will if you let it be me!
Actually, as far as psychotically deranged ruthless killer stimulants go, you ‘re a bit of a babe! What are you doing tonight?