Time for a bombardment of Red Dwarf!
Rimmer: [Discussing his last exam] Lister, last time, I only failed by the narrowest of narrow margins.
Lister: You what? You went in there, wrote "I AM A FISH" four hundred times, did a funny little dance and fainted!
Rimmer: That's a total lie.
Lister: No it's not. Peterson told me.
Rimmer: "No it's not. Peterson told me." Lister, if you must know, I submitted a discourse on porous circuitry that was too...[searches for words]...radical, too unconventional, too mold-breaking for the examiners to accept.
Lister: Yeah. You said you were a fish!
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Lister: Where is everybody, Hol?
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: [Beat] I should've never let him out in the first place...
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Rimmer: [doing his morning jog] Morning, Lister! How's life in hippie heaven, you pregnant baboon bellied space cookie? What's the plan for the day then? Slobbing in the morning, followed by slobbing in the afternoon, then a bit of a snooze before the main evening's slob? God, you're a disgrace to the species. [Runs off tooting]
Lister: G'morning Rimmer
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Rimmer: What's this? Learning drugs? They're illegal, matey! I'm afraid you're in very serious, grave, deep trouble, Lister. Where did you get them? I want names, I want places, I want dates.
Lister: Arnold Rimmer, his locker, this morning.
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Rimmer: (after seeing fish falling through the ceiling and the mayor of Warsaw spontaneously combust) It really is gonna be one of those days.
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Lister: What have you done with Paranoia?
Confidence: I killed him, cha, cha, cha
Lister: What do you mean you killed him, cha, cha, cha?
Confidence: Don't worry! He didn't suffer. I just fed him into the waste grinder and flushed his mince into space [waves into the distance].
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[Clanking sound is heard]
Rimmer #2: HIT THE WALL, GO ON, HIT THE WALL! YEAH! YEAH! WILL YOU SHUT UP RIMMER, SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!
Rimmer: (To Lister) Obviously, we have professional disagreements. But, I mean, nothing with any side to it. Nothing malicious.
Rimmer #2: (Shouting through the wall) SHUT UP, YA DEAD GIT!
Rimmer: (Getting up) Excuse me a second, Lister, will you?
[He walks calmly to the door.]
Rimmer: STOP YOUR FOUL WHINING, YOU FILTHY PIECE OF DISTENDED RECTUM!!!
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Lister: Oh god, aliens? Your explanation for anything slightly peculiar is aliens, isn't it? You lose your keys, it's aliens. A picture falls off the wall, it's aliens. That time we used up a whole bog roll in a day, you thought that was aliens as well.
Rimmer: Well we didn't use it all, Lister. Who did?
Lister: Rimmer, aliens used our bog roll?
Rimmer: Lister, just because they're aliens doesn't mean they don't have to visit the little boy's room, although they probably do something weird, and alienesque, like it comes out of the top of their heads or something.
Lister: Well, I wouldn't want to sit behind one in the cinema!
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aaaaand thats it for now!