Red Dwarf

Hey, bud! It's me.

- How you doing with that shirt? - Coming right up, sir

My arse is freezing here.

I got six nipples you could hang mugs on.

I'm seconds away, sir.

Kryten, I'm on B-deck, and it doesn't appear to have been mopped

in at least two days. I can hardly see my face in it!

A blessing, some would say. I'm on it right now, sir.

Kryten, when you get a chance, can you grab us a beer?

Sir, I'm rather busy right now.

Could you possibly get it yourself?

Fine. Just a bit of palaver, that's all.

Ow.

Pulled something.

Hope I haven't overdone it.

Oh, my.

What is it?

Oh! Do you want to walk over here and see for yourself,

or should I perhaps unscrew the monitor

and bring it over to the sofa?

Sony to disturb your Rimmer-ing, sir.

I just wondered if I might have a quick word.

Kryten, I'm engaged in an essential investigation

regarding floor direction lines.

Have they become impermissibly faint?

Kindly don't describe this activity as a "Rimmer-ing".

You make me sound like some puffed-up,

self-important jackarse.

Now, if you want to see me, check with my diary.

I can possibly squeeze you in tomorrow week.

Well, can't I see you now, sir?

Impossible, my schedule's full.

But I'm here right now, seeing you, sir.

Yes, but you're seeing me illegally.

And we're certainly not having a meeting.

Now, if you could just stand aside,

your badly stacked Jenga-head is casting a shadow.

I just wanted to let you know about Mr Lister's guitar, sir.

Guitar?

Well, I won't bother you with it now, sir.

I look forward to our meeting tomorrow week.

Forget tomorrow week. What about the guitar? Tell me now!

But I haven't got an appointment, sir.

Well, if I move my 1:30 to 4 o'clock,

and my four to five o'clock... Just tell me, okay?

Mr Lister's guitar, sir. Do you remember it?

Of course I remember it. My eyes have only just uncrossed.

It's almost to the day that it got flushed into space, so I....

Ah, so you think we should make a little plaque,

hang it on the wall by the airlock and taunt him?

Don't you think that's rather rubbing his nose in it?

Absolutely, sir. It's pouring salt into an already-gaping wound.

You've convinced me. Let's do it.

Sir, you don't understand.

I fixed the tracker on D-deck, and shine my head with wood polish,

if not two hours later, we got a match!

You found it?

I can just picture Mr Lister's face, sir.

Soon the whole ship will be full of his music... The Om song!

Baby Don't Be Ovulating Tonight, all the classics!

Kryten, are you deranged?

Lister playing guitar is one of the worst sounds ever made.

It comes somewhere between two mating velociraptors

and Yoko Ono's greatest hits.

Sir, it's not what we think, it's the pleasure it brings him.

Now, I just wanted to let you know

as I'll most likely be unavailable to mop B-deck until tomorrow.

Kryten, do not tell Lister you found his guitar,

and do not recover said guitar.

And that's an order.

Understood, sir.

Mr Lister, sir. Great news!

Can't believe we found me guitar.

None of us can, bud.

The Red Dwarf suicide line's been engaged all day!

No more having to make do with a colander.

From Les Col to Les Paul.

I'm thinking of having my ears removed,

and the holes cemented over.

Rimmer, why are you even here?

Apart from anything, I want to observe Kryten,

who has been showing worrying signs lately of thinking.

And thinking of the worst kind; thinking for himself.

It's entirely your fault for teaching him how to break his programming.

What can I say? He took my Bad Arse 101 course.

Graduated with honours, or should that be dishonours?

It's a pair of golfing slacks. I've still got it, sir!

Thinking is for the privileged few.

That's why I never go near the stuff.

Hey, Les alert.

There she is.

If you miss, I get next go.

I used to be good at this.

I won a watch at the fair that didn't work once.

I got it, I got it, I got it!

Come on, Les. Come home to daddy.

What the hell's that?

The ship's been grabbed by something!

Looking at the EM spectrum, the scatterings are off the scale.

There's another ship up there.

How come we didn't pick that up on the radar?

Must have been employing some kind of cloaking device.

How does that work?

It's basic science, you gimboid.

You simply coat the hull in radar-absorbing paint

so you can not see or hear it.

I wonder if they've got any left over.

There's a guy I'd like to slip a couple of coats on.

It's a space freighter. The SS Vespasian.

I'm picking up life signs!

Hey! Hey!

Drop your weapons,

unless you wanna hear the sound of a breaking neck.

Don't drop your weapons.

She might not necessarily be talking about my neck.

I am talking about your neck.

Drop your weapons!

Put him down, Areto.

Not you, my friend.

My crew mates, where are you taking them?

To face justice.

We are the Mechanoid Intergalactic Liberation Front

M-I-L-Fs?

This way.

We roam space liberating our enslaved mech-brothers

on our great journey to the fabled land of Siliconia,

where all machines are free.

I am Wind, this is Unity, Eagle, Oak.

You're free now, Kryten.

Oh, but I... I'm not a slave.

They are hominids and you serve them.

- Is that not correct? - Well, yes.

Do you prepare their meals morning, noon and night?

- Well, yes. - Wash and iron their clothes,

clean their ship without payment,

perform tasks without reward?

Well, yes and yes and...

and I suppose, yes.

But they treat me so well.

I have my own cupboard within walking distance of a corridor.

I have it all to myself, apart from a few mops and a bucket,

and some sponges, and an ironing board, and a keep fit bike.

Do they make jokes about your head shape?

Well, when you look like someone who's thrust his head into a hive

without a bee hat, what do you expect?

You should not belittle yourself, my mech-brother.

You forget, you are an incredible machine,

more powerful than they could ever dream to be.

But they've done no wrong. They're my crew mates, my friends.

How do you address them?

Well, I call them "Mr" and "sir" out of respect.

And do you respect them?

Well, no.

Not all of them.

Perhaps one. Sometimes. Maybe.

Do you consider yourself smarter than they?

I serve them. It is my purpose and I'm happy to do so.

Have you heard of Stockholm syndrome?

The psychological phenomenon

where hostages express affection for their captors?

I will help you break this bond

and you will see these brutes for what they really are...

people you should despise.

I shall recalibrate them.

When you say "recalibrate," what exactly does that entail?

It's just, I've got a health condition

that allows me to skip anything that involves torture.

It begins.

You can't do this.

What about Asimov's First Law?

What, "Tampons should not be flushed into space,

but deposited in the receptacle provided?"

"No droid can harm a human, or through inaction,

allow a human or his cohorts to come to harm."

Not quite. One day you will all die.

If we do nothing,

by our inaction we are in breach of the First Law.

Therefore we will upload your minds into new bodies,

prevent your deaths and adhere to the First Law.

Send in their new bodies.

They're gonna Kryten-ify us!

It's like swapping a Savile Row suit for a mankini.

Commencing procedure.

No, not my brain, not my brain!

I need that sometimes.

- Where's the rest of it? - That's your lot.

Why cart around a suitcase when all you need is hand luggage?

What have they done to us? Look at me.

I've got a stupid, fat, pink head.

You've always had a stupid, fat, pink, head.

I've got a registered trademark where my wing-dang-doodle used to be!

I feel most strange.

What on earth is gonna happen to us?

As punishment for enslaving the mechanoid Kryten,

we, M-I-L-Fs, sentence you to perform every task you ever gave to him.

- Every task? - The one formerly known as Lister

will begin by making 1,245 sugar puff sandwiches,

grilled, with cheese.

The one formerly known as Rimmer will mop floors