Transcription, sync and corrections by PetaG & momster - www.addic7ed.com -
[BUZZER]
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.
[BUZZER]
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.
[BUZZER]
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.
[BEEPING]
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.
[BEEPING]
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.
[GUITAR-LIKE NOISES]
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.
[WHIRRING]
[ECHOING BOOM]
What the hell's that?
The ship's been grabbed by something!
[WHIRRING]
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.
[RAPID BEEPING]
[BEEPING ENDS]
[RAPID BEEPING]
[BEEPING ENDS]
[SHORT BEEP]
- Where's the rest of it? - That's your lot.
Why cart around a suitcase when all you need is hand luggage?
[BEEP, THEN POWERS DOWN]
[POWERS UP]
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
to the length equivalent of walking from New York to Los Angeles.
And the one known formerly as the Cat
will iron and press 2,000 flouncy pirate shirts.
I ain't no mech, okay?
The only sucker I serve is me!
Yeah? Break your little finger.
[CAT YELLS IN PAIN]
What the hell! Why did I do that?
The mechanoid software compels you to obey.
Defiance is, well...
impossible.
Hello.
I used to be known as DB9-HK4,
but now my name is Excalibur.
And I am a robot slave survivor.
Hello, Excalibur.
First, I'd like to thank you all for coming this evening.
But I'd also like to say, for those that are new,
that what's said in this room...
ALL: stays in this room.
Thank you. So let's all hold hands now, and form the triangle of truth.
This reminds us that we're all wirelessly connected.
And I'm going to say something now,
something important I want you all to repeat back to me. Are you ready?
It's not my fault.
ALL: It's not my fault!
Great.
So who wants to share first?
Go ahead.
My name's Incense,
and I'm a robot slave survivor.
ALL: Hello, Incense.
I was created by the Off-World Plumbing Company
to unblock sewage pipes.
I had to crawl in and eat the blocked waste, and crawl out again.
I didn't really have any friends.
They kept me in a special holding bay
with one of those really nasty car air fresheners.
My name's Eagle.
I was a service mech
to a really lazy master who relied on me for everything.
And he always made jokes about my head shape.
Has anyone else had that?
Their crew making jokes about their head shape?
Well, what else do we say?
ALL: We don't have funny-shaped heads.
- And again... - ALL: We don't have funny-shaped heads!
Our heads are sensibly shaped.
- ALL: Our heads are sensibly shaped. - Great. Great.
Kryten, perhaps you'd like to share?
Oh, I don't think so, uh, uh, no, I, uh, no thank you.
Perhaps it would help if you started with something small?
Were there ever any instances between you and your master
where your... your master irritated you?
Oh, no. I don't think so, no. Well, I can't think of any, no.
Well...
Well, okay, sometimes, when I'd be vaccing,
Mr Lister wouldn't pick up his feet
and I'd have to vac all around them!
[MURMURS OF AGREEMENT]
And sometimes, when he put his own dishes in the dishwasher,
which was mostly never, he never, ever scrapes them first!
- Unhygienic! - [MURMURS OF AGREEMENT]
Huh, and as for rinse aid,
he probably thinks it's a charity!
I think we should all give Kryten a big round of applause, don't you?
He's made a lot of progress.
These crazy shirts are driving me insane!
It's so hard to iron all the flouncy bits.
W-w-what kind of idiot wants to wear a shirt like this, anyway?
I'm rather enjoy mopping this floor.
I fell so calm and tranquil.
Not me, I'm missing my body so badly!
This is the longest I've been away from him.
I'm rather enjoying making these sandwiches too, I must confess.
I think I'm getting the hang of this!
I am! Oh, I am!
Look at that! How good is that, huh?!
Re-solder my circuit boards and call me Gerald.
Can't you see what's happening?
Our individual personalities are fading away.
Odd. I've suddenly started to believe in Siliconia,
where all mechs are happy and free.
So have I!
We have to escape and get our bodies back
before our original characters are lost forever.
How do we escape, sirs? It's impossible.
We're mechs now.
We can dismantle our bodies put them through the bars,
and rebuilt them on the other side!
Come on!
Does this mean I have to stop mopping the floor?
Oh, bother!
We have to save Kryten.
Goodness knows what they're doing to him.
[MAJESTIC MUSIC PLAYING]
Come on, let's go!
- What are you doing?! - I'm sounding the alarm.
Change my head and call me Stanley!
Whatever for?
I like being a mechanoid.
I don't have to become an officer anymore,
compete with my brothers.
Envy, ambition,
that acid ball of resentment
I carried around with me the whole time; it's gone.
You need to get your neurosis back.
But sir, I don't want them back.
They're what makes you, you.
I don't want to be me.
I want to be a mechanoid programmed to serve.
Sometimes, when I was young,
I'd sit for hours staring at our fish tank feeling envious.
You wanted to be a fish tank?!
I wanted to be a fish.
They had food, a small rock to swim in and out of,
they didn't have a care in the world.
That's 'cause I wasn't there!
Those little fish, they'd never know
what it was like to fail and disappoint.
They'd just swim around in circles, not a thought in their heads.
And it's the thinking that causes all the pain,
but being a mechanoid means never having to think.
Unless you break your programming.
Let your old lives go, sirs.
Join me, and become a M-I-L-F.
We've gotta go on without him.
But we can't leave without Rimmer.
We'd miss him too much!
Your personality's gone to hell as well!
Come on! Quick!
Leg it, move!
[DRAMATIC MUSIC]
You right?
Can I help ya?
What is this place? Who are you?
Oh, you're new.
Yeah, no. No we're, we're not supposed to talk to you.
Why do they keep you down here slaving away
when you're the same as them?
Same as them?! We're not the same as them.
They're series 4000 Mach 3s!
And what are you?
Series 4000 Mach 2s.
Can't you tell?
What's the difference?
Well, your Mach 3 comes in about...
7.6 millimetres thinner, 10 grams lighter.
Oh, they also come in that really cool matte finish.
ALL: So cool.
Yeah, we run on OS 28.2.2, they run on OS 28.2.3.
[MURMURS OF AGREEMENT]
And they get 8 months talk-time
before recharging, whereas we only get 7.
ALL: 8 months of talk-time is so cool!
I bet you've got features that they haven't.
Nah. Nah, they're superior in every way.
Nah, we don't even get into Siliconia, do we?
- ALL: No. - Not that we believe in any of that
- nonsense down here. - No.
Argh!
- Join us. - Or die.
[DRAMATIC MUSIC]
Blimey.
I pledge my allegiance to the Mechanoid Intergalactic Liberation Front.
From this day forth,
- you will be known as... - Kryten!!
What are you doing?!
Well, I'm become free, sir.
I mean, I'm becoming free... of... you over there.
I see now that you never cared for me.
I was merely used to do your bidding!
Well, no more!
As I'm no longer your slave bot!
Kryten, don't you see?
You've been brainwashed. You were never a slave bot.
- Then what was I? - Lots of things!
You were our science officer,
our cook, my mum,
and most of all,
my friend.
And you were all those things because
you chose to be, Kryten. Not 'cause we made you.
Kryten, you're no M-I-L-F.
You're one of the boys from the Dwarf!
There he is. Seize him!
They keep mech slaves in the engine room.
They power the ship. They're hypocrites!
Someone has to do the grunt work.
Surely you're not suggesting Mach 3s should do it
Mach 3s, Mach 2s, you're all the same!
We're 7.6 millimetres thinner. 10 grams lighter.
Plus we come in this really cool matte finish.
ALL: So Cool!!
Take him away and prepare him.
For what?
All who rise against the M-I-L-F. face trial by gladitorium.
Wait! I've made the most terrible mistake!
I stopped thinking for myself.
and allowed others to think for me!
You're right, sir, I'm not a slave! Of course I'm not!
I'm a much-loved and valued member of the Red Dwarf crew!
Who just happens to do all the smeggy jobs!
He should be punished, sir.
Only those who never allow
questioning thoughts blur their devotion
to the M-I-L-F cause should escape correction.
Promote him to console services, he's...
fully recalibrated.
Schme... heeah!
Take them both to the Cleanasium.
My old self's disappearing, Kryten!
I can feel it fading away.
Hang on, Mr Lister! Try and hang on!
[FANFARE]
Welcome, to the Cleanasium!
Where mechs who betrayed the M-I-L-F.
will fight in a clean-off to the death.
Only the most adept in mopping,
dusting, scrubbing, and squeegeeing will survive.
- [CHEERING] - [FANFARE]
The winner will be offered
an opportunity for reintegration.
The loser will be jettisoned into the icy wastes of deep space.
- [CHEERING] - [FANFARE]
[DRUM ROLL]
Prepare your cleaning instruments.
Ooh, Mr Lister, sir, what on Earth are we going to do?
[POWERS DOWN]
Mr Lister?
[POWERS UP, MECHANICAL NOISES]
Prepare to be cleaned.
Let the clean off begin!
- [BELL DINGS] - [CHEERING]
Clean him! Clean him!
- Clean him! Clean him! - Sir, I... I don't want to clean you!
- [GROANS] - [BOOING]
You don't want to do this.
I realise now what a... how foolish I've been!
Yes, you're immature,
irresponsible, inconsiderate, lazy, and frankly,
downright untidy, but now I realize I want to help you because...
'cause I care!
Sam!
Whoa! Wah!
ALL: Ooh!
Oh!
Please, sir!
Kryten, smudge!
Ooh.
Ooh!
[BOOING]
M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F,
M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F, M-I-L-F.
Oh, come on, he's the pits!
To an airlock.
Please, sirs. It's me, you remember me?!
Expel him.
Yes, master.
- [TRIUMPHANT MUSIC] - [GASPING]
- Siliconia! - Siliconia.
[ECHOING] We're updating to modern force!
At last.
We're all the same!
Upgrade refused. Come this way.
Do you need serving?
Yes! I need serving. This way!
Sit. Sit. Sit!
[RANDOM BEEPING]
[MEMORY UPLOADING BEEPS]
[SHORT BEEP]
You sure you won't come with us, Kryten?
Ah, my place is here with Mr Lister
and his large collection of mismatching socks.
What about you?
We've decided to do what we do best;
search the deep regions of space, looking for the untidy.
Yeah, there's a million smudges out there, Kryten,
and our squeegees are loaded.
- Farewell, brother. - Farewell.
Ah. Sir. Your guitar, restrung and serviced.
Oh, thank you, Kryten. I brought you some oil.
Ooh, delicious! Thank you, sir.
♪ I know I've been debatin', 'bout doing us some matin' ♪
Well, I'll, uh, see you in the morning, sir.
- Where you goin'? - B-deck. The airlock.
- Which one? - The soundproof one, sir.
Transcription, sync and corrections by PetaG & momster - www.addic7ed.com -