Lister: How can you just lie back and accept it?
Kryten: Oh, it's not the end for me, sir, it's just the beginning. I have served my human masters, now I can look forward to my reward in silicon heaven.
Lister: [Stunned pause] Silicon WHAT?
Kryten: Surely you've heard of silicon heaven?
Lister: Has it got anything to do with being stuck opposite Brigitte Nielsen in a packed lift?
Kryten: No, sir. It's the electronic afterlife. It's the gathering place for the souls of all electronic equipment. Robots, toasters, calculators. It's our final resting place.
Lister: I don't mean to say anything out of place here, Kryten, but that is completely whacko Jacko. There is no such thing as 'Silicon Heaven'.
Kryten: Then where do all the calculators go?
Lister: They don't go anywhere. They just die.
Kryten: Surely you believe that God is in all things? Aren't you a pantheist?
Lister: Yeah, but I just don't think it applies to kitchen utensils. I'm not a FRYING pantheist. Machines do not have souls. Computers and calculators do not have an afterlife. You don't get hairdryers with tiny little wings, sitting on clouds and playing harps.
Kryten: But of course you do. For is it not written in the Electronic Bible, "The Iron shall lie down with the Lamp".
Kryten: My goodness. I do believe I'm drunk. I suddenly feel the need... to strut my funky stuff.
Kryten: Is this the human quality you call friendship?
Lister: Don't give me any of that Star Trek crap. It's too early in the morning.
[to Hudzen - Kryten's larger, more powerful, scarier replacement]
Lister: He's not leaving. You are.
Lister: Did I just say that?
Rimmer: I used to be in the Samaritans.
Lister: I know. For one morning.
Rimmer: I couldn't take any more.
Lister: I don't blame you. You spoke to five people and they all committed suicide. I wouldn't mind, but one was a wrong number. He only phoned up for the cricket scores.
[everyone is drunk]
Lister: What are you saying, Rimmer?
Rimmer: I'm saying that there is a very real possibility that your parents were brother and sister.
Lister: Hey. I'm pouring me heart out here.
Rimmer: How many toes have you got?
The Cat: Yeah, on both feet.
Kryten: They're not webbed or anything are they?
Lister: Look, they weren't related, all right?
[Kryten falls off his chair]
Lister: Kryten 2X4B 523P? Is that your full name?
Kryten: Yes, but I don't like the 2X4B. Such a dorky middle name. Then again, I knew an android who's middle name was 2Q4B.
Kryten: At 0700 hours tomorrow morning my shutdown disk will be activated and all mental and physical operations will cease.
Lister: Then what?
Kryten: I don't know, maybe I'll get a job as disk jockey.
Kryten: Mum. I never had a mum.
The Cat: It's all right, buddy. It's all part of being drunk. You've been through the happy stage. Now you're going through the melancholy stage.
Kryten: I wish I had a mum.
Holly: I never had a mum, neither.
Rimmer: Well, you can all have mine. Everyone else did.
Lister: No offense, Rimmer, but that is completely wacko-jacko.
Rimmer: Everyone's entitled to their beliefs, Lister. I never agreed with my parents' religion, but I wouldn't dream of knocking it.
Lister: What were they?
Rimmer: Seventh Day Advent Hop-ists. They believed that every Sunday should be spent hopping. They would hop to church, hop through the service, then hop back home again. I tell you, Sunday lunchtimes were a nightmare - we all had to wear sou'westers and asbestos underpants. You see, they took the Bible literally - Adam and Eve, the snake and the apple, took it word for word. Unfortunately, their version had a misprint. It was all based on 1 Corinthians 13: "Faith, Hop and Charity, and the greatest of these is Hop."
[the crew are throwing a farewell party for Kryten]
Rimmer: Enough of all this chitter-chatter, let the banquet begin!
Kryten: But I don't eat.
Holly: I've knocked up a special mechanoid menu for you.
[Rimmer hands Kryton a menu]
Kryten: There's so much to choose from!
Rimmer: Sir, may I recommend the Barium Hydrochloride Salad Nicoise followed by the Helium-3 Isotopes de la Maison, and then perhaps a small Radioactive Fruit Salad for pudding.
Rimmer: [talking about Kryton's final 24 hours] At least he gets 24 hours notice. All the notice most of us get is "Mind that bus. What bus? Splat!"
Kryten: [waking up after a night of partying] Oh, my goodness... Oh... my head. Oh, what happened to me? Damage control report. Oh! Dehydration level, 45%. Recall of previous evening, 2%. Embarrassment factor, 91%! Advised repair schedule; reboot startup disc, offline for 36 hours and replace head. Boy! What a night!
[others groan and start to wake]
Kryten: Is it just me, or is that cockroach shuffling too loudly?
Rimmer: Kryten, it's called a hangover, don't panic.
Lister: We're on a mining ship, three million years into deep space... can someone explain to me where the smeg I got this traffic cone?
The Cat: Hey! It's not a good night unless you get a traffic cone! It's the police woman's helmet and the suspenders I don't understand!