Categories > TV > Red Dwarf
Lister pondered the symphony of desire that was a lager. It was such a wonderful bit of performance art - he felt he should sell tickets. First, there was the gentle whumpf of the refrigerator door opening. Then, the stirring overture - the ting of the can rattling against the shelf as he pulled it out. A muffled clunk as it settled on the table, the prelude to bliss making his mouth water. And then - yes, the joyous click and whoosh of the tab, followed almost immediately by the pfft of escaping froth spitting out. Finally, the hiss of bubbles, a stirring counterpoint to the glug-glug of the strong, bitter liquid flowing down his throat, bringing soothing joy in its wake.
Encore! the invisible audience cried, and Lister indulged them with a stirring clang of aluminum on plastisteel, and a resounding belch. Ah, yes. Concert in Lister and Lager, opus - Lister looked at the empty cans on the table - eight.
"Lister..." Rimmer's nasal voice interrupted Lister's performance like a foghorn during the 1812 overture. Lister ignored it, taking another pull from the can.
"Lister!" Rimmer barked, grabbing the can.
"Rimmer..." Lister growled, standing up. "You did not just take me beer. I dreamed tha'. And in just a minute, I'll wake up, and it'll be back in my hand, yeah?" Yes, the hologram had a hard-light drive now, and wasn't it just lovely for him? It meant he could be twice the pain in the arse that he was when incorporeal. He could finally touch, taste, feel - and does he kick back with a lager and enjoy it? No, he only drinks tea, and slaps the light switch to On when Lister is trying to sleep with almost demonic glee, and now - now, he had taken Lister's lager. Lister glared daggers.
"Oh, really/?" Rimmer sneered. "And I assume that I just /imagined that you opened," Rimmer looked at the table, flaring his nostrils in disgust, "eight cans of JMC lager without signing out a single one."
Lister's jaw dropped. "Signing out? What the smeg are you on about?"
"Lister," Rimmer sighed, with the air of a patient adult trying to toilet-train a particularly slow youngster, "every unit of JMC property must be signed out. I know we've been a little lax about that, but now that I have a physical presence, I've been able to pull all of the relevant forms out of storage." The hologram held out a thick folder he had been carrying under his arm. "For lager, it's a 456/b requisition form, subsection comestibles, subsection frivolous, subsection alcoholic. You will notice that the limit for personnel of your rank is eight per month." Rimmer sighed, a vulture grin creasing his face. "Ah, a month of sobriety will do you some good, Listy..."
Lister's look had become ever more thunderous as Rimmer spoke, but as he looked at the folder in Rimmer's hand, his tension melted away, and he grinned. "Right you are!" He grabbed the folder from a slightly bemused Rimmer. "Forms! Yeah, Rimmer, I'm all over that." He opened the folder and set it on the table, pulling out the form on top. "This is the one, eh? For the lager requisition, and that?"
Rimmer's grin was wrestling with a slightly confused expression. "Er, yes, that one. Just fill it out, won't take a mo..."
"Nah, not a mo' at all!" Lister tore the paper in half, then in quarters, then threw it up in the air. "Filled out, /sah/!" He grabbed the other forms and tore them all, tossing them in the air until the midsection was full of fluttering shreds of bureaucracy. "Let's fill 'em all out!" he yelled, laughing as he tossed them around. As they settled, he turned to a fuming Rimmer and pulled his lager out of the hologram's hand. "Smeg, man, all that paperwork left me thirsty!" He took a long pull on his lager, the feel of it in his throat and stomach somehow more fulfilling for the fuming, stuttering face of Rimmer he could see over the top of the can. Oh, yes. Another favorite piece of Lister's - Irritated Rimmer in H Minor. Did anything else sound as sweet?
Encore! the invisible audience cried, and Lister indulged them with a stirring clang of aluminum on plastisteel, and a resounding belch. Ah, yes. Concert in Lister and Lager, opus - Lister looked at the empty cans on the table - eight.
"Lister..." Rimmer's nasal voice interrupted Lister's performance like a foghorn during the 1812 overture. Lister ignored it, taking another pull from the can.
"Lister!" Rimmer barked, grabbing the can.
"Rimmer..." Lister growled, standing up. "You did not just take me beer. I dreamed tha'. And in just a minute, I'll wake up, and it'll be back in my hand, yeah?" Yes, the hologram had a hard-light drive now, and wasn't it just lovely for him? It meant he could be twice the pain in the arse that he was when incorporeal. He could finally touch, taste, feel - and does he kick back with a lager and enjoy it? No, he only drinks tea, and slaps the light switch to On when Lister is trying to sleep with almost demonic glee, and now - now, he had taken Lister's lager. Lister glared daggers.
"Oh, really/?" Rimmer sneered. "And I assume that I just /imagined that you opened," Rimmer looked at the table, flaring his nostrils in disgust, "eight cans of JMC lager without signing out a single one."
Lister's jaw dropped. "Signing out? What the smeg are you on about?"
"Lister," Rimmer sighed, with the air of a patient adult trying to toilet-train a particularly slow youngster, "every unit of JMC property must be signed out. I know we've been a little lax about that, but now that I have a physical presence, I've been able to pull all of the relevant forms out of storage." The hologram held out a thick folder he had been carrying under his arm. "For lager, it's a 456/b requisition form, subsection comestibles, subsection frivolous, subsection alcoholic. You will notice that the limit for personnel of your rank is eight per month." Rimmer sighed, a vulture grin creasing his face. "Ah, a month of sobriety will do you some good, Listy..."
Lister's look had become ever more thunderous as Rimmer spoke, but as he looked at the folder in Rimmer's hand, his tension melted away, and he grinned. "Right you are!" He grabbed the folder from a slightly bemused Rimmer. "Forms! Yeah, Rimmer, I'm all over that." He opened the folder and set it on the table, pulling out the form on top. "This is the one, eh? For the lager requisition, and that?"
Rimmer's grin was wrestling with a slightly confused expression. "Er, yes, that one. Just fill it out, won't take a mo..."
"Nah, not a mo' at all!" Lister tore the paper in half, then in quarters, then threw it up in the air. "Filled out, /sah/!" He grabbed the other forms and tore them all, tossing them in the air until the midsection was full of fluttering shreds of bureaucracy. "Let's fill 'em all out!" he yelled, laughing as he tossed them around. As they settled, he turned to a fuming Rimmer and pulled his lager out of the hologram's hand. "Smeg, man, all that paperwork left me thirsty!" He took a long pull on his lager, the feel of it in his throat and stomach somehow more fulfilling for the fuming, stuttering face of Rimmer he could see over the top of the can. Oh, yes. Another favorite piece of Lister's - Irritated Rimmer in H Minor. Did anything else sound as sweet?
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