Talkie gets together with Paranoia. Not, as it turns out, a place near Uruguay.

Name: Paranoia Paranoia
Occupation: Hating Lister
Qualifications: 25 years living inside Lister's brain
Distinguishing Marks: Pale complexion, black suit (with yoghurt stain) Rimmer's Comments:On the one hand, obviously, he's a symptom of a disease and should be arrested. On the other hand, he does have some very good points about Lister...

Hello Paranoia - would you like some toast?



What exactly is the point?

The point of toast?

Yes. Why would you spend your days offering grilled bread to people. It's a pointless way to spend your time, and toast is such a bland and awful foodstuff.

Well, when you put it like that...

What is it you do? You heat bread, bread that has already been baked once. It's such a redundant way to spend your time.

I see what you're doing - you're trying to bring me down. Well stop it. It won't work. I toast therefore I am!

Your bread tray's looking pretty filthy. When's the last time you cleaned it out?

I said cut it out!

(Mumbles) And your browning knob's coming loose...

Pack it in!

I'm just trying to be friendly. Dunno what your problem is.

My problem is that after ten minutes with you I'm going to want to kill myself with a bazookoid - if I had any way to pull the trigger.

It'd probably be the kindest thing...


Stop it! Look, why don't you tell me about Lister instead?

Lister? That fat, sweaty, filthy loser?

That's the fella.

I'm the half of Lister's psyche that points out his inabilities, his failings. As you'd imagine, it's a pretty big job. Some days I don't finish holding him back until five in the morning.

Lister's just so... pointless. I mean, this constant lusting after Kochanski - have you ever seen any couple so hopelessly mis-matched since Anna Nicole-Smith? Kochanski dating Lister would be like a queen marrying a handful of pond-scum. I don't mean to be cruel, but... well, actually I suppose I kind of do mean to be cruel.

But he is the last surviving human. Surely that counts as some kind of achievement?

Hardly. His survival was a stupid accident. Imprisonment in stasis - and for what? Cat smuggling. Oh, very criminal. Not exactly the Krays is it? "What're you in for?" "Eighteen months. Possession of a tabby."


When that radiation leak hit Red Dwarf, wiped out the crew, leaving just Lister, do you know what God was thinking? "Bugger - missed."

Okay, I get it. You're not his biggest fan.

He makes my life one big, humiliating, cringe-making, guilt-ridden hell. You know, he used to practice kissing on his own. Making lips with one hand then waggling his thumb through the gap like a tongue. Seventeen years old and he used to snog his own hand!

Hey, as long as that was all he was doing to it...

Oh, it isn't. I could tell you some stories.

Please don't.

This one time he was home alone with an underwear catalogue...

Please! There's no need to force the point.

Well, actually, after the sixth time there sort of was -


Stop! Look, let's talk about something less... icky. How did you get on with Lister's crewmates?

I only really met Rimmer. Now there's a man with his brain connected correctly. Sinister, manipulative and partially psychotic. Marvellous. Contempt for all things, but especially for Dave Lister. If ship's hologram were an elected post, he'd be getting my fully-punched chad, I can tell you.

But isn't he around in order to keep Lister sane?

Talk about too little too late. Trying to keep Lister sane is like trying to drown a goldfish - impossible and pointless.

You haven't seen Lister's goldfish...

Ah, tell a lie, I did meet one of the service droids, name of 'Stabbim'. Cute fellow. I think he was involved with the medical unit - it would explain the hypodermic.

Could I interest you in a small teacake?

Not right now. That's reminded me, Confidence has asked to meet up in the medi-bay. Apparently he wants to show me how the waste disposal works.


I guess the surprise is that it works at all, with Lister around to clog it up. You know he once had a twenty-seven hour curry-a-thon, and afterwards the blockage he caused -

Stop right there! I beg you!

- trying to get all the foil cartons into the garbage chute. Why, what did you think I was going to say?

Thank you Paranoia. One final question - would you like some toast?