wooh red dwarf!!!
You've got the brain of a cheese sandwich.
I'm alone in space with a man who'd lose a battle of wits with a stuffed iguana.
Morning, Lister! How's life in hippie heaven, you pregnant baboon bellied space cookie? What's the plan for the day then? Slobbing in the morning, followed by slobbing in the afternoon, then a bit of a snooze before the main evening's slob? God, you're a disgrace to the species.
What do you want this time? A hand with your homework? Or would you like me to sew little name tags in your PE kit?
Good evening, you stupid, stinking, festering, gimboid of a cat.
You've got the brains of diarrhea and the breeding of a maggot.
So you're saying, Lister, you're an intergalactic, pus-filled cold sore! At last, Lister, we agree on something.
Tee hee, hoddle, ha. Why don't you just get back into your cesspit or you won't have the energy for a full day's slob.
STOP YOUR FOUL WHINING, YA FILTHY PIECE OF DISTENDED RECTUM!!!
Your father was a baboon's rump and your mother spent most of her life up against walls with sailors?
You always put the emphasis on "Rim" in "Rimmer." Makes me sound like a lavatory disinfectant.-Rimmer
Your nickname was never "Ace!" Maybe "Ace-hole."-Lister
Our first contact with intelligent life in three million and two years and it's the android version of Norman Bates.
"Mister Arnold" isn't his name. His name's "Rimmer." Or "Smeghead." Or "Dinosaur Breath" or "Molecule Mind." And on a really special occasion when you want to be really mega-polite to him, Kryten, we're talking MEGA-polite, in those exceptional circumstances, you can call him "Arse-hole."
You send off for every bit of rubbish going, you do. Just so you'll have some mail to open.... (Silly voice) Please rush me my portable walrus polishing kit. Four super brushes that will clean even the trickiest of seabound mammals. Yes I am over eighteen, though my IQ isn't.
What is this, a meeting of the ugly convention?
You're about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican.
You are a total, total... a word has yet to be invented to describe how totally whatever-it-is you are, but you are one. And a total, total one at that.
Alright, keep your hair on.
I'm lucky if I can keep my legs on with you in charge!
Yeah, he's out to lunch, man!
He's out to lunch, breakfast, dinner, tea, supper, the lot! He's not in for a single meal, if you ask me!
You're tighter than an Italian waiter's keks.
Are you trying to say I've got a big bum?
It's like two badly-parked Volkswagens.