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.He’s coming home on a weekend furlough, and he’s stuck in a traffic jam for six hours.Six precious hours are totally wasted, and all the time he’s getting more and more …Now, ten.He wants to go to the Russian circus.Not much to ask.It’s making a once-in-a-lifetime visit to his hometown.Everyone in his class has been, and then his parents say he can’t go, because he didn’t mow the lawn.Because he didn’t mow their lousy, smegging lawn.Not fair! That really makes you …He’s thirty.He’s opening a letter.‘.failed to meet the required standard …’ but he’s worked harder than anyone.It makes him feel so damn …Seventeen.And for the first time in his life, he brings a girl home to meet the family.Sunday afternoon, he chances into the greenhouse, and there she is, behind the tomato plants with his brother John.Would you believe it? Your own brother’s got his tongue down your girlfriend’s throat… It really makes you angry!Now he’s fourteen.Boarding-school.Being beaten for talking during lunch.And all he said was ‘pass the salt’.It makes him so angry!Still in boarding-school, in the dormitory, and he’s being beaten again, this time for snoring.Snoring in a dormitory is a beating offence? Snoring with malicious intent? And the thick rubber running-shoe slams against his thin cotton pyjamas, and how is that fair? And he’s so frustrated and impotent and… angry!He’s got an exam in the morning.He’s thirty years old and he’s got an exam in the morning.All his life, he’s always seemed to have an exam in the morning.And those BASTARDS in room 1115 are having a smegging party, and how many times does he have to tell them he has an exam in the morning.And every time he tells them, what do they do? They turn the music UP!And another letter.‘… overlooked for promotion …’ for the sixth year on the run, overlooked for promotion.Have to wait yet another year and it’s just not FAIR! It makes you so FURIOUS!The countless frustrations of a lifetime welled up inside him until he felt he would burst.Then he did.Anger dragged a primal scream from his throat.‘Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!’And fifty-three decks above, in the hologram simulation suite, the polymorph devoured his anger.Rimmer collapsed on to the moving walkway, panting, empty and drained of all his rage.SEVENTEENLister paced up and down the medical unit, swinging a baseball bat, his lip curled in a deranged snarl.He smashed the bat into a lab bench between Kryten and the Cat.‘It’s war.’Rimmer shook his head, and re-crossed his legs.‘Look, people,’ he said with an even calmness, ‘just because it’s an armour-plated mutant killing machine that salivates unspeakable slobber, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad person.’ He bit on the end of his pipe, which he’d requested from his hologrammatic accessory computer, along with a T-shirt printed with the words ‘Give Quiche a Chance’.‘What we’ve got to do,’ he continued serenely, ‘is get it round a table, and put together a solution package, perhaps over tea and biscuits.’‘Look at him,’ Kryten slid down from the lab bench.‘We can’t trust his opinion - he has no anger - he’s a total dork!’‘Good point, Kryten,’ Rimmer said kindly.‘Let’s take that on board, shall we?’ He turned to Lister and smiled.‘David, do you have any suggestions you’d like to bring to this forum?’‘Yes, I have, actually, Arnold,’ Lister mimicked.‘Why don’t we go down to the ammunition store, get a nuclear warhead and then strap it to my head? I’ll nut the smegger to oblivion.’ To emphasize his point, the sixty-one-year-old man butted a metal panel on the wall, leaving a large indentation.‘Right.Well, that … that’s very nice, David,’ Rimmer mumbled genially.‘But let’s put that one on the back burner for a while, shall we? Cat, do you have a contribution?’The Cat looked up from a wastebin he was scavenging through for food.‘Don’t ask me my opinion.I’m nobody.Just pretend I’m not here.’ He glugged noisily from a bottle of meths he’d found on one of the shelves and belched loudly.Rimmer nodded benignly.‘That’s lovely, thank you very much.’‘You guys are all insane,’ the Toaster chirped from its vantage point at the back of the room.‘You’re all emotional retards.This is a problem that calls for the leadership abilities of your old buddy, Talkie Toaster® (patent applied for).’There was an awkward pause.‘Well,’ said Rimmer, finally.‘Moving on a step, and I hope no one thinks that I’m setting myself up as a sort of self-elected chairperson, just see me as a facilitator, Kryten, what’s your view? Don’t be shy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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