Their break-up had been spectacular. Thrown object, raised voices... Lister had even spent the rest of the night under a table in one of the ship bars, unconscious.
Those mushrooms, allegedly, were some type of hallucinogenic drug. Funki fungi or something to that effect. Lister hadn't eaten any, drug or no, because, as he has said and will continue to say for years to come, mushrooms are icky and he doesn't like them. Rimmer, however, had eaten all of them and suffered a terrible, mind-bending trip.
And, above all, he thought it was intentional.
So, long story short, they ate, fought and split up. All on their anniversary. Of course it couldn't last a year.
Lister had not been allowed back in his quarters for days.
A few days later, Rimmer put Lister 'on report' for the mushrooms. Rimmer's system, being more pure than the fluffy white bunny of innocence, had extended the effects o the mushrooms to a several days. But Rimmer was fairly certain the hallucinations were over.
As it turned out, they both got painting duty. Lister was rather satisfied with this. Sure, it was a horrible, menial task. But they'd be together for it, right?
Rimmer didn't show for PD. Lister asked around. Rimmer had had a relapse. The hallucinations were back. Lister wanted to cry.
Lister trudged back to his quarters, exhausted. Well, we have to take a minute to explain just how exhausted he was. He had been awake from before 4am until about 8am, when he gave Rimmer breakfast, then he had gone between an 8 hour maintenance work shift and chasing the tripped out Rimmer around. Then he'd had the horrible row with Rimmer after work and he'd gone to the bar to drink himself stupid, having already been awake obviously over 24 hours. He'd passed out for about 6 hours and then went between work, trying to talk to Rimmer and 90 minute stretches of nightmare ridden sleep for two or three days. He had just completed an 8 hour PD shift after another grueling (for some reason) 8 hour maintenance shift. He wanted to sleep and not wake up for a month. Maybe in a month, his sleep deprived mind reasoned, this would all be over.
He put his hands on his bunk, meaning to pull himself up. He hand landed on a package. He pulled it off the bed and sat down heavily on a chair. He looked at it. Rimmer's present. He opened it, set it gently on the table and covered his face with his hands. And he did cry. A few minutes of completely and rightfully hysterical sobbing until he recovered enough to say something.
"Oh, Rimmer."
Those mushrooms, allegedly, were some type of hallucinogenic drug. Funki fungi or something to that effect. Lister hadn't eaten any, drug or no, because, as he has said and will continue to say for years to come, mushrooms are icky and he doesn't like them. Rimmer, however, had eaten all of them and suffered a terrible, mind-bending trip.
And, above all, he thought it was intentional.
So, long story short, they ate, fought and split up. All on their anniversary. Of course it couldn't last a year.
Lister had not been allowed back in his quarters for days.
A few days later, Rimmer put Lister 'on report' for the mushrooms. Rimmer's system, being more pure than the fluffy white bunny of innocence, had extended the effects o the mushrooms to a several days. But Rimmer was fairly certain the hallucinations were over.
As it turned out, they both got painting duty. Lister was rather satisfied with this. Sure, it was a horrible, menial task. But they'd be together for it, right?
Rimmer didn't show for PD. Lister asked around. Rimmer had had a relapse. The hallucinations were back. Lister wanted to cry.
Lister trudged back to his quarters, exhausted. Well, we have to take a minute to explain just how exhausted he was. He had been awake from before 4am until about 8am, when he gave Rimmer breakfast, then he had gone between an 8 hour maintenance work shift and chasing the tripped out Rimmer around. Then he'd had the horrible row with Rimmer after work and he'd gone to the bar to drink himself stupid, having already been awake obviously over 24 hours. He'd passed out for about 6 hours and then went between work, trying to talk to Rimmer and 90 minute stretches of nightmare ridden sleep for two or three days. He had just completed an 8 hour PD shift after another grueling (for some reason) 8 hour maintenance shift. He wanted to sleep and not wake up for a month. Maybe in a month, his sleep deprived mind reasoned, this would all be over.
He put his hands on his bunk, meaning to pull himself up. He hand landed on a package. He pulled it off the bed and sat down heavily on a chair. He looked at it. Rimmer's present. He opened it, set it gently on the table and covered his face with his hands. And he did cry. A few minutes of completely and rightfully hysterical sobbing until he recovered enough to say something.
"Oh, Rimmer."
