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This story was typed by ME and is copied word by word from issue #17 BETTER THAN LIFE


The Diary of the Deceased Arnold J.Rimmer, BSc,SSc

(As dictated to Bob, the skutter)

Iím dead. Iím a hologram and a smegging scutter is scribbling out this entry. I canít touch anything and I have to put up with that slob Lister. I get no respect around here and it is impossible to complete any successful revisions due to the constant interruptions from the rabble around me. Theyíre totally undisciplined. Use an exclamation point there. Half the time Holly canít even keep my body parts together. Heís constantly corrupting my hologramatic disk and changing my appearance-He really did look like Helen Shapiro. Ė Bob, what are you doing? Cut it out! Donít write that! Iím going to-

(As dictated to Holly)

-Gordon Bennet, Iím a computer with an IQ of 6000, and he wants me to take notes for him. Iím not his mum. Heís ranting about how nobody listens to him, I think. Maybe Iíll give him Petersenís arm again. Thatíll shut him up for a while. Probably apologise sweetly to me, as well.-

(As dictated to Bob)

Now youíre only going to write what I tell you to, arenít you? What are you writing?

(As dictated to Cat)

(As dictated to Bob)

-Whereís a copy of Film Fun Magzine when you need one?-

ÖI miss everything about being alive. The taste of fine wine. The feel of inflatable Engird. Those were the days. Now Iím composed of light and at the mercy of a senile computer. Right, thatís enough for today. You can go back on duty now, Bob. Go on, weíre finished. Drop the pen. Drop it!!!!

(A contribution by Lister)

For the sake of posterity, I feel it is my duty as the last human alive to report the incidents of Gazpacho Soup Day as they were explained to me by one deceased Arnold J. Rimmer. It all began on the 25th of November-

(an interruption dictated to Bob)

Lister, I said get out. Leave. This is my personal private diary full of my personal private feelings. I donít go around reading you diary and getting caught, do I? Iíd like some privacy, now please depart. Now where were we, Bob? Er, yes, just write that the day was very dull and thereís no need to mention it again.

(As dictated to Kryten)

-This isnít a diary, itís a small off duty Czechoslovakian traffic warden on vacation in the French Riviera. And the man rambling in the corner expecting me to write down his every word is a smeee, a smeeeee HEEEE. Oh blast, I canít even write it.-

(As dictated to Holly)

- Blimy, donít know why Iím Ďanginí round Ďere. Iíve got better things to do with my time.-Ö.That incident changed my life. If it werenít for that Iíve have been more successful than all of my brothers combined. Did you get it all? Damned enlighting if I do say so myself. Furthermore,Ö.-I think Iíll go read some Agatha Christie novels. It looks like heís on a roll.-

(As dictated to Bob)

ÖÖthen I rolled two sixes. Caldicott couldnít believe itÖÖ

- I could be watching John Wayne movies right now.-

(As dictated to Talki Toaster tm)


-What about the person reading this? Would you like some Toast?-

(As written by the deseased A.J Rimmer, BSc, SSc)

After our brilliant encounter with a genius by the name of Legion, I am now composed of hard light. The science is beyond me, but at least I can enter my own personal private thoughts into my diary. However, before I delve into deepest innermost feelings, Iíd better find a place to hide this where no one will ever find it. The A to Z or RD was too obvious. Ah, yes, I know the perfect place.

(Final entry)