All language subtitles for Vai.E.Vem.AKA.Come.And.Go.2003.DVDRip.x264-HANDJOB.eng

COME AND GO

Pigeons don't eat liver.

Don't stick your nose in other peoples
business or it may be pecked oft.

Can I have a cigarette?

Is this where someone put an ad?

I put an ad.

Cleaning lady needed.

You don't look like
a cleaning lady.

Depends what you mean
by a cleaning lady.

According to popular belief it is...

A human being.

A human being

who, in exchange for wages,

rather low, I may add,

agrees to do housework.

Do you want references?

It's usual. However,

the best reference
is the impression you cause.

You needn't give me references.

Only a blind man could fail to see

the purity of your heart.

The only obstacle I can see,

a small one
I might add right away

is that you...

What's your name?

Adriana.

"Imagine!

I had a Rhode Island Red
called Adriana.

She was a devil,
always cackling for no reason at all,

but what a fine layer!

Magnificent.

Poor thing!

Even an arsehole
has the right to rest.

That's true.

The ruling classes

may hold onto
their ancient rights.

But I can't see you
washing sheets

or cleaning windows.

I'm not one of the old guard

it that's what you're implying.

I don't allow familiarities.

But it you think you can try it on,
you'll get as good as you give.

I'm a bit contused, that's all.

The house

isn't a palace as you can see.

Of course

I'm retired

and live alone
without causing talk.

The feminine touch

here and there

would bring some joy

into my dismal life.
I have little to look forward to

and nothing to tear.

To tell the truth

I expected someone older

with hands roughened
by years of housework.

The days are past when Lenin

laid low empirical attitudes
and chauvinistic idealism.

That was before he,
in his turn, was brought low.

The flame of communism
is immortal.

I'm a red

through

and through.

I'm a widower.

There is no death.
Let's sing.

- When do we start work?
- For my part right away.

Sir, or is it comrade?

Sir.
While the lands still have lords.

We must pay respect where it's due

but it you like

you can call me J. V.

Spell that out.

- João Vuvu.
- Vuvu?

What sort of name is that?

It's the name

of an ancient family
of African origin.

But you aren't black.

I only began to be insulted
very late.

Talking of insults,

we haven't discussed terms.

I pay badly

so as to keep your
revolutionary conscience alive.

I give my all to the Party

and I shall know how to wear
the shackles of slavery,

suffer the rack.

It I bow down to
worldly events,

tough, tyrannical and pressing,

I will put at risk what I have
achieved in the great book of life,

and taking up

the holy lyre
capable of the highest inspiration,

quieten this confusion,

and sing for a vision of peace.

Is that a quote from Comrade
Saramago'?

It's from Camões.

Super flumina Babylonia.

Rivers that flow to Babylon.

I've heard that sung
at communist rallies.

Can you darn socks
with a mushroom?

The poisonous kind?

Rather the needle and thimble kind,

the old-fashioned way.

There is no death.

Let's sing.

Wink, wink,

eyes of the pied wagtail.

With our lack of skill

it would be easier for a camel
to pass through.

Right down to the bottom.

I'm trying.

Hold this.

For the kids of the neighborhood

I predict great fun and games.

Some days later.

Vuvu, Vuvu...

I'm bleeding.

I need honey to soothe my cunt.

Come bees,

give her honey
for her sweet lips.

Good morning Mr. João.

Are you day-dreaming?

I'm pleased to see you Miss Custodial

I hadn't noticed you.

I was in cloud, cuckoo land.

Such a lovely morning
and you're blind to it.

Without eyes I can see evil
and follow it with my eyes.

Eyeless faces see
eyes which cost dear.

No mention is made of eyes

because you wish they weren't there.

Blindfold yourselves,
eyes unneeded

I won't cover you, eyes you are not.

Good to see you.

Are you off to Big Sfores'?

I have to go.

I've been on holiday in Paris.

Yes ma'am.

Paris is always Paris.

I went up the Eiffel Tower

and saw the lights stretching away
into the distance

but nobody recognized me.

The ladder to fame
is hard and steep!

You must persevere.

They made fun of me when I said

I'd won the crown
of Miss Swimming Pool.

And without thorns.
You were the loveliest.

That's true.
I was generously applauded.

What is good in Clapham,

is good in the Champs Elysees.

Lets agree on this:

wrapped in a sequined mantle

shining ruby red

you reign over them
with great spirituality.

I, Custodia,

will cover the cost
of a promotional video clip.

Fausta!

It's been years!

Always on the alert. Always the same.

Someone told me,
that you'd gone to Ethiopia.

I didn't go in the end.
What about you?

I'm off to the House.

- Are you a member?
- I give lessons in sucking pricks.

But that was never your style.

It's better than working
in Intendente.

No comparison.

It's so much cleaner.

Without forgetting the perks
and good government.

I had good teachers.

The an consists in passing

the foreskin test, remember?

I think I've forgotten.

Now, I'm a widower.

I'm in mourning and don't tuck.

Don't make me laugh! I believe you had
a high old time at the funeral.

What funeral? Don't make me laugh.

My Hortense wasn't dead,

she was sleeping.

It was all a show

put on by the family.

Burning with excitement,

the fountain of life
dripped into the coffin

eager for fun and games

and naughty wiggles.

What! Did you fiddle with her cunt?

Is that a place
one should fiddle with lightly?

No, I never stick my finger

in other peoples pies.

All I wish for now

is a comfortable widowhood

worthy of the best waltzes.

You must have made her lite hell.

Blacker than it already is?

You had a child, didn't you?

Jorge, he's in clink,
watching the world go by.

But he didn't commit a crime.

That's what you think!

And a masterly one
by all accounts.

Poor thing!

Poor thing?

His old dad has stood by him,

and as he didn't get a hundred years
one of these days

when he's paid his debt to society

he'll be out
and be able to live like a king.

I just hope he won't
let me down,

he's a lovely chap

level-headed

takes after me.

He won't be ungrateful,

I'm sure he'll appreciate

the sacrifices of his old man.

As I always say:

"Son you are now,
father you'll be".

As you sow so shall you reap.

Oh dear son!

Oh lovely lad!

I want to enjoy

I want to enjoy
All the lovely lolly.

I'm feeling a bit dicky.

I'm too old
for these jollifications.

A small man
is always a crook or a dancer.

Ah my girl,

it's sweltering.

Mysterious

and vague after the rain.

Come on,

I'll invite you to a nice cup of tea

freshly made.

It will tune up your voice

and you'll trill like a warbler.

I've got a date.
I don't like being late.

Whatever time you arrive,

you cause a sensation.

Make them beg.

Let them twirl,

let them howl.

Let them melt their fat
in the dust of their offices,

let the liqueurs spill

over the caryatids
in palace corridors.

Whichever way they turn

these people will never know
where they're at.

However often they say
of the republics

what Mafoma never said
about the bacon,

that is not,

figuratively

or in any sense of the word,

a distillery.

I can't believe my eyes.

The places you take me to!

There's nothing extraordinary
about it.

The building belongs to
the brotherhood of St Vincent de Paul

and thanks to the voluntary work
of devout ladies

raises money for charity.

The priests twisted everything:

centuries of intolerance
taught by Torquemada

all that is left to them now
is paedophilia,

the Archbishop of Milwaukee

and so on.

I don't know where I am.

You have this feeling of non-reality

because you have in fact

been in another world
but don't worry,

you returned alive
from the land of the dead.

It smelled musty.

That's the smell of non-reality.

"Saluté y deputációnes".

Cheers.

At least
they served alcoholic drinks.

A small concession
to these modern times.

The only one in fact.

It's just as well there are people
who care about the poor.

They've done it for centuries.

For lack of something better

they even cobbled together
a religion to comfort them.

Life has always been hard
for the poor.

That's why

they hung a whopping fib
on the horns of a carpenter

whose wife, a Jewish tart,
turned out to be in the club.

They wouldn't listen,
refused to be disconcerted,

the story was not to be refuted
on the contrary,

it was divine intervention

work of a dove

but it was all "comme il taut",

in a state of grace.

But it gets better.

While the villagers split their sides
laughing,

they convinced the tool

that the good tidings should be
spread worldwide.

At last wonder of wonders

the son of God was born!

I missed the boat,

Joseph lamented,
struck by the light.

Oh, Maria!

We discovered
the Immaculate Fornication

and I forgot
to write down the formula.

He glanced at
the village idiots,

packed up his bundle and
made off with his wife on a donkey.

Maybe he thought it over
and came to the conclusion

that enough was enough.

The blessed fruit became a man

and like any good pantomime actor...

only preached

what everyone already knew,

that this lite is a vale of tears.

- He died on the cross.
- That's true,

and with a lot of fuss.

It took them three days
to get out of that one

and find a way to resurrect him

so that the farce had a happy ending.

Happy for him
and better still for us.

It only needed a few prayers
and a couple of blessings

to glorify the afterlife

he knew so well...

because he'd been there
in the company of his father.

This is where

we would be happy ever after:

a bed of roses, a celebration

and why not?

An eternal teas!
"per secula seculorum".

What's the solution?

There isn't one.

Is suicide the solution?

It so,

I'm not interested.

But it's the problem which
is interesting, never the solution.

Man, or what is left of him,

has to live
with the insoluble problem of life.

Some time ago

when I was full of

the Ethiopian trip...

I went into a chemist's

to get a long list of things

anti-inflammatory cream,

camphorated alcohol,

poultices,

ammonia, alkali volatile,

Mustard powder, extract of saturn,

painkillers,

antipyrine,

soothing balsam,

sydenham laudanum,

tartar emetic,

ipécacuanha,

laxatives,

manna,

Epsom salts,

oil oi ricin,

sodium sulphate,

rhubarb, styptics,

napthol beta,

bismuth (sub-nitrate),

anti-fever pills,

quinine,

sleeping pills,

chloral am,

antiseptics,

iodine, peroxide, sundries,

cotton wool, bandages,

plasters, silver hydrate,

alcohol, ether,

linseed oil, bicarbonate oi soda,

Vaseline, talc, glycerine.

You must have spent a fortune!

I spared no effort.

The horn of Africa is no joke,

I prepared the expedition
meticulously,

nothing left to chance.

You thought of everything,
you take good care of yourself.

It wasn't for myself.

It was to impress the natives.

I wanted to be greeted

in a party atmosphere.

"Just skin and bone,

"when its burnt black
its a pure Ethiopian".

As a sign of gratitude
for my welcome

I opened my bag...

distributed the medicine
among the natives

and set about healing sores.

I'm trying to imagine you

imbued with missionary spirit

but God forgive me, I can only see you
grabbing the nearest pair of tits.

They are supposed to be very pretty
and to your liking.

Really?

- I didn't hear them crying.
- They prefer singing.

Those who cry with others,
cry for ever.

Make a fist

and grasp

the peniary gland tightly

so that the blood

gathers round the top.

When it becomes

red and swollen

hold the foreskin

between your thumb

and forefinger

and blow,

keeping it well stretched

and hermetically sealed,
glued to the lips,

at the same time spitting into it

quickly, till it's as full
as a wineskin.

Keep it well closed

and then let the whole thing go limp
in sweet evanescence.

What about the member of parliament?

He will present a protest.

It's a question of time.

Then he'll lose

his manly urges

he won't be able to control
his eagerness, and end up by saying

"Well my dear,
aren't you going to suck it?

- And should I?
- Never.

Don't think of it.

You explain sweetly

that nobody does that in China

it's only done by leeches,

not in refined civilizations.

At that moment,

the M.P. will waver,

his voice tremble

he wants to call for his mummy
but can't.

He has the worm at its mercy

on show in a public place.

Democracy is sate,

or at least

what's left of it in its most
grotesque theatrical expression.

After a lively debate,

and a tough battle in the commons,
the law is passed.

The Chinese blow-job,

also known as the "blowee"

due to its Asiatic origin

and especially recommended

for ladies and girls

who are not inspired
to do charity work.

Thus confirming the incentives

which should be facilitated
in the E.U.

together with a rigorous policy
of development

in the leisure and recreational
industries,

where this practice

should be taught

by qualified professionals

and stringent tests set

in such an intricate
and difficult new technology.

The old whores

can smile at last.

- When will we see each other again?
- When we are old enough.

At the moment we hesitate
like everyone else.

Between ourselves,

and it is rather amusing,

the "blowee" is the super blow-job

but the rift-raft
will never realize that

for the rabble not even a sniff.

I can't get these creases out.

The iron is cold.

So now what?

- Wait for it to warm up.
- With this heat?

Only if I take my clothes off.

That may not be necessary.

Your overall is cool,

and as you have to dampen
the material before you iron,

you can refresh
the most affected parts.

My armpits are the worst.

They are covered
with beads of sweat.

- What are you doing?
- I'm taking my clothes off.

- You will have your own way.
- What's wrong with it?

Nothing.

That's what makes it a shameful act.

The Ethiopian painters

showed Adam and Eve
in the Garden of Eden,

wearing sumptuous robes.

After they had partaken
of the forbidden fruit

God took away all he'd given them

and banished them from Paradise.

Left naked,

they were reduced

to ignominious misery.

He put a bitter taste in their mouths,
and not even a drop to drink?

No.

Gad was never a game-game.

It would have been better to have
finished them off, once for all,

eradicate the poison at it's root.

God is a bit naive

and didn't foresee
that Adam and Eve's action

would make them
equal and one with Him!

To kill them would be to sign
his own death warrant.

The harm was done
and couldn't be undone.

The only way out was
to condemn them to lite.

Some lemonade?

Come and see what I've done.

You gave me a fright.

I thought something dreadful
had happened.

Antigone with the wind.

I'm fired!

No,

stop working

and let's have some lemonade.

Nan-Asa, Nan-Asa,

countess of shrimp.

Always barefoot,

not even clogs.

She was a joy to see weaving
her way through the fish market,

one hand steadying
the shallow basket on her head,

the other on her hips.

"Pricks for sale"

she cried in her hoarse vofce

from deep in her throat.

Good heavens,
and were there children about?

I was one.

And didn't anyone do
anything about it'?

Because of the "pricks"?

Where I come from that's what they
call the shrimps of the Mondego River.

The humble crustacean disappeared

and for some reason or other

the word tell into disuse.

So what did they call the them then?

"Pricks",
but nobody choked on them.

Maybe because nobody
ate them any more.

Maybe.

Nan-Asa, Nan-Asa,

countess of shrimp

perhaps the mother prick got fed up

and went to lay her eggs
in calmer waters.

They opened the privy early.
What a stench!

I can't smell anything.

That's impossible
with a nose like yours.

Can't you hear the clamor
of popular indignation?

It the blacks in accordance
with the sentiment here expressed

deserve to die,
be sent back to their huts,

penal law considers the existence

of an adjacent principle
already expressed

automatically confirms
without impediments

the legality of punitive law.

It substitutes once and for all

the old maxim
"nulla poena sine lege"

which is obsolete, for the maxim
"no crime should go unpunished"

we are substituting once and for all

the concept of formal delict
for factual delict.

He's black and that's it.

Only thus can we help
justice to prevail.

I don't understand the reason for
your nostalgic lament.

It's true that

your tub-thumping tirade
is all laid down

in the penal code of the Third Reich,

but even today the
so-called social communication

permits its usage freely.

Those who play football

with the heads of terrorists or such.

Remember Nathaniel
who played for Benfica?

We formed a formidable wing.

We faced the team from Congo
and were unbeatable.

Nathaniel, no buts,
headed the head of the black

and scored a goal!

Those who force coconuts
into black vaginas

so that their seed won't germinate

knew that their motherland

was being burnt in the hands of
unscrupulous wheeler-dealers.

Even you, Mr. Vuvu,
for whom I have great respect,

sold your ideals
for a miserable pension

and a plate of beans.

I have no pension

and as for beans,
not even in tomato sauce.

One thing is certain.

Acts of barbarity always precede
the fall of empires.

Sit down.

Too late.

Bless you.

I suffer from allergies.

The mites are implacable

and the pituitary gives way at once.

I must get you
one of those Arabic veils

to muffle your sneezes.

Why so many books?
Have you read them all?

No way.

- Books are not for reading.
- So?

They keep me company

and don't give as much work as a dog.

It you don't count the dust.

Dust is everywhere,
it has nowhere to go.

Books keep the secrets
they don't trust us with.

Go down to the working classes

and eat your corn flour.

Sprinkle some sugar on it.

Food of the poor.

Cornflour diluted with water,

a pinch of salt,

a drop of ofl.

Ten minutes on a slow heat,
stirring with a wooden spoon

till it starts to boil.

Nothing easier,

even it it's not very nutritious.

It's good.

Yes, if it tells the story of poverty.

- A drop of milk?
- Thanks.

I'm full up.

Don't you think I'm very old?

I don't even know your age.

Twenty-three.

It's some age, but don't worry
I'm not interested in age.

You are 20 and you are 3.

Are you satisfied with my work?

Satisfied? In what way?

Pleased with me?

You are polite

and cheerful

that helps a lot.

But I feel this is not my vocation.

I wasn't born to be a cleaning lady.

Nobody is.

Before slavery was abolished

it was enough for slaves

to be well-treated
for them to be happy.

Then, their freedom made them
painfully aware of their condition

and they became more and more unhappy.

Today it you want to make them happy

give them a slave of their own.

My dream is to be a film star.

Difficult.

You'll have to win the good graces
of the Jew boys.

That's for "Kung-fu";
I want to play the pan of an ingénue.

I was referring to the money-lenders
of the holocaust,

the incense-wavers of horror.
- Who are they?

Those who've made a lot of money.

I only know one called God.

Don't know him.
Can't recall the name.

He's a great con man.

With a name like that
what did you expect?

But at first it was all "salaams",

sweet talk to take us in

all he wanted was to suck up to us.

He's not alone in that.

Strange as it may seem,

these people spend their lives

boot-licking, and cry for more.

- More on the line of cunt-licking.
- Did you let them?

What could I do about it?

Complain.

But I loved it. It was lovely.

Opinions are divided.

Some say it is good for you

and some say it isn't.

It makes no difference to me.

It's up to the individual.

- Haven't you ever done it?
- Me?

I'm a respectable man.

I'd never stoop so low.

But you said you were married.

I was married to a virgin.

In 23 years,

in every 23 days of marriage

I never had animal-like relations
with my wife.

I lie.

I remember

once,

just once,

my Hortensia
took to her bed with flu

and I begged her
to allow me, blind folded,

to put a suppository up her rectum.

"Not there",

she exclaimed with a moan.

In the throes of my great affliction

I had made a mistake,

but my error was soon corrected
and all ended well.

At the end of two days
her fever went down.

Except for this slip,
provoked by her illness,

we maintained our virginity

and were sublimely happy

until one day.

My Frankie has a permanent hard-on.

How do you manage?

I give him a good thrashing.
That's what women are for.

He doesn't get anything from me
unless he behaves himself.

Get off me, Chico, I say.

He becomes like a lamb right away.

Look here Jacinta,

we'd go to the green meadows
and listen to the song of the birds

breathe in the scent of the flowers.

Oh, the flowers.

Gather shells on the shore

or play in the wavelets.

We'd welcome you royally
into our modest home,

we'd shell peas

and, in love, exchange embraces.

Did good indiscriminately.

You're kidding me.

I don't kid people.

And it I did I would be a despot.

But you can't force people
to give up their pleasures.

What pleases some
may not please others.

I'm a real man and tolerant,

but nothing can shake my convictions.

It you've never tried it
you can't know

I was born like baby Jesus
and like him I wish to die.

My instincts prevent me

from satisfying brutal
passing appetites.

Right.
That's the end of the conversation.

I can see you're a cold fish.

Right. We'll say no more.

God licked even when
we had our period.

The beast!

Besides being a pig
he took advantage of women

when they are at their weakest.

He thought that was when the clitoris
was at it's tastiest,

ready for the dances,

that which he described as
the great Dionysian celebration.

"Christ follows Dionysus,

"Phallic and ambrosial
made way for macerations."

I'm pleased to see
you are well-versed.

These ancient cults are
a thing of the past, it's true.

However, the poet who wrote this verse

must be around somewhere.

Submerged in dust,

submerged in tears.

After the cunt-licking
we were made to read poems.

Hour after hour,

spouting poetry
"with banners unfurled."

What a bore!

But worst of all was when he
started pacing backwards and forwards,

pompous and opinionated.

"All they do is roll their eyes
And flutter their eyelashes,

"Thinking they beautiful.

"That's one reason why the cinema
is in the state it is."

We start with a sulk
and getting nervous

we lost it completely.

That resulted in fury.

He lost his temper,

his eyes became bloodshot.

He lost his head and told us off
loud and clear.

"You'll never have the class of Garbo
nor even the cunt of Greta".

An uninspiring little tyrant,
in short. Did you at least get paid?

Not a "sou".

I was to play the pan of
Camões mother.

What! You play that pan!

He said the pan was made for me,

because of my name.

"In Freixo de Espada à Cinta,
Luis de Camões was born.

"His mother Jacinta
sold melons there".

But Camões wasn't born
in Freixo de Espada à Cinta.

That was Junqueiro.

I don't give a shit
about historical accuracy,

he raved.

What counts in this film
is not where he was born,

but where he did business.

And has this rubbish been shown?
Did it get to the screen?

It was never made.
Later they discovered

that the cunt-licker had escaped
from a loony bin.

And had this mania for either making
films or pretending to be a dog.

Sometimes, I've been told,
he even pretended to be barmy.

The two are not incompatible,

but it seems he was neither,

which makes it incompatible with both.

What you got out of!

It's an incredible story,

the son one tells
one's grandchildren.

Look, Jacinta,

I don't know a thing about cinema

but, with due modesty,

perhaps we could dance

a "zarzuela".

I'd love to try.

So you shall and without
further delay,

we shall begin a conceded "habanera".

I'm in heaven.

Let yourself float.

At this point

mad with jealousy;
the young typist tried

to prevent Susana

from gofng to bed

with the old lecher, Dom Hilarión.

He stands in from of them

grabs her round the waist

but is repelled.

You'll have to repel me more roughly

so that I tall back on the ottoman.

Don't forget Susana is a bad lot,

her pride is hurt
and she's capable of anything.

Don't be afraid of hurting me.

My nose is as hard as a ship's prow

and I'm used to

"sailing uncharted waters".

Now foam at the mouth
and overcome me.

Jump on top of me

with your backside straddling my face

and manacle my wrists.

I don't offer resistance.

I say:

"Susana of my heart,

"pity me and forgive me
all the wrongs I've done you".

What do I do?

You don't forgive me.

You are thirsty for revenge.

You want the bastard to eat din,

you have a murderous

gleam in your eye.

You laugh a diabolical laugh

and fan right in his face.

Is that part of the Zarzuela?

No, but this is now burlesque.

I don't know it I can do it, I'm shy.

Don't be.

You're doing well.

Full of tragic feeling.

Divine!

- The cornflour should get the credit.
- Don't be modest Jacinta,

you have talent,

you're a natural.

- I just want a little more music.
- What?

A noisier fan will do.

One of those long reverberating ones
result of a large plate of beans.

Just to get a bit of festive spirit.

Sublime!

And perfumed,

quite flagrant too.

As this is theatre,

I'm gofng to pretend it was a stinker,

hold my nose and say,

what a pong!
- Then what?

The bombardment continues.

Your revenge is implacable,

the air is thick.

Oh, wicked woman,
with what fetid stink,

have you slain me
in the flower of my youth!

So goes the world,

I say "Rosebud,

"and breathe, my last".

I don't understand. What do you say?

Rosebud.

Little rosebud, Jacinta.

Rosebud.

Highborn Jorgey.

He was fat as a badger,

and had a fine constitution.

He drank pints of milk

from the local cows.

He was polite and correct

in the traditional style.

From that lovely mouth

came only sweet words.

Before he could walk,

one could see he was gifted.

He knew his catechism

from cover to cover.

He didn't need to work hard

to get into University.

Everyone agreed,

unanimously,

that Jorge was without doubt,

a genius.

He was such a sensible boy.

He had only one weakness.

He spat out little snails

and crushed them on the ground.

His parent were delighted

with their promising offspring.

Jorge didn't read at all
but was soon qualified.

As soon as the eldest daughter
of a Jew saw him, she tell for him.

She was a lovely girl

and kept her hymen

very carefully guarded.

All the girls fell under the spell

of this God-given gem.

Marriage was discussed
and a date fixed

for the day of "Kippour",

the day of forgiveness.

But the bride's father, a money-leader
got suspicious.

When on his sixtieth anniversary

he got an idea

and he spied on the youngsters

before the holy alliance.

The conduct of the newly-weds
seemed irreproachable

Until the curate

split the beans.

God only knows how on earth

the mishap occurred.

It's the work of the devil,

that turns a wise man into an idiot.

Jorge was caught

red-handed in the Mass

fornicating with a judge.

Right under the nose of a irate God,
furious at this carnal corruption,

the faithful threw themselves,
in a mad frenzy,

towards the magistrate's buttocks.

Which the sacristan was sprinkling

with an aspergillum.

At last the whole shameful truth
came to light.

All was revealed.

The pofson of perversion

had been injected into Jorge,

by a rich fascist who was

noble when Waltzing

low when his prick was in his hand.

The arrogant misshapen monster

politician of "anything goes"

the censor of depravation

realized that jollification,
anything goes

was a lucrative business

with unlimited opportunities.

He didn't strain his brain calls

and got right to the point.

I have the world in my grasp,

a goldmine in my hand.

Take a bit here, add a bit there,

with elegance and sophistication.

The ogre thought things over

and rolled on the floor with glee.

He who has everything in his hand
can call the tune.

To have a good time

it's enough to open a low dive
or a TV channel:

nor do we need a dictatorship to cause
a good impression.

There is no better sinecure
than pushing the button on a TV set,

to see, live,

a manicurist eating a peacock.

Faced with Salazar
the chap shat in his pants,

fled down a sewer,

and sniveled.

Now he has everything,

he's on top as they say

and can be seen,
scratching his crotch

among the local highlife.

The moron is proud of himself.

Oh, moron go on, dream!

The unpleasant itch
is a passing fancy,

a light passing cloud,

the work of parasites,
without rhyme or reason.

Crabs, nits, lice?

There is an instant cure
for the plague.

I've found the solution in a trice

to eliminate these pesky lice.

Nor do they stand a chance

in this era of globalization.

True, but the "Crabbies",

because they are crabbies,

are always with us,

have plenty of reason.

It seems we won't get rid of them

with demagogues.

The "crabbies" are fed up

with hollow democracy.

Just because they are crabby

they want to stop being crabby

but they can only stop bothering us
when the robber-state disappears.

It on prime time

my lyre wanders

what do I care it pity

doesn't pity those to whom
it is offered.

I didn't turn my back on perversion.
I carried my cross.

Fate doesn't want

the beam of redeeming light

to guide the psychopath

along the paths of love.

Oh, sad "desdechado"!

You need the winged protection
of a police angel who

with lance carried high

delivers us from evil.

Jorge wouldn't listen.

Instead of calling a halt

he went along with it.

The bride, the beautiful Jewess,

was the innocent victim of the story.

She tell ill with jaundice

and saw everything in tones of yellow.

She was tended with care

and without alerting the police

a tragedy was avoided

and the nightmare ended.

The cretin followed the path of vice

undermined by social canker

from there on, on the path of crime,

just one step was enough.

The bank was robbed

and terror spread.

I'm almost at the end

of this infernal ballad.

Oh, Barbara, I'm sorry

for this rigmarole of complaints,

this long-suffered confession

I've subjected you to.

And having done their duty
as their uniform demands,

at the hands of a vile layabout

some might say,

good policemen were blown away

riddled with bullets.

What can I say?
I'm like Mary Magdalene.

Tears wash the soul,

purify the conscience.

I really liked it.

It has feeling.

Good.

Nothing equals the pain of a father

except mother love.

There's just something I don't
understand but I don't know whether.

Spit it out.

It was when you called
the state a thief.

- Did I say that?
- Yes.

It you say so, then I did.

I belong to the forces of order
and we are not paid

like the private secfor, to work for
the security of the powerful

but to treat all equally.
- Of course.

Talking of sallies,

we hear a piece of nonsense,
and it goes round in our brain

and suddenly, there it is,
worming its way in,

spoiling everything-.

Now he's going to sulk.

I'm disgusted.

Poetry is not an act of savagery.

It's no use crying over split milk.

Portuguese is a tricky language,

we have to be patient.

And without seeming to care,

wait for the muse to come

and eat from our hand.

What a lot of trouble I've stirred up!

Not at all.

It would be a free for all

it everyone said

the first thing
that came in to their head.

It would be anarchy,

every man for himself.

Without meaning to,
I interrupted his train of thought,

his inspiration.

God gives,

God takes away,

but he spread some magic dust,

waved his magic wand

and he broke the spell.

A bit more magic dust

and it's done.

Tell the robber-state to go to hell

and sing the praises
of the police-state.

It doesn't rhyme,

but so what.

Won't the remedy be worse
than the illness?

- Child of my heart!
- Father!

- The prodigal son returns.
- The terror of the police force!

The human beast!

Don't fret, my children.

Let me mediate the discord
that keeps you apart,

with the wisdom of Solomon.

Miss Barbara was kind enough
to visit me

which warmed the cockles of my heart.

Jorge paid his dues to society.

He learned that crime doesn't pay.

I'm sure he won't repeat
the sins of his past.

Cast out the rancour in your hearts

it you wish to see your old dad
dance with joy.

She tenured me with refinement.

To be tenured by Miss Barbara

is the dream of every greenhorn.

In the lower regions?

That is one of life's ironies.

Poofters don't enjoy it.

What has this got to do with me?

Everyone says it's current practice
in prisons

like it or not.
- People say a lot of things.

I'm gob-smacked!

You beat up two of her colleagues.

It was in self-defense.

They shot to kill

and hit a child who was playing
football in the street.

Playing in the street is dangerous.

They could have been run over.

- It was an accident.
- Don't play with guns.

It they couldn't shoot straight
they shouldn't have moved!

You bloody murderer!

Your mother used to call me
that when she got mad.

Psychopath!

Jorge is a fine shot.

It must be his Calvinistic
infallibility that inspires him.

It's just a shame he chose
the wrong target.

I received an ovation!

That's only natural.

Two policemen lying dead
on the pavement

doesn't happen every day.

I'm leaving before I lay hands on him.

Like father, like son, and I was
stupid enough to be taken in.

I'm still not fully in control
of myself.

You are puzzled, Barbara.

We are good honest folk:

brave and frank.

Everyone has their troubles.

I'm sure we'll meet again, Mr Vuvu.

I hope so.

You must know

children always cause grief
to their parents.

- Did you see a woman-policeman pass?
- Yes.

- Which way did she go?
- Up.

“N?

What was that story about queers?

Has no-one ever told you a tall story?

You can't catch flies with vinegar.

I'm rather more inclined to sprees

than great deeds.

You can keep both.
I don't like either.

For someone who hasn't had it off
for so long

it might do you good to have a tuck.

I'm not interested.

Nobody is forcing you.

It you don't want it,
you don't want it.

It was all I could get at the time.

The good ones were all busy

and these didn't come cheap.

You always did throw your money about.

The policewoman was tree.

She is enough for two

truncheon thrown in.

I recall a French song I used lo sing
when I was small.

The belly-button of a cop's wife

is certainly not a pretty sight...

From an aesthetic point oi view,

you can't put her on pedestal

But this one isn't the wife
of a policeman.

She is a real Valkyrie
and well worth having.

She's abusing her authority,

practicing cruelties,

of course I can't approve.

I've always condemned
acts of brutality.

You should have known
the famous Guilhermina

who with the palm of her hand

gave me a ju-jitsu blow to the liver

that made me go green.

- What had you done?
- Nothing.

I was as drunk as a skunk

and only said I'd never seen such
an ugly woman.

She really was a hag.

Barbara is different.

Have you ever thought

what a nightmare it is for a girl
just come from the cabbage patch

to fall among a crowd of cops?

So as not to be segregated

and fight for female equality,
women's rights

there's only one way out:

go along with them,

be a super-cop.

It is said, once a policeman,
always a policeman.

That is a quote from a gangster film
with Jack Palance.

'A cop is always a cop'.

So what?

You know a lot.

The slammer

is a good school.

But now we are on the subject,

you're not leaving here
without knowing something else:

Never...

Tell me.

When you go with a punter
does he wear a breastplate?

No. In fact I'm very gentle.

We'll have to get you
a new pair of legs.

I've heard you can get some made in
Germany that are so good

you can dance a tango.

They may not be as good as
those of Marlene

but you can lead a normal lite.

The problem is money.

Have a word with Jorge.
He understands high finance.

We don't need the cripple
to make us rich.

There are plenty of generous gents.

Just curiosity:

How can you be sure

you are giving full satisfaction?

You can work up to high speeds.

Don't you get dizzy?

Sometimes, but it soon passes off
if I roll over.

That's how you turn deficiency
into efficiency.

There's nothing like the laws of
physics to give body to carnal acts.

We have got rid of tarantulas

but my head is still full
of the Portuguese.

Anyway, no-one is born Portuguese.

One becomes Portuguese.

It's atavism. Pure atavism!

For someone just out of hell,
it's paradise.

Prisons are dreadful.

With the proliferation of petty crime

the teachings of the masters are dead.

Today you can go to prison for nothing
at all, it's tragic.

The cells, where in the olden days
the sages ruled

are now full of a mob of rats
and petty thieves.

Crime no longer pays.

I learned one thing

I want to be honest,
I want to go straight.

Nor would I allow you to stray.

The wounds remain.

There are always dogs who bark,

but lite must go on.

Making a world tour

we make a tour of lite

the scars become invisible

with time.

It Dostoevsky had been director
of a Swiss bank,

it may have been a great loss
for humanity,

but he would have had a good laugh.

Anyway,

you have your future before you

just as I have my past
full of smiles.

Don't worry.

While I'm alive you will want
for nothing.

There are comfortable homes where
you can live out the rest of your days

playing dominos and backgammon.

Can you imagine me living off
your handouts in an asylum?

Putting up with decrepit old men
pinching nurses bottoms?

Should I snigger or laugh out loud?

There are people who die
in the gutter like dogs.

I know.

That's not in my plans.

I'm sure you mean well,

but just where do you get

these Christian ideas?

I'm serious. You refuse to listen.

Really? So much the better.

I'm trembling like a leaf
at your threats.

Meanwhile

perhaps you could hang yourself
with the dosh you stole.

However, I'll give you some
fatherly advice:

Run from society

like the devil from the cross.

The only society you should cultivate
is your own.

All you think of is money.
You should be ashamed of yourself.

You're quite wrong.

I've never wished to live
like a nabob.

I know you can live on a small stipend
but don't give me

those fibs about urban guerrilla
warfare and such other rubbish.

I've given that up.
It wasn't getting me anywhere.

Now I'm involved with financing
ethnic minorities

here and there

so as to mine things from the inside.

Against all fires,

my fire.

Bullshit!

You are the most conservative
and reactionary person I know.

When your contradictions are exposed
they'll raise a laugh,

but I must admit you tooled them all

and so well you even fooled yourself.

'Voici le temps des assassins'.

- I'm amazed.
- It's not a recrimination.

In your own way you are an artist.

You take human beings and transform
them into 'objets d'art'.

You despise everything around you
that you don't create yourself.

Money is essential to satisfy
your monstrous vanity.

"Vanity, vanity all the way."

- Have you quite finished?
- No.

To be frank I must confess I'm broke.

I donated my stolen loot
to a cultural foundation.

That's the honest truth.

Honest truth?

Margaritas ante porous.

Can I believe my ears?

Have I generated a cretin?

You idiot!

Can't you see
they've brain-washed you?

That crowd have coddled
your brain cells.

I think we'd better get some sleep.
Your problem is tiredness.

I'd like to visit the Oceanarium,
but it's closed at this hour.

So many fishes, Jorge!
Come and see the Oceanarium.

Father!

Go and call someone else "father".

The ad was clear.

- Cleaning lady required.
- I can read.

My name is Urraka.

Really! I thought you were
Assurbanipal.

That's what you thought!

Where do we begin?

Does hair cover your body

like an orangutan?

Only on the lace and the lower belly.

The rest is smooth as a baby's bottom.

These are regional differences,

probably due to a hormone imbalance.

I was forgetting

I have underarm hair too.

Lithe lice population covered
the whole body

it could block the sweat glands

and cause difficulty in adapting to
the environment

that not being the case,

new depilatory methods

eliminate uncontrolled outbreaks
of pubescent radicles

without eliminating recourse

to the old pair of scissors

and open razors.

I didn't know.

Information about prophylactic
precaution

is non-existent, as usual.

Now, lets take a trip into the
blackest depths of the forest.

Take off your trousers.

Look, Mr. João,

I'm a Sapphic.

I only like women.

Me too,

I'm a seraphic.

It must be due to my
religious tendencies.

My buttocks are white as snow.

The legs are smooth

and well-turned.

Can it be fixed?

Let me think.

Covering the backside is OK
for "sofrées"

with a border of pearls
and high-heeled shoes.

But it is expensive
and not very practical.

I would suggest

something lighter,
more graceful like.

An overall

or a mini-skin.

What about the pigtail?

I don't know what to tell you.

That's the crux of it.

When I was a baby

my daddy laid me in my cradle

and caressed it softly, softly

till I slept.

Street urchins

pulled it like a cat's tail

or teased me:

"Urraka has a tail

"hanging from her bum.

"In the bum, she gets it.

"The shit of Beelzebub!"

I threw myself on them

and scratched them with rage.

"Don't cut the hair my father combed".

If you weren't a dyke,

I'd make you a lovely plait.

I'd turn it up

and thread it into your cunt.

Seeing you are

I believe that would be an impediment
to frictional practices.

A bandeau?

I wouldn't say no

but it I were you I would not touch
a single hair.

Memories of childhood

are sacred.

What should I do with all this hair?

Throw it away?

No way.

It would do to stuff a pillow

and you could die hugging it.

"Imagine!

I had a cleaning lady

called Adriana

and she was nothing more or less
than you.

You won't make a living here.

Do you know "the King of the Alamos"?

No. I don't know that one.

When he was your age nor did Schubert.

- How old are you?
- I will soon be eleven.

Maybe you will, maybe you won't.

For my pan you will.

I don't know what this is. Hold on.

There's a lot of blood.

Aspirator.

- Pulse and blood pressure OK?
- Yes fine. The patient is stable.

- I don't know what this is.
- The blood is flowing.

The longest forceps won't reach it.

It's huge.

We'll have to open up the sphincter.

Be careful of the blade. Scissors.

Keep well back.

Can you see anything?

Nothing can be seen. Forceps.

The patient's blood pressure
is rising.

More blood.

Hold this end.

I can't see a thing. It's very large.

Pull.

Aspirator.

Something is here. It's big.

Pull hard.

It's stuck. Push here. That's right.

Forceps.
Hurry up, it's coming out at last.

The guards and officers

threw the bodies, out into the street,

entered the temple of Baal,

seized the statue and broke it.

They overturned the stele of Baal
and destroyed the temple,

reducing it to the rubble
which can be seen today.

An Afghan is being interviewed

by a CNN journalist.

Journalist:

"What will you do when
the Americans invade?"

Afghan: "We'll give thanks to Allah

"for sending us the sons of uncle Sam

"so good to eat!"

Journalist:
"They may be a bit indigestible."

Afghan: "Maybe,

"but Allah didn't realize
the meat was pork."

Said one Afghan to his wife:

"What will happen to you
it I'm killed in the war?"

Wife: "Don't worry,

"I'll go to work in MacMamouds."

Lie back, I'm going to give you
your medicine, OK?

It will calm you down.

Right.

Now you can sleep.

Put your leg in.

Can I put the light out?

Mr. Vuvu,

we're going to have to wait
for the pill to take effect

before we can assess your condition.

At present the prognostic is reserved.

The anus, tolerates
tropical fruit well.

Bananas, custard apples, kiwis

and vegetables
such as turnips, carrots,

eggplants, cucumbers, endives

and radishes

but never, under any circumstances

a penis

of the size that was introduced.

"Pas de plaisir sans penis".

Good evening.

Is it good?

Good?

You have to eat to get better.

He eats it all up.

Leaves nothing.

Do you want a drop of water?

Drink it slowly, don't choke.

Oh, Emilia,

can you find me a scrap of chicken
in this soup?

- There isn't any, is there?
- There doesn't seem to be any.

I can't find any.

A drop more?

Do you want to stop for a bit?

You know the doctor hasn't given you
permission to go home.

You're not in a fit state.

I paid my bill,

which I consider exorbitant
for a health service

and assume full responsibility.

I don't owe anything to anyone.

But do you realize what you're doing?
You're killing yourself.

I've never been more lucid in my lite.

It's a lovely day
and I'm not wasting it lying in bed.

I'd rather die in the open air.

I can't bear the smell
of enemas any more.

Have you got anyone
to look after you? Family, friends?

I have no family

and, once and for all

I'm nobody's friend.

What a sad life!

It's an asshole of a lite.

Look, Emilia,

I've enjoyed meeting you,

but I'd enjoy it even more
it you allowed me

to bless you with a fuck before I go.

Do you feel up to it'?

I wouldn't be the first patient
to die of the cure.

- Good morning, Mr. João.
- Good morning.

Where are you, I can't see you.

I'm sitting in a tree over your head.

Doing what?

It's forbidden to climb trees.

I've been picking berries
but they are all dried up.

They're out of season.
Who are you?

I'm Daphne.

I don't know you.

I know you. I see you every day
coming and going.

I hadn't noticed.

I live on the corner
and I'm still flirting.

Strange way to flirt.

You must be fresh.

I'm married. An ordinary marriage

and I have a daughter, Veronica.

Why didn't you bring her?
I'm a devil for fun and games.

She's too small and I didn't want you
to get emotional.

I came alone, for no special reason.

One hand full of nothing,
the other empty.

I'd like to join you,

but with my arse in this state
I can't move,

let alone climb a tree.

Why don't you come down
and sit by my side?

I can only give you my shadow.

"When you meet your sweetheart,
João, don't forget your whip".

Translation Pamela lneichen

Subtitling
Pedro Pévoa/ CRISTBET, Lda.