Original subtitles

(mysterious music)

(masked man grunting)

- Master, this is Mr. Bob Dixon.

- How you doing?

- Not too bad. - Have a seat.

- As I told your assistant,

my wife Chloe's been kidnapped.

- I see.

Did you bring the panties? - I brought a photo of her.

- No, I don't need to see the photograph. I just need the panties.

- [Bob] There you go.

- Thank you.

Blonde?

She is in trouble.

- I know that.

- She's with a man that doesn't love her,

a man that wants to kill her.

Oh, and by the way, congratulations.

- What do you mean?

- Oh, your wife, she's pregnant.

- That's incredible.

A boy or girl?

. BOY-

- Wait a minute, I'm sterile.

- But back to business,

have you spoken to Henry about the pay arrangements?

- [Bob] Yes, I have.

- Okay, then.

Look, leave this with us

and don't worry at all,

we'll give you a call when she's back.

- [Bob] But do you think you'll find her?

- We'll find her.

(speaking foreign language) (gentle music)

- Let's get cracking, John,

before I get any older.

(gentle music)

Take the next exit.

What brand do you smoke, boy?

- I don't smoke.

It's a filthy habit.

(gentle music)

(men grunting) (knife stabbing)

- That was 12 for my 12.

Come on, John, take me home.

I have a son to make.

(mysterious music) - Late.

Fuckers are late.

- Look, I need to take a piss.

- Just keep a lookout, all right?

I don't appreciate surprises.

When he shows up, I'm gonna be ready.

You know what to do?

- Sure. - Show me.

- I remember. - Show me, Duke.

(blows whistle)

Not bad.

- Give me a kiss.

- Hey fucker, I already spoke to you about that.

Keep your filthy mouth off her.

God knows where it's been.

If those towel heads

even get a whiff that she's damaged goods,

they'll turn their fucking ship back and go straight back to the oil fields.

And if they do that,

I'll ring your fucking neck.

The blonde is my ticket to Mexico,

and no one fucks with a man's dream.

I don't care if you're my brother.

Now go and relieve Duke, he needs a piss.

You're gonna love them towel head porno movies, babe.

And them towel heads are sure gonna love you.

And you, remember,

when you hear this (blows whistle)

it's lights, camera, fucking action

until I say cut.

And get that fucking shit out of your mouth.

It's unladylike.

(spits out gum)

- There was a time when 10 o'clock meant fucking 10 o'clock.

- Toilet break!

Hey, hey, what about the whistle?

- Get your own fucking whistle.

(unzipping pants)

(fly buzzing)

(scissors snipping) (Duke screaming)

(gunfire blasting)

- The Masturbating Gunman, he's here?

(intense music)

(Sexy music)

(man grunting)

(gunfire blasting)

(thunder clapping)

- It's okay, your husband sent me.

(hopeful music)

- Skull, skull, skull, skull, skull, skull!

(door opens)

- Fools.

Failed humans, all.

The detritus that the employment agencies shipped to me

in the thrust

to rebuild your humanity.

Pathetic.

But you don't understand me.

You are in the domain of slaves.

Consumption,

that is all you know.

Filling your bodies with pollutants.

Alas, you need me,

for you are all but lost.

You need a navigator.

And my son, he will come.

He will lead you.

He will be a God,

a perfect being,

something that has not been for 2,000 years.

Your mission is to find me a virgin,

a woman who will be the vessel

for the passage of my lineage.

A virgin with a womb that has not been defiled,

that has not been polluted by beer drinking,

cigarette smoking, party loving,

tabloid reading degenerates such as yourselves.

He will carry my bloodline into eternity

and save us all

from damnation and destruction

in that hot place.

So venture forth,

each and every one of you,

and bring me the mother of my son.

I shall be going fishing on the weekend.

When I return with my catch,

I expect you to return with yours.

Any questions?

Yes, you in the mask.

- I haven't been paid for three months, Mr. Gunter.

- Haven't been paid for three months?

(laughs)

You should pay me.

You should be thankful.

You should be on your knees

begging me for an extension on your mortality

for one more day.

You should be thankful to me

that I am giving you the chance to live,

to be part of my grand plan.

- But I need to eat, sir,

I've got a family.

- Whatever you have, sunshine, it is not a family.

It is a genetic dung heap.

And you should refrain

from any further intercourse

before you cause any more trouble.

But that's enough pettiness for one morning.

Okay, go forth and bring me the mother of my child.

(birds squawking)

- Master, this is Mr. Bob Dixon.

- Yeah, I know.

- [Chloe] Bob! - Chloe!

- Just one moment.

Now that we've returned your wife to you,

there's a little matter of a tip to be discussed.

- A tip?

- I believe Henry spoke to you on the phone about a tip.

- No.

- I always get my tip-

(whimsical classical music)

Jesus, fuck.

(dark music)

- You call this a problem, John?

The black market in school girl panties

no longer exists, sir.

They're selling them out of vending machines.

School girls are being paid by the government

to sell panties.

Tabletop dancing is no longer illegal.

They're teaching it in schools.

The university offers a master's degree

in sexual exhibitionism.

We had to close the clubs down.

Every wife, mother and daughter

is a budding table top dancer.

Table builders are making a killing.

The company's broke, sir.

I can't pay the men.

It's been 12 years, sir.

Times have changed.

(laughs)

- But you haven't, Johnny.

You still worry too much.

(laughs)

You should look ahead to the future.

We Germans and the Japanese have a saying:

We will get it right next time, yeah?

(laughs)

In nine months time, my son will be born.

Your worries and everybody's worries will be over.

- They have families.

- Oh, fuck their families.

A million families are not worth one drop of my semen,

or one drop of my son's blood.

Money comes and money goes,

but my son and I come only once in a lifetime.

And now is the time for me

to cum like the blitzkrieg.

(clock ticking)

- All right, one more time.

Try those.

- Thank you, master.

She's blonde.

Yeah, she's blonde...

and short...

and she's got schizophrenia.

- You idiot.

How many times do I have to tell you?

What did you forget at the start, huh?

What did you forget? - I don't know, master.

- You forgot your nasal spray, didn't you?

How many times have I told you

you have to clean out your sinuses

to get the full essence?

And blonde, she's a brunette.

And she's not short, she's tall.

And she has kleptomania.

- I'm sorry, master. - You're sorry?

You know what your problem is? You don't associate with women enough

in any way, shape or form.

Have you watched any of those pornos I gave you?

No.

Have you gone to any of those prostitutes I recommended?

- No. - And why not?

- They scare me, master.

- Well overcome that fear, will ya?

Mr. Nikkatsu did not let me see, smell or touch a woman,

or the image of a woman, for 10 years.

And that's why I'm in such hell now.

And I don't want you to go down that road that I've been down.

I can't stress that strongly enough, one porno, one prostitute a day.

It's so vital.

(mysterious music)

How are you?

- Fine.

- I've got some more money for you.

- I don't need your money.

- The orphans need it though.

- You know how I feel.

- It's like mom always said,

it's not where the money comes from,

it's what you do with it.

Take it.

- Thanks.

- I'll see you later.

(gentle music)

(goats bleating)

(gentle music)

(goats bleating)

(gentle music)

(ominous music)

(slaps face)

(ominous music)

- Not a single virgin

in a city of one and a half million women.

Awful.

Outrageous.

I put it to you,

you are not looking hard enough.

Tell me I'm wrong.

- [Male] We looked everywhere, sir.

We turned the town upside down and inside out.

There isn't a single virgin left.

- Well, look harder.

(gunfire blasting) (man grunting)

Next time, I'm inclined to build a coffin

for the rest of you,

for this unacceptable delay in finding me a virgin.

But I'm feeling kind.

I'm feeling charitable.

You have 24 hours

to find me the mother of my son.

Any questions?

- May I remove my balaclava, sir?

It's hot in here.

- No, you certainly may not.

If you re-read the conditions of your employment,

especially the small print,

it says a condition of your employment

is that the wearing of balaclavas

will be undertaken 24 hours a day.

The shameless parading of one's naked face

only encourages ugliness and reckless procreation.

Besides, all good criminals wear balaclavas.

- But sir, George never wears his balaclava.

- Yes, well George is a special case.

His father was my best friend.

And besides, George is a good looking boy.

Here, our last bit of training.

At the sound of my clap,

you'll all go

and find me that virgin.

(claps hands)

(whimsical classical music)

- Jesus, fuck.

(whimsical classical music)

(ominous music)

- Fucking don't move.

(ominous music)

- You have been so understanding, so patient.

Incarceration was no holiday in the Mediterranean for you.

But soon,

soon, my purple-headed friend,

you will be ready to sow your seed.

(laughing)

Oh, yeah.

(laughing)

- Sir, she's here.

- Ah, ah.

(zips pants)

(laughs)

- First night jitters I'm afraid, boy.

Well, how does the old man stand up?

- Like an apple pie, sir,

like a sweet crusty apple pie cooling on a country window.

(laughs)

- Well, we must not keep the lady waiting.

Let us go.

(ominous music)

An angel from heaven.

Welcome to my humble sanctuary, Sister Mary.

My name is Helmut Gunter.

Ah, your prayers do not have the strength

to penetrate these walls,

and your God has forsaken you.

He has delivered you here to my ministry.

You are indeed fortunate.

You have been chosen to conceive, to carry,

to bring to term

and to deliver the new Christ, my son.

Lock her up, boys.

Post a guard outside her cell.

Outside, I repeat, not inside.

I don't want your eyes polluting her virtue.

(phone ringing)

(punching)

(phone ringing)

- Hello?

Is that you, Henry?

No, I can't hear you.

Just a minute.

What's up?

(grunting)

My sister's been kidnapped?

Are you sure, Henry?

(gunfire blasting)

Henry, put the kettle on, I'm on my way back.

(men grunting)

(ominous music)

All right, you're not fooling anyone with that.

What's this shit about my sister?

- I got a call she's been kidnapped.

- Kidnapped, are you shitting me?

Who the hell would kidnap a nun, for Christ's sake?

Where, where did this happen? - At the church just down the street.

- Well, that's where I'm going.

- I want to come with you. - I've told you my position on that.

You stay here and man those phones.

- There's only one phone, master.

- Then man that one phone, for Christ's sake.

(dark music)

(birds squawking)

(mysterious music)

This guy's a fucking maniac.

He's got connections all around the world to cult leaders.

He thinks he's God,

he's completely fucking nuts.

The man's got no decency or shame.

Right, that's it.

I'm not gonna be back until I've found her. Get out of my way.

Get out of my way.

Jesus fucking Christ.

- I want to come with you.

- I've told you before, you're not ready.

And I'm not gonna risk your life.

- Well, what else can I do?

- You can man the phone, boy.

- There's two phones now.

- Well, man both of them, you fucking moron. And get cracking.

- Master, why do you treat me like rubbish?

- It's for your own good, boy, you're too soft.

And you want to talk about being treated like rubbish?

Let me tell you about Mr. Nikkatsu.

Instead of getting me an alarm clock,

he used to wake me up every morning by stabbing me in the chest.

For my birthday, he'd cover me in tar

and pour acid down my throat.

And for Christmas,

he used to beat me with a tire iron

and half strangle me.

He was cruel but fair.

Come here, boy.

Come here.

I don't know what you're complaining about.

I treat you a hell of a lot better than the way Mr. Nikkatsu ever treated me.

Have I ever once done this, or this, or this?

- Master?

- What?

- Why'd you ever take me on as your apprentice?

- 'Cause you reminded me of myself at your age.

I felt sorry for you.

(gentle music)

(train blowing)

(gentle music)

- You must put the past behind you, sister.

Erase it from your consciousness.

You have no history.

Before me, you never existed.

All that has been is irrelevant, non-existent.

You only exist for the future,

to bear my son.

John!

Tie this woman up,

she talks too much.

Your body and your mind are mine,

for my son.

(gentle music)

(man grunting)

(gentle music)

(ominous music)

- This woman is wearing no panties.

A nun!

She's wearing no panties.

Who relieved her of her panties?

You know I live to do that.

- Maybe she doesn't wear panties, sir.

- A nun who doesn't wear panties?

Ridiculous thing I have ever heard.

- Perhaps she took them off deliberately, sir.

Maybe she needed to take a wee in a hurry.

- Speculation.

- Maybe she needed to remove them in a hurry for someone.

- What do you mean?

- Being a nun,

the only reason she'd take them off

is if she wanted somebody to find them.

And the only person she'd want to find them would be...

Oh my God.

- Spit it out boy, what is it?

- Sister?

What is your second name?

- I am Sister Mary van Hootin.

- Sir, she's the sister of the famous Masturbating Gunman.

- What?

- He could ruin everything, sir.

- I have heard of this Masturbating Gunman.

Behind bars, he is something of a legend,

but he is not indestructible.

They say he must jerk before he does his work.

Well, we will give him plenty of reasons to jerk,

then we will kill him.

Call my friend Dino, John, from Pubic Pictures,

and tell him to send over some of his very best girls.

And get a pair of panties for Sister Mary, pink ones.

A nuclear strike, a Churchill tank,

an angry housewife

or the Masturbating Gunman,

will not stand in the way

of the son of Helmut Gunter.

(ominous music)

- No!

(dark music)

- Hey sister, what are you doing?

Praying it doesn't hurt?

I'll tell you something,

they reckon he's hung like a fucking mule.

(ominous music)

- Why don't you take off your mask, soldier?

I'd like to see your face.

- I can't do that.

It's the rules.

- Only a pussy would follow rules like that.

Are you a pussy, soldier?

- I ain't no fucking pussy.

- Take off your mask.

- Not bad.

I want you inside me,

but you'll have to untie me first.

(ominous music)

Oh, that's much better.

Okay, let's fuck.

(man grunting)

So you like my holy hole, handsome?

- Yeah, oh yeah.

- Well, tell your friends I love men in masks.

(man grunting) (ominous music)

- Bless you, sister.

(ominous music)

(gentle music)

(ominous music)

- What the hell did you do with my fucking piece?

I saw you looking at it yesterday.

- I didn't touch your fucking piece.

Mine's gone too.

- Hey, anyone seen my Beretta?

(ominous music)

- Good morning, sister.

I hope you slept well.

How about some breakfast?

Looks delicious

and full of fiber.

And fruit has no fat.

After tonight, you will be eating for two.

Yes

- Sir, the girls have arrived.

- Ah, excellent.

But remember, if I see even a hint of a mustache

on any of them,

I'll hold you personally responsible.

Only a gay man would jerk off to a woman with a mustache.

Ah, you look refreshed, sister.

Life with Helmut Gunter must be agreeing with you, yeah?

(gunfire blasting)

- The Masturbating Gunman is here.

- Quick, get the men into position.

(gunfire blasting)

(man yelling)

(ominous music)

(gunfire blasting)

(ominous music)

- Whoa, tits!

(ominous music)

(man grunting)

(ominous music)

- I've given you everything I've got,

you Nazi bastard.

Wait a minute.

(man yelling)

(gunfire blasting)

- That's my boys,

they like their work.

(wall exploding) (ominous music)

(gunfire blasting)

(Sexy music)

(grunting)

(ominous music)

(gunfire blasting)

(ominous music)

(Sexy music)

(grunting)

(ominous music)

(Sexy music)

(grunting)

Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well.

So this is the Masturbating Gunman?

(laughs)

I am trying to organize a firing squad,

and you tell me that the only gun we have

to do the firing squad is his gun?

- Yes, sir.

Our guns have all disappeared.

- Disappeared?

- Yes, sir.

- What one must endure

to have a baby around here.

I only hope it gets easier when he is born.

(sighs)

Very well,

we'll have to use the one gun.

One gun!

Some fucking firing squad.

(ominous music)

(throwing up)

What sort of a gunman

throws his gun at the enemy?

A stupid gunman maybe, an idiot perhaps,

but not a man deserving of the legend.

Your sister will be remembered,

for she will be the mother of my son,

but not you.

You are yesterday's news already,

discarded, forgotten,

yellow around the edges and dead.

Go ahead and grope your organs, boy.

You're heading for extinction anyway.

Your legend, like most legends,

is undeserved,

media created,

an illusion.

(laughs)

A fitting climax for both of us.

You are not a gunman.

You are nothing.

Now you no longer exist.

(grunting)

(yelling)

Prepare to die.

- That's enough.

(upbeat music)

- What are you doing?

What's going on here?

(nun moaning)

You're not a virgin.

You tricked me.

(gunfire blasting)

(hopeful music)

- I'm cured.

- I never stopped praying for you.

Mom would've been so proud.

- Master!

- No Henry, let him go.

He's suffered enough.

(whimsical classical music)

(ominous music)