Filth and Wisdom

When I die, I am going to go

straight to heaven,

and you're going to ask me why.

Did I

pray enough?

No.

Did I share enough?

Not really.

Was I humble enough?

Definitely not.

"So, what makes you so sure you're going

straight to heaven," you ask me.

And I will tell you.

Because I told the truth.

And five, six, seven, eight, and:

Humanity seems to be divided

into two categories.

People trying to be good

and people trying to be bad.

Three, four and five.

Borey, get those back legs under.

But personally, I don't

always see so much difference,

Because if you spend your

whole life as a saint,

eventually you will crave the opposite,

and the filth will appear

as an oasis in the desert.

That was a bit better, but the arms:

Yes, keeping the shoulders down.

But if you'll spend

your life in the gutter,

sooner or later,

you will be searching for wisdom.

Like a pig sniffing for truffles.

Hanky-panky, goddamn bastard.

Filth and wisdom.

They are two sides of the same coin.

And you know

whichever side is facing up

eventually will lead

to your salvation.

In my country, we have a saying:

He who licks the knives

soon will cut his tongue.

So if you want to be saved,

you've got to go to hell first.

Drop and give me 20,

you skinny little f***.

You worthless piece of sh*t.

You're f***ing pathetic.

You'd never make it into

my platoon.

Sir, yes, sir.

What the f*** did you just call me?

Did you tell me to f*** my mother?

No, sir.

Uh-huh.

So you're saying

that my sister is a whore?

Do you know what?

I f***ed your sister

and I f***ed her in the ass.

Lick my boots, you f***ing pencil-dick!

You gotta f***ing lick them!

F***ing disgusting.

Your time is up.

Oh, he is guilty who is not at home.

Thank you.

Can it just be true

that when we tip our head to the left,

the liquids inside run this way,

and so we pretty much think

that sh*t is this way?

Then we tip our head to the right

and the liquids inside flow other way,

and we think

pretty much the opposite?

Or just keep your head all straight,

like dear old Daddy says,

and pretty soon you'll get yourself

a swamp up there.

Take Professor Flynn.

He live on the ground floor.

Andre?

The one and only. Here I come.

- Andre!

He write many books

and has much respect as a poet,

but he sit in darkness and alone.

- What took you so long?

- Come in, come in.

I'll just put away this for you.

- I'm his errand boy.

- Thank you.

At your service any time.

And not in a kinky way.

A little bit noisy upstairs

last night, Andre.

He's got a swamp up there.

Andre?

How many times? My name is A.K.

- Why can't you just call me A.K.?

- I thought we had an arrangement.

Yeah, an arrangement is that

I get paid to be your errand boy.

- Overpaid.

- Overpaid.

- Overpaid.

- Overpaid.

And not that you get to call me a name

that a dog of a father gave to me.

- Stop being so dramatic, Andre.

- But I love dramatic.

And I love words.

There is more to love than words.

For instance?

For instance,

a back of a woman's neck.

Ah.

But you needed words

to tell me that.

Mm? Naughty, naughty, naughty.

Naughty, naughty, naughty.

Touch, professor.

I don't mean to be rude,

but if you love words so much,

how could you stop writing?

The day I stopped seeing

is the day I stopped writing.

Well, then you're just

wasting your talent.

How, may I ask, are you wasting yours?

The last time a man put his hand on me

did not end very nicely.

Strange how every branch has desire

to imitate its root.

Where Rimsky and Korsakov they met

On the Sturm and Drang banquet

Still I miss Carpaty!

Miss Carpaty, miss Carpaty

Miss Carpaty, miss Carpaty

Sojuzivka is the best

Oh, how I miss Carpaty!

Have a nice day, professor.

- Morning, Sardeep.

- Morning, morning. Please hurry.

- We have many bloody customers today.

- Okay.

- Come, come, come.

- Okay.

Okay. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

- Give me a minute.

- All right.

Oh, Juliette.

Bloody hell.

- Thank you.

- Thank you.

Hello.

It'll just be a few moments, okay?

Sardeep.

Hi, Chloe.

- How are you?

- Fine, thanks.

I'm a little busy right now.

- Dad says hello.

- Hello, Dad.

Yeah, he's hoping you'll get sick

of this hideous job,

change your mind about going

to medical school.

Since when did you become his

step-and-fetch-it dog?

I'm not going to medical school.

I want to help people,

not rip them off on Harley Street.

Dad helps people.

Yeah, he has the healing touch.

We both know that.

Juliette?

Thank you. Miss? Excuse me?

Thank you.

Spare change?

Why can't you just let go

of the past?

That's exactly what I'm doing.

I miss you.

Are you all right there, Sar?

Deep in thought, are we, my son?

Hello, Mickey. You all right?

I didn't see you there.

- Good, thank you.

- Just this?

- Yes, please.

- Okay.

Can I? Thank you very much,

and here's your change.

- Thank you.

- And a bag. You want a bag?

- Yes, please.

- Of course you want a bag.

- Your bag.

- Thank you.

- By the way, how is the wife and kids?

- Fine.

Nice, liking your style. Quality.

Ta-da.

Why is everyone obsessed with

these bloody, starving Africans?

Oh, hello.

- I'll have the money by next week.

- Yeah, no worries.

I mean, you know, there's no rush.

Just when you can.

I'm sorry. You know I'd give it to you.

Take Holly, for example.

She's got herself

a swamp there too.

She's beautiful.

She ballet dancing for 16 years.

She is everything I've ever wanted,

but she's broke.

Okay, will someone please tell me

why I still don't have a job?

Maybe I can try. Let's see.

It's not 1800s anymore,

we're not in Russia,

and nobody gives a f*** about ballet.

Heh. Yeah, we're all f***ed.

Heh-heh. Speak for yourself,

f***ing Florence Nightingbird.

I'm this far away from

transcontinental superstardom.

And I'm this far away

from telling the rest of your band

what you do to make money.

- Did you take your medication?

- Yeah, did you?

You know, in my country,

there is a saying:

If you want to reach the sky,

f*** a duck and try to fly.

Listen, blondie pretty girl.

You don't need to lead this

mouth-to-hand existence.

You have a whole cash box

on your body.

A good stripper can make

a lot of dough in just one night.

You have the body for it,

so dance, sweet baby girl.

- You are a vile, disgusting gypsy.

- Yeah, yeah.

I'd never even contemplate

taking my clothes off

for a bunch of dirty old men.

How much?

That's my girl.

I knew you were a filthy slut.

Excuse me, do you know where

I can find Harry Beechman?

Mr. Beechman?

- I'm Beechman.

- Oh.

I'm here for the audition.

We spoke on the phone.

Ah.

You must be Holly.

Enchant, Holly.

Enchant, Holly.

Mmm. Um...

Do you have a costume?

I have a leotard.

Oh, dear.

Knickers and bra will do.

Right. Do you have a changing room?

- No.

- No.

Come on.

That's it, lovely.

Undress for me, Holly.

Hit it, Ade.

That's it.

Ooh.

No. No.

The pole, the pole. Work the pole, dear.

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