Nymphomaniac: Vol. II Page #4

but that it's not

the kind of addiction

that can't be treated.

They have some groups.

I know about these kinds of groups.

I don't have anything to

say to a psychologist.

I'm not suggesting therapy.

I'm demanding it.

Even if you leave us, it'll

be the same at your next job

and the one after that.

My name is Joe...

Hi, Joe.

And I'm a nymphomaniac.

Sex addict.

My name is Joe and

I'm a nymphomaniac.

We say sex addict.

Here everyone's the same.

You should only speak when

you feel you have to.

What you're saying is that

no one can remove their sexuality

even though it's destroying

everything for them.

I wouldn't say no one.

But let's say, at most,

one in a million

manage to live a life

without sexuality.

But you can't be

basing your therapy

- ...on that one in a million.

- No.

The first and most important step

is to remove incentive

and to reduce exposure.

You have to ask yourself what

kind of incentives you have

and then make it difficult for yourself

to come into contact with them.

Basically anything that

makes you think about sex.

Joe has something

she'd like to share.

My name is Joe...

Hi, Joe.

And I'm a sex addict,

but I haven't had sex for

three weeks and five days.

Tell us how you did it, Joe.

- You brought notes?

- Yes.

"Dear everyone,

don't think it's been easy,

but I understand now

that we are all alike."

Are you okay, Joe?

Yes yes.

Would you like a glass of water?

Thank you.

Would you rather

share another time?

No, I'd like to speak.

Dear everyone,

don't think it's been easy,

but I understand now

that we're not

and never will be alike.

I'm not like you,

who fucks to be validated

and might just as well give

up putting c*cks inside you.

And I'm not like you.

All you want is to be filled up, and

whether it's by a man or by tons

of disgusting slop

makes no difference.

And I'm definitely not like you.

That empathy you claim

is a lie,

because all you are is

society's morality police,

whose duty is to erase my obscenity

from the surface of the earth

so that the bourgeoisie

won't feel sick.

I'm not like you.

I am a nymphomaniac,

and I love myself for being one.

But above all,

I love my c*nt

and my filthy, dirty lust.

Watch out

you might get what you're after

cool, babies

strange, but not a stranger

I'm an ordinary guy

burning down the house!

What just happened?

I didn't get that...

With the car that burned.

No, I'm sorry.

I was just in too much of a hurry

to get to the last chapter.

I understood that society

had no room for me,

and I had no room for society

and never had.

I'm sure it was quite

natural for you

to furnish your room

as a monk's cell,

but as an inspiration for

the story chapter headings,

it hasn't been easy.

There's simply nothing

left for me to use.

Well, I'm sorry about that.

But if I may, I can give you a tip.

Yes, please.

You know, I occupy

myself mostly with text,

but sometimes the

text can seem so...

So empty, so unfathomably empty.

It could be the best text

by the most famous author.

The solution might be to

change your point of view.

I-I don't get that.

Things hide...

When they become familiar.

But if you look at them

from another angle,

they might take on a new meaning.

You're right.

Before this was just

the stain from the tea I threw.

Can you see what it could be?

A revolver.

No, a revolver has a

drum that revolves.

It's a pistol.

Can you see what kind it could be?

No, I don't remember

anything like that

from my literature.

Oh, but it's something I

can remember from mine.

Ian Fleming.

Not familiar.

If you haven't read that, you

haven't read anything at all.

This could be, with a

little imagination,

a Walther P.P.K. Automatic,

the same gun that

was issued to bond

after his preferred pistol,

the Beretta, had jammed.

Is that something you can use?

Oh yes, it is.

Burning down the house!

Hold tight

wait till the party's over

hold tight...

Whether I left society,

or it left me, I cannot say.

I suppose you could make an

argument for both sides.

Burning down the house!

I was on my way to the shady side

of the debt-collecting business,

which among other

things involved stuff

like burning people's cars.

I had for a long time

known about this man, L.

Hi, my name is Joe.

I know that.

Come in.

I'm looking for a job.

I've been working in an office,

and I was never really good at it.

I can understand that.

I mean,

what's the point?

I believe I possess

some qualifications

and that I'm rather unscrupulous.

I know all about

your qualifications

and they're excellent.

I would suggest

that you start your

own little business

with my help.

I understand

you possess a great deal of insight

about a rather broad

spectrum of men.

This could be... or should

be capitalized on.

I need sub-contractors who can put

moderate pressure on individuals

with whom my clients

rightly or wrongly

have a bone to pick.

Understand?

Extortion.

No.

No no no no.

I always prefer the term

"debt collection."

- Yeah.

- I refrain from judging

whether my clients' wishes

are legitimate or otherwise.

A point of view

I strongly recommend you follow.

My main qualification of course

was my considerable

experience with men and sex.

But even my more specialized

skills came in handy.

No, now this is not how it goes.

You have to wait until you're hit.

The two helpers that L had

recommended were okay,

but they were predisposed to a

rather repetitive technique,

which consisted of creating

as much havoc as possible

with a pair of iron bars.

Destroying your things doesn't

seem to have much effect on you.

Here was a man

I was unable to read sexually,

so I became persistent.

Tie him to the chair.

Don't hurt him.

I can't find a stain on you,

but my experience tells me

that no man is spotless.

Luckily, you're equipped

with a very reliable

truth-detector.

I'm going to tell

you a few stories.

All you have to do is listen.

You're in a bar

watching a couple...

I now meticulously went

through the catalog

of sexual deviations

in fictional form.

Stories about sadomasochism,

fetishism, homosexuality,

you name it.

But he didn't react.

And I'd almost given up

on your way home, you

walk through the park.

And something makes you stop.

You hear something.

Yes, that's it.

You can hear the children

on the playground.

You sit on a bench nearby

and watch them play.

There's a little boy in shorts.

He's playing in the sandpit.

He looks at you

with his blue eyes.

He smiles at you.

I think he comes to you.

He sits on your lap

and looks up at your face.

He says

he'd like to come home with you.

At home you can't fight the idea

of being naked together.

He crawls all over you.

- You get an erection.

- Won't you please stop?

He lies on his stomach.

You pull down his pants.

I'll pay!

You did what?

I gave him a blowj*b.

Why?

That pig?!

- I took pity on him.

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