De frigjorte Page #3

Denmark wouldn't

have won the EM in soccer.

The Danish labour movement

established popular sports... Hello.

Have you ever heard an employer

come in with a ball and say:

"Stop the machines, boys.

Let's go play. "

Soccer is one of the great merits

of the working class.

Rich people play soccer, too.

- We taught them!

You're far out, dad.

Yes. Drive safely.

I think we'll...

- No. I'll make some coffee.

That Swede hasn't called?

Wasn't that a bit far-fetched

about the soccer?

Yes, but...

I couldn't think of anything else.

If only I could tell her -

- that I'm really afraid of getting

the sack. But she gets so nervous.

If I just mention the kids.

"Oh, how will they get on?"

You're grumbling, Viggo.

You're as silent as the grave.

It makes me so nervous.

Is something wrong, honey?

No, no... no.

She could make

a bit more of herself.

She can buy something.

There's money in the drawer.

Oda, damn it. The female version

of a rusty Skoda.

Oda.

Are you sitting there?

You made me nervous, Viggo.

You're not smoking in the bedroom?

What a mess.

It stays in the curtains.

Go into the living room.

Why are you sitting there

smoking, Viggo?

Answer me

when I'm talking to you.

...come and hand people

white envelopes and...

Can't you just shut up

and leave me alone?

That's the limit.

Put out that smelly cigarette.

It's disgusting.

It's disgusting with that smoke in

the bedroom. What were you thinking?

You look like a bag of sh*t.

That's enough. That's bloody

well enough, you fat bastard!

I'm tired of your grumbling.

It's like being married to ten bags

of cement. I'll tell you something.

If you're so sick of it,

you can leave. It's just one word.

The door is there!

You mean bastard.

A bag... No, no, no.

You're not much of a man, Viggo.

Who do you think you are?

Yes, in your words.

But not in your pants, Viggo.

Put out that smelly cigarette!

But, Viggo, you've been crying.

I'm sorry about what I said.

I didn't mean it.

Did I put in five?

- Hey!

No thanks.

Take it easy.

We don't have anything to do.

No, that's just it.

They haven't sacked anyone for weeks.

Something's wrong here.

Completely wrong.

They won't sack us, man.

They won't throw away gold.

Who'd run our machines?

You talk like the rest

of the lazy Danes.

"Isn't this nice?"

And "What's for dinner?".

Cold p*ssy and cabbage.

- And "We'll win at the racetrack".

The trotting track.

- The trotting track!

Viggo, you're getting

bloody paranoid.

Nothing's going to happen.

Hello? Hello?

Stop the production.

Everyone to the canteen.

I've asked the Chairman

of the Board of the SP Group...

There'll be trouble.

That slimy bastard

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