Aaltra Page #3

Testdriving the Husqvarna automatic.

The only one in motocross history.

You don't need

a license to ride it.

You and your bikes.

F*** it, I'm fed up.

Don't you understand

you'll never ride?

You told me it's all over!

Finished!

Your dreams, your champions.

That Joel Robert kicked you around

like a piece of sh*t.

Joel Robert would never say that.

Do you know who Joel Robert is?

- No.

He was the world champion

motorcross six times.

Between 1962 and 1972.

He's allowed to treat me like sh*t.

I am sh*t next to him,

so are you, so is everyone.

Even worse:
we're dead.

- You're dead. I'm alive.

I'm alive. I'm hungry and cold

and want to smash everything.

What's your problem?

Hitting a handicapped guy!

I don't want to hit you.

I want to go to Finland.

F*** off!

- Piss off to Finland!

Hey, there's another one!

We can't leave him here.

- Please, it's our holidays.

Why not?

- Honey, I'm not Mother Teresa.

Let someone else give him a lift.

- But we can't leave him there.

Honey, you don't know what he's like,

he could be a criminal.

A criminal? Don't make me laugh.

- We've already lost half an hour

No, no, keep driving.

Such friendly people.

Where did you get that?

The fridge of those friendly people.

I've had enough of it.

They drank all our liquor.

They are drunk as a fiddler.

They ate all our food.

Are you bringing them home too?

- But they're handicapped.

I don't want to hear another

word about it. Let's go.

Our father who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy name,

thy kingdom come...

on earth as it is in heaven...

What were the words again?

I think it's fading.

Bastard!

Listen to this.

Hakan Carlqvist,

World Champion of 1988.

It's about Namur,

where we've been.

Namur is excellent for pranks.

At one point the road

passes a bar,

called Le Chalet du Monument.

Often did I envy the

spectators...

sitting in the shade,

while we were nearly melting

on our bikes.

Before the game I told my brother

to order me a beer in that bar.

If I had the time I would

drink the beer in a later round.

And I did. I came out with a

beer moustache. Wonderful.

Those were the days.

Can you imagine Michael Schumacher

pulling over for a beer?

Cut it... the sausage.

What's that?

Finland.

Me, to Finland.

I didnt have my accident there

but I want to go to Finland.

No sauce?

- No sauce.

None?

It's OK.

Now you can buy

the Husqvarna bike...

and win every Grand Prix.

Come on.

F***ers.

Do you think we're retarded?

Here we come.

Which of you a**holes

built my trailer?

They can't hear you

with their helmets on.

Give us back our legs!

Give us back our legs

you f***ers!

Did you build my trailer?

Sure, just pretend you're working.

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