Lenten night out always beats 'Nude Nuns with Big Guns'
Published 03/03/2014 | 02:30
The name of the movie was 'Nude Nuns with Big Guns' and this week it was screened on one of the Horror channels, to the east of Sky Movies.
Half-naked nuns shot people with big moustaches and Mexican accents. The Mexicans were nearly all low types but beyond that I cannot tell you any more about the plot because so far as I could see there was none, if you pardon the pun.
I think there were motorbike gangs involved. I was channel hopping so it's possible I landed in the wrong spot but I'm nearly certain about the bikes because there was a gang dressed in leather gear and they were driving motorbikes.
There was violence, sex and a lot of roaring and screeching.
Memo to the Director of Consumer Affairs: if you're reading, the title should be investigated as being false advertising. The Nude Nuns with Big Guns were only half-naked although I only watched the movie in snatches.
There has to be someone else we can complain to, in that it must be very annoying for Mexicans living in Ireland to have to endure the constant portrayal of their countrymen as a bunch of baddies with Dali moustaches, ruining bikes, whipping dappled horses, shooting pale, scared gringos and laughing in victims' faces with sets of rotten teeth or teeth as white as batch loaves and always shaking down the poor for protection money, and they're all called Pedro and they spit really gooey snots after eating goat legs with their grubby hands and a million other stereotypes. That's a bit long.
If you're thinking of buying the DVD, the genre is probably sex-mex.
There were about 20 other late-night channels showing topless girls who were dying to talk to lonely lads on the phone. A great way that of sorting out rural isolation. There must be some take for The Chatty Girls as there's a dedicated Irish phone line with a little tricolour on the side. I know, I know. I can hear the emails whistling through the air. "Pearse would turn over in his grave, with only 11 months to go before the 100th anniversary of the Rising." The Chatty Girls will tell you there are different kinds of risings for €1.98 a minute (inc VAT).
I know what you're thinking. There he was watching The Chatty Girls when Herself walked in and he, he being me, says "ah sure I was only doing the bit of research for the old column". And then he, me, had to write a piece about The Chatty Girls and The Nude Nuns with their big huge guns.
Not so. Not so. There was no unannounced entry. It was genuine, bona fide research. My feelings towards The Chatty Girls sort of reminds me of the story of a friend who was getting on a bit. He had an unsolicited knock on his hotel bedroom door from a Lady of the Night. The old boy answered and politely declined her offer with "it's nourishment I'm looking for girl, not punishment".
The Italians get an even tougher time. Ads for pizzas often have a Mafia theme with a Godfather speaking in a dodgy Marlon Brando accent. The poor Italians living here must cringe. There's even a pizza brand named after a Mafia movie and a chipper in Limerick bears the Godfather film livery.
The Irish in Britain wouldn't stand for any targeting of Irish people, and rightly so. The Italians I know have no connection whatsoever with the Mafia. Anyway, the Italian Mafia seem to have little interest in shaking down anyone here, what with the already saturated market and the high taxation.
What if we were shown up on Mexican or Italian TV? Maybe as drunken Paddies dancing with Leprechaun headpieces and connected beard and drinking pints of the black stuff and fighting and getting sick. Although, come to think of it, that may not be too inaccurate on occasions such as St Patrick's Day and a good many Saturday nights.
There's hope, though, through repentance and sacrifice. Tomorrow is the last day before Lent. In Rio, the Brazilians celebrate with a big, spectacular carnival and the party goes on all night with Samba dancing, fancy dress, deadly fun, singing and carousing.
In Ireland we stuff ourselves with pancakes and get all guilty about getting fat. Fat guilt is the new guilt now that old-fashioned Catholic guilt over talking to The Chatty Girls is a thing of the past. Give up 'The Chatty Girls' for Lent.
Or go to a play. I had the massive honour of launching the programme for the Western Drama Festival in Tubbercurry last week.
My Dad did the opening in 1975. The first ever amateur drama festival took place in Tubbercurry, fully 70 years ago. What a lovely time we had in Nathy's Bar. There was singing, playacting, storytelling and poetry. There are still havens of civilisation left in this country but you have to look.
So give up your oul sins, then. The play is the thing. A Lenten night out at a drama festival always beats a night in with The Chatty Girls and 'The Nude Nuns with The Big Guns'.
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