Mrs. Brown's Boys D'Movie Page #2

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Nice... Nice place, I said. Good place.

Mammy! Get in here.

"Settle in, sweetheart."

I know. I heard.

You wouldn't have to put up with that sh*t

if you worked for yourself.

I'm not taking over the stall!

I'm just saying, wife all I did...

I'm just... I...

I'm just saying!

Didn't hurt.

Come on, Winnie. While it's warm.

- Agnes...

- What?

How come Father Damien always gives you

more penance than he gives me?

Because I've a lot more sins.

No, you don't.

Oh, I do.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

- This box is already in use.

- Winnie, get out.

Not until I've heard your sins.

Father, I'm much more sinful than her.

- What?

- Will you get out, for Jesus' sake?

Mrs Brown' do not take

the Lord's name in vain.

Sorry, Father, I'll add it on

to my list in a minute.

Mammy?

- Father, is that my Cathy?

- I had impure thoughts, Father.

Shut up, Winnie.

Hello, Father Damien.

Hello, Cathy.

Look, if you need to talk...

- Mammy, what is this?

- I can't see.

It's an envelope.

- I robbed a bank.

- A bank?

You did not, Winnie. Shut up!

It's a letter from the tax office.

"Final Notice" it says.

Why haven't you done something about it?

I don't pay tax. I changed

my name to Google.

Look ladies, if you wanna chat,

why don't you go somewhere else?

Shush, Father.

That is a letter about my business,

about my stall,

and you have made it perfectly clear...

It's a demand for a payment.

This is not the place.

Yes, it is.

Apparently my grandmother

owes them?96.

And as the current owner

of the business, I'm liable.

- I had sex with a farm animal.

- What?

A goat.

No, you did not.

Not even a goat would

give her a shag, Father.

That's it! That's it, ladies. Out!

Come on! Out now!

Give me penance. Come on, lay it on me.

Do your worst!

You better take this serious.

Fine. I'll go to the tax

office in the morning.

Mrs McGoogan, are you licking my shoes?

?96.

Even with interest and penalties,

it cant be that bad.

Are you feckin' mad? How much?

Four million Euro.

Four million Euro?

Ah, listen, love, there

must be some mistake.

Jesus, now you've killed her.

How much?

So, I've had quite a large tax bill.

Four million Euro.

But you mustn't worry.

I'm not worrying. It's not my problem.

Your mummy's right.

There's nothing to worry about.

The man in the Revenue Office

said it was probably a mistake.

- When did he say that?

- Just after you passed out.

- But why didn't you tell me?

- You were passed out.

For God's sake, sometimes you're

as useless as a knitted condom.

Well, he said he'd ring you.

Wish me luck.

Hello?

Wish me luck.

Hello? How do you do?

Speaking.

It's him. It is a mistake?

I only owe 3.8 million?

Well, that's a relief.

I won't have to sell the feckin' yacht.

I think you will have to sell the yacht.

- How long have you had a yacht?

- How much is a yacht worth?

I don't have a feckin' yacht!

I know. You go on hunger strike.

Refuse to eat until they cancel the bill.

They'd have to cancel it in 20 minutes.

I'm f***in' starvin'.

I have a better idea.

I get the old unit together.

We blow up the Revenue Office,

then we barricade ourselves in here,

prime the place with booby traps

and take out the first

tax man that comes near.

They'll never take you alive.

Somebody get his feckin' tablets.

What we need is a lawyer, Mammy.

All right, but a cheap one.

Now, I can't make head nor tails of this.

According to this reference number,

you need a licence to import cobra snakes.

That's not a reference number. It's a date.

I said cheap. I didn't

mean this f***ing cheap.

Offer the tax people a euro a week.

Winnie, don't be ridiculous.

I'm not, Agnes.

They might not accept it

but once you make an offer

the courts have to consider it.

She's right.

How do you know all this, Mrs McGoogan?

I worked in the Revenue Office.

You were a tax collector?

Cleaner. But I heard things.

If that's the case,

it'll give us time to set up a fund.

- A fund?

- "The Mrs Brown Defence Fund."

I'm liking this. Who'll be treasurer?

Not you.

Hello, Mrs Brown.

Hello. Can I help you?

Actually, it's me who's here

to help you, madam.

I don't get it. Why would you want

to buy my mother's stall and licence?

My client is a well-known retailer.

Who, I'm sure you'll appreciate,

I'm not at liberty to reveal at this time.

And he sees this as an opportunity

to invest in the community.

30,000 is a lot of money.

Over 200 years is a lot of heritage.

It was my great, great grandmother

that started the stall.

It's been handed down to the eldest girl

in the family ever since.

Since 1802.

The times they are a-changing.

- There's one problem.

- And that is?

Show him the tax letter.

Not a problem.

It's now 3.8 million.

My client brings a lot of investment

and employment to Ireland.

Once we agree the sale,

we can make this go away.

- Really? Just like that?

- Just like that.

Right then. I'll leave that with you.

You have my card.

I'll see you out.

I'm sorry, Granny.

I've let you down.

There's my grandmother.

They were false teeth.

They were a wedding present.

Only If we are united can

we save Moore Street Market.

So, does anyone have a question

for our political representative, Mr lnuin?

Silence!

Now, look, I am here to assure you

that as long as I am the representative

for this constituency,

Moore Street Market is hereto stay!

And now, ladies and gentlemen,

if you will excuse me,

I have some government

business to attend to.

Very good. Thank you.

Lots of shite about nothing.

Living the dream, what?

Living the dream.

Mrs Brown. You came.

I forgot this was even on.

We're just here for a drink, that's all.

But, Agnes, you are the most important

of all the stallholders in Moore Street.

- Well...

- Not for long.

- What? What does she mean?

- Nothing, nothing.

- She's selling her stall.

- Winnie, move.

- Can I have your attention, please?

- Show us your cock!

Shh!

I have an important announcement

concerning Mrs Agnes Brown.

Wife he feckin' saying?

They have won again.

Mrs Brown is selling her stall

and leaving Moore Street.

Sh*t, do something.

Stop it.

I'm thinking about it.

I haven't made a decision yet.

Don't look at me like that!

Wife nothing to do

with Rab's imaginary "them".

I have a tax bill.

I can't afford to pay it. Wife it.

But we all love you, Mrs Brown.

If you cannot pay it' we will all

chip in and help you pay it.

- We are family.

- Yes.

I've no f***ing family in Jamaica.

I'm not Jamaican.

Hands up those that will chip in

to help Mrs Brown.

The tax bill's about four million Euro.

There you are, Rab. Look, Mr Patel...

I don't know, maybe you're right.

Maybe there is a "them,

but it makes no difference.

Exactly. No difference.

Agnes doesn't care who it is. She'll not

leave Moore Street without a fight.

Exactly.

No, wait, wait. Winnie, what the f***

are you... Winnie, get back here!

Did you think for one minute Agnes Brown

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