Max, do you have any gum?
My breath tastes like someone else's breath.
Asking me if I have any gum?
That's like asking New Jersey if it has any sluts.
Great. There were onions in my street meat.
Listen to me, "onions in my street meat."
Last year I was taking meetings on wall street.
This year I'm eating meat from the street by a wall.
Let's see. Phone, chapstick.
A pill. Could be birth control, could be ecstasy.
Waiting for a day off to find out.
Why wait?
If I start touching your hair in an hour, don't let me have sex with anyone.
Max, what's this? It's addressed to Max's homemade cupcakes.
I thought that was just the thing I wrote the new pizza place info on.
It's a $200 check from that office party we did.
Max's homemade cupcakes in type!
No way! I've never been typed out before.
I've been "cash," I've been "sweaty 20s pushed into my palm"...
But I've never been typed!
We's all grown up! We's legit!
Listen up, diner. I just hit the big time. No more serving up slop to you lowlifes!
So everybody can suck it. My waitress days are over.
- Can I get some more coffee? - Sure.
Earl, what are you doing?
Employees are not allowed to drink diner liquor.
Now, hold up, han. It's April 16th. Do you know what day tomorrow is?
Oh, of course. Happy Martin Luther King day.
- Enjoy a drink on me. - It's not Martin Luther King day.
Black people are allowed to be excited about other days too, you know.
Is there a new Tyler Perry movie coming out?
No, Kim jong il, it's tax day.
And I always treat myself to a Brandy while I do my taxes...
Because I need to be drunk when I see that refund amount.
Chicken breast, side of hot sauce.
Breast? Hot sauce? Come on, it's right there.
Max, now that I have big love for Sophie...
I no longer say inappropriate sexual things to other women.
I save all my hot sauce for her breasts.
Love has made you a real old lady.
Here you go, Brandy man. Enjoy.
Got a stamp? I want to drop this in the mail on my way home.
- I have one in my purse. I'll get it. - Max, he wants to file this year.
He doesn't have time for the search party to go into your purse and return.
It's a purse. It's supposed to be messy.
No, it's supposed to be a purse...
Not a retirement home for a pair of panties stuck to old life savers.
I'm kind of off my meal now.
I have a stamp right here, Earl. There, see? Order versus chaos.
Also known as ocd versus "oh, here's a cd I forgot I had."
Would you prefer a flower, flag, or a love stamp?
I don't care which. I want to get these taxes in the mail before the deadline.
- Earl, you do your own taxes? - I surely do.
Proud to say I haven't missed a year since 1950...
When I had my first job as frank Sinatra's ball boy.
Ball boy? Was he a good tennis player?
No, darling, he didn't play tennis. The job was washing his balls.
And that was good work for those times.
Do you mind if! Look to see if I can increase your return?
Do you, wharton. Do you.
At first glance, I see you shortchanged yourself on some deductions.
There's 500 right there. Sign this now and I'll save you what I can...
And then drop it in the mail tomorrow.
Max, look at this. Blond ambition here has just saved me $500.
- Really? That's pretty cool. - Oh, there's another 100.
No way. That's awesome.
Ding, ding, ding. It's like I'm winning the slots...
Without being surrounded by those pissed-off ladies with emphysema.
How'd you not know there was a check in your purse?
It just got mixed in.
Who still sends important stuff through the mail these days?
What are we, pioneers?
No, we're businesswomen and we need to keep track of every penny.
Should we frame it and hang it on the wall?
That way, when we're two billionaire bitches who hate each other's guts...
We can look at the check and remember.
- Max, I'll never hate your guts. - You don't know. Business pressure.
Caught me sleeping with your husband.
Anger about your bad face-lift.
Oh, honey, I will never have a bad face-lift.
I've been collecting names of good doctors since I was 11...
And I was terrified by my piano teacher whose nose was suddenly here.
That's pretty cool of you to do Earl's taxes for him.
I'm happy to. After all, finance is my field of expertise.
Yeah, it's pretty cool. You know all that stuff.
Helpful hints and whatnot.
Cripes, what more do I have to do?
Rouge my boobs and stand in a storefront window in Amsterdam?
You gonna help me with my taxes or not?
Max, I don't know if it's a good idea. I've seen your purse.
I can only imagine your taxes.
Can you let go of the purse? It's just a messy bag.
It's not like I lost your child in the outback.
It's symptomatic. Here, look at my purse.
You know what? Never mind. It's too late for a purse smack-down.
For the record, even if you win now, my purse will kick your purse's ass later.
After it's spent two weeks learning your purse's schedule.
Organized, clean, perfect. Look.
Just look at it. Look at it, Max, it won't bite.
Who are you? My mother's third boyfriend?
And truthfully, before I saw that check, I wasn't even going to file.
But now that our business is getting real, I should get real about my finances.
I mean, when we are two billionaire bitches...
I don't want the government to swoop in and Wesley snipe us for back taxes.
Okay, great. We'll do it tomorrow.
And I promise, no more purse slams, starting now.
Who's that?
CNN. They found a 34th Chilean miner in your purse.
Okay, okay, starting now.
Who is it?
Sophie: Kim Kardashian.
No, I'm not Kim Kardashian.
No, I work for a living.
Hey, Sophie. You come down for your cupcake nightcap?
Yeah, thank you, Max.
But tonight I'm going to take two, because I'm getting ready to date...
And I want to get back to my fighting weight.
What do you mean, you're getting ready to date again?
Oh, well, there are some really cute new guys down at the Polish club and...
Oh, my gosh. Uh, one in particular...
Is like a cross between, uh, vin diesel and Viggo mortensen.
Yeah, so rich and handsome, you almost don't notice the wheelchair.
Hard to resist a man in New York who's got his own ride.
- _|'m sorry, I don't mean to pry... - Oh, then don't.
It's just, what about you and Oleg? He thinks you two are a couple.
A couple? No, this is crazy talk.
I mean, yes, we've had some hot, dirty sex in a few kitchens and toilets...
And on the floor of a sandwich shop in the subway.
Plus twice we did it like dogs on the hallway stairs...
And on every smooth surface in my apartment, but, I mean, come on.
I mean, that's it. I'm a lady.
Sophie, I can't believe I'm about to say this...
But for Oleg, it's not just about sex. He feels things for you.
I know for a fact he's buying you a special gift. Tell her, Max.
Well, he mentioned something about a fur and tonight...
When he was talking about you, he did use the word "love."
"Love"? Oh, come on, don't ruin my cupcake buzz.
I mean, this man has no future.
Yes, he does have a giant penis, but no future.
I mean, I worked hard to get where I am.
I need a man who has a dream and a drive.
And I can buy a big, giant penis online for $47.
Really? "Add to cart."
You have to tell him you're not interested in going any further.
Oh, all right. Don't worry, I will.
Yeah. I mean, I need this man in my life like I need breast implants.
Which is, like, not at all. Right?
Here's another w-2, h&r blond.
Thank you.
Max, you worked at a Mexican restaurant in long island city?
Oh, my god, don't be so judgmental.
Mira, look.
I just found a receipt for shoe insoles and double-stick tape.
- Work expense. - Again, senorita, not a write-off.
Like when you asked if you could claim your pot dealer...
- As an entertainment expense. - So I was wrong.
We've all got our talents. You're great at doing papennork...
And I'm great at baking and finding places to have sex at carnivals.
Just add that to the pile I'm calling "evidence for your future audit."
Not there. That's Earl's tax return.
Can I see a copy of what you filed last year?
Uh, I didn't file last year. Or the year before or any year ever.
- Wait. You've never paid your taxes? - No, I've never filed my taxes.
I pay taxes. I see it on my check.
Eight dollars to the state, 15 in federal income.
Six twenty-three to fica, whoever that lucky bitch is.
Max, why didn't you tell me the severity of this last night?
Um, maybe you haven't noticed, but I have issues around money.
Every year I say I'm going to file.
And then I put it off and put it off until the day it's due, like today.
And then I sit down with the 1040 and my w-2s...
And right around the fourth question, I'm like:
"Screw it. I'm gonna watch old soul train clips on YouTube."
And then I feel like a loser until tax day is over.
And then I'm like, "who cares? I'm awesome. I'll do them next year."
So, what you're telling me is your finances are as messy as your purse.
Careful now. Starting to get a little hot up in here.
Fine, I don't care. I just want you to get your taxes done.
Now throw away all of your useless garbage into this trash can.
You know what, I'm just gonna go to that pop-up tax place near the diner.
And I'll throw my useless garbage in the dumpster on the way out.
Wait, you're gonna spend like $100 to have someone do your taxes...
- When I'm sitting right here? - The amount of money I'll spend there...
Is nothing compared to the amount of money...
I'd have to spend on weed to survive doing taxes with you.
- Good afternoon, girls. - Hello.
I hope Sophie and I's wild lovemaking didn't keep you up all night.
We wanted to come down and show you the gift I just gave Sophie.
Yeah, look, girls. Look at my gift. It's got a leg.
Wow, I didn't think you two were the couple type.
We are going into Manhattan for fruit cocktail and champagne.
- Want to join? - Hell, yeah.
No, Max, you're doing your taxes.
Oh, my mother says I can't come out. Have fun.
This means nothing.
I can't believe you're putting your financial future...
Into the hands of a hipster tax place called the tax of life.
You know how the old proverb goes: "You take the good, you take the bad...
You take what's left, and there you have the tax of life."
Forty-three. Number 43.
If you need any help, I am acquainted with your finances.
And I am acquainted with your attitude. Don't say a word.
- I'm 43. - What's up, 43?
I'm Kyle. I'm your tax bro.
Hi, I'm Max, and this is my mute friend, Caroline.
I already started to fill out the 1040...
And I have my w-2s from this year, also some receipts.
Well, let's get started.
Do you have a health savings account?
- Definitely not. - Oh, well, we can fudge that.
- I'll put you down for 500. - Sounds good.
"Fudge that"? Fudge? I wasn't aware there was fudging in finance.
Domestic production activities?
- Like condoms and stuff? - I guess.
Talk about adjusted gross income, am I right? Am I right?
- Kyle, put me down for 250. - Caroline: Two-fifty.
Should I just put the cheese plate out for the IRS now?
What about residential energy credits?
Uh, bought some of those curly iightbulbs once.
Oh, that's another 150 easily, heh.
Sorry, Max, I can't stop myself. Money, finances? This is my thing.
If we were at a copper-plated jewelry sale, I'd let you take the wheel.
I can't sit back and watch you risk our financial future.
You'll be dragging me into this with you and your tax bro.
Excuse me, tax bro.
Oh, my god. You want to claim a residential energy credit?
You don't even have a 5695 up here.
Hey, your mute friend's all over this. Heh.
You should let her do your taxes. She's way better.
That's cool, Kyle. I'm not gonna do this.
One more year won't kill me. I'll just spend this money on pot.
That's an entertainment expense, bt Dubbs.
Max, don't give up yet. Let me help.
It's already 9. We ran out of time.
Take a form and file an extension. The post office is open till midnight.
Max, you know you want to change your finances. It's a step.
- You're right. Good idea. - Extension forms at the post office.
We can pick one up when I drop off Earl's return.
- Max: What? - It's not here. It's not in my purse.
Last time I saw it was on the coffee table...
Before you came in with your tax stuff. It must be still there.
Uh, no, you made me throw all that stuff out.
You threw out a 75-year-old man's tax return?
- You threw some papers out too. - This is so not like me.
The only thing I've ever lost is my virginity.
- What are we gonna do? - No, it's okay, relax. No big deal.
Just have to go home and climb through the dumpster.
No, seriously, what are we gonna do?
-Ready?
Seriously, what are we gonna do?
Well, let's get to it. My garbage ain't gonna find itself.
Max, I can't.
If I go in there, I will literally be white trash.
You're the one who had to butt in and get all wharton with Earl.
If you had left him alone, it would be at the post office, safe and sound.
Fine, but to be clear, if we find a baby in there...
You're raising it on your own.
It's already off to a better start than I had. There's food everywhere.
Oh, hell no! It's Tuesday. Trash pickup.
Better get in and out or we'll be on a garbage barge to coney island.
- Come on, I'll give you ten fingers. - My shoes. My dignity. My shoes.
My hands are touching a dumpster.
On the count of three, I'll push, you hoist yourself up.
Pull yourself up or you won't make it.
It's hell. I'm looking into hell.
One, two, three.
I wanted to scream, but it wouldn't come out.
- Okay, well, good luck. See you. - Max!
I'm kidding. I'm coming around the back. I found a place to get a leg up.
Now? You just saw that now?
Why'd you scream? You knew it was me.
That's the one I couldn't get out before.
Oh, god, look at this mess.
It's like looking for a dirty needle in a haystack, which I've done.
Okay. Start poking around. Look for familiar garbage.
"Familiar garbage"? I hate it in here. I want to die.
It's not that bad. My mom and I once spent five hours in a dumpster...
Looking for proof that her boyfriend was cheating on her...
And all we found was a scratch-off worth $1.50 and a beach towel.
And then we used that $1.50 to take the towel to the laundromat.
Twelve years later, you and I use that very towel...
To dry ourselves off after a shower.
Well, I'm standing on a stranger's cold sesame noodles...
With egg shells stuck to my ankles. You win, Max.
What does that have to do with me?
It means I'm officially standing in your purse.
How about more real garbage, less Caroline garbage?
- Caroline garbage? - You've been dumping on me all day.
Me? What have I done?
"Max, you didn't file ever?"
I didn't say it like that. And you didn't file ever.
- Is that my fault? - Yes! This is all your fault.
Before I met you, I didn't even think about a future.
Now I have a future and I'm standing in a dumpster.
You are not the only one standing in a dumpster.
And get a new purse.
If you had been able to find a stupid stamp in that thing...
I would've never even seen Earl's taxes...
And I wouldn't be standing in a dumpster.
Max, no, no, no! I will never, ever recover from that.
Red bulls? Red bulls? Are those our red bulls?
Where? Yes, yes! That's my garbage! That's my garbage! Get over here!
If we find it, we'll have time to shower and get to the post office.
Both: Earl's taxes! Earl's taxes! Aah!
Lorraine: Next.
- Next. - Caroline: This is unbelievable.
Everyone trying to get their taxes filed by midnight.
Wow, I haven't seen this much last-minute licking...
Since the cops raided that Thai massage parlor.
I'll grab an extension form, you get in line.
Mother: The line is longer than I expected.
No, we have to file. She's nursing.
Don't worry, we're fine.
I'm a bum.
She's got a baby hanging off her nipple and her taxes are done.
Max, you can't compare yourself to other people. You'll do it your way.
And there's a blind guy.
No eyes, taxes done.
I guess he wasn't distracted by YouTube clips. Don't be so hard on yourself.
You're filing an extension. You'll get them done.
You say I'm going to file, but will I?
I say I'm gonna clean out my purse, but do I?
Sophie says she's gonna tell Oleg, but did she?
An extension is just another excuse for me to put it off...
- And create a bigger mess. - Hey, Max. What's up?
Bob. Wow, what are you doing here?
Oh, I just filed my taxes like everyone else.
Bob had a good year. Heh.
- Who was that? - My dealer.
Forget the extension.
If my pot dealer can file, I can file. We still have half an hour.
Run home and get my w-2s while I fill out the 1040.
I should fill it out and you can run home.
No, I have to do this.
If I get stumped, I'm surrounded by procrastinators.
One of them will help me. Eventually.
Here's a pen. I'm gonna drop off Earl's return and be back soon as I can.
Okay. Uh, hi.
Can you hold my place while I get a tax form?
Oh, cutting it close. You're worse than me.
- Go, I got your back. - And she's got your front.
Max: I add up these lines and put the total here?
- Man 1: Right. - What about student loans?
- Yes, I paid mine off this year. - Claim it.
That interest is a huge write-off. Put down $436 on line 33.
- Post office is closing! - All: No!
My friend just texted me. She's almost here.
- Please, I have to file this year. - Midnight is midnight.
All: Boo!
Oh, please. I have six children at home. This is nothing.
Here! I'm here, I'm here! What time is it?
- Thirty seconds. - Max: Oh, my god!
Man 2: Get up here, come on. Make room, make room, make room.
Stapler, stapler.
Ten... man 3: Oh, no, no, no.
- Sign your damn name! - Nine...
- Where?! - Eight, seven, six...
Fold, fold, you bastard!
- Fold! - Five, four, three, two...
- No stamp. - What?
It's cool. I got you, boo.
I did it! I filed my taxes!
Everybody can suck it!