Tony Haygarth: Mr. Tweedy

Chicken Run

Mr. Tweedy

Mr. Tweedy: [being attacked by chickens] Mrs. Tweedy! The chickens are revolting!
Mrs. Tweedy: [with her back turned] Finally, something we agree on.

Mr. Tweedy: Ooh, that's champion, that is. What is it?
Mrs. Tweedy: It's a pie machine, you idiot. Chickens go in, pies come out.
Mr. Tweedy: Ooh! What kind of pies?
Mrs. Tweedy: Apple.
Mr. Tweedy: My favorite!
Mrs. Tweedy: Chicken pies, you great lummox! Imagine it. In less than a fortnight, every grocers' in the county will be stocked with box upon box of Mrs. Tweedy's Homemade Chicken Pies.
Mr. Tweedy: Just... "Mrs."?
Mrs. Tweedy: Woman's touch. Makes the public feel more comfortable.

Mr. Tweedy: Oh, yes. Those chickens are up to something.
Mrs. Tweedy: Quiet. I'm onto something.
Mr. Tweedy: They're organised, I know it.
Mrs. Tweedy: I said quiet.
Mr. Tweedy: And that Ginger one, I reckon she's their leader.
Mrs. Tweedy: [losing her patience and slamming her fist on the table] Mr. Tweedy! I may finally have found a way to make us some real money around here and what are you on about? Ridiculous notions of escaping chickens!
Mr. Tweedy: [stammering] But... but...
Mrs. Tweedy: It's all in your head, Mr. Tweedy. Say it!
Mr. Tweedy: It's all in me head. It's all in me head.
Mrs. Tweedy: Now, you keep telling yourself that because I don't want to hear another word about it! Is that clear?
Mr. Tweedy: Yes, love. But you know that Ginger one...
Mrs. Tweedy: They're *chickens*, you dolt! Apart from you, they're the most stupid creatures on this planet. They don't plot, they don't scheme, and they are *not* organised!

[after the chickens have escaped in The Crate and the pie machine has exploded]
Mr. Tweedy: I told you they was organised.

Mr. Tweedy: [having just foiled an escape attempt by the chickens; to Ginger] I'll teach you to make a fool out of me.
[he imprisons her in a dumpster, then turns to the other chickens as he shouts:]
Mr. Tweedy: Now let that be a lesson to the lot of ya: no chicken escapes from Tweedy's farm!

[Fetcher and Nick are stealing tools, hiding inside lawn gnomes as they move about while Mr. Tweedy is working; they steal the tools and start walking away and Mr. Tweedy notices]
Mr. Tweedy: Ohhhhh... gnomes now?

Mr. Tweedy: What... what... what's all this, then?
Mrs. Tweedy: This is our future, Mr. Tweedy. No more wasting time with petty egg collecting and minuscule profits.
Mr. Tweedy: No more eggs? But we've always been egg farmers. Me father, and his father, and all their fathers, they was all...
Mrs. Tweedy: Poor. Worthless. Nothings. But all that is about to change. This will take Tweedy's farm out of the Dark Ages and into full-scale automated production. Melisha Tweedy will be poor no longer.

[flings Ginger into the coal-bunker "cooler"]
Mr. Tweedy: Now let that be a lesson for the lot of ya - no chicken escapes from Tweedy's farm!

[Mr. Tweedy has attached Ginger to the clamps of the newly-completed chicken pie machine and activates it, bring Ginger toward the mouth of the machine]
Mr. Tweedy: Chickens go in; pies come out. Chicken pies. Not apple pies, chicken.