Re: Pulp Fiction
For Pulp Fiction fan only:
Jules:We should have shotguns for this kind of deal.
Vincent:How many guys up there?
Jules:Three or four.
Vincent:That's countin' our guy?
Jules: Not sure.
Vincent:So that means there could be up to five guys up there?
Jules:It's possible.
Vincent:We should have fuckin' shotguns.
Jules: So, tell me again about the hash bars.
Vincent: Ok, what you want to know?
Jules:Hash is legal over there, right?
Vincent: It's legal but it ain't hundred percent legal, I mean, you just can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint and start puffin' away. They want you to smoke in your home or certain designated places.
Jules: And those are the hash bars?
Vincent:It breaks down like this, ok, it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it, and if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, but...but that dosen't matter, 'cause, get a load of this; all right, if you get stopped by a cop in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.
Jules: Oh, man, I'm goin', that's all there is to it. I'm fuckin' goin'.
Vincent:I know, baby, you'd dig it the most.
Vincent: You want some bacon?
Jules:No, man, I don't eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: No, I ain't Jewish, i just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent:Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent:But bacon tastes good, pork chops taste good...
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfuckers. Pigs sleep and root in shit, that's a filthy animal. I don't eat nothin' that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent:How about a dog? A dog eats its own feces.
Jules:I don't eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy, but it's definately dirty. But, dogs got personality, personality goes a long way.
Vincent:So by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filty animal. Is that true?
Jules: We' have to be talkin' 'bout one charmin' motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
Marcellus: I think you're gonna find - when all this shit is over - I think you're gonna find yourself one smilin' motherfucker. Thing is Butch, right now you got ability. But painful as it may be, ability don't last. Now that's a hard motherfuckin' fact of life, but it's a fact of life your ass is gonna hafta git realistic about. You see, this business is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers. Motherfuckers who thought their ass would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar, it does. If you mean it gets better with age, it don't. Besides, how many fight do you think you got in you anyway? Two? Boxers don't have an old timers day. You came close, but you never made it, and if you were gonna make it, you would have made it before now.
Vincent: Still I hafta say, play with matches, ya get burned.
Jules: Whaddya mean?
Vincent: You don't be givin' Marsellus Wallace's new bride a foot massage.
Jules:You don't think he overreacted?
Vincent:Antwan probably didn't expect Marsellus to react like he did, but he had to expect a reaction.
Jules:It was a foot massage, a foot massage is nothing, I give my mother a foot massage.
Vincent: It's laying hands on Marsellus Wallace's new wife in a familiar way. Is it as bad as eatin' her out - no, but it's the same fuckin' ballpark.
Jules: Whoa...whoa...whoa...stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
Vincent:It's not, it's the same ballpark.
Jules:It ain't no fuckin' ballpark either. Look maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his wife's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest of holyies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league, ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent:Given a lot of 'em?
Jules:Shit yeah. I got my technique down an' everything, I don't be ticklin' or nothin'.
Vincent:Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent:You giv 'em a lot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: I'm kinda' tired, I could use a foot massage myself...
Jules: Yo yo yo, man , you best back off, I'm gittin' a little pissed here - now, this is the door. What time you got?
Vincent: Seven-twenty-two in the AM.
Jules: It ain't quite time yet, c'mon let's hang back.
Jules: I will never forgive your ass for this shit. This is some fucked-up repugnant shit!
Vincent: Did you ever hear the philosophy that once a man admits he's wrong, he's immediately forgiven for all wrong-doings? Did you ever hear that?
Jules: Man, get outta my face with that shit! The motherfucker who said that never had to pick up itty- bitty pieces of skull on account of your dumb ass.
Vincent: I got a threshold, Jules. I got a threshold for the abuse I'll take. And right now I'm a race car and you got me in the red. I'm just saying that it's fuckin' dangerous to have a racecar in the fuckin' red. It could blow.
Jules:Oh, you're gettin' ready to blow?
Vincent: I could blow.
Jules:Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-layin' mother- fucker, motherfucker! Every time my fingers touch brain I'm 'Superfly T.N.T', I'm the 'Guns of Navarone'. In fact, what the fuck am I doin' in the back? You're the motherfucker should be on brain detail. We're fuckin' switchin' right now. I'm washin' the windows and you're pickin' up this nigger's skull.
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Pulp Fiction rules :smash: :smash: :smash: :smash: :smash: :smash: :smash: