Forget it, too risky.
I'm through doing that shit.
You say that every time.
"I'm through, never again, too dangerous."
I always say it, and I'm right.
But then you forget about it.
The days of forgetting are over, remembering has begun.
You know what you sound like?
- A sensible man. - A duck.
Quack, quack!
You won't hear it again.
I won't, so you won't hear me quack again.
After tonight?
Correct. I got all night to quack.
- More coffee for anyone? - Yes.
- Thank you. - You're welcome.
The way it is now, it's the same risk as with a bank.
It's more. Banks are easier.
Federal banks aren't supposed to stop a robbery.
They're insured, don't give a fuck. You don't even need a gun.
This bloke hands the teller...
a portable phone.
The bloke on the other end of the phone says:
"We've got his little girl. Give him the money or we kill her."
- It worked? - Fuckin' way, it works.
Knucklehead walks into a bank with a telephone...
not a pistol, not a shotgun, a fucking phone!
He robs them, they don't lift a finger.
They hurt the girl?
There probably never was one. That's not the point.
The point is, they robbed the bank with a telephone.
You want to rob banks?
I'm illustrating that it'd be easier than what we do.
No more liquor stores?
What did I say? No more liquor stores.
It's not a giggle anymore. Too many foreigners.
Vietnamese, Koreans...
You say: "Empty the register", they don't understand.
We'll end up killing one
- I won't kill anybody. - I don't want to either.
They'll put us in a situation where it's us or them.
If not, it's these fucking Jews had the store for 15 generations.
Granpa Irvin...
behind the counter with a Magnum...
in his hand.
Try that with a phone, see how far you get.
- Fuck it, we're out of it... - What then, day jobs?
- Not in this life. - What then?
"Garçon"! Coffee!
This place.
"Garçon" means boy.
Here?
A coffee shot?
What's wrong with it?
Nobody ever robs restaurants.
Why not?
Bars, liquor stores...
gas stations...
you get your head blown off.
But restaurants, you catch with their pants down.
They don't expect to be robbed.
Not as much, anyway.
I bet you could cut down on the hero factor here.
Correct.
Same as banks, these places are insured.
Manager don't give a fuck.
He want's you out before you plug the diners.
Waitresses, take a bullet for the register? No way.
Wetbacks paid $1.50 an hour...
don't give a fuck if you steal from the owner.
Customers don't know what's going on.
They're eating, then someone sticks a gun in their face.
I got the idea the last liquor store we stuck up. Remember?
Customers kept coming in.
You thought of taking their wallets? That was a good idea.
Thank you.
- Wallets paid more than the register. -They did.
Lots of people in restaurants.
A lot of wallets.
Pretty smart, huh?
Pretty smart.
I'm ready. Let's do it, now, here.
- Come on. - Alright.
Same as the last time.
You're crowd control...
I handle employees.
- I love you, Pumpkin. - I love you, Honey Bunny.
Everybody, this is a robbery!
Any of you fucking pricks move...
I'll execute every motherfucking last one of you!
- Tell me about the hash bars. - What about them?
- Hash is legal? - It's legal, but not 100%.
You can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint and start puffing.
You can smoke at home or designated places.
Those are has bars?
I'll break it down. It's legal to buy...
it's legal to own and, if you own a hash bar...
it's legal to sell. It's legal to carry...
but, get a load of this:
If a cop stops you, it's illegal for him to search you.
Amsterdam cops don't have that right.
That's all there is to it? I'm fucking going.
I knew you'd dig it the most.
You know what's funny about Europe?
The little differences.
They got the same shit we got, but it's a little different.
Example?
You can buy a beer at the movies in Amsterdam.
No paper cup. I' talking about a glass of beer.
In Paris, McDonald's sells beer.
You know what they call...
a Quarter-Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
"Quarter-Pounder with Cheese"?
They don't know pounds, they got the metric system.
What do they call it?
"Royale" with Cheese.
"Royale" with Cheese? How about a Big Mac?
Big Mac. But they call it "Le Big Mac".
"Le Big Mac".
- What's a Whopper? - I don't go to Burger King.
Know what they put on French fries in Holland?
- Mayonnaise! - Goddam!
I've seen it. They drown them in that shit.
We should have shotguns for this kind of deal.
- How many up there? - 3 or 4.
- Counting our guy? - I'm not sure.
- Could be up to 5 guys? - It's possible.
We should have fucking shotguns.
What's her name?
Mia.
How did Marsellus and her meet?
I don't know. However people meet people.
She used to be an actress.
Really? She do anything I've seen?
Her biggest deal was she starred in a pilot.
What's a pilot?
- You know the shows on TV? - I don't watch TV.
You know there's an invention called television...
with shows shows?
They pick TV shows by making one they call a "pilot".
Then they show it to the people who pick shows...
and on the strength of that, they decide.
Some get chosen and become TV programs.
Some become nothing.
She starred in one of those that became nothing.
Remember Antwan Rockamora?
Half-black, half-Samoan, called him "Tony Rocky Horror".
Maybe. Fat, right?
No, he's got a weight problem.
What can he do? He's Samoan.
I know him. What about him?
Marsellus fucked him up good.
Word around is it was on account of Marsellus's wife.
What'd he do, fuck her?
Nothing that bad.
- What then? - Gave her a foot massage.
A foot massage?
That's it?
What did Marsellus do?
Sent some cats to take him out on his patio...
threw his ass over the balcony. Nigger fell 4 stories.
They had a garden at the bottom, like a greenhouse.
Nigger fell through that.
Since then, he has a speech impediment.
That's a damn shame.
Still, you play with matches, you get burned.
What?
You don't give Marsellus's new bride a foot massage.
You don't think he overreacted?
Antwan didn't expect Marsellus to react that way, but...
he had to expect a reaction.
A foot massage is nothing. I give my mother one.
It's laying hands in a familiar way on de Marsellus's new wife.
Is it as bad as eating her pussy out? No.
But same fucking ballpark.
Eating a bitch and giving her a foot massage isn't the same.
- No, but same ballpark. - It's no ballpark.
Maybe your massages differ from mine...
but touching her feet...
and sticking your tongue in her ain't the same.
It ain't even the same fucking sport.
Foot massages don't mean shit.
Ever given one?
Don't tell me. I'm the foot fucking master.
- Given a lot? - Shit, yeah!
Got my technique down. I don't tickle or nothing.
Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Fuck you!
- Given them a lot? - Fuck you!
I'm kind of tired. I could use one myself.
You'd best back off. I'm getting a little pissed.
- That is the door. - Yeah, it is.
What time you got?
7:22 in the a.m.
It's not quite time yet. Come on, let's hang back.
I wouldn't give no man a foot massage...
but that don't make it right to throw Antwan of a building...
fucking up the way the nigger talks.
He do that to me, he better paralyze me or I'd kill him.
I didn't say it's right.
But you said it means nothing, and I say it does.
I've given foot massages to ladies, they all meant something.
We act like they don't, but they do. That's what's so cool.
There's a sensuous thing, but you don't talk about it.
But you and she know it. Marsellus knew...
and Antwan should have fucking known better.
She's his fucking wife. He won't have no sense of humor about it.
You know what I'm saying?
It's an interesting point.
Come on, let's get into character!
- What's her name again? - Mia.
Why you so interested in big man's wife?
She's going to Florida and he asked me...
if I'd take care of her while he's gone.
- Take care of her? - No, man!
Just take her out, show her a good time.
Make sure she don't get lonely.
You're taking Mia Wallace on a date?
It's not a date.
It's just taking your buddy's wife to a movie, or something.
It's good company, that's all.
It's not a date.
It's definitely not a date.
Hey, kids.
How you boys doing?
Hey, keep chilling.
You know us?
We're associates...
of your business partner Marsellus Wallace.
You do remember your business partner?
Let me take a wild guess.
You're Brett.
I thought so.
Remember your business partner Marsellus Wallace?
I remember him.
Good.
Looks like we caught you at breakfast. Sorry about that.
What you having?
Hamburgers.
Hamburgers. The cornerstone of my nutritious breakfast.
What kind of hamburgers?
Cheeseburgers.
From where? McDonald's, Wendy's, Jack-in-the-Box?
Big Kahuna.
Big Kahuna Burger, the Hawaiian burger joint.
I hear they're tasty. Never had one myself. How are they?
They're good.
Mind if I try one?
This is yours here, right?
This is a tasty burger. Vincent!
Ever had a Big Kahuna Burger?
Want a bite? They're tasty.
- Ain't hungry. - Lf you like burgers, try them.
I can't get them 'cause my girlfriend's a vegetarian...
so I got to be one too, but...
I do love the taste of a good burger.
Know what a Quarter Pounder with Cheese is in French?
Tell him, Vincent.
"Royale" with Cheese.
You know why?
'Cause of the metric system?
Check out the big brain on Brett.
A smart motherfucker! Right, the metric system.
What's in this?
- Sprite. - Sprite? Good.
Could I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down?
Go right ahead.
That hit the spot.
You! Flock of Seagulls! Know why we're here?
Tell my man where you got the shit hid.
There.
I don't remember asking you a goddamn thing!
So?
It's in the cupboard.
No, the one by your knees.
We happy?
Vincent!
We happy?
We happy.
I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.
I got yours. Vincent. But I never got yours.
My name's Pitt, and your ass isn't taking you out of this shit.
I just want you to know...
how sorry we are things got so fucked up with us...
and Mr. Wallace. We got into this with the best intentions.
Really.
Oh, sorry, did I break your concentration?
I didn't mean to do that. Please...
continue.
You were saying something about "best intentions".
What's the matter?
Oh, you were finished.
Well, allow me to retort.
What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
What?
What country you from?
What?
Never heard of it. They speak English in "What"?
What?
English, motherfucker. Do you speak it?
Then you know what I'm saying.
Describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like.
Say "what" again!
I doubledare you, motherfucker. Say "what" once more!
He's black.
Go on.
Bald.
Looks like a bitch?
What?
Does he look...
like a bitch?
Why you try to fuck him like a bitch?
Yes, you did, Brett. You did.
You tried to fuck him and...
Marsellus Wallace doesn't like to be fucked by anyone...
except Mrs. Wallace.
You read the Bible?
Yes.
There's this...
passage I got memorized, sort of fits this occasion:
Ezekiel, 25, 17.
"The path...
of the righteous man is beset on all sides...
by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.
Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and goodwill...
shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness...
for he is his brother's keeper...
and the finder of lost children.
And I will strike down...
with vengeance and furious anger...
upon those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
And you will know his name is the Lord...
when I let my vengeance upon thee!"
I think you'll find...
when all this is over and done...
you'll find yourself one smiling motherfucker.
Thing is, Butch...
right now you got ability...
but, painful as it may be...
ability doesn't last, and...
your days are just about over.
That's a hard motherfucking fact of life...
but it's a fact your ass will have to get realistic about.
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, Butch...
how many fights you think you got in you?
Two?
Boxers don't have an old timers' day.
You came close, but never made it.
If you were going to, you'd have made it before.
You my nigger?
It certainly appears so.
The night of the fight you may feel a slight sting.
That's pride fucking with you.
Fuck pride!
Pride only hurts.
It never helps.
Fight through that shit...
'cause a year from now...
when you're kicking it in the Caribbean...
you'll say to yourself: "Marsellus Wallace was right."
I've got no problem with that, Mr. Wallace.
In the fifth, your ass goes down.
Say it.
In the fifth, my ass goes down.
Vincent Vega, our man in Amsterdam.
Jules Wingfield, our man in Inglewood. Get your asses in here.
Nigger, what's with them clothes?
You don't want to know.
- Where's the big man? - There, taking care of business.
Hang back a second. You see the white boy leave...
go on over.
How you been?
- Pretty good. And you? - Alright.
I hear you're taking Mia out?
At Marsellus's request.
- Have you met her? - Not yet.
- What's so fucking funny? - Not a thing.
I got to piss.
I'm no idiot. It's the big man's wife.
I'll sit across from her, chew with my mouth closed...
and laugh at her jokes.
My name's Paul, and this shit's between y'all.
Then, why'd you ask me about it?
Asshole.
- A pack of Red Apples. - Filters?
- Looking at something, friend? - You ain't my friend, palooka.
- What was that? - You heard me fine, Punchy.
Vincent Vega's in the house?
My nigger, get your ass over here!
Pack of Red Apples. $1.40.
And some matches.
It's as if it turns every part of your body into the tip of a penis.
There's a great book on piercing.
They use that gun to pierce your ears.
For your nipples as well?
That gun goes against the entire idea behind piercing.
All my piercing...
18 places on my body, every one done with a needle.
5 in each year. One trough the nipple of my left breast.
2 in my right nostril. One in my left eyebrow.
One in my belly, my lip and my clit.
And I wear a stud in my tongue.
Excuse me, I was just curious.
Why wear a stud in your tongue?
Sex thing.
Helps fellatio.
Vincenzo.
Step into my office.
This is Panda...
from Mexico. Very good stuff.
That's Bava. Different, but equally good.
Choco, from the Hartz Mountains...
of Germany.
The first 2 are the same.
300 a gram. Those are friend prices.
But this one is a little more expensive.
This is 500 a gram.
When you shoot it, you'll know where that money went.
These 2 are just fine. It's real good shit.
But this one is a fucking madman.
Remember, I just got back from Amsterdam.
Am I a nigger? Are we in Inglewood? No.
You're in my home.
Whites who can tell good shit from bad shit come here.
I'll take the Challenger with that Amsterdam shit...
any day of the week.
That's a bold statement.
This ain't Amsterdam. This is a seller's market.
Coke is fucking dead as...
dead.
Heroin's coming back in a big fucking way.
Alright, give me 3 grams of madman.
If it's good as you say, I'll buy another $1.000.
I just hope I have some left for you.
I'm giving you some out of my own private stash.
That's what a nice guy I am.
I'm out of balloons. Is a baggie alright?
Yeah, that's cool.
I'll get one for you. Honey...
get me some baggies and twisties from the kitchen!
What do you think about Trudi?
She has no boyfriend. You want to hand out, get high?
Which one's Trudy? One with the shit in her face?
No, that's Jody. That's my wife.
That one hurt, man.
- I must be someplace. - No problemo.
I'll take a rain check.
"Thank you, Jody."
Still got your Malibu?
You know what some fucker did the other day?
- What? - Fucking keyed it.
Oh, man, that's fucked up!
Tell me.
I had it stored for 3 years.
It was out 5 days...
and some piece of shit fucked with it.
They should be executed. No trial, no jury.
I'd have given anything...
to have caught that asshole doing it.
It'd be worth him doing it if I could catch him.
Fucker.
What's more chickenshit than fucking a man's car?
- You don't do that. - You don't.
It's just against the rules.
Thank you.
- Mind if I shoot up here? - Mi casa, su casa.
Hi, Vincent.
I'm getting dressed. The door's open.
Come in and make yourself a drink. Mia.
Hello?
I'm on the intercom.
Where's the intercom?
On the wall, by the two African fellas.
To your right.
Warm.
Warmer.
Disco.
Hello.
Push the button if you want to talk.
Hello.
Get a drink. I'll be down in 2 shakes.
The bar's by the fireplace.
Let's go.
What the fuck is this place?
It's Jackrabbit Slim's.
An Elvis man should love it.
Let's go get a steak.
You can get one here, daddy-o.
Don't be a...
After you, kitty-cat.
Good evening, ladies and gentleman. How may I help you?
There's a reservation under Wallace.
- We reserved a car. - Oh, a car!
You seat them...
in the Chrysler.
Let's hear it for Ricky Nelson.
Ricky Nelson! Fantastic job!
Ricky will be back in the 2nd half of our show.
We hope you enjoy your meal here at Jackrabbit Slim's.
Thank you.
Call for Phillip Morris!
What do you think?
It's like a wax museum with a pulse.
I'm Buddy. What'll you have?
Let's see. Steak. I'll have this Douglas Sirk steak.
- I'll have that. - How do you want it?
Burnt or bloody?
Bloody as hell. And look at this, vanilla coke.
How about you, Peggy Sue?
I'll have the...
Durward Kirby burger...
bloody...
and...
a $5 shake.
Martin and Lewis or Amos 'N' Andy?
Martin and Lewis.
Did you just order a $5 shake?
That's a shake? That's milk and ice cream?
- Last I heard. - It costs $5?
No bourbon in it, nothing?
No.
- Just checking. - I'll be right back.
Could you...
roll me one of those, cowboy?
Have this one, cowgirl.
Thanks.
Think nothing of it.
So...
Marsellus said you were in Amsterdam.
- Sure did. - How long?
Just over 3 years.
I go once a year to chill out for a month.
No kidding? I didn't know that.
Why should you?
I heard you did a pilot.
That was my 15 minutes.
What was it?
A team of female secret agents called "Fox Force Five".
What?
Fax, as in a bunch of foxy chicks.
Force: A force to be reckoned with.
And 5: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 of us.
The blonde, Sommerset O'Neal, was the leader.
The Japanese fox was a Kung Fu master.
The black girl was a demolition expert.
The French fox's specialty was sex.
What was yours?
Knives.
My character, Raven McCoy...
had grown up raised by circus performers.
She was the deadliest woman in the world with a knife.
And knew a zillion old jokes.
Her grandfather, an old vaudevillian, taught her.
If we'd got picked up...
they'd have had a gimmick. So, in every show...
I'd have told an old joke.
You know any of them?
I only told one 'cause we only did one show.
Tell me.
It's corny.
Don't be that way. Tell me.
- No, I'd be embarrassed. - Embarrassed?
You told 50 million people...
and you can't tell me?
I promise I won't laugh.
That's what I'm afraid of.
You know I didn't mean that.
I won't tell you. It's been built up too much.
What a gyp.
Martin and Lewis.
Vanilla Coke.
Yummy.
Could I have a sip?
Be my guest.
I got to know what a $5 shake tastes like.
Use my straw. I don't have kooties.
Maybe I do.
Kooties I can handle.
Alright.
That's a pretty fucking good milkshake.
Told you.
Maybe not worth $5, but good.
Don't you hate that?
Hate what?
Uncomfortable silences.
Why do we have to yak about bullshit...
in order to be comfortable?
I don't know. That's a good question.
Then you know you found somebody special.
When you shut the fuck up for a minute...
and comfortably share silence.
We're not there yet, but we just met each other.
I'll tell you what.
I'll go to the bathroom and powder my nose.
You sit here and think of something to say.
I'll do that.
I said goddamn!
Goddamn!
Don't you love coming back from the bathroom...
to find your food waiting?
We're lucky we got everything.
Buddy Holly's not much of a waiter.
We should have sat in...
Marilyn Monroe's section.
- There's 2 Monroes. - No.
That's Marilyn Monroe.
That's Mammie...
Van Doren.
I don't see...
Jayne Mansfield. She must have the night off.
Pretty smart.
I got my moments.
Did you think of something?
Yes, I did.
However...
you seem like a nice person.
I don't want to offend you.
Doesn't sound like the usual, boring getting-to-know-you chit-chat.
Sounds like you have something to say.
Well...
I do.
- But promise not to be offended. - No, no...
I can't. I've got no idea what you're going to ask me.
Say you asked me...
and my natural response was to get offended.
Then I'd have broken my promise.
- Forget it. - Impossible.
Forgetting anything this intriguing is an exercise in futility.
- Is that a fact? - And besides...
isn't it more exciting when you don't have permission?
Alright.
Well, here goes.
What do you think about what happened to Antwan?
Who's Antwan?
Tony Rocky Horror. You know him.
He fell out of a window.
That's one way to say it.
Another would be that he was thrown out.
Another would be that Marsellus threw him out.
And yet another way...
is that Marsellus threw him out because of you.
Is that a fact?
No, it's not. It's just what I heard.
- Who told you? - They.
"They" talk a lot.
They certainly do.
Don't be shy. What else they say?
I'm not shy.
Did it involve...
the F-word?
Just that Antwan had given you a foot massage.
- And? - And...
And nothing. That's it.
You heard Marsellus...
threw Tony out a 4th-story window for giving me a foot massage?
You believed that?
At the time I was told, it sounded reasonable.
Marsellus throwing Tony out the window...
for massaging my feet, reasonable?
No. But that doesn't mean it didn't happen.
I understand Marsellus is very protective of you.
A husband being protective of his wife is one thing.
Almost killing a man for touching his wife's feet is another.
- Did it happen? - Only thing...
Antwan touched was my hand when he shook it...
at my wedding.
Really?
Nobody knows why Marsellus threw Tony out that window...
except Marsellus and Tony.
But when you scamps get together, you're worse than a sewing circle.
Ladies and gentlemen...
the moment you've been waiting for.
The world famous Jackrabbit Slim's twist contest...
where...
one lucky couple...
will win the handsome trophy Marilyn is holding.
Now, who will be...
our first contestants?
Here.
I wanna dance.
I believe Marsellus, my husband, your boss...
told you to take me out and do what I want.
Now I want to dance. I want to win that trophy.
So, dance good.
You asked for it.
Let's hear it for them.
Let's meet our first contestants this evening.
Young lady, what is your name?
Mia Wallace.
How about your fella here?
Vincent Vega.
Let's see what you can do. Take it away!
Is this what you call an uncomfortable silence?
I don't know what you call that.
Drinks! Music!
I'm going to take a piss.
That's a bit more information than I needed but, go ahead.
One drink and that's it.
Don't be rude. Drink your drink, but do it quickly.
Say "good night" and go home.
See, this is moral test of ourselves...
whether you can maintain loyalty...
because...
being loyal is very important.
So, you say "Good night, I've had a very lovely evening"...
walk out the door, get in the car...
go home, jerk off, and that's all.
Alright, Mia.
Listen, I must go.
Alright?
Jesus fucking Christ!
Jesus Christ!
Fuck me! Fuck me!
Come on, we're getting out of here. We must walk now.
Don't fucking...
die on me!
Silly fuck!
Answer!
- Have you got the ring? - Certainly.
Join hand, you love birds. Come on.
Hold hands, love birds!
Fuck you, Lance, answer!
- What do you say? - Okay, I'll marry you.
Lance, the goddamn phone is ringing!
I can hear it!
Thought you told them not to call this late!
I told them...
and that's exactly what I'll tell this fucking asshole.
Hello?
Lance, Vincent.
I'm in big fucking trouble. I'm coming over.
Hold your horses. What's the problem?
I've got a chick O.D. Ing on me.
Don't bring her here.
I'm not joking.
Don't bring a pooh-butt to my house.
No choice!
She's O.D. Ing?
She's dying on me.
Bite the bullet, take her to a hospital and call a lawyer.
Negative.
It's not my fucking problem!
You fucked her up. Fucking deal with it!
Are you talking on a cellular phone?
Who is this? I'm hanging up. Prank caller!
What the hell was that?
Have you lost your mind?
Talking about drugs on a cellular!
- You crashed my house! - Grab her feet.
You deaf? You're not bringing that fucked-up bitch into my house.
The bitch is Marsellus Wallace's wife. Know who he is?
If she croaks on me, I'm a grease spot.
I'll be forced to tell him...
you didn't help and you let her die on your fucking lawn.
Help me. Pick her up.
Shit!
Lance!
Shit!
It's 1:30 in the morning. What the fuck's going on out here?
Who's she?
Go to the fridge and get the adrenaline shot.
- What's with her? - She's O.D. Ing!
- Get her out! - Get the shot!
Fuck you! Fuck you too!
- Fucking bitch! - Keep talking to her.
- I'll get my black medical book. - Why do you need that?
- To tell me what to do. - Never given an adrenaline shot?
Never had to. My friends handle their highs!
- Get the shot! - Just let me!
- I'm not stopping you! - Not to me, talk to her!
- Get the shot! - Alright!
- We're losing her! - I'm looking as fast as I can!
- What's he looking for? - Some book.
- What are you looking for? - My black medical book.
What?
My medical book. It's like a textbook they give to nurses.
- I never saw it. - Trust me, I have one.
Why not keep it with the shot?
Stop bothering me!
While you look, she'll die on your carpet.
- You'll never find it here. - Lf you don't shut up, honey...
Lance, get in here!
Get the fuck out of my way.
Pig!
Quit fucking around. Give her the shot.
Take off her skirt and find her heart.
Must it be exact?
For a shot in the heart, I guess so.
I'm not sure. Maybe here?
- That's it. - I need a big Magic Marker.
You got it?
- What? - A Magic Marker!
A felt pen! A Magic Marker!
- Come on, hurry up. - Fuck!
Okay. I think it's ready.
Hurry up, man.
I'll tell you.
I ain't doing it, you are.
- I ain't doing it. - Me either.
- I've never done this. - Me either, and I won't now.
You brought her here.
If I ever bring an O.D. Ing bitch to you, I'll do it.
- Give it to me. - Here.
Tell me what to do.
You're giving her adrenaline to the heart.
But you must pierce through the breast plate.
Bring the needle down in a stabbing motion.
- I stab her 3 times? - Not 3 times, just once...
but hard enough to get through her breast plate.
Then you press down on the plunger.
Then what happens?
- I'm curious myself. - It's no joke. Will I kill her?
She'll come out of it.
Count to 3.
- Ready? - One.
Two.
Three!
If you're alright...
say something.
Something.
That was fucking trippy.
Oh, man!
Mia. Mia.
What's your thoughts...
on how to handle this?
What's yours?
I'm of the opinion...
that if Marsellus lived long, he doesn't have to know anything.
If Marsellus knew about this, I'd be in as much trouble as you.
I seriously doubt that.
I can keep a secret, if you can.
Shake on it?
Mum's the word.
Cool.
Now I'll go home to have a heart attack.
Vincent!
Want to hear my "Fox Force Five" joke?
Sure...
except I'm still too petrified to laugh.
You won't...
'cause it's not funny...
but if you want to hear it, I'll tell you.
I can't wait.
3 tomatoes are walking.
Papa Tomato, Mama Tomato and Baby Tomato.
Baby starts lagging behind and Papa gets real angry.
He goes back, squishes him, and says:
"Catch up."
Ketchup.
See you around.
That Paddlefoot, he funny, silly dog.
He think totem pole alive,
He arctic tenderfoot.
That totem pole been here forever.
Butch, stop watching TV.
- Yeah? - We got a special visitor.
Remember I told you daddy died in a POW camp?
This is Captain Koons.
He was in that camp with daddy.
Hello, little man. Boy...
I sure heard a bunch about you!
I was a good friend of your dad's.
We were in that Hanoi pit of hell together over five years.
Hopefully...
you won't have to experience this, but when...
Two men are in a situation like me and your dad so long...
you take on certain responsibilities of the other.
If it had been me who'd...
not made it...
Major Coolidge would be talking now to my son...
Jim.
But, as it turned out, I'm talking to you...
Butch.
I got something for you.
This watch I got here...
was purchased by our great grand- father during the 1st World War.
He bought it in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennessee.
Made by the 1st company to make wristwatches.
Till then, people used to carry pocket watches.
It was bought by private doughboy Erine Coolidge...
the day he set sail for Paris.
That was your great-grandfather's war watch.
He wore it every day in that war.
After his duty, he went home to your great-grandmother...
took the watch off...
put it in a coffee can, and there it stayed...
until your granddad, Dane Coolidge, was called by his country...
to go overseas and fight the Germans.
That was the Second World War.
Your great-grandfather gave this to your granddad for good lick.
Dane's luck wasn't as good as his old man's.
Dane was a Marine, and was killed...
with the other Marines, at Wake Island.
Your granddad was facing death.
He knew it.
None of them had any illusions about leaving that island alive.
3 days before the Japanese took the island, your granddad asked a gunner
of the Air Force, named Winocki...
a man he'd never met before...
to deliver to his infant son...
who he never saw in the flesh...
his gold watch.
3 days later your granddad died, but Winocki kept his word.
After the war was over, he visited your grandmother...
delivering to your infant father his dad's gold watch.
This watch.
It was on your daddy's wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi.
He was captured, put in a Vietnamese prison camp.
He knew that fit the gooks saw the watch...
they'd confiscate it...
take it away.
As your dad saw it, this watch was your birthright.
He'd be damned if they'd put their yellow hands on his son's birthright.
He hid it the one place he knew he could: His ass.
5 years he wore this watch up his ass and...
when he died of dysentery, he gave it to me.
I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass 2 years. Then...
after 7 years, I was sent home to my family.
Now...
little man, I give the watch to you.
It's time, Butch.
It's official. Wilson is dead.
That was the bloodiest, most brutal fight the city's seen.
Coolidge left faster than any winner I've seen. Think he knew...
- Wilson was dead? - I guess.
I saw the frenzy in his eyes...
give way to the realization he was doing.
- This affect the world of boxing? - Richard...
a tragedy like this can't help but shake the world of boxing.
But paramount importance is that now...
the W.B.A. Will remain...
Marsellus.
I didn't do it, man. I didn't do it.
How you doing?
Great. I never thanked you for dinner.
- What you got? - He booked.
- His trainer? - Knows nothing. I believe him.
- Butch surprised his ass. - Forget "think". We want to know.
Take him to the kennel, sic the dogs on his ass.
We'll find out what he knows.
How do you want the search?
I'll scour the earth for that motherfucker.
If Butch goes to Indochina...
I want a nigger hiding, ready to cap his ass.
I'll take care of it.
Hey, mister?
You were in that fight?
The fight on the radio.
You're the fighter?
What gave you that idea?
No, come on!
You're him.
I know you're him.
Tell me you're him.
I'm him.
You killed the other boxing man.
He's dead?
The radio said he was.
Sorry, Floyd.
What does it feel like?
What does what feel like?
Killing a man.
Beating another man to death with your bare hands.
Are you a weirdo?
It's a subject I have much interest in.
You're the 1st person I've met who's killed somebody.
So?
What's it feel like to kill a man?
I'll tell you what.
Give me a cigarette and I'll tell you about it.
So...
Esmarelda...
Villalobos.
That Mexican?
The name is Spanish, but I am Colombian.
That's some handle you got.
Thank you.
What is your name?
Butch.
What does it mean?
American names don't mean shit.
Moving right along, what is it you want to know?
- What's it feel like to kill a man? - Couldn't tell you.
I didn't know he was dead till you told me.
Not that I know, you want to know how I feel?
I don't feel the least bad about it.
What the fuck I tell you?
Once they knew the fix was in, the odds went sky high.
I know. Unbelievable.
Fuck him. If he were better he'd still be alive.
If he'd never laced his glove in the first place, he still be alive.
Who gives a fuck? It's over.
Enough about poor, unfortunate Floyd.
Let's discuss the rich and prosperous Butch.
How many bookies are in?
All eight?
How long to collect?
You'll have it tomorrow night?
Okay, besides a few stragglers.
Fuck, that is good news! It's great news!
Me and Fabienne leave in the morning.
It'll take a couple of days to get to Knoxville.
Okay, my brother.
You're right, you're goddamn right.
Next time I see you we'll be on Tennessee time.
Be cool, brother.
Forty-five sixty.
Here's a little something for the effort.
If anybody asks about your fare, what'll you say?
The truth.
3 well-dressed, slightly toasted Mexicans.
Bonsoir, Esmarelda Villalobos.
Keep the light off.
Is that better, sugar pop?
- Hard day at the office? - Pretty hard.
I got in a fight.
Poor baby.
Can we make spoons?
I was going to shower. I stink like a dog.
I like the way you stink.
Let me take my jacket off.
I was looking at myself in the mirror.
I wish I had a pot.
Looking at yourself, you wished you had a pot?
A pot. A pot belly.
Pot bellies are sexy.
You should be happy...
- 'cause you have one. - Shut up, Fatso! I don't have one.
I have a bit of a tummy...
like Madonna when she did "Lucky Star". It's not the same.
There's a difference between a pot belly and a tummy?
The difference is huge.
Would you like it if I had a pot belly?
Pot bellies make a man look either oafish or like a gorilla.
But on a woman, it's very sexy.
The rest of you is normal.
Normal face, legs, hips, ass...
but with a big, perfectly round pot belly.
If I had one, I'd wear my T-shirt too small to accentuate it.
Would men find that attractive?
I don't give a damn what men find attractive.
Unfortunately, what pleases the touch and the eye...
is seldom the same.
If you had a pot belly...
I'd punch you in it.
- You'd punch my belly? - Right in the belly.
I'd smother you.
I'd drop it on your face till you couldn't breathe.
You'd do that?
Get everything?
- I did. - Good job, sugar pop.
Everything go as planned?
You didn't listen to...
the radio?
I never listen to your fights.
Did you win?
I won, alright.
Are you still retiring?
Sure am.
It worked out in the finish?
We're not at the finish yet, baby.
We're in a lot of danger, aren't we?
If they find us, they'll kill us, won't they?
But they won't find us, will they?
Still want me to go with you?
I don't want to be a burden or a nuisance. It's...
Say it.
I want you to be with me.
- Forever? - Forever and ever.
Do you love me?
Very, very much.
- Butch. - Yes.
Will you give me oral pleasure?
Will you kiss it?
But you first.
- Okay. - Good.
Mon amour. L'aventure commence.
I think I cracked a rib.
Giving me oral pleasure?
- No, retard, from the fight. - Don't call me retard.
"My name is Fabby." "My name is Fabienne."
Shut up, fuckhead! I hate that mongoloid voice.
Sorry, sorry.
I take it back.
Hand me a towel, Miss Beautiful Tulip.
I like that. I like being called a tulip.
It's much better than mongoloid.
I didn't call you mongoloid. I called you retard...
and I took it back.
Yes, lemon pie.
- Where will we go? - I'm not sure yet.
Wherever you want.
We'll get a lot of money from this...
but it won't be money we can live like hogs in the fat house.
Maybe we can go down...
someplace in the South Pacific.
That money will get us far down there.
- We could live in Bora Bora? - You bet.
And if you get tired of that...
we go somewhere else. Maybe Tahiti or Mexico.
- But I don't speak Spanish. - Nor Bora Boran either.
Besides, Mexican is easy.
- What does that mean? - Where's the shoe store?
Spit first.
Excellent pronunciation.
You'll be my little "mamacita" in no time.
- What time is it? - What time is it?
Time for bed.
Sweet dreams, jellybean.
Never mind.
Merde!
You startled me. You had a ban dream?
What are you watching?
A motorcycle movie, I'm not sure of the name.
You watching it?
In a way.
It's a bit early for explosions and war.
- What was it about? - I don't know.
You were the one watching it.
No, imbecile! The dream.
I don't know.
I don't remember.
I rarely remember my dreams.
Look at the grumpy man in the morning.
- Let's have breakfast. - One more kiss and I'll get up.
Satisfied?
Then get up, lazy bones.
Oh, God!
What time is it?
Almost 9 in the morning.
- What time's our train arrive? - 11.
- Know what I'm having? - What, lemon pie?
I'll order...
a big plate of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup...
eggs over easy and five sausages.
Anything to drink?
That looks nice.
To drink, a tall glass of orange juice...
and a black cup of coffee.
Then I'll have a slice of pie.
Pie for breakfast?
Any time of the day is good for pie.
Blueberry pie to go with the pancakes.
And on top, a thin slice of melted cheese.
Where's my watch?
It's there.
No, it's not.
You looked?
What do you think I'm doing?
You sure you got it?
Yes, bedside table drawer.
On the little kangaroo?
It was in it.
Well, it's not here now.
Well, it should be.
It should, but it isn't. Where the fuck is it?
Fabienne...
it was my father's fucking watch.
Know what he did to get me that watch?
Too long to explain, but a lot.
You could have set all this shit on fire, but...
I told you not to forget the fucking watch.
Think!
Did you get it?
I believe so.
Either you did, or you didn't!
Then I did.
Are you sure?
Fuck! Fuck!
Motherfucker!
Do you know how fucking stupid...
you fucking are?
It's not your fault...
you left it at the apartment.
You left it, it's not your fault.
I had to bring a bunch of stuff.
I reminded you about it, but...
I didn't illustrate how personal it was.
I should have told you it's all I give a fuck about.
You're not a mind reader...
are you?
I'm sorry.
Don't be, but I can't have breakfast with you.
What does that mean?
I must go back to get my watch.
Won't the gangsters be looking for you?
I'll find out.
If they are and I can't handle it...
- I'll split. - I thought I brought it.
I'm so sorry.
Here's some money.
Go get pancakes and have a nice breakfast.
I'll be back before you can say blueberry pie.
Blueberry pie.
Maybe not that fast...
but pretty fast.
Of all things, she forgets my father's watch!
I specifically reminded her:
"Bedside table. On the kangaroo."
I said it: "Don't forget my father's watch."
Looking good, Butch.
That's how you'll beat them.
They underestimate you.
Motherfucker!
He's dead.
I'll help you in court.
He's a maniac. He hit you, then he crashed into that car.
Who?
Him.
I'll be damned!
- Can I help you? - Shut the fuck up!
Wait a goddamn minute. What the fuck you up to?
Come here, motherfucker!
Feel the sting? That's pride...
fucking you.
You must fight through this.
Better kill me.
Somebody'll get their motherfucking head...
blown off.
Hold it right there...
- goddamn it! - This ain't none of your business.
I'm making it mine. Toss the weapon.
You don't understand!
Toss the weapon.
Your foot off the nigger, hands behind your head...
- approach the counter. - This fucker's trying...
- to kill me! - Shut up!
Keep it coming. Come on.
Zed? It's Maynard.
The spider just caught a couple of flies.
Nobody kills anybody in my place, except Zed or me.
That's Zed.
- You said you waited for me. - I did.
How come they're all beat up?
They did that. They came in fighting.
This one here...
wanted to shoot that one.
That right?
You going to shoot him?
Grace all right out there?
- It ain't Tuesday, is it? - It's Thursday.
She'll be fine.
Well...
bring out The Gimp.
I think The Gimp's sleeping.
Then wake him up, will you?
Get up!
Get down.
Which one you want to do first?
I ain't sure yet.
Eenie...
meenie minie mo.
That means you, big boy.
Here?
Let's do it back there, in Russell's old room.
Sounds good to me.
Keep an eye on this one.
Shut the fuck up!
You want the gun?
Go on, pick it up.
Pick it up.
Come on, atta boy!
I want you to pick it up.
Step aside, Butch.
Fuck!
You okay?
No, I'm not.
I'm pretty fucking far from okay.
What now?
Let me tell you what now.
I'll call some pipe-hitting niggers to go work on the homes...
with a pair of pliers and a blow torch.
You hear me, Hillbilly Boy?
I'm not done with you by a damn sight!
I'll get medieval on your ass.
I meant "what now between me and you"?
Oh, that "what now"!
I'll tell you what now between us.
There is no me and you.
Not no more.
So we're cool?
Yeah, we're cool.
Two things:
Don't tell anybody about this.
This shit is between me, you and...
Mr. Soon-To-Be-Living-His- Short-Ass-Life...
in Agonizing-Pain Rapist, here.
It ain't nobody else's business.
Two:
You leave town tonight...
right now.
And when you're gone...
you stay gone...
or you be gone.
You lost the L.A. Privileges. Deal?
Get your ass out of here.
Get your shit. We must go right now.
What about our bags?
Fuck the bags! We'll miss the train. I'll be downstairs.
- Everything well? - Come on, no talking now.
Are we in danger?
Come on!
Where did you get this motorcycle
Not motorcycle. It's a chopper.
- Let's go. - What happened to my Honda?
I'm sorry, I had to crash that Honda. Come on, please?
Come on, let's go.
You're hurt?
I might've broken my nose. No biggie. Hop on.
Please, honey, we have to hit the fucking road. Get on!
I'm sorry. Come here. I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
You were gone so long, I was scared.
I didn't mean to worry you. How was breakfast?
- Good. - Get your blueberry pancakes?
No, I had to get buttermilk. You sure you're okay?
Honey, since I left you...
this has been the weirdest fucking day of my life.
Hop on and I'll tell you about it. We got to go.
Whose motorcycle is this?
- It's a chopper. - Whose chopper is it?
- Zed's. - Who's Zed?
Zed's dead, baby. He's dead.
Yes, you did, Brett!
You tried to fuck him!
And Marsellus only likes...
to be fucked by Mrs. Wallace.
- I don't want to die. - You read the Bible?
I memorized a passage that sort of fits this occasion.
Ezechiel, 25, 17
"The path of righteous man is beset...
on all sides by the inequities...
of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.
Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and goodwill...
shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness...
for he is his brother's keeper...
and the finder of lost children.
And I will strike down...
with great vengeance and furious anger...
upon those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
And you will know my name is the Lord...
when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"
- Fuck! Fuck! - He a friend of yours?
Oh, Vincent, Marvin. Marvin, Vincent.
Shut him up, he's getting on my nerves.
Marvin. Marvin!
Marvin, I don't knock that shit off.
Die, you motherfuckers! Die!
Why didn't you tell us somebody was in the bathroom?
Slip your mind?
You forgot someone was in there with a hand-cannon?
See the size of the gun? It was bigger than mine.
We should be fucking dead, man.
I know. We was lucky.
No, that shit wasn't luck.
Maybe.
This was divine intervention.
You know what that is?
I think so.
God came down from heaven and stopped the bullets?
That's right.
God came down and stopped the motherfucking bullets.
It's time for us to leave.
Don't fucking blow this shit off!
What happened...
was a fucking miracle.
Shit happens.
Wrong, this shit doesn't just happen.
You want to continue this discussion in the car...
or in jail with the cops?
We should be fucking dead.
What happened...
was a miracle. Acknowledge it!
Alright, it was a miracle.
Can we go now?
Let's go, nigger.
Shit!
You know that show "COPS"?
There was this cop and he was talking...
about this gunfight he had with this guy.
He unloaded on him and nothing happened. Not even hit him.
It was him and this guy.
I mean, you know...
it's freaky but, it happens.
You want to be blind, go walk with the shepherd.
But my eyes are wide open.
What does that mean?
That's it for me. As of now, consider my ass retired.
Jesus Christ!
- Don't blaspheme! - Goddamn it!
Don't do that!
Why are you freaking out?
I'm telling Marsellus today I'm through.
Tell him why, too.
- I will. - Bet you $10.000 he laughs.
I don't give a damn if he does.
What do you make of all this?
I have no opinion.
Don't you think God came down from heaven and stopped?
What the fuck's happening, man? Shit!
- I shot Marvin in the face. - Why?
- It was an accident. - I've seen some crazy-ass shit...
Chill, it was an accident. You probably went over a bump.
The car didn't hit no bump!
I didn't mean to shoot the sonofabitch. The gun went off.
We're on a city street, in broad daylight.
- I can't believe it. - Believe it now!
Off the road. Cops notice if your car's drenched in blood.
Go to a friendly place.
- Marsellus got no friendly place. - This ain't my fucking town!
Shit!
- What you doing? - Calling my partner in Toluca Lake.
- Where's that? - Over the hill, by Burbank.
LfJimmie's not home, I don't know what to do.
I got no other partners in 818.
Jimmie, how you doing?
Me and my homeboy are in serious fucking shit.
We must get off the road. I need your garage.
We must be delicate with this.
He's one remark away from kicking our ass out.
Then what?
We won't leave till we make some calls, but I don't want to.
You don't come to a friend's house and tell him what's what.
Tell him not to abuse, that's all.
He freaked out when he saw Marvin.
Put yourself in his place. It's 8 a.m.
He just woke up. He wasn't expecting this.
Remember who's doing who a favor.
If I must take shit, then he can stick his favor up his ass.
- What did you do to this? - I was drying my hands.
- Wash them first. - You saw me.
You wet them.
I washed them. It's hard to get off. If I had Lava, it'd be better.
I used the same soap and my towel doesn't look like no Maxie pad.
What if he sees his towel?
This shit will bring this situation to a head, man!
Look...
I'm not threatening you. I respect you...
but don't put me in this position, alright?
Alright, fine.
Ask me nice like that, no problem.
Go handle your friend. I don't care.
Goddamn, Jimmie, this is serious gourmet shit!
We'd have been satisfied with freeze-dried Taster's Choice.
And he springs this gourmet shit on us. What flavor is this?
Knock it off, Julie.
- What? - I don't need you to...
tell me how good my coffee is.
I buy it, I know how good it is.
When Bonnie shops, she buys shit.
I buy the expensive stuff because...
I want to taste it. But what's on my mind now ain't the coffee.
It's the dead nigger in my garage.
Jimmie, don't worry.
Just one question.
When you pulled in here...
did you notice a sign: "Dead Nigger Storage"?
You know I didn't...
Did you notice a sign: "Dead Nigger Storage"?
No, I didn't.
- You know why you didn't? - Why?
Because storing dead niggers ain't my fucking business!
- We won't store... - No, no.
Don't you realize if Bonnie comes home...
and finds a dead body, I'll get divorced?
No lawyers, no trial. Just fucking divorced.
And I don't want to get fucking divorced.
I want to help you, but I don't want to lose my wife doing it.
- She won't leave... - Look...
don't fucking "Jimmie" me, okay?
Nothing will make me forget that I love my wife, will it?
She comes home from work in about an hour and a half.
Graveyard shift at the hospital.
You gotta make some calls?
Call some people? Then do it...
and get the fuck out before she gets here.
That's cool. We won't fuck your shit up.
I'll call and my people'll bring us in.
You already are fucking my shit up!
You'll fuck it up big time if Bonnie comes home.
Do me that favor? The phone is in my bedroom. Get going.
Well, say she comes home.
What'll she do?
No fucking shit, she'll freak.
That is no answer.
You know her. How much, a lot or a little?
Appreciate what an explosive element this Bonnie situation is.
If she comes home and finds some gangsters...
doing gangster shit, no telling what she might do.
I've grasped that.
I'm contemplating the "ifs".
I don't need to hear no "ifs".
I want to hear: "No problem. I'm on the motherfucker.
Chill them niggers and wait for the cavalry, which is coming now."
You have no problems, Jules.
I'm on the motherfucker.
Chill them niggers out...
and wait for The Wolf, who's coming now.
You're sending The Wolf?
Feel better, motherfucker?
Shit, negro!
That all you had to say.
Is she the hysterical type?
When is she due?
Give me the principals' names.
30 minutes away.
I'll be there in 10.
You're Jimmie, right? This your house?
- Sure is. - I'm Winston Wolf.
I solve problems.
- Good, we got one. - I heard. May I come in?
Please.
You must be Jules...
which would make you Vincent.
Let's get down to brass tacks. The clock is ticking, right?
100%.
Your wife...
Bonnie comes home at
I was told if she comes and finds us here...
she won't appreciate it?
- She won't at that. - Right, then give us...
40 minutes to get out of Dodge.
If you do what I say, it's plenty.
You got a corpse in a car, minus a head, in the garage. Take me there.
- Jimmie. - Uh-hum.
Do me a favor?
I smell coffee. Can I have a cup?
Yeah, sure.
How do you take it?
Lots of cream, lots of sugar.
How about the car?
Does it stall, smoke, make noise? Got gas?
Aside from how it looks, the car's cool.
Positive?
The brake lights better work.
Far as I know, the motherfucker is tip-top.
Good enough.
Let's go back to the kitchen.
- There you go. - Thank you.
Okay, first thing. You two...
stick the body in the trunk.
This house looks domesticated, so...
I guess you have cleaners and cleaners.
- Under the sink. - Good.
Take those products and clean the inside of the car.
I'm talking fast, fast. You need to...
scoop up those little pieces of brain and skull in the back seat.
The upholstery don't need to be perfect.
You don't need to eat off it. Just a good once over.
You need to take care of the messy parts.
Soak up the pools of blood that've collected.
We need your linen. Blankets, comforters, quilts...
bedspreads. Thin ones. Dark ones.
Can't use whites. We need to camouflage...
the interior. We'll line the seats and the floor boards...
with quilts and blankets.
If a cop stops us and looks, the subterfuge won't last...
but the car'll look normal.
Lead the way. Boys, get to work!
"Please".
Come again?
"Please" would be nice.
I'm not here to say "please", but to tell you what to do.
If you have an instinct for self-preservation, do it quick.
If my help is not appreciated, lots of luck, gentlemen!
It's not like that!
- Your help is appreciated. - Listen...
I don't mean disrespect. I respect you.
I don't like people barking orders at me.
I'm curt because time is a factor.
I think fast, talk fast...
and you must act fast if you want out.
So, pretty please, clean the fucking car.
Don't look at me like that. I can feel your look.
It's a 1974 Chevy Nova.
Green.
Nothing except for the mess inside.
About 20 minutes.
Nobody who'll be missed.
You're a good man, Joe. Thanks a bunch.
- How we coming? - Good. I got it all here.
But...
- Mr. Wolf, you must understand... - Winston, please.
Understand something, Winston.
No, thank you.
This is our best linen here.
And it's a...
wedding gift from Uncle Conrad and Aunt Ginny.
- They died. I want to help... - One question...
- if you don't mind. - Please, go ahead.
Your Uncle Conrad and Aunt Ginny.
Were they millionaires?
Your Uncle Marsellus is...
and I'm positive if Uncle Conrad and Aunt...
- Ginny. - Ginny, were here, they'd...
furnish you with a whole bedroom set...
which Uncle Marsellus is happy to do.
I like oak, that's what I have...
in my bedroom.
How about you?
You an oak man?
Oak's nice.
Man, I'll never forget your ass for this shit.
This is some repugnant shit.
You know the philosophy. Once a man is wrong...
he's forgiven for all the wrongdoings.
Get the fuck out of my face!
Who said that never had to pick up pieces of skull for your dumb ass.
I got a threshold for the abuse I will take.
I'm a fucking race car.
You got me in the red. And it's fucking dangerous...
to have a race car in the red.
That's all. It could blow.
- You ready to blow? - I'm ready.
I'm a mushroom-cloud- laying-motherfucker!
My fingers touch a brain and I'm Superfly T.N.T....
"The Guns of Navaronne".
In fact, what am I doing in the back?
You should be on brain detail.
We switch. I wash the windows, you pick up the nigger's skull.
Fine job, gentlemen.
We may get out of this.
I can't believe it's the same car.
Let's not start sucking each other's dicks quite yet.
Phase 1 is done.
Now, phase 2: Clean you two.
Strip.
- All the way? - To your bare ass.
Quickly, gentlemen.
15 minutes before Jimmie's better half pulls into the driveway.
Damn, this morning air is chilly.
Is this absolutely necessary?
- Know what you look like? - What?
Like you just blew off somebody's head.
Stripping off those bloody rags...
is absolutely necessary.
- Toss them in Jim's garbage bag. - Don't do nothing...
stupid like leave this out front...
- for the garbage man. - We'll take it with us.
The soap.
Okay, gentlemen...
you've been to County before, I'm sure. Here it comes.
- That water's fucking cold! - Better you than me, gentlemen!
- Spread the soap around. - Up there a little bit.
Spray some on my hair. Do it!
Damn, do it!
Towel them.
Dry enough. Toss them their clothes.
Perfect.
We couldn't have planned this better.
You look like...
What we look like?
Dorks.
They look like two dorks.
They're your clothes, motherfucker.
We're laughing our way to prison.
Don't make me beg.
Let's get our rules of the road straight.
We're going to Monster Joe's Truck & Tow.
Monster Joe and his daughter are sympathetic to our dilemma.
It's in North Hollywood.
A few twists and turns aside, we'll go up Hollywood Way.
I drive the tainted car. Jules, you ride with me.
You follow in my Acura.
If we come across the path of any John Q. Laws...
do nothing till I do something. What did I say?
- Don't do shit unless... - Unless what?
Unless you do it.
Spoken like a true prodigy.
How about you?
Can you keep your spurs from jingling?
The gun went off. I don't know why.
I'm cool, I promise.
Now, I drive real fast, so keep up.
If I get my car back different...
Monster Joe'll dispose of two bodies.
- We cool? - Like it never...
happened.
Boys, this is...
Raquel.
Some day all this will be hers.
What's with the outfits?
Going to a volleyball game or something?
I'm taking milady to breakfast.
I might drop you off. Where do you live?
- Redondo. - Inglewood.
It's your future.
I see...
a cab ride.
Get out of the sticks, fellas.
- Say good night, Raquel. - Good night, Raquel.
Stay out of trouble, you crazy kids.
Mr. Wolf?
It was a pleasure watching you work.
Really. Thank you very much, Mr. Wolf.
Call me Winston.
You see that, young lady? Respect.
- Respect shows character. - I have character.
Because you're a character doesn't mean you have character.
Want to share a cab?
I'd go for breakfast. Want to have breakfast with me?
Cool.
I thought he'd be European or something.
- As much as English Bob. - I know now, but...
- was he cool or what. - Thank you.
Totally fucking cool. In control.
Didn't even get pissed when you fucked with him. I'm amazed.
- Want some bacon? - No, I don't eat pork.
- Are you Jewish? - No, I just don't dig on swine.
Why not?
Pigs are filthy. I don't eat filthy animals.
But bacon tastes good.
Pork chops taste good.
A sewer rat may taste good, but I'd never eat one.
Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal.
I ain't eating nothing that don't disregard its own feces.
A dog eats his own feces.
I don't eat dog either.
You consider a dog a filthy animal?
I wouldn't say filthy, but they're definitely dirty.
A dog's got personality, which goes a long way.
If a pig had a better personality, he wouldn't be filthy.
- True? - He'd have to be one charming pig.
Ten times more charming than Arnold on "Green Acres".
Man, that's good.
That's good. You're starting to lighten up.
- You're there, so serious. - Yeah, I've just...
- been thinking. - About what?
About that miracle.
You saw a miracle. I saw a freak occurrence.
What's a miracle?
Act of God.
What's an "Act of God"?
When...
God make the impossible possible.
But this morning, I don't think, qualifies.
That shit don't matter. You judge this wrong.
It could be God stopped the bullets...
or changed Coke to Pepsi...
or he found my car keys. Don't judge based on merit.
Whether or not what we...
experiences was a miracle is insignificant.
What is significant...
is I felt the touch of God. God got involved.
But why?
I don't know. But I can't go back to sleep.
You're serious? You're thinking about quitting?
- The life? - Yeah.
Definitely.
Fuck!
Then what?
Well...
that's what I've been contemplating here.
First, I'm going to deliver this case to Marsellus.
Then I'll just walk the earth.
Walk the earth?
Like Caine in "Kung Fu".
Go from place to place, meet people, have adventures.
How long do you intend to walk?
Till God puts me where he wants.
What if he doesn't?
If he takes forever, I'll walk forever.
You decided to be a bum?
I'll just be Jules. No more, no less.
No, you decided to be a bum.
Like those pieces of shit who beg for change.
Sleep in garbage bins, eat what I throw away.
They got a name for that: Bum.
Without a job...
without a residence. You'll be a fucking bum.
This is just where you and I differ.
Garçon.
Coffee!
- What happened was peculiar... - "Garçon" means boy.
...but water into wine, I...
All shapes and sizes.
Don't talk to me that way!
If my answers scare you, cease asking scary questions.
I'm going to take a shit.
Let me ask:
When did you...
make that decision, while eating that muffin?
I was eating, drinking, replaying the incident in my head...
when I had what alcoholics call a "moment of clarity".
Fuck!
To be continued.
- I love you, Pumpkin. - I love you, Honey Bunny.
Everybody, this is a robbery!
Any of you fucking pricks move...
I'll execute every one of you motherfuckers!
- Waitresses, on the floor! - You just be quiet!
Get the fuck down! Get the fuck down!
You're in a blind spot!
Take your dames over there on the count of ten.
Mexicans, out of the kitchen!
You fucking yuppie! Get down!
Throw those bags!
Move! What the fuck you doing?
Get on the fucking floor!
Grandpa...
down!
I'm the manager here and there's no problem.
You're going to give me a problem
You're gonna give me a problem?
We got a hero here!
Just execute him!
- I'm no hero. I'm just a... - Get the fuck down!
The restaurant's ours!
Just take whatever you want.
Talk to the customers.
Tell them to be cool...
and everything will be over. Understand?
Listen, everybody...
be calm...
cooperate and this'll be over in a minute.
Down! Well done.
Alright, people...
I'll collect your wallets. Don't fucking talk.
Throw them in the bag. Are we fucking clear?
Good. Now, wallets out.
That's it, get the fuck down. In the bag.
- I have nothing on me. - In the bag.
What you waiting for? In the bag.
Laura, tips.
In the bag.
A cellular phone? In the fucking bag!
Tidy up, that's it. Now, get down on the floor.
In the bag.
What's in the case?
My boss's dirty laundry.
You do his laundry?
- When he wants it clean. - Shit job.
I thought the same thing.
Open it.
Afraid I can't.
I didn't hear.
Yes you did.
What's going on?
We got a vigilante in our midst.
Shoot him!
Hat to shutter your ego, but I've been pointed at before.
Open the case or it'll be your last.
You'll get us all killed! Just give it to them!
Shut up, fat man. Ain't your business.
Be cool, Honey Bunny.
It's all under control.
I'm going to count to 3.
If you don't open it, I'll unload in your fucking face.
We clear?
One.
Two.
- Three. - Okay, Ringo.
You win.
It's yours.
Open it.
What is it?
Is that what I think?
It's beautiful.
Goddamn it, what is it?
Let him go! Let him go!
Let go!
Be cool.
I'm gonna kill you!
Say: "Bitch, be cool!"
Tell the bitch!
- Tell her to chill! - Be cool, honey pot!
- Chill! - Chill out, Honey Bunny!
- Say it'll be alright. - It'll be alright.
- Promise her! - I promise.
- Tell her to chill! - Chill out!
Tell me her name.
- Yolanda. - Okay, Yolanda.
- Don't do anything stupid. - Don't hurt him!
Nobody'll hurt anybody. We'll be like 3 little Fonzies.
What's Fonzie like?
- What's Fonzie like? - He's cool?
- What? - Cool.
Exactly. That's what we'll be.
We'll be cool.
Now, Ringo...
I'll count to 3.
And when I count 3...
you let go your gun...
put your palms flat on the table...
and sit your ass down.
But when you do it...
you do it cool.
You ready?
One.
Two.
Three.
- Okay, now let him go. - Yolanda.
I thought you'd be cool. When you yell, I get nervous.
When I get nervous, I get scared.
And when motherfuckers get nervous, motherfuckers get shot.
Just know...
you hurt him, you die.
That seems to be the situation.
But I don't want that.
You don't want that, and Ringo here...
definitely don't. So let's see what we can do.
Now.
Here's the situation:
Normally, your asses would be dead as fried chicken.
But I'm in transition and I don't want to kill you.
I want to help you.
I can't give you this case...
'cause it don't belong to me.
Besides...
I been through too much shit to just hand it over to you.
Cool!
Yolanda, it's cool, baby. It's cool.
We still talking. Come on, point the gun at me!
Point it at me! There you go.
Hang back and don't do a goddamn thing. Tell her we're cool.
- Still cool, Honey Bunny. - How we doing?
I got to go pee.
- I want to go home. - Hang in there.
I'm proud of you. And Ringo's proud of you.
Almost over. Tell her you're proud.
I'm proud of you.
I love you.
I love you too, Honey Bunny.
I want you to go in that bag...
and find my wallet.
Which one is it?
It says: "Bad Motherfucker".
That's it. That's my...
Bad Motherfucker. Open it.
Take out the money.
Count it.
How much is there?
About $1.500.
Put it in your pocket. It's yours.
With the rest of those wallets and the register...
this a pretty successful score.
You give him $1.500, I'll shoot him on principle!
He won't do a goddamn motherfucking thing.
Vince, shut the fuck up!
- Shut up! - Yolanda, stay with me, baby.
I'm not giving it to him.
I'm buying something for money.
Want to know what I'm buying?
What?
Your life.
I give you that money so I don't have to kill you.
You read the Bible, Ringo?
Not regularly, no.
There's this passage I got memorized.
Ezekiel, 25, 17.
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides...
by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.
Blessed is he who, for charity and goodwill...
shepherds the weak through darkness, for he is his brother's...
keeper and finder of children.
I will strike down with great vengeance and fury...
those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
And you will know I am the Lord...
when I lay my vengeance upon you."
I've been saying this shit for years.
And if you heard it, that meant your ass.
I never considered what it meant.
Thought it was some shit to say before I capped some guy's ass.
But today, it's made me think twice.
Now I'm thinking...
maybe it means...
you're the evil man...
and I'm the righteous man.
And Mr. 9 mm. Here...
is the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the darkness.
Or it could mean...
you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd...
and it's the world that's evil and selfish.
I'd like that.
But that shit ain't the truth.
The truth is...
you're the weak...
and I'm the tyranny of evil men.
But I'm trying, Ringo.
I'm trying real hard...
to be the shepherd.
Go on.
I think we should leave now.
That's probably a good idea.