Pulp Fiction

Yolanda: This place? A coffee shop? Ringo: What's wrong with that? Nobody ever robs restaurants. Why not? Bars, liquor stores, gas stations; you get your head blown off sticking up one of them. Restaurants, on the other hand, you catch with their pants down. They're not expecting to get robbed. Not as expectant, anyway. Yolanda: I bet you could cut down on the hero factor in a place like this. Ringo: Correct. Just like banks, these places are insured. Manager? He don't give a fuck. He's just trying to get you out the door before you start plugging the diners. Waitresses? Fuck it. forget it. No way are they taking a bullet for the register. Busboy, some wetback getting paid a dollar fifty an hour, really give a fuck you're stealing from the owner? Customers are sitting there with food in their mouths; they don't know what's going on. One minute, they're having a Denver omelette; the next minute, someone's sticking a gun in their face.

Pulp Fiction, CC BY-SA 4.0

Jules Winnfield: Okay, so, tell me about the hash bars. Vincent Vega: So what you want to know? Jules: Well, hash is legal there, right? Vincent: Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a hundred percent legal. I mean, you 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: Those are hash bars? Vincent: Yeah. Breaks down like this, okay: 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 illegal to carry it, but that doesn't really matter 'cause, get a load of this, all right; if you get stopped by the cops in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have. Jules: [laughing] Oh, man. I'm going, that's all there is to it. I'm fucking going. Vincent: Yeah, baby, you'd dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is? Jules: What? Vincent: It's the little differences. I

Pulp Fiction, CC BY-SA 4.0

Jules: We should have shotguns for this kind of deal. Vincent: How many of them are there? Jules: Three or four. Vincent: Is that counting our guy? Jules: Not sure. Vincent: So, it could be as many as five guys in there? Jules: It's possible. Vincent: We should have fucking shotguns.

Pulp Fiction, CC BY-SA 4.0

Vincent: [about a foot massage] It's layin' your hands in a familiar way on Marsellus' new wife. I mean, is it as bad as eatin' her pussy out? No, but it's the same fucking ballpark. Jules: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. Eating a bitch out and giving a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fucking thing. Vincent: It's not. It's the same ballpark. Jules: Ain't no fucking ballpark neither. Now, look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but, you know, touching his wife's feet and sticking your tongue in the holiest of holies ain't the same fucking ballpark. It ain't the same league. It ain't even the same fucking sport. Look, foot massages don't mean shit. Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage? Jules: Don't be telling me about foot massages, I'm the foot fuckin' master. Vincent: Given a lot of them? Jules: Shit, yeah. I got my technique down and everything, I don't be tickling or nothin'. Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage? Jules: [pause] Fuck you. Vinc

Pulp Fiction, CC BY-SA 4.0

Jules: Looks like me and Vincent caught you boys at breakfast. Sorry about that. Whatcha having? Brett: Uh, hamburgers. Jules: Hamburgers! The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast! What kind of hamburgers? Brett: Uh, Ch-cheeseburgers. Jules: No, where'd you get them? McDonald's, Wendy's, Jack in the Box, Where? Brett: Um, Big Kahuna Burgers. Jules: Big Kahuna Burgers! That's that Hawaiian burger joint. I hear they've got some tasty burgers. I ain't never had one myself, how are they? Brett: ...They're good. Jules: You mind if I try one of yours? This is yours here, right? Brett: Yeah. Jules: Mmm, this is a tasty burger! Vincent, you ever had a Big Kahuna Burger? [Vincent shakes his head] Want a bite? They're real tasty. Vincent: [pulling out a cigarette] Ain't hungry. Jules: Well, if you like burgers, give them a try sometime. Me, I can't usually get 'em because my girlfriend's a vegetarian, which, pretty much makes me a vegetarian. I do love the taste of a good burger. [turns to Br

Pulp Fiction, CC BY-SA 4.0

Brett: [to Jules] Look, I'm sorry, I-I didn't get your name. I got yours, uh, Vincent, right? But-But I-I never got your... Jules: My name is Pitt, and your ass ain't talking your way outta this shit. Brett: [rising] No, no, no. I just want you to know how – [Jules motions him to sit down] I just want you to know how sorry we are that-that things got so fucked up with us and-and Mr. Wallace. I-I-It...we-we got into this thing with the best intentions. Really. I never... Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration? I didn't mean to do that. Please, continue. You were sayin' something about "best intentions"? [silence] What's the matter? Oh, y-you were finished? Oh, well, allow me to retort. What does Marsellus Wallace look like? Brett: [unsure of how to respond] ..What? Jules: [angrily throws the small table in the room] What country are you from!? Brett: [starts hyperventilating] Wha-what? Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What"!? Bre

Pulp Fiction, CC BY-SA 4.0