Pulp Fiction

Sound clips from Pulp Fiction

Vincent: Aw, man… I shot Marvin in the face.
Jules: Why the fuck’d you do that!
Vincent: Well I didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident.

[Jules, Vincent and Jimmie are drinking coffee in Jimmie’s kitchen]
Jules: Mmmm! Goddamn, Jimmie! This is some serious gourmet shit! Me and Vince would be happy with some freeze-dried Taster’s Choice, but he springs this serious GOURMET shit on us! What flavor is this?
Jimmy: Knock it off, Julie.
Jules: What?
Jimmy: I don’t need you to tell me how fuckin’ good my coffee is, ok? I’m the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping, she buys shit. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff ’cause when I drink it, I wanna taste it. But you know what’s on my mind right now? It ain’t the coffee in my kitchen. It’s the dead nigger in my gararge.

Marsellus: What now? Lemme tell you what now. I’m gonna call up a couple a hard, pipe-hittin’ niggers and go to work on the holmes here with a pair a pliars and a blowtorch. You hear me talkin’ Hillbilly Boy? I ain’t through with you by a damn site. I’m gonna get medieval on your ass.

Marsellus: This shit is between me, you, and Mr. Soon-to-be-livin’-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing-pain rapist here.

Jodi: Wow… that was fuckin’ trippy.

Mr. Wolfe: Well, let’s not start suckin’ each others dicks quite yet.

Jimmy: When you came pullin’ in here, did you notice a sign on the front of my house that said “Dead Nigger Storage”?
Jules: Jimmy, you know I ain’t seen no shit…
Jimmy: Did you notice a sign on the front of my house that said “Dead Nigger Storage”?
Jules: No. I didn’t.
Jimmy: Do you know WHY you didn’t see that sign?
Jules: Why?
Jimmy: ‘Cause it ain’t there! Cause storin’ dead niggers ain’t my fuckin’ business, that’s why!

Mr. Wolfe: If I’m curt with you, it’s because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you want to get out of this. So… pretty please, with sugar on top… clean the fuckin’ car.

Jules: It was a foot massage. A foot massage means nothin’. I give my mother a foot massage.
Vincent: It’s layin’ your hands in a familiar way on Marsellus’ new wife. Is it as bad as eatin’ her pussy 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: Ain’t no fuckin’ ballpark neither. Now look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but y’know, touching his wife’s feet and stickin’ your tounge in the holiest of holys ain’t in the same fuckin’ ballpark, it ain’t the same league, it 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 fuckin’ foot massages. I’m the foot fuckin’ masta.
Vincent: You given a lot of ’em?
Jules: Shit yeah… I got my technique down and everything. I don’t be ticklin’ or nothin’
Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You give ’em alot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You know, I’m kinda tired. I could use a foot massage myself.
Jules: Yo man, you just back off. I’m gettin’ a little pissed here.

Jules: Check out the big brain on Brett! You’re a smart motherfucker, that’s right! The metric system.

Jules: Mmmm… this IS a tasty burger.

Jules: You mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down?

Jules: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What, I-?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say what again. SAY WHAT AGAIN. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.
Brett: He’s b-b-black…
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He’s bald…
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder]
Brett: No!
Jules: Then why you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn’t.
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don’t like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.

Henchman: This search… how do you want it done?
Marsellus: I’m prepared to scour the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indochina I want a nigger hidin’ in a bowl of rice waitin’ to pop a cap in his ass.

Vincent: So… you’re gonna go out there, you’re gonna say ‘goodnight’ and ‘I’ve had a very lovely evening’… walk out the door, get in the car… go home, jerk off… and that’s all you gonna do.

Vincent: I could blow!
Jules: Oh, oh… you ready to blow?
Vincent: Yeah, I’m ready to blow
Jules: Well I’m a mushroom-cloud-layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker.

Jules: You’re sendin’ The Wolf?
Marsellus: Feel better, Motherfucker?
Jules: Sheeeit, Negro! That’s all you had to say!.