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19.7s
Okay, gentlemen, let's get our rules of the road straight. We're going to a place called Monster Joe's Truck and Tow. Monster Joe and his daughter Raquel are sympathetic to our dilemma. The place is North Hollywood, so a few twists and turns aside, we'll be goin' up Hollywood Way. Now, I'll drive the tainted car. Jules, you ride with me.
Pulp Fiction
1m5s
- But still, you play with matches, you get burned. - What do you mean? You don't be givin' Marsellus Wallace's new bride a foot massage. You don't think he overreacted? Antwan didn't expect Marsellus to react the way he did, but he had to expect a reaction. It was a foot massage. A foot massage is nothin'. I give my mother a foot massage. It's laying your hands in a familiar way on Marsellus's new wife. I mean, is it as bad as eatin' her pussy out? No, but it's the same fuckin' ballpark. Whoa, stop right there. Eatin' the bitch out... and givin' the bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fucking thing. - It's not. It's the same ballpark. - Ain't no fuckin' ballpark neither. Now, look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine. But touchin' his wife's feet and sticking your tongue in the holiest of holies... ain't the same fuckin' ballpark; it ain't the same league; it ain't the same fuckin' sport. - Foot massages don't mean shit! - Have you ever given a foot massage? [ Scoffs ] Don't be tellin' me about foot massages. - I'm the foot fuckin' master. - You given a lot of them? Shit, yeah! Got my technique down and everything. I don't be ticklin' or nothin'. Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Pulp Fiction