Found 431 results
28.3s
Have you lost your fucking mind? - You were talking about drug shit on a cellular phone! - Lance, help me. - You crashed your car into my fucking house! - Grab her feet. Are you deaf? You are not bringing this fucked-up bitch into my house! This "fucked-up bitch" is Marsellus Wallace's wife. - Do you know who Marsellus Wallace is? - Yeah. If she croaks on me, I am a fucking grease spot! I will be forced to tell him that you did not help and let her die on your lawn. Now, come on. Help me, help me. Pick her up.
Pulp Fiction
1m6s
- [ Engine Starts ] - [ Radio: "Flowers On The Wall" ] lf I were walkin' in your shoes Countin' flowers on the wall That don't bother me at all Playin' solitaire 'til dawn with a deck of fifty-one That's how you're gonna beat 'em, Butch. - Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo - They keep underestimatin' ya. Now don't tell me [ Singing Along ] Countin' flowers on the wall That don't bother me at all Playin' solitaire 'til dawn with a deck of fifty-one Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo Now don't tell me I've nothin' to do It's good to see you I must go I know I look a fright - Anyway my eyes - Motherfucker. - Are not accustomed- - Uhh!
Pulp Fiction
36.7s
Mmmm. Don't you just love it when you come back from the bathroom to find your food waiting for you? We're lucky we got anything at all. I don't think Buddy Holly's much of a waiter. Maybe we should've sat in Marilyn Monroe's section. - Which one? There's two Monroes. - No, there's not. That is Marilyn Monroe. That is Mamie Van Doren. I don't see Jayne Mansfield, so she must have the night off. - Pretty smart. - Yeah. I got my moments. - So did you think of somethin' to say? - Actually, I did.
Pulp Fiction
1m29s
Mmm! Goddamn, Jimmie! This some serious gourmet shit. Me and Vincent would've been satisfied... with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice. Right? [ Chuckles ] And he springs this serious gourmet shit on us. - What flavor is this? - Knock it off, Julie. - What? - I don't need you to tell me how fuckin' good my coffee is. 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 garage. - Jimmie, don't even worry- - Don't tell me about anything. I wanna ask you a question. When you came pulling in here, did you notice the sign on the front of my house that said, "Dead Nigger Storage"? - You know I ain't seen no- - Did you notice the sign on the front of my house... that said, "Dead Nigger Storage"? No. I didn't. - You know why you didn't see that sign? - [ Sighs ] Why? 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business, that's why! - We're not gonna store the motherfucker- - Don't you fuckin' realize... that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I'm gonna get divorced? No marriage counselor. No trial separation. I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced. Okay? And I don't wanna get fuckin' divorced! Man, you know, fuck, I wanna help you, but I don't wanna lose my wife doin' it. Jimmie, Jimmie, she ain't gonna leave you. Don't fuckin' "Jimmie" me, Jules! Okay? Don't fuckin' "Jimmie" me. There's nothin' you're gonna say that's gonna make me forget I love my wife. Is there?
Pulp Fiction
43.9s
You're... Jimmie, right? This is your house? - It sure is. - I'm Winston Wolf. I solve problems. - Good. We got one. - So I heard. May I come in? Uh, yeah. Please do. You must be Jules. Which would make you... Vincent. Let's get down to brass tacks, gentlemen. If I was informed correctly, the clock is ticking. Is that right, Jimmie? Uh, one hundred percent. - Your wife Bonnie comes home at 9:30 in the a.m., correct? - Uh-huh. I was led to believe if she comes home and finds us here, she wouldn't appreciate it much. - She wouldn't at that. - That gives us 40 minutes to get the fuck outta Dodge, which, if you do what I say, when I say it, should be plenty. Now, you got a corpse in a car, minus a head, in a garage. Take me to it.
Pulp Fiction